Chris took a number of large drags on his cigarette, trying to push the nerves back. It was unusual for Simeon to call him when there was no deal on, even more so to be invited up to the flat.
Simeon finally spoke. “Nice when it’s sunny, ain’t it?”
Chris nodded, “Yeah, I reckon so.”
“Yeah me too.” Simeon sat again and frowned. “I’ve got a problem mate.”
Chris felt nervous. Simeon scared him. Maybe it was the scar, the cold black eyes, the way his top lip would curl every time he smiled, like he was watching a small animal die and enjoying it.
“Oh, right,” said Chris, searching for neutral words, fighting to put a neutral expression on his face. “Nothing serious I hope?”
“I’m not sure. That all depends.”
“On what?” Chris put the cigarette down to stop it revealing the obvious shaking in his fingers.
“On a few things.” Simeon turned to the man standing at the doorway, who was still fixing a glare on Chris. “Tony, can you get me a cuppa?”
“Yeah boss.” Tony disappeared into the kitchen, Chris felt slight relief at not having the man staring at him anymore.
Simeon pointed at Chris with his cigarette. “You know about this business, don’t you? You know that reputation is very important, don’t you?”
“Yeah, defo,” said Chris.
“You know what they’re like out there,” said Simeon, he motioned out the window. “Fucking animals the lot of them. Can’t trust one fucker from the next. Kill you as soon as look at you, know what I mean mate?”
Chris nodded, his mouth dry, unable to speak.
“It’s important I know who I can trust. Because if I want things to work around here, I need to know what’s what and who’s who, you get me?”
Simeon smiled and Chris tried not to flinch.
“People been talking about the gear,” said Simeon. He leaned forward. “Been saying that I’ve been cutting it. Some fucker down the dock last night was mouthing off, saying Simeon’s gear was gash, saying that I was having everyone off.”
Simeon leaned back, staring at Chris.
Chris had his head down. He tried to look up, but only managed a glance. “That’s not right, is it, people saying that?” said Chris.
“No, it fucking ain’t.”
Tony brought Simeon his cup of tea.
“Cheers mate,” Simeon took a sip, “Good that. Nice one.” He put the cup down on the table.
Tony resumed his position at the door of the room, his glare fixated on Chris again.
“So, I told that fella to shut the fuck up, know what I mean? He won’t be talking much to anyone for a good while,” said Simeon. “But I have a problem.”
Chris was sure that Simeon must be able to hear his heart beat, or at least see it. The sounds from the games console, some football game, played like a strange soundtrack in the background.
Simeon continued, “I checked some of the stuff. Cut to fuck.”
Simeon stood up and threw his cigarette at Chris, “CUT to FUCK!” He jumped forward and rained blow after blow on Chris’ head.
Chris raised his arms and tried to protect his head, but Simeon pulled his arms away.
“It wasn’t me, I haven’t done nothing!” Chris managed to shout, before a fist hit his mouth and he felt blood and fragments of teeth in his mouth.
The man on the couch threw down the controller and pulled Chris off the couch by his feet. He then dragged him up so he was standing facing Simeon.
Simeon was breathing fast and deep, he sounded like a race horse. Spittle hung out of his mouth. His black eyes bored into Chris’ bruised eyes. Chris had to look away.
“Look at me, fucking look at me,” shouted Simeon.
Tony grabbed Chris’ head and pointed it at Simeon.
“I didn’t do nothing,” said Chris again, blood and fragments of teeth spiting out of his mouth. “I haven’t cut nothing.”
This is it, he thought, this is it. He’s going to finish me. Out the window, and no one will see nothing, even if they do.
Chris’ arms were pinned behind him. His legs felt weak.
Simeon motioned to Tony, “Give him a few settlers.”
Without a word, Tony took a hefty swing with his right fist and connected hard with Chris’ jaw. The world went black for a few moments. Then stars and dizzy vision. Shooting, throbbing pain.
