Skewered

by Jones, Benedict J

  Ella’s face lit up like the lights on Oxford Street. She reached over and opened the box. Inside was a pair of diamond earrings.

  “Oh, Dan. We can’t afford these. The council tax still needs paying.”

  “It’s sorted. Already paid it.”

  Ella opened her mouth but let the question die unspoken. She turned as the door opened. The Kennedy triplets filed into the pub. Church stood at the bar. Slim headed for the fruit machine while Monty looked over the faces in the pub.

  “Terrible what happened to their mum.”

  Dan nodded and took a deep bite from his pint.

  “You reckon they had something to do with that stuff that’s happening?”

  “What stuff?”

  “That bloke getting found on the Old Kent Road and that.”

  Dan shrugged.

  “Back in a minute, babes.”

  He got up and walked over to the bar. Church turned and looked at him. Dan nodded.

  “Sorry to hear about your mum, Church. Let me get those.”

  Church nodded once and Dan paid for their lagers.

  “If I catch the fuckers who done it.”

  Church gripped the bar with both hands as he spoke. The triplets collected their pints, nodded to Dan and headed for a corner table.

  Dan thought about what the brothers would have done if they knew. He pushed the thoughts away from his mind. Put them in the same box with the things he had done to the others. He ordered a fresh pint and a rum and coke for Ella. Three grand split four ways was never going to cut it. It was Christmas after all.

  The Listening

  In the dead of night I lie on my bunk and listen to the rhythmic snores from my bunk mate below. This is my last night and I should be glad, early release lucky me. I roll over and drop off the bunk with a slap as my feet hit the linoleum. My cellmate, Rudy, snorts, and rolls over. I sit in the chair in front of my locker and hold my head in my hands. Why did it have to be me that heard it, why couldn’t it have been someone else?

  It was a week ago, two hours after lights out when people on the outside are just leaving the pub or starting to watch the late film, when Officer Portas opened my cell door.

  “Got one for you, Styles.”

  I groaned and jumped down from my bunk. As I pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms I asked.

  “Who is it, Mr Portas?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way. Hurry up.”

  Once I’d pulled on my blue prison issue T-shirt and pushed my feet into the Nikes my brother had brought in for me I stood ready and waited for the word from Portas.

  “Out the cell and against the wall.”

  I stepped out the cell and flattened myself against the wall next to the door. Portas kept one eye on me as he locked the cell up. He wasn’t a bad hack, not like some. At least Portas always let me out of a cell when a listening was finished. Some guards thought it was a right laugh to leave you locked in till morning – with some ding mental case, scared fish or psycho mother fucker. I tried not to let that shit get to me. The listener programme had helped to secure my early release and put some ideas in my head that didn’t involve drugs and violence when I hit the pavement.

  It was always an odd sensation walking through the prison during lockdown, so quiet and lonely that I could almost believe it was just me and Portas in the whole place.

  “How’re you doing, Styles?”

  “Good, Mr Portas. Looking forward to getting out, getting on.”

  “I bet you are! Any plans?”

  For a moment I wanted to wind him up, tell him I knew about a dealer in Stonebridge Park I was going to jack for his stash. I put thoughts of it out of my head; Portas didn’t have much of a sense of humour.

  “Just looking forward to seeing my family and getting some decent grub down my neck.”

  He smiled and nodded. I hit the weights daily but no amount of exercise seemed to work off the crap food and I was heavy and solid. We’d walked through four sets of gates and were now in the oldest part of the Victorian prison when Portas stopped and looked at me sideways.

  “You smoke, Styles?”

  When I nodded he palmed a pack of Benson’s out of his pocket. He passed me a cigarette and then sparked one for himself.

  “I’ll be round to check on you every twenty minutes but watch yourself in there.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Tommy Cathedral. You heard of him?”

  I shook my head.

  “Before your time, before mine as well. He doesn’t leave his cell, orders from the home office.

  “What’s he in for?”

  I didn’t bother asking why I’d been called. Portas wouldn’t know. A prisoner calls for a hack and tells him he wants to chat to a listener, doesn’t give a reason. Just like the Samaritans.

  “Armed robbery and murder.”

  I whistle in response and Portas continued.

  “He’s old school, a proper old lag. He’ll never get out of here likely.”

  I finished the cigarette and crushed it out under my heel and picked up the butt. Portas smiled.

  “Just leave it there, it’s okay. Take these.”

  He passed me the cigarettes and a cheap disposable lighter. He turned and slid back the viewing hatch.

  “Cathedral get against the wall where I can see you and don’t move.” He waited a moment and then opened the door. “In you go, Styles.”

  I stepped into the cell and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. As Portas locked the cell I made out a figure pressed against the far wall.Cathedral was small; five five maybe, entirely bald and with wet eyes that glittered in the murky half-light.

  “Well you’re a big black bastard aren’t ya?”

  I stayed silent, let it pass; let him get to what he really wants to talk about. The little white man grinned at me.

  “Sit your arse down then.”

  He gestured to the cell’s only chair and sat himself down on the bottom bunk.

  “No cellmate?”

  “Not for twenty years.”

  “Must get a bit lonely, doesn’t it?”

