Breaking East

by Bob Summer

  ‘And if Joe turns up?’

  ‘He won’t. He just wants me to stay away, remember?’ That was an out and out lie. Of course he’d come looking, or at least send somebody else, but hey, it slipped out by accident. ‘Just be quick. In case of anything, okay?’

  We stood on the ridge at the top of the quarry, nobody else around, no movement, no anything.

  ‘When you’re ready,’ I said.

  Stuart cleared his throat, fidgeted and scanned one last time before thumbing in the number. He put the phone to his ear and drew a swift deep breath, blowing it back out hard, like at a candle on a birthday cake. ‘Dad? … Don’t tell anybody I rang … bring five grand cash - now. To the quarry. Else the Law will be round your house. I mean it. Place it down by the water, behind the biggest rock and then leave. Oh and have a happy life.’ He stabbed at the phone and handed it back. ‘Woah, phew.’ He panted and sweated as he paced about. ‘I feel like I’m in an old spy thriller of some sort.’ He rubbed his face with the hem of his tee shirt. The muscles on his stomach were tight and pronounced. Tick.

  ‘Mm.’ I turned away. Must concentrate. ‘Was that enough of a threat, do you think?’ I screwed up my face and adopted Stuart’s deep tone. ‘I mean it?’

  ‘He’ll know I mean it.’

  ‘Okay.’ Even their threats sniffed of super snobby politeness.

  ‘All this drama is a bit embarrassing, really,’ he said. ‘We’re probably over-reacting, right?’

  ‘No.’ I looked at the time on my phone. ‘How long should we give him?’

  ‘Don’t know. What do you think? Half hour?’

  ‘Where will he get that sort of cash from in half an hour?’

  He frowned and answered like I’d asked the stupidest question ever. ‘In his safe.’

  ‘Five grand?’

  He nodded, hands on hips. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well if it’s so easy to hand, perhaps we should only give him ten minutes.’ The unfairness and bitterness of how some people had it so easy sharpened my words and I could see they poked at him.

  He squared his jaw. ‘Okay. Ten it is. You’re the one who does this sort of thing all the time, after all. What with all this experience you’ve got.’

  ‘Ha de ha. Five grand? I wish.’ I scoffed, deliberately misunderstanding him. ‘I’ve never even seen that much dosh.’

  ‘Well you will today. Let’s see how quickly it changes your life.’

  It sounded like he had a chip of his own to lug around. Our team of two didn’t seem to be gelling quite as we’d hoped.

  Ten minutes is a long time.

  Stuart yo-yoed between embarrassed and pooping his pants in panic. And he started to sweat. ‘He’s not coming.’

  I checked the time again. ‘It’s only been two minutes.’

  ‘What if he’s gone straight to the Law and dobbed me in? Or to Crawlsfeld? He’ll know it was us who broke into his house by now, won’t he? Or even Joe…’

  ‘Your dad doesn’t know Joe.’

  ‘No. Okay. Hurray for that. He won’t go to Joe.’ He jigged his knees and his feet shifted in the gravel. ‘Out of all the options,’ he said. ‘I’d have kind of preferred Joe.’

  ‘If you kept still and shut the hell up we’d hear him coming sooner.’ I said.

  The silence felt palpable. It clogged thick inside my ears like earplugs, as if the air itself tried to stop us from hearing anything. Talk about paranoid.

  We heard the high whine and saw the dust clouding above the road long before we spotted the moped bounce its way along the track. Stuart kept his eyes focused on it and started that irritating jig again. ‘Shall we try and get the bike off him too?’

  His dad looked ridiculous, like he’d never ridden the thing before. He wore a suit, the jacket open and flapping about, his tie stuck out over one shoulder.

  ‘Is it his?’

  ‘Of course. Well, mine. We used to go over the old motocross track when I was a kid. Used to be good fun, back in the day.’

  ‘Then, yes. We need to get to Craffid somehow and that looks like as good a way as any. And we can stay off the main roads.’

  ‘Right.’

  Neither of us moved. My knee hurt like buggery, I didn’t feel up to a sprint across the open gravel.