Tony took another swing, with his left this time. His fists like bludgeons of concrete. Chris felt something tear in his neck.
Tony may have hit him again, but Chris didn’t know. He passed out.
When Chris came too, he was lying on a bed. There was ice on his jaw.
“He’s awake,” said Tony, who was standing at the door of the room.
Chris felt the pain all at once. His head, face, cheeks, neck. Especially his nose and jaw.
He was still alive though. Simeon hadn’t killed him.
Chris allowed himself some cautious anger. He’d had enough. He was going to get out. Simeon was a fucking maniac.
Simeon appeared at the doorway. “You alright?”
Chris nodded best he could.
“No hard feelings, eh? Just business?”
Chris nodded again, struggling to see through his swelling left eye.
“I know it weren’t you, but the docks is your territory,” said Simeon. “Sort your fucking crew out. This ain’t going to happen again.”
Chris had a good idea who had cut the gear. He was going to pay the fuckers a visit. Once he could walk.
“Ok mate, see you here next week,” said Simeon. “Got another load for you. Come on then lad, on your way.”
Chris got out of the bed. His head throbbed. He kept his head down. Simeon guided him out into the dark corridor. The door closed behind him.
He would have to go and see Nan.
Chapter 2
Nan lived a few floors below on the fourteenth. The lifts broke at least once a month. An old woman shouldn’t have to live this high, in a shit flat with shit lifts. But the council didn’t care, those fuckers didn’t care about anything.
The stairwell smelt of piss and cigarettes.
Number 1434, halfway along a paint peeled corridor. He knocked on Nan’s door.
“What the bloody hell has happened to you lad?” said Nan when she opened the door.
“Got mugged didn’t I.”
“Get in here you silly bugger.” She hustled him into her flat and into the lounge. The sun beamed in the window and he had to squint after the darkness of the corridor. “Sit down, I’ll get you a cuppa.”
He eased himself onto the couch, his head throbbing.
His Nan went into the kitchen, and set the kettle boiling. Chris heard her mumbling.
He noticed blood spots on his white Adidas trainers. “Bollocks,” he said. He’d only got them last week.
The lounge was decorated with trinkets. His Nan loved to go to Stanley Dock market. She went nearly every Sunday and always came home with a new ornament, picture, plant or some other crap. It then joined the rest of the crap in the small lounge.
The TV was on full blast, as usual. The news. Something about riots in London, and a virus. Who gave a fuck about London? Telly was always going on about bloody London.
His Nan came back in carrying two cups of tea, walking slowly, shaking her head. “I don’t know, always bloody trouble. Look at the state of you, we need to get you to hospital my boy.”
“No hospitals, Nan, don’t worry about it, I’m alright.”
She sat down beside him, looked at him again, and pulled her hands to her mouth with a big intake of breath. “Oh, look at my boy.” She started to cry.
“Aw, don’t cry Nan, I’m ok,” he hugged her. “I’m alright Nan, I promise.”
“I know you are this time, but what about next time? You’re only nineteen, you shouldn’t be getting this trouble.”
He held on to his Nan. It felt nice. He knew it was stupid, but he felt sort of saf
e when he hugged her.
Soft lad. He pulled away from the embrace.
“There won’t be a next time Nan, just some kids messing about.”
She gently touched his swollen left eye. He flinched.
“You don’t look alright.” She went to the kitchen again and returned with her medicine box. She’d had that little metal tin for years, ever since he could remember.
“Have two of these,” she passed him two ibuprofen. She took out a TCP bottle and sprinkled it liberally over a cotton ball. “This is going to sting.”
She rubbed it around his face, and she was right, it did sting.
“Nan, bloody hell!”
“Who’s the tough lad now then eh?” she said, laughing.
After a few minutes of tidying him up, she rested her hands on his. “Now then, Chris. You going to tell me what really happened?”
“Nan, I told you, I was mugged, a few lads down by the chippy this morning.”
