by Kerry Kaya
Paul followed suit, and downing his drink, he moved forward, his heart already heavy at the thought of what could be waiting for them at the top of the stairs.
As they ascended the staircase, the foul stench Bernie had warned them about hit them full on.
“Fuck me.” Placing his hand over his mouth and nose, it took all of Paul’s strength not to gag. He could see now why Bernie was complaining so much. The smell, in his opinion, wasn’t just the usual stale scent of body odour. No, it was much more than that and could only be described as an unhealthy mixture of ground in dirt, stale sweat, and vomit, with a cloying underlying scent of chemicals added into the mix.
They made their way through the flat, and entering the lounge, they found Lucas slumped on the floor, his back against a sofa, his head on his chest, and his arms limp. Beside him on the polished floorboards was a used hypodermic syringe.
“What the fuck is this?” Paul stared down at the needle as though it was alien to him, then looked to Lucas. “What the fuck is this?” His voice began to rise, and kicking the offending syringe across the floor, his expression became murderous. “Who the fuck supplied him with this?” He turned his head to look at Jason, his eyes mere slits, and his tone accusing. “Did you know about this? Did you know he was jacking up?”
“Of course I fucking didn’t.” Jason’s face was hard. “What do you take me for, eh?”
Grasping the T-shirt of the nearest person he could physically lay his hands on, Paul bellowed into the face of a skinny man whose rodent like features reminded him of a ferret. “Who supplied the fucking brown?”
He’s out of it, mate,” Jason said, his voice flat. “You’re not going to get any answers from him.”
Paul looked down at the ferret faced man. He could literally feel his blood begin to boil, and with it his temper, that had escalated to terrifying heights. He may have earned a living, a very good living to be precise, selling narcotics, but heroin is where he drew the line. Only the lowest of the low would touch the shit, and for most users, it was the end of the line. There was no coming back once the brown was running throughout their bloodstream. “Nah, these low-life fucking junkies brought skag into my boozer.” He began punching his fist into the man’s face, using as much force as he could physically muster. Before long, his knuckles were grazed and bloodied and the man’s face was a swollen, bleeding mass.
He’d barely even broken out in a sweat when he dropped the unconscious man unceremoniously to the floor and proceeded to drag him by his greasy hair through the apartment. At the top of the staircase, he roared out Bernie’s name.
It took just seconds for the big man to make an appearance in the hallway, with Darren and Charlie following closely behind.
“Clear the pub out. We’re closed.” He kicked the first of Lucas’s acquaintances down the stairs. “And get these fucking degenerates out of my sight, before I end up committing fucking murders tonight.”
Bernie didn’t need to be told twice and knew for a fact that it was more than his life was worth to argue the case. They would lose a fortune closing down the pub for the night, but what was the alternative? The full force of Paul Mooney’s wrath? No, he may have been a big man and more than capable of taking care of himself, but even he didn’t fancy his chances where Mooney was concerned.
Once the room had been cleared, Paul sank into a chair and held his head in his hands. Heroin, fucking heroin. How the fuck had it come to this? He looked up, and locking eyes with Jason, shook his head sadly. “He’s going into rehab. I don’t care if the bastard shouts, hollers, or screams the fucking place down. He is going, either that, or I’ll make him go cold turkey myself. I’ll lock him in the fucking cellar if need be.”
Jason nodded his head in agreement. He continued to study Lucas. How they hadn’t noticed how far down he’d slipped before now was beyond him. The telltale signs were not only there, but they were glaringly obvious—from the dark rings underneath his eyes, to his hollow cheeks and sallow skin. It was all there, only they had been too wrapped up in the businesses and their own lives to even notice just how low their friend had sunk.
Opening his eyes, Lucas took one look at his two friends stood over him and scooted across the wooden floorboards, his fingertips reaching out desperately to clasp the dirty syringe.
Jason watched him in disgust. “Looks like the cellar it is then,” he said dryly.