  Stuart took a deep breath. ‘It’s going to have to be me who collects the bag and rides the bike.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you got there eventually. Just took a little time.’

  He shot me a look. Ha, not so perfect after all.

  Stuart’s dad careered through the broken gate, the bike’s back wheel skidded in the dry dirt, and the engine squealed loud like the whole world would hear it. When he turned it off and stuck the bike up on its stand, my ears continued to ring. Nothing else came up the track behind him. To get to the water he had to climb over the quarry’s lip and down into the pit. He adjusted a backpack and looked up and around the rim. Stuart and I ducked, my face squashed painfully against the sharp gravel.

  Stuart wide-eyed, mouthed, ‘I’m going to hide behind the rock to wait for him.’ The sweat bubbled on his top lip and even more ran down the side of his face from his hairline.

  I nodded and played dead, didn’t so much as breathe while Stuart skidded away.

  Stuart’s dad stood on the edge of the pit and looked down towards the lake, hands gripping the straps of the backpack, his chest heaving. Thank God he didn’t look my way. As he dropped to his haunches to scurry down towards the water I eased over the edge and did the same towards the bike. I’d meet Stuart there. If I couldn’t help collect the money, at least I wouldn’t be a pain in the backside and delay our getaway. The last thing I wanted was for him to think he might be better off without my tagging along. When Gemma came back to Basley I wanted her to be holding my hand.

  The bike stood propped on a stick thing and was much bigger than it looked from up above. And tattier. I gripped the handlebar to test its weight. Definitely heavier than it looked too. I sat astride and kicked at the stand, like I’d seen it done in those movies I’d been banging on about, and almost toppled over when the stand sprung up into its underbelly. I was leaning over looking to see how to pick it back out again when the thrum of another vehicle came up the road behind me. Something big, like a lorry. I looked up to the quarry rim, no sign of Stuart. Through the gate came a van, complete with The Law logo. Holy sheeshing claptrap.

  I don’t know which bit of which movie I’d seen it in, but I turned the key and stamped on the pedal sticking out by my good leg. When the bike started I assumed the rest would be easy. All I had to do was steer, right? Wrong. Mopeds don’t just move - things need to be squeezed, twisted and manipulated. I did it all. Somebody shouted and I did it all again, only with a bit more desperate pleading, and the bike’s back wheel span, the front reared, and I was away. Slowly. The brainless Reds ran after me so I twisted and tweaked until my knuckles turned white. Stuart scrambled down the side of the quarry yelling at me to wait for him, but that would have meant, not only figuring out how to stop, but risking getting caught by the gorillas in the bandanas. Instead I veered towards the gate with the intention of leading the Reds in a circle to give Stuart time to get to the bottom. The Reds, not having a brain cell between them, were too daft to consider splitting up. Dumbskies of the first degree. I relaxed my hands to slow the bike as much as I dare, without falling over, and Stuart leapt onto the bike behind me.

  He yelled into my ear. ‘Change gear!’

  ‘What? How?’

  He reached both arms around me and shuffled my hands off the handlebars.

  ‘I need to hold on! ’

  He squeezed me between his arms, the engine roared, the front wheel reared, and I slid back into his crotch and squeaked.

  Stuart’s breath warmed my ear. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘You squeaked.’

  We were sitting eating some bread and cheese bought from a farm. ‘My knee hurt, okay?’

  ‘
Oh, right, okay.’ Stuart smiled. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘There’s nice.’

  ‘We could skip the Craffid and train plan, and steal some fuel from somewhere. Ride the bike the whole way. What do you think?’

  ‘They’ll be looking for the bike. I bet they’ve already got in touch with other counties telling them to watch out for us. And fuel stations have high security.’ Without the right paperwork even five grand couldn’t buy us fuel.

  ‘I meant steal from a farm or somewhere not a fuel station. I’m not a complete pancake.’

  ‘Still too risky. Besides, that bike makes my arse sore.’ My backside was about the only bit of me that didn’t ache after my beating and I planned to keep it ache-free. ‘I vote we stick with plan A.’