Nan’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t that Simeon was it? He’s bad news him.”
“No it wasn’t, I told you, why don’t you believe me?”
“Because I know what you’re like! You forget, I’m your Nan, I brought you up my boy. That Simeon, his whole family, a lot of badduns.”
“Look, Nan, I told you I’m not hanging round with him any more. Learnt me lesson last time didn’t I?”
His Nan shook her head. “I just worry about you, you know I do. After what happened to your mum…” Nan’s eyes teared up.
She always cried when she talked about mum. Couldn’t blame her. He missed Mum too.
He gave his Nan another big hug.
“It’s alright Nan. I’ll be ok.”
“Oh, I hope so. I really hope so.”
They finished their embrace and Nan wiped away the mascara from her eyes. She stood up, straightening her dress.
“Now, how about a nice big dinner tonight? I was saving that chicken for Sunday, but I reckon you could do it with tonight. Will need your strength up.”
Chris smiled, his Nan was great.
“Now, you want to watch one of your films?”
“Nah, I’ve got to go out for a bit.”
“You should be resting,” said Nan.
“I know, but I’ve got to sign on, haven’t I? Or they’ll sanction me.”
“Won’t they let you off, what with you getting mugged and that?”
“You’re joking aren’t you? Bunch of bloody fascists.”
Nan shrugged, looking deflated. “Ok, off you go again I guess.”
“Don’t worry, Nan, I’ll be back for dinner.”
Chapter 3
He didn’t need to sign on, but he couldn’t tell his Nan the real reason he was going out. He needed to visit the students.
Chris took to the lift to the ground floor of the flats. The lift opened into a small concrete room next to the bottom of the stairwell. Plastic bags and beer cans lay in the corner, flies buzzed.
A broken door led to the car park. He walked out, it was a sunny day.
Amy was taking her shopping out of the car. Maybe his luck was changing. His wounds should get him some sympathy.
He ran over.
“Alright Amy, how you doing? Let me help with that.” He picked up a few bags.
“Hi Chris, I’m alright- what the fuck happened to you?” She stared at his face.
Chris shrugged. “Not much, just some lads by the chippy.”
“Oh my god, you need to get to hospital. That looks proper nasty. You feel alright?” She reached forward and touched his swollen eye. He didn’t flinch although it hurt. He breathed in. “You need a doc to see that.”
“It’s nothing, I told you, doesn’t even hurt. You should have seen the the other guys.”
Amy smiled, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”
“For real. Proper had ‘em.”
“Is that why there’s no marks on your knuckles then?”
“I used a bat.”
Amy shook her head.
“You want a hand up with that shopping?” said Chris.
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
He picked up two of her bags and carried them through the car park towards the tower block.
He glanced sideways at Amy. She was wearing the white top he liked - she looked proper fit.
“So Amy, did you think about coming down to that gig with me? It’s at the Royal Court, proper good night I reckon.”
Amy laughed. “I don’t think you should be going anywhere looking like that. Maybe when you feel a bit better?”
“I told you, I feel fine, I-”
Any wasn’t listening any more. Her sister, Cheryl, was running out of the apartment block, wearing curlers and a yellow dressing gown covered in ducks. Cheryl’s slippers slapped against the ground, echoing like someone flicking a pack of cards.
Cheryl was a pain in the arse.
“What’s up Chez?” said Amy.
“Bloody hell, girl, where you been?”
“I’ve just been doing the shopping, you know I have.”
Cheryl took a few deep breaths, her skin was red. It was the first time Chris had ever seen her move anywhere faster than a gentle walk.
“It’s going off,” said Cheryl.
“What is?” said Amy.
“Yeah, what is?” said Chris.
Cheryl looked at Chris for the first time. “What the fuck happened to your face?”
Chris opened his mouth to reply, but Cheryl had already forgotten about him and turned back to Amy.
“London is proper fucked, it’s all on the news. That virus is all over the place.”
