Metropolitan Dreams (Cityscape Book 1)

by Mark A. King

  Leo coughed and wiped his mouth. A red smear lined his cuff. “W—what was that for?” he spluttered.

  “Charlie. Remember her? My—” Robbie didn’t now know how to describe her. “What were you doing robbing a newsagents’, Leo? Those drugs have fried the few brain cells you had left.”

  “I needed money.”

  “Yeah, I got that. For what, exactly?”

  “Does it matter?” Leo said while adjusting his saggy jeans. He smelled like he’d soiled himself.

  A small globule of vomit rose into Robbie’s mouth. He winced as he swallowed it down. “Yeah, it matters. Two people are dead. Someone I cared about got badly hurt. It’s caused me no end of grief. So you tell me what you needed the money for, or—”

  “Or you’ll hit me again?” Leo stepped back into the shadows and hunched into a ball.

  This was more like Theo from school, the weak and pathetic schoolkid who had begged for help. No pumped-up attitude and don’t-fuck-with-me retaliation. Robbie had helped Theo to be reborn. Had shown him how to fight back and get respect. But it had gone too far. Theo was brittle, but when he became Leo, he didn’t know any limits. “No. I’ll walk away. Just so you know, Leo, I’m likely to walk away whatever you tell me. But I’m sure as hell not going to help you unless I understand what this is all about. Let’s go for a walk—you can explain everything.”

  Leo made a whimpering noise. He threw his arms about as if swiping at unseen insects. “I’m not going anywhere, Rob. Don’t you get it? If I’m seen, I’m dead. I’ve messed up big time.”

  “So you keep saying. Take some deep breaths, calm down, and start with the newsagents’.”

  “We needed some money—”

  “We?”

  “Me and this kid I convinced to join me. I needed help. You refused my offer. This kid realised it was a chance to make something of himself. It started with petty shit. Knock-off products, shoplifting, a bit of dealing. That sort of thing.”

  “But one thing led to another. One day you’re a model citizen. The next you’re a killer.”

  Leo scratched his arm frantically. “Don’t take the piss, Rob. It wasn’t like that. The rewards were good. Being part of a gang felt like being in a family, they treated me right, Rob. They understood how to get inside my head. Make me feel good about myself. I felt powerful and respected. Do you know how that feels, Rob? It’s like the best feeling in the world.”

  “What the fuck happened, Leo?”

  “They needed money for an exchange. Some merchandise—people—had been ... ordered.”

  A middle-aged guy walked past them with his dog. He looked anywhere but at them. Robbie waited for the dog-walker to be out of earshot. “What. The. Fuck!”

  Leo shifted his weight between his twiglet legs. He paced a few steps forward, a few back, tutting loudly and stroking his bum-fluff chin. Robbie could see through the charade. This was all a show, tricks Leo had used since he’d reinvented himself. But the front was gone; it was like he didn’t even believe in his own lies anymore.

  “Don’t be so blind, Rob. It happens. It’s easy money. I didn’t have any problem with it. They said the customers purchasing people would be a bit more grateful than the ones you have to deal with when supplying Class A gear.” Leo sniffed and ran his stained-red cuff across his nose. “I never got that far. They told me to get the money for the exchange. Then when I fulfilled the order, I’d get a cut of the money. That’s how it works. It’s like a business. At least I was trying to make something of myself. You just became a slave to the first bit of skirt that showed you an interest.”

  Robbie clenched his fists. “And you thought I’d be into this sick crap?”

  “It’s got to be better than the life you were living. Working in some dead-end job. Hooked up with some bitch that is only using you.”

  “Watch what you’re saying, Leo. So you, Mr. Success, think I’m a loser? That I’m soft?”

  Leo held up his hands and shook his head. “No. But there is something you should know. The robbery went wrong, but it was worse than that. The other guy, the kid I called Pug, he took something he shouldn’t have. We broke into a house a while back, another job. Except this one wasn’t really a robbery. We were supposed to find information. The owner was in, but he was out cold, like he was in a coma or something.