  ‘Fair enough. I suppose risking another theft charge would be a dumb move in any case.’

  When Stuart rolled over so easily I got the impression he’d only suggested the idea so he could let me have my own way. I’d seen Joe use the same trick on his lady-friends, as he liked to call them. He’d let the little lady of the moment make a few minor decisions so when something major cropped up he played at being all super reasonable, But honey, you’ve had your way all the time lately. Now it’s my turn. He’d go gooey eyed, bat his lashes in mock flirtation and simper. Just this one teeny thing. Trying to make them laugh. I swallowed. Well, I wasn’t going to let Stuart do it with me. Not that he simpered and his face looked pretty much expressionless. But I didn’t want him to start playing games with my head ― we needed to focus. We had to find those kids and get them home, not only for their sakes, or Stuart’s, but for mine. Call me selfish, but I had to get back into Joe’s good books. I needed the resistance group like I needed my blood. I knew nothing else and had nowhere else to go. What started out as a way of keeping my hopes alive for promotion had now escalated to my keeping my home and Joe, the only family I had left.

  I broke little bits of bread off a loaf and eased them to the back of my mouth past my split lips and aching teeth. ‘I wish you’d got soup,’ I said.

  ‘Do you want me to go back and ask? They might have some. Or ice-cream might be good.’ He looked at me, straight-faced.

  ‘No. Stuart. I don’t think it would be a good idea to draw any more attention to ourselves, do you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. Stop moaning if you don’t want me to fix it.’

  Fair point. Annoying though.

  We counted the money. Stuart handed two big bundles over to me. ‘In case we get separated.’

  I held them in my lap. ‘I need to shop for some new gear. I’ve worn these clothes for days and they’ve got blood all over them.’

  ‘You girls and your shopping.’

  He wore all the latest trends. He used shops where people like me couldn’t even get through the door and he had the cheek to roll his eyes at me. ‘You think I look fit to travel, do you? Blend in? With all this blood and crap all over me?’

  ‘It suits you. The urban fantasy look.’

  ‘Don’t be a dick.’

  He scoffed and stood up. ‘You are so touchy sometimes, do you know that? I was having a laugh. You do know what one of those is, don’t you, Atty? It’s where people try and look for the bright side in life.’

  I stood too. ‘Not all of us have a bright side. You and your let’s give Daddy a ring for Five. Frecking. Grand.’

  ‘I’m scared too, Atty.’

  ‘Yeah, you would be. But I ain’t. I’m fine, thank you very much.’ I sounded a proper twonk.

  He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. ‘It’s easier to be angry than afraid, I get that. But …’

  I held my palm in front of his face. ‘Don’t you dare start your educated psycho babble on me.’

  He stopped.

  I moved my hand and rubbed my palm on my thigh. The silence and the way he pursed his lips and stared at the floor, told me loud and clear I’d stepped over a line.

  ‘Whatever, Atty.’ He looked up, straight into my eyes. ‘Whatever. I’m not going to argue with you.’

  I hated reasonable people. They got right into my orifices.

  It’s very hard not to touch the driver when riding on the back of a bike. I sat as far back as I could, my legs spread wide, and my hands on my knees.

  Stuart sighed. ‘Hold on, Atty.’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  He let go of the handlebars. ‘Just hold on. I’ve already scraped you up off the floor once. I don’t want to have to do it again.’

  He was such a nob. I grabbed his tee shirt but stayed well back on the seat. ‘Happy?’

  He drove off without a word.

  We left the bike in an old stable block at the top of a hill overlooking Craffid. I’d never been to a city before and my stomach bounced around in excitement. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to be talking to Stuart and asked him if he knew where to go for the train station.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But we can go to the shops first. Then maybe a hotel. We both need to freshen up.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We might be better off getting a train in the morning. The station is a proper doss house at night so best avoid it if we can.’ He didn’t sound sulky, simply cold and detached. And he avoided my eye. Fair enough. Better to keep a professional relationship anyway. All that frolicking good fun at the beach had been nonsense.

  I set off ahead of him. ‘Okay, your call.’ He could take this one, the next, if important, would be mine.