  “It did.” He shrugged. “You can get used to anything, can’t you?”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “They locked me down in ’90.” Two decades, a long time.

  “How ‘bout you?” He asked.

  “Done three of a fiver.”

  “But you’re out soon int’cha?”

  He gave me his Doberman grin again.

  “Yeah, good behaviour.”

  Cathedral laughed short and sharp while he looked at me with his wet, animal eyes.

  “And you’ll be out there wetting gash and getting lashed?”

  “And you won’t be? That’s the point here isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “You’re right about me not having anyone in here with me. It’s not that I’m lonely but it’d be good to have someone to have a natter with. If I was allowed out for association it’d be the same. I’d have some mates to flap my gums with. As it is all I’ve got is this.”

  He tapped his finger against his temple.

  “Is that enough?”I asked.

  “Mostly. Not tonight though.”

  “Why not tonight?”

  “It’s an anniversary of sorts.”

  I waited but he didn’t give me anymore.

  “You mind if I smoke, Tommy?”

  “Long as you got one for me, go for your guns.”

  I passed him a cigarette and the lighter. He took a deep tug and held it for a long time before releasing a long plume of grey smoke.

  “Lovely.”

  He threw the lighter back and I lit my own snout.

  “What’s your name?”He asked me.

  “Johnson Styles.”

  “Suits ya, proper coon name.”

  “It’s the one I’ve got.” I replied not letting him getting a rise out of me. “Have yo
u got any family?”

  He gave me look that spoke of pain and violence.

  “Not anymore.”

  I sat and smoked, waiting. You can only probe for so long. Eventually you have to let them talk. After all I was a listener not a talker.

  “You know why I don’t care that I’m locked down every hour of the day, that I’m not allowed association with the other cons or that I can’t have visits from my daughters and their kids?”

  I shook my head and let him continue.

  “Because I’m not a prisoner.”

  He took another cigarette and lit it from the remains of the last one.

  “You feel like they haven’t taken everything from you, that you’ve still got something that is just yours. Something they can’t touch?”

  “No, I’m not a prisoner because these walls cannot contain this.”

  Again he tapped his finger to his temple.

  “Because you still remember what it’s like out there, what it is to be free?”

  Cathedral looked at me like I was retarded.

  “Listen to what I’m saying to you, Styles. I leave this place whenever I want. I go outside and I do whatever I like.”

  He was leaning closer to me know taking quick, sharp, pulls on his cigarette.

  “How?”

  It’s a trick most cons would murder to know. I started to wonder what locking a man up alone for decades would do to his mind. Cathedral tapped his nose with his finger.

  “Not yet, Styles, not yet. But just think ‘bout some of them people out there. You’ll have seen ‘em – weak, hollow fucking husks just stumbling through their lives while we’re locked down in here like animals. I got locked down in ’90 for knocking over a load of post offices and I tried to escape in ’91. Two screws and a slag of a court worker got cut. The slag died. No chance for me after that. A note on my file from the home secretary and that was that, twenty four lockdown, no association, no visits. They left me to rot and die.”

  His cigarette had gone out so he took another from the pack and sparked it.

  “But I beat them, Styles.Fooled ’em all.”

  “How did you do that, Tommy?”

  “I told you anytime I want I just go out there. Go out and get whatever I want; women, booze, thrills, whatever. And they haven’t got a clue.”

  “Yeah but how?”

  He threw me a sly glance.

  “I learned it from another con.”

  “I thought you never got to see anyone?”

  “I don’t, but back in ’93 I was still thinking about escape so I was digging around the bricks thinking I was the Count of Monte fucking Christo when I found it. One of the bricks was loose, the mortar around was poorly done like it’d be done different to the rest of the bricks around it. I worked it free thinking it might show me an air vent or lead to the drains or something. But instead all found was a little hollow with a roll of papers wrapped up in a waterproof pouch. The papers was left by some geezer who got locked down when this place was still new. A doctor he was, snuffed half a dozen of his patients. All birds he’d got up the duff and then done things to. God bless doctor Oliphant. He was off his head, had some right funny ideas about kiddies in the womb but he was in here for years before they finally stretched his neck. And while he waited for the big drop he figured it out - worked out a way to get out of here. All it took was practice and a lot of will – I had the time to practice, all the time in the world. At first it was just a laugh, something to pass the time. Doing his weird exercises and pushing my mind. It weren’t till ’96 that I got it to work. I was doing the same thing I always did and I just stretched myself and slipped through the bars, skipped over the walls and fences. I’d never felt so free so I kept trying and a week later I did it again. This time I found a dirty little junkie slumped in a doorway.Weak willed little bastard was so easy. I put him on like a cheap suit and walked the streets for an hour. I could taste the air, Styles, never tasted anything that sweet. I didn’t talk to anyone, didn’t even take a drink, I just walked the streets and tasted the air.”

  I looked at Cathedral then and his eye’s seemed to glitter even more than before. He was staring at me, his eye’s boring into my skull and I could feel a headache starting behind my eyes.

  “What you doing, Tommy?”

  “Nothing, Styles, nothing at all.”