  “I didn’t realise at the time, but Pug nicked his phone. I only realised when Pug slipped and dropped the phone, right before he cracked his skull open. I’d seen the phone at the house. I’d seen him looking at it, but didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to nick it. We were supposed to turn it over. Turns out it belongs to my employers. So not only am I screwed because they want to remove all traces of involvement in the newsagents’ killings, but this phone is an even bigger problem.”

  Robbie scratched his silver hair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What the hell do you expect me to do about any of this? It’s not like I’m going to get involved, is it?”

  “Too late, Rob. They know you’re a mate. I’m sure they’ve been following me, just waiting for the right opportunity. They’re probably watching us right now. Probably figuring that you’re helping me anyway. Turns out if I’m fucked, you are, too. So you’re involved, whether you like it or not.” Leo snorted.

  Robbie lashed out, shoving Leo and making him stumble into a small area of bushes. Robbie strode into the dark green shadows, so they were both hidden from the road. “You twat, Leo. What the hell do you think you’re playing at? This isn’t some sort of game.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Rob. That’s not wise. I asked you for help, and friends help each other. Now you disrespect me.” Leo’s eyes were wild, focused only on Robbie. “That’s not the sort of thing I can let anyone, even you, get away with.” Leo charged, head ducked, aiming for Robbie’s midriff. Branches and twigs snapped around them.

  Robbie didn’t have time to move out of the way. He only had time to take a sharp breath, anticipating and preparing for the pain.

  Leo was a bundle of bones in a thin layer of skin, but even so the force of impact into Robbie’s ribs caused him to shout in pain. He might have cracked a rib. Leo’s momentum pushed Robbie backwards, and his legs buckled. Robbie felt the dull impact of the uneven ground, knocking further wind out of him as Leo pushed him harder into the pavement. Robbie struggled to breathe, in the way that he’d seen asthmatics do on medical dramas. Gasping, wheezing, trying to gather panicked air into his lungs.

  Leo jumped on top of Robbie, straddling his chest—further restricting his breathing. The other man’s weight felt more like an anchor than the feather Robbie knew Leo to be. Robbie’s chest, still recovering from the blows, tightened, and burning calls for help swam up his throat, demanding air.

  Robbie tried to push Leo off him. It should have been easy, like swiping airborne dust, but Leo was firing punches with elbows, knees, anything—unpredictable blows in a tornado of chaotic fury.

  Robbie had only seconds to react. His vision was starting to fade, and every attempt to fight Leo off made him weaker and less able to claw for the few clean breaths he needed.

  You might have taught yourself to fight, but you’ll always be Theo, that weak little kid. I’ve always had to scrap and survive. I had no option when Dad came home looking for someone to rough up. Dad got what was coming to him. I will not let you beat me, Leo. You’re sloppy, and the misguided energy of rage will fade quickly, Leo, then you’ll pay—just like Dad did.

  In Leo’s flailing onslaught, he’d forgotten two rules. The first: don’t start a fight you can’t win. Two: incapacitate your opponent as quickly as possible. Robbie had been so busy grasping for air and pushing Leo away that he hadn’t fully realised his arms and hands weren’t pinned-down. A school-boy error that Leo would pay for.

  Robbie deflected a couple of blows. Leo was already tiring. Robbie scooped in some short, sharp breaths and pummelled Leo in the ribs, alternating the punches, left, right, knuckles cracking against bone. />
  Robbie felt good. It was more than just simple vengeance on Leo for the events that had occurred and for putting him at risk. It was like every punch counteracted the frustrations of Robbie’s life. Charlie, her control and ingratitude. Wallace and the factory. Leo and his braggart ways. At least he was now getting what was owed to him, and Robbie was the one to dish it out. It felt great to be alive. This was how it felt to be a real man.

  Screw Leo. He had it coming.

  Leo was barely holding on, so Robbie rolled and reversed their positions, spinning on top of Leo. Robbie opened his hands and smashed the base of his palm upwards, at full force, into Leo’s nose. He heard a sickening crunch, followed by an inhuman yelp.