* * *
Tears of frustration slipped down Keisha’s cheeks, and bending down to scoop up both her and her daughter’s belongings from the pavement, she continued to scream out a tirade of obscenities.
“You no good bastard.” She heaved her daughter up onto her hip. “You no good fucking ponce. All you’re good for is the slags you have to pay for, that’s about your fucking limit, ain’t it? You’re nothing other than a low-life pimp and you’ve got the front, the fucking audacity, to call yourself a bad man?” She snorted out a derisive laugh. “More like fucking banana man, you jumped up prick. I know you, you just remember that, boy.” She pointed a red painted talon toward him and her chest heaved from the exertion of their latest fight. “I know the real you. I still remember that skinny kid from the estate, the same kid everyone used as a joey, the one who was picked on and bullied by all and fucking sundry.”
Her words brought Devan charging back out of the house. “I don’t pay for no woman,” he sneered, “and that includes fucking you.” He kicked the clothes she had gathered up across the pavement, and stooping down, he grasped her jaw tightly in his fist. Gone was the mockney Jamaican accent. His voice was now pure cockney. “Now fuck off, before I kick you up and down this bastard street.” His grip tightened. “Don’t test me, Keish, because you are walking a thin line with me, a very thin fucking line.”
Keisha swallowed hard. Without his money, she would have nothing. Surely, he didn’t expect his own daughter to go without food or a roof over her head? “Is that so?” Pulling herself away from him, she spat out the words, and placing little Chanel on the floor, she began to throw into a black bin liner the clothes, makeup, and toys he had thrown out of the house they’d once shared.
Well, two could play at this game, and with nowhere else to go, she decided that she would pay his mother a visit. Cristiana had never been able to resist a sob story, and that, coupled with the fact that she was actually the mother of her only grandchild, was enough to guarantee a roof over her and her daughter’s heads, despite what Devan might have to say about the situation.
With as much dignity as she could physically muster, Keisha swung her daughter up onto her hip, then curled her fist around the neck of the bin bag. “See you around,” she grinned. “Oh, and if I were you, I’d get yourself checked into the nearest gum clinic. It’s common knowledge that those two slags are riddled. Why do you think the last parlour they worked at slung them out on their ear?” She paused as if thinking the situation over. ”Gonorrhea I think the rumour was, still,” she shrugged her shoulders, “it could be worse. It could have been fucking AIDS.” She paused once more for effect. “Or maybe it was the other way around, anyway,” she grinned innocently and glanced down at his nether regions, “you take care of yourself, Dev, and don’t forget to get yourself checked out.” Of course it wasn’t true, not that Devan was to know that, and let’s face it, he was so obsessed with his cock that with a little bit of luck, even if it was for just a few short moments, she really hoped that the bastard fully believed his dick was about to turn green and drop off. It served him right, as far as she was concerned.
* * *
Devan slammed the front door closed. His throat felt dry and he automatically slid his hand down the front of his unbuttoned jeans and had a quick feel around. He was no quack, but nothing, much to his relief, felt off or out of place.
Fucking Keisha. All she ever did was cause him hag and the fact that he had fathered her child meant he was stuck with her for the considerable future. Still, he told himself he didn’t have to pander to her every wan
t and need, he grinned nastily. In fact, if he so wished, he could make the next eighteen years of her life as miserable as sin. After all, he was Devan fucking Barkley and he wasn’t widely known for his sunny disposition. No, it was the violence and the sheer lack of human concern that he was notorious for, and other than his mother, women meant fuck all to him. They were ten a penny, as far as he was concerned.
Walking through to the main lounge that housed three large black leather sofas, a king-sized bed, and a sound system that he liked to blast out day and night, he took one look at the two scantily clad women in question and jerked his thumb toward the door. “Get the fuck out of my yard,” he sneered.
Their mouths dropping open, the two women practically ran from the room, so intense was their fear of the big man.