  I fumbled a cigarette out of the pack and stuck it between my dry lips. Cathedral leaned forward and lit it for me.The pressure behind my eyes began to fade.

  “You’ve got a strong will, Styles. Good for you.”He didn’t look happy. “You’d be surprised at how many people aren’t strong in their minds at all – not all junkies and losers either. I pick and choose now.”

  “So why not just stay out there?”

  Cathedral wagged his finger at me.

  “Still tied to this earthly vessel.” He said running his hands over himself. “Course I’m trying to find a way around that. But it seems like whoever I take always has that little spark of life left in them, enough to push me out eventually.”

  He was looking angry then.

  “Not fair. I’ve got this power but I’m still stuck here. I deserve life more than most of the people out there and in here, I’m stronger. All I need to do is find someone I can overwhelm and then I’ll have a new life, another chance.”

  “Why are you telling all this, Tommy?”

  “Had to tell someone, didn’t I? Done it all in the last fifteen years – the best booze, drugs, and the most expensive hoors, blown ten grand at the tables. Fucked. Lived. Killed. But always back here, always.”

  “And what now?”

  He sat silently, head down, lost in thought. When he looked up he gave me that savage white grin of his.

  “A new game. Hide and fucking seek, Styles. You get your head start and then I’m coming for you.”

  “Why?”

  “You need to ask? A cunt like you, a little bottom feeding thieving slag pretends to turn over a new leaf and then you get to thinking that you’re better than the dregs in here, better than me!”

  “I don’t think that, Tommy. I’m not better than anyone.”

  Cathedral stood up then face read and spittle foaming in the corners of his mouth.

  “I’m gonna get you, Styles. Kiss your family and your life bye-bye. There ain’t no real reason. I’m doing it because I can.”

  “You think I’ve changed so much as to let a racist little fossil like you threaten me and mine? You’re not right in the head, you been in here on your own too long, Cathedral.”

  Cathedral sat back down.

  “I’ll be seeing you, boy.”

  I banged my fist on the cell door and a minute later Portas appeared at the hatch.

  “Cathedral, you know the drill. Against the far wall. Styles you step back as well.”

  Cathedral stood straight backed against the far wall looking through me. As I stepped out, I caught a whisper from him.

  “See you soon.”

  I felt goose bumps erupt on my flesh. Portas relocked the door.

  “You don’t look so good, Styles.”

  “It’s late and it’s dark, Mr Portas. I just need my bunk.”

  I passed him the lighter and the remains of the pack of Bensons.

  *

  Two days later I was sat watching Rudy play pool when Danny Campbell sat down next to me. Danny was a junkie from Wood Green in on a cheque kiting beef. His hands weren’t twitching like they normally did, so I guessed he’d managed to score some smack from one of the Barons.

  “You alright, Danny?”

  I wondered if he’d come over because I was a listener. He turned and his mouth twisted into a familiar grin, one that didn’t belong to Danny the junkie.

  “Just wanted to have another little chat with you, boy. How’s that sister of yours? She’s got two little ‘uns hasn’t she?”

  My hands turned to fists and I was halfway out of my chair when I stopped. I wanted to break Danny�
�s chicken bone arms but I knew what’d happen if I did. My early release would be gone. I put my voice low and dangerous.

  “Fuck off now or I swear down you won’t be walking too good, bitch”

  “Hark at her! Remember what I told you, Styles, I’ll be seeing you.”

  Danny blinked then he blinked again.He looked up and seemed to see me for the first time. He saw my eyes and his hands started twitching.

  “You okay, Styles?”

  “Fuck off, Danny.”

  He got up and moved away as quick as his shaking legs would let him.

  *

  I stare at my face in the mirror of my locker. I should be glad, happy at getting out. I shouldn’t be letting the ramblings of some nut job get to me. He must just be jealous of me getting free, must’ve put Danny up to it. I keep telling myself that as I climb back up to my bunk but I can’t quite make myself believe it.

  Processing is a blur and I soon find myself outside the gates. I’ve got a one way ticket to a meeting with a PO and the chump change they give you on release. I spy a couple of dealers near the gates but ignore them and start walking towards the train station. I forget meeting the PO, forget going to my sister’s. Instead I buy a half pint bottle of cheap brandy and head for the frontline. I do the rounds and call in my markers and two hours later I’ve got three hundred in my wallet and a .38 snub tucked in my waistband. The city seems the same as when I went inside, a few of the faces have changed but that’s all. I wonder how much it has changed for someone who’s been locked down for two decades, how much it has changed for Tommy Cathedral.

  I take a mouthful of brandy and then stow the bottle before heading into a pub at the back of Kingsland Road. Three drinks and a plate of jerk chicken with rice and peas and then I’m back on road. I head to an address I used to know and beg that it hasn’t changed. She answers the door in a white silk robe that hangs open to show off her candy pink underwear and caramel curves.

  “Easy, ‘Lissa.”

  “Mr Styles, always good to see an old friend, what’s it been two years?”

  “Three and change.”

  She ushers me inside the plush flat.

  “Drink?”

  I nod. She passes me a brandy and then she asks if I want the usual. I nod and drop the money on the side and she lets the white silk drop to the thick carpet.