  “You tosser,” Leo spluttered. “You total wanker! There was no need for that. How was I supposed to know your bitch of a girlfriend would be in there? I didn’t want to hurt her, but I had to teach her a lesson—it’s not wise to intervene in an armed robbery. I stuck the knife in good. Then there was that woman in the shop. You really don’t want to fuck with me, Rob. I’m not the same guy you used to know.”

  “Not much of a gangster are you, Leo? Maybe I should go back to calling you Theo. What do you reck—”

  He wouldn’t? Surely he wouldn’t?

  Robbie saw the flashing metallic glint of a knife. He had no time to think, no time to be subtle. Robbie didn’t have room to block the knife—he smashed his palm back into Leo’s nose, except this time there was less resistance, and Leo went limp.

  Maria

  Although it caused my eyes to sting with a monsoon of salty tears, I thought of Am’ma and how grateful I was for everything, especially her love and protection. She had planned for the trip so well.

  My backpack had not left me since the airport. Inside were a number of water bottles. I drank from one, being careful not to drink too much. I was grateful for the water, although it was warm and tasted old.

  Am’ma had cooked and packed food, too. I had a large tinfoil wrap full of Kuzhalappam—tube cake. I liked the salty versions more than the sweet versions. She had also baked my favourite, Achappam, mould cakes, in giant snowflake shapes, a taste of home.

  In the toilets of Mansion House station, I looked at my lovingly packed foods and knew I could not eat them. To eat them would be to taste home and to lose some of the last things that Am’ma had given me.

  The second-to-last thing Am’ma had given me was the Travelcard, a flimsy card that I held firmly in my jeans pocket. It was now my lifeline for travel and shelter. The very last thing Am’ma gave me was her life. I needed to stay safe for her. This was what made me continue. This was what stopped my tears every time they started.

  My eyes were sore, from tiredness, from crying, and from trying to keep them open. Every time I closed them, I saw the thin, snake-haired man stab Am’ma, over and over until I gasped and released my prisoner breath, realising it was just a memory. I could do nothing to change it.

  The same man appeared in my dreams. He visited me as a monster from the computer game Block Alchemy, where I was an adventurer building new worlds, making objects of beauty from raw elements, chemicals, and minerals that I quarried. In the game, at night, the monsters came. In my dreams, the snake-haired man was the monster I knew in the game as the Crawler. A creepy, staring, hateful creature intent on stalking and destroying my worlds.

  Before I slept I prayed. When I woke I prayed. I prayed in loops, endlessly. I prayed that Am’ma was safe in heaven. I prayed that I would live and survive. I prayed that this world, London, was just a nightmare, that I would wake and someone would rescue me and I would be home again.

  But there was no rescue. I knew the police couldn’t be trusted. I didn’t trust them at home, and I had been given no reason trust them in London, either.

  When I had escaped from the newsagents’, a woman had stopped me outside the station. She’d said that she was a police officer, but she didn’t look like one. I was just desperate to get away to somewhere—anywhere—that put me far away from the place where Am’ma was taken from me. I went into the Tube station and headed west, towards the city, where I hoped I would be just another traveller. On the Tube nobody paid any attention. Everyone was busy—with phones, newspapers, looking at adverts—anything to avoid looking at other people. This was good for me. Other people might not want to look around, but I looked. Monsters lived; I had seen them. They had taken Am’ma.

  Adults are scared of terrorists, money worries, and relationships. Older people have forgotten monsters. They don’t see the dark creatures that hide inside the hearts of other adults—they can’t even see them in themselves. Those monsters were what I looked for, and they were all I saw when I blinked.

  The Tube was always warm, dry, and crowded. Crowded was good—it made me feel safer. I normally got a seat—people gave me sideways looks, watching how I stood. They often moved to let me sit, without saying anything. I was pleased when this happened. I could not face talking to anyone.