“What virus?” said Chris.
“I thought the army had sorted that?” said Amy,
“Whatever, it’s a right fuckin’ mess. TV is going off and on and a lot of internet is down.”
“What virus?” said Chris again.
“The fucking virus that’s been all over the news you idiot.” Cheryl shook her head.
“Yeah, I don’t watch TV, do I,” said Chris quietly.
“Come on,” said Cheryl, grabbing Amy’s hand. “We’re going.”
“Where are we going?” said Amy.
“Ma reckons we should go to Uncle Tim’s caravan in Formby.”
“Won’t he be using it?”
“Who fucking cares! Better than getting the virus. He’s not going to kick us out, is he?”
Cheryl pulled her sister towards the tower block. “Chris, put that shopping under the car will you. We’ll need that,” she shouted over her shoulder.
“See you Chris,” said Amy, disappearing back into the building.
“What about the gig?” shouted Chris. But she was gone.
He stood still, two bags of shopping in his hands, staring at the door of the tower block.
“Bollocks,” he said.
Chapter 4
So far it had been a bad day. A beating followed by being ignored by Amy. Chris knew exactly who was going to feel the full force of his wrath.
Those fucking students.
It had to be them that cut the stuff.
They lived in some fancy apartment down by the docks, no doubt paid for by their rich mummy and daddy. One of them was doing chemistry or something so probably thought he was being Billy big bollocks by cutting the cutting the gear and making extra cash.
Posh twats.
You don’t come up here and mess me about, thought Chris.
He caught the train from Oriel station and fumed for the fifteen minute journey into the centre of town.
He fidgeted with the knife in his pocket.
He got off at Central station and made his way through the town centre towards the waterfront.
Town had a funny atmosphere. Seemed to be a lot of aggro about - even more than normal for a Saturday afternoon with the footy on.
Two fellas rolled out of a nearby pub, yelling and shouting. Another fella jumped out after them, covered in blood, and grabbed the other two.
; Normally Chris would have stopped to watch, but not today. He had a mission.
He dodged a few more fights and reached the Docks. He made his way up to the student’s apartment and knocked.
He waited.
He knocked again.
“Fuck’s sake,” said Chris. He was too riled up to leave. He needed to use his anger.
He tried the door. It was locked.
He shoved at it and shoulder barged it, but the door didn’t budge. All he did was hurt his shoulder.
He kicked it and it jarred his leg.
“Fuck!” he yelled.
There was a fire extinguisher at the end of the corridor. He took it and used it as a battering ram against the door, just above the handle.
Loud bangs accompanied with chipping wood. At last, some satisfaction.
A doorway opened further down the corridor and a young woman popped her head out.
Chris snarled at her and shouted, “Fuck off if you know what’s good for you.”
She immediately disappeared back into her apartment.
Holding the extinguisher high, ready to take another swing, the door opened.
“Ok! Ok!” A man opened the door, his hands held up.
Chris pulled back his blow just in time to avoid connecting with the young man’s nether regions.
“What do you want?” said the man with a wavering voice.
“James you prick, have you been cutting my stuff?”
“What?” said James, “Who the… Chris?”
“Yeah, it’s Chris.”
“What the fuck happened to your face?”
“Shut it!”
Chris barged in through the door and pushed James backwards. James back peddled, trying to keep his footing. Chris pushed him all the way to the couch, which he fell back onto.
“Whoa, Chris, what’s going on?”
“You know what’s been going on. One of you posh twats has been cutting my stuff, and I want it sorted.”
James held up his arms. His initial fear seemed to have passed. “Chris, you know us, we would never cut the stuff. We know never to mess with you.”
“Bollocks. Had to be one of you two. I don’t sell to no-one else on the docks.”
James shook his head and smiled, “Chris, why would we ever cross you. We’re not stupid enough to get on your bad side. We know how dangerous that would be.”
Surviving the Fall: How England Died Page 24