“What’s that all about?” As he watched the retreating woman who had just moments earlier been sitting across his lap, legs akimbo, Marty Hanratty raised his eyebrow quizzically.
“Fucking slags,” Devan growled. Keisha had been right about one thing. He was spending far too much time thinking about his cock of late. “Did you drop off the brown?”
“Course I did.”
“And?”
Marty cocked his head to one side, his expression suddenly serious. “That fucking Alek Symanski. I don’t trust the fat cunt; he’s a squealer.” He shrugged his shoulders, stuck a joint between his lips, and screwing up his face, lit up. “You mark my words,” his voice was thick from the smoke he’d inhaled, “he’s going to bring us trouble.”
Snatching the joint from Marty’s fingers, Devan took a deep toke. Alek Symanski was a trader, or to be more precise, he was what was known on the street as a middle man. He had a vast network and could get his hands on virtually anything. Nothing was out of his reach. It had been Alek he’d gone to for the heroin. Naturally wary, he didn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him, and considering Alek’s considerable bulk, it was fair to say that he wouldn’t be able to throw him very far. Still, Alek had his uses, and as long as he toed the line, Devan was happy to deal with him.
“Forget that fat cunt, did you drop off?”
Marty grinned. “Yeah, it was a piece of cake. Fucking skag heads, they’ll inject any old shit into their bodies.”
Devan nodded happily. It was common knowledge that junkies would sell out their own grannies for the price of a fix and he knew there and then that his plan to use Lucas Vaughn as a way of getting Paul Mooney’s attention was well under way.
* * *
With Paul’s words still echoing inside his mind, Lucas shook his head nonchalantly from side to side. Across his face was the familiar sneer that he saved for whenever his two friends were in close proximity.
“Did you hear what I said?” Paul growled.
Noting the clenched fist at Paul’s side, Lucas was still shaking his head as he scrambled unsteadily to his feet. “Fuck you.”
The punch to his face was both sudden and unexpected, and dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes, he held his arm protectively across his head and face. It was all he could do to ward off the blows. It was a first for Paul to physically lash out at him, and he was reminded once more of the man’s strength. That and the fact that he had finally pushed his old friend too far.
“Did you hear what I said?” Paul breathed heavily through his flared nostrils, and his fists remained firmly clenched into tight balls. “Has it finally sunk into that drug addled bastard brain of yours that you are done, that you are going into rehab, even if I have to drag you there myself?” He stabbed his finger forward in a menacing fashion. “And believe me when I say this,” he spat, “you are staying there for the duration until I,” he poked his thumb into his chest, “deem otherwise.”
It took all of Lucas’s strength to not scream out a tirade of obscenities. They couldn’t do this to him. They couldn’t have him locked away, even though a little voice at the back of his head told him they could. As Paul had already stated, he would use his money and his reputation to see to it that he was locked up for the duration. His name alone would be enough to employ a team of heavies to stand guard over him, day and night, and with the fear of Paul’s wrath ringing loudly in their ears, it would be more than their life was worth to not see to it that he remained locked up.
“Fuck you.” He couldn’t stop himself from screaming out the words. Just one last hit that was all he needed, and then they could take him wherever the fuck they wanted. As he was hauled up from the floor and dragged from the room, all the while kicking and screaming, his last thoughts were of the dirty syringe and the fix he so desperately craved.
* * *
Stella was on the war path, and as she paced the length of her sister-in-law’s kitchen, she glared at her daughter. One moment, she wanted to hug her and the next, she wanted to fell her to the ground. The stupid, stupid girl had no idea just how much having a baby would change her life. She was only young, a baby herself, and here she was talking about bringing a new life into the world. She wanted to wipe the smile off of her daughter’s face. The dreamy expression was beginning to royally piss her off.
“But he loves me, Mum.”