  In the days and nights since Am’ma was taken from me, I moved between the stations and the trains. Hiding, it was what I was good at. I spent time in the larger stations, like Oxford Circus and Liverpool Street. They were good for going unnoticed, but they were vast, and my legs started to buckle and tremble when I walked too far.

  I knew from the stories at home that to be homeless was to be a target. My cousins had told me tales of homeless children feeding on rubbish, drinking filthy water that dogs would not drink, and clawing through dirt to scavenge items that could be sold, only to hide at night for fear of being beaten, abused, or even set alight.

  They had told me stories about older girls from my village who had been attacked by many men who also filmed the attacks. The men then blackmailed the girls for money, or worse. Do as they said, or they would sell the videos in the shops, where there was no shortage of customers, or post them online for everyone to see. I didn’t believe such things until one of the girls took her own life rather than endure the shame and shunning by the entire community. She was called horrible, evil, dirty names, even at her funeral.

  Am’ma had always told me to move away from trouble and hide if possible. I realised that moving between the trains and Tube lines did not require much walking or ticket checking, and I could easily see the faces of the people riding with me.

  Mansion House was a small station, not great for passing time or hiding, but one I could use to freshen up and gather my thoughts. The toilet floors were sticky, and there was a strong smell that I couldn’t place.

  I tried to listen before leaving the exit doors, but all I could hear were the station announcements, which were like someone talking underwater.

  I opened the door, wiping my fingers on my jeans afterwards. I dried my eyes on the cuffs of my denim jacket. I could not see anything—but the familiar smell that I still couldn’t place was stronger outside. I headed back towards the platforms, keeping in the flow of people with my head down. I worried about cameras—I did not trust the police. Women and girls did not always fare well at the hands of men and police. That woman who’d followed me from the newsagents’ had said she was police, but she’d stood by and done nothing as my mother was killed.

  I looked everywhere for the thin snake-haired man. I saw him in the vacant faces of the passers-by and in the shifting shadows of station corners.

  Is he coming for his precious phone that I stole? Is he coming to finish the job by killing me, like he did Am’ma?

  There is a state of being crazy, whacky, and not normal. Beyond this is what my cousins called crazy-cray. Maybe I was crazy-cray, but it kept me alert and moving and safe. In this state, I saw a man lurking in one of the archways. He was not the snake-haired man from the newsagents’—what little hair he had left fell in lank, greasy strands. He smiled at me, and his mouth was full of misshapen and diseased teeth, like he’d cleaned them with sugar and coal for years.

  Looking at him, I had that feeling behind my nose and mouth that I get when I gulp f
izzy drinks too quickly.

  The man rubbed filthy hands on tatty trousers. He sent shivers up my spine, and I couldn’t help but think he looked like a Block Alchemy Crawler in the process of respawning.

  I tried to forget about him. The Tube is not short of strange people. I moved through the crowds in transit and headed back to the platforms. But whenever I dared to glance back, the Crawler-man was following me.

  My legs and hands became more uncoordinated as I hurried. What little control I had over them disappeared at anything more than walking speed.

  This made me more noticeable. This made me prone to trips, stumbles, and accidents.

  I looked again. He’d gained on me.

  My legs were like rubber, and my heart pounded so fast that I could hear its loudness in my ears.

  I headed for some doors in the distance. I hoped that there were staff nearby that would put the Crawler off.

  Breathe.

  In, count to five. Out, count to seven.

  Relax my muscles. Tense them. Relax.

  The man barged into me.

  I gasped and stumbled into the middle-aged lady in front of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  She huffed and straightened herself, but did not look back to see me.

  The Crawler came beside me. He stank of liquorice and tobacco. His vape-stick jutted from his pocket like a discarded, bejewelled finger.

  He grabbed my arm tightly, pinching my skin so tightly that I was sure it would be bruised. He walked with me, so close in the mass of people that it was impossible for others to see he held me.

  “The Tube is not a safe place for young people, princess,” he wheezed. The reek of aniseed almost made me hurl. “You never know what strange people you might bump into. You’re lucky I found you. I’ll look after you. Just come with me.”