  When we walked around the shopping centres it soon became apparent who had all the money. The cities, or rather those places that received overseas dignitaries, boasted fully funded teams of specialist security officers rather than the useless rabble of wannabes that made up the Law at home. No wonder they didn’t allow the likes of us to move in. Our money might be good enough, but once we spent it they wanted us to sod off home to our hovels. It almost made me keep Stuart’s money in my pocket. Almost.

  I picked various items of clothing off a rail in a small select store. The girl behind the counter glowed bleach-clean pretty and showed off the same blonde, sun-kissed hair as Stuart. He smiled at her and she cutesy smiled back.

  I waved the clothes in front of her face. ‘Can I try these on, love?’

  ‘Course.’ She indicated a curtain in the corner and fiddled with something on a shelf under the till.

  Stuart hovered nearby, his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  Yeah. Course he would, being male and therefore so, so predictable. I refused to look at either of them. She was likely skin shallow and brain dense. Good luck to him.

  In the changing rooms I took the first good look at my face. My eye, although beginning to open, had no white to it. The pupil was pin-tiny, the usually ice-blue iris had a dark bottle-blue glassy look to it and the rest glowed a vivid red. My upper lip was so swollen it blocked my left nostril and I couldn’t close my mouth over my teeth without wincing. Where Stuart had pulled the muck out of my cheek, a blue-purple bruise surrounded a thick black line. What part of my clothes didn’t have blood stains, had sand or dust or some other muck stuck to it. I looked like a walking, or rather a hobbling, bomb victim. I held the new clothes up against me, still on their hangers. Yep, they’d do.

  ‘That was quick.’ Stuart looked up from the magazine article that bleach-features was showing him.

  ‘Yep. No point in hanging around.’ I tried a pointed smile. Sheesh it hurt. ‘I’m not one for tarting myself up. How much?’ I shoved all the clothes onto the counter.

  The girl slapped the magazine closed and took the money with a pout to put a trout to shame.

  I smiled more easily. ‘Thanks. You’ve been too, too kind.’

  Stuart half-waved to her from the doorway. ‘Thank you.’

  We stopped in another shop further along the street where Stuart bought some new gear and then we went to a chemist. He filled a basket full of various lotions and potions. I looked at the aisle upon aisle of beauty products. Painted girls with
fluffy hair and talons that could pluck your eyes out studied the shelves. I wouldn’t have known where to start. Perhaps they taught such things in school alongside geography.

  ‘Do you need anything else?’ Stuart said.

  ‘Na.’ I tried to pull a face, still hurt. ‘It’s for girly girls, isn’t it? Not for the likes of me.’

  He went to the desk to pay. I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted him to say, but he could have said something. Even if I argued with him, told him off for being daft and patronising. I might have faked a blush and simpered a little and said, Yeah, right. My beauty is au natural. But no, he just walked away.

  Chapter 13

  Stuart carried all the bags and I limped alongside as best I could. The sun hadn’t set but started to dip behind the buildings, lengthening the shadows and cooling the streets. People moved quickly, their heads down, keen to get home. Stuart led the way to a hotel which looked all glass and period furniture. A bloke in a fancy tuxedo opened the door and kept his eyes on the ground. Talk about posh.

  Not many places put real people on the doors or in their reception areas. At most hotels, people arrived and touched screens to check-in. They stood on scales and were weighed, measured, and given a spinal alignment assessment so they could be allocated beds that matched their exact physical requirements. But this hotel had a woman with blood-red nails and a beehive smiling at us from behind a blue granite desk. She wore an old fashioned tailored suit and high spiky heels.

  When Stuart signed his name as J Frank I understood why he’d brought us for the pricier, personal touch. A top-tart receptionist is more easily fooled than a face recognition box. He showed her a fake ID and when she glanced at me he came over all authoritative. ‘She’s with me. She’ll only be here an hour or two.’

  Oh nice. Consider me flattered.

  ‘Of course, sir.’ The woman’s face had such a thick layer of slap pasted over it she had the plastic look of a doll. ‘That will be an extra three hundred pounds.’