“Loves you?” Stella rounded on her daughter. “He loved getting you into bed, you mean. You just wait until that baby is screaming the house down. Is he going to love you then? Is he going to love you when he realizes that he is stuck with you for the remainder of his life, because let’s all be honest here, that’s exactly what having a baby means.” She took a deep breath. Inside her chest, her heart thundered and she placed her hand upon it. “Loves you?” she spat. “His life ain’t gonna change, is it? He can still go out when the need takes him. He can still go out and shag his way through half of bastard London if he so wishes, but you,” she pointed a manicured talon in her daughter’s direction, “you, my girl, will be the one left behind. You will be the one going out of your mind with worry, wondering what it is he is getting up to when he says he is out, supposedly working all hours of the bastard day.”
Cathy raised her eyebrows. Instinctively, she knew that Stella was only saying out loud how she really felt deep down. It was no secret that she had never trusted her husband, even though he had never given her cause not to. It was in her nature to be suspicious and it was just one of the traits from her brother that she had inherited.
“Stell,” she began.
“No.” Stella screamed. “You know what I’m saying is true.” She shook her head from side to side, her eyes flashing dangerously. “For all you know, Paul could have taken more than one flyer over the years. How do you know that he hasn’t been warming some little slag’s bed while he was supposedly working?“ Spitting out the words, she lifted her fingers in the air, using them as quotation marks.
Cathy rolled her eyes. To sleep around behind her back wasn’t in her Paul’s nature. He was as loyal as they came and she trusted him tenfold.
“And what about your father?” Stella’s voice rose even further as she glared at her daughter. “Have you stopped for one moment and thought about what he is going to say about all of this?” She laughed bitterly. “No, of course you fucking didn’t. As long as little Katie is okay, then fuck everyone else, that’s your motto these days, isn’t it?”
“Stella, that’s enough.” Cathy’s voice was sharp. She could see that her warning had the desired effect, and as her sister-in-law slumped down into a chair, she stood up and walked toward the large American fridge. Taking out a bottle of wine, she collected three glasses from the overhead cupboard. “Have a drink and calm the fuck down. She’s not the first girl to be caught out, and certainly won’t be the last.” She poured them each a large glass of wine and sat down once more.
Swallowing down a mouthful of wine, Stella shook her head sadly. “All that education,” she said with disappointment, “wasted. All your life, Kate, you’ve wanted for nothing—private schools, skiing lessons, horse riding lessons—and for what? To end up pregnant at nineteen?”
Katie
wiped the tears from her eyes. She might have been a fuck up in her mother’s eyes, but already she loved her baby. It had happened, and her parents were just going to have to get over that fact. She pushed the glass of wine across the table and away from her. “I’m keeping it, Mum.”
“Of course you are,” Stella answered bitterly. She chugged back her wine and started on her daughter’s. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get the boy wonder himself here and see what he has to say about all of this.”
Cathy rolled her eyes. She patted her niece’s hand and reached for her mobile phone. Her Paul may have a temper on him, but tonight she was going to need him to play the role of peacemaker. He may well be the only one who could save young Jaden’s life.
* * *
Katie could barely look at Jaden, and as her cousins ranted and raved, the first hand of fear gripped at her heart. Why wasn’t he sticking up for her? Why wasn’t he telling them all that he would stand by her, that he was her man? It had to be the shock, she told herself, the shock her news had brought. She should have told him first, should have let him know the score before telling anyone else her secret. It was unfair of her to let him find out he was about to become a father in front of her entire family.
“Who is he?” Kieran’s voice was loud, and as he clenched his fists into tight balls, he roared even louder. “Because I’m gonna fucking kill him when I get my hands on him.”
Licking at her dry lips, tears pricked the back of Katie’s eyes and she shook her head from side to side. She’d known all along that her family wouldn’t take the news well, that they wouldn’t roll out the red carpet and celebrate the fact that she had a life growing inside of her. In their eyes, she was still little Katie, a child not a woman, but to see them hell-bent on wanting to string the culprit, her child’s father, up by his nether regions, she felt positively terrified.