“I’ve got a girlfriend,” Clint reminded him.
Troy rolled his eyes but dropped it. Troy sat down on his bed and Clint stood awkwardly near the door.
“What’s the party in aid of?” Clint asked.
Troy smiled. “Celebrating my success, of course.”
“Success?”
“Shut the door, and I’ll tell you, bro.”
Clint went to shut the door, but Tamar burst through, clearly the worse for wear. Clint turned to Troy, who nodded in consent. Clint closed the door, and leaned against the wooden frame. Tamar sat cross-legged on the floor examining a pair of Brandy’s discarded knickers.
“So what success you going on about?” Clint asked.
Troy grinned at them both.
“I’ll tell you, but you got to keep your mouths shut, right?”
Clint nodded and Tamar looked up, expectant.
“Okay, well, you know someone took out Wright, yeah?” Troy began. Clint and Tamar nodded. “Well, that was me.”
Troy’s smile widened and he looked ready to burst with pride.
“You were the one that shot him?” Tamar asked, awestruck. “Fucking ace, man. That’s wicked.”
“Ain’t it,” Troy said. “You should’ve seen his head explode. Perfect aim.”
“Awesome.”
Tamar high-fived Troy, but Clint remained frozen by the door, his mind racing.
“What about Sasha?” he asked.
Troy and Tamar both looked round, surprised.
“What about her?” Troy asked.
“You killed her too.”
“Yeah, ’course I did,” Troy nodded. “Bitch disrespecting my girl. Can’t have that, can I?”
“Too fucking right,” Tamar said, slapping him on the back.
Clint didn’t have an answer. Troy scrutinized him. Tamar, who had finished his can, left the room to get another.
“What’s your problem?” Troy asked, turning on Clint. “Were you banging her or something?”
“No, don’t be stupid.”
“So what’s with you? Looks like you been punched or something.”
“I don’t get it,” Clint said. “Why Sasha? Did Brandy put you up to it or something?”
Troy laughed, and Clint flinched.
“Nah, bro, she don’t give me orders,” Troy replied. “Look, these things happen sometimes. Wrong place, wrong time, and all that.”
Clint looked up at Troy’s face, surprised. Maybe Troy wasn’t as callous as he’d feared.
“You didn’t mean to kill her?”
“She just got in the way. I was aiming for Wright, and she jumped right in front of the bullet, the stupid bitch.”
“So you regret it?”
“What?”
Troy’s voice was edgy and he looked wrong-footed, surprised by the turn in the conversation.
“You regret killing her then?” Clint pressed. His voice sounded urgent, and Clint was surprised to see Troy looking angry.
“Can’t you just be fucking pleased for me?” Troy said, his voice rising. “I take two people out and everyone gives me respect except for you.”
Clint looked into Troy’s eyes and noticed for the first time how cold and distant they were. His features were hardened into stone, a look of rage evident in every line and movement.
“Sorry,” Clint said, back-tracking. “I am pleased for you, mate, honest.”
Clint watched Troy relax and his face returned to normal, though his icy gaze remained. Troy held out his hand and Clint shook his hand, then patted him on the back, much as Tamar had done.
“Now, let’s carry on with the party,” Troy said, leading Clint out of the bedroom. “And don’t forget, not a word to anyone.”
Clint nodded his head and let Troy lead him back into the crowded lounge. Looking around, Clint no longer saw just a crowd of smiling, laughing, drunken faces. Now they seemed cold, hostile, ready to lunge at a moment’s notice.
They were here celebrating Troy’s promotion, either aware that Troy had blood on his hands and celebrating, or else not knowing but not caring either. He eyed Brandy sitting on the couch, knocking back a vodka and diet coke.
He’d attributed her earlier silence to grief, but now a darker theory formed in his mind. She knew what Troy had done, he was certain of it now. She hadn’t come to the funeral because she knew she was partly responsible for her death. Hell, for all he knew, maybe she had been pleased that Sasha had died. After all, they’d had an argument the day before.
A smiling Tamar offered him a can and Clint took it, drinking deeply. The flat seemed unwelcoming now, sinister even, and he was shocked that it had taken so many years for him to notice it.
The Banks brothers had always seemed so powerful when he was younger that he’d felt nothing but respect for them. As he’d grown up, they became a source of respect through association and great suppliers of booze and drugs.
Now he saw them for what they really were. Thugs and thieves. Murderers. Their mother turned a blind eye, uncaring as to what her sons did.
His stomach rolled over and Clint put the half-finished can on the first surface he found and pushed his way through the crowd and out the front door.
In the fresh air, his head began to clear and he knew that Troy was beyond his reach. He no longer understood his best friend, unable to comprehend his way of thinking. Sasha’s death, Shaniqua’s death. They were needless, but Troy was so proud of it. Whatever remained of his former friend was buried under layers of anger and hatred.
* * *
Trent walked down the alleyway, looking out for signs of movement. The phone call from Jessie had been cryptic.
She was in trouble. She and Jazz had fallen out and she’d been in the middle of a sentence, on the verge of tears, when the phone had cut out. He knew whereabouts Jazz lived and had proceeded to leave the party, to Troy’s chagrin, and jogged towards the house.
Now, though, he was starting to wonder if he had made the right decision in not telling anyone where he was going.
He could easily handle himself against anyone who tried to start a fight, but the jumping shadows and Jessie’s scared voice made him edgy.
He thought longingly of the gun he had stashed back at the house, and the knives he usually carried for extra protection, all safely back at the flat. He only had his fists.
Turning out of the alleyway, down another, darker, passageway, he saw movement at the end. Jessie ran towards him, her face crumpled in relief at seeing him.
He put his arms around her and held her close against him, his racing heart slowing down a notch.
“You’re okay, Jess,” he murmured to the top of her head, “You’re safe now. I’m here.”
Jessie was quiet and he released her. Looking at her face, there was no sign of the tears he’d imagined when she’d phoned him. Her make-up hadn’t run, her hair was still in place, just the same as she’d looked when she’d left the flat a few hours ago.
“What happened?” he asked.
Jessie shook her head, “I’m so sorry.”
From the end of the passageway, a hooded figure appeared, walking confidently towards them.
“Get behind me,” Trent said, instinctively moving forward, protecting his sister.
“They’re not after me,” Jessie said. Her voice was quiet. “They’re after you.”
Trent turned and saw another figure coming from the opposite direction. They were trapped. They’d used Jessie as bait to lure him out, alone.
The hooded figure in front of him stopped and lifted his hood, revealing his face.
Jayden Healy.
He could guess at the identity of the hooded figure behind him. Corey.
“What did I tell you?” Corey said, his voice delighted. “So fucking easy.”
“I never doubted you,” Jayden said. “I thought she might have been double-bluffing.”
“What the hell do you want?” Trent asked.
“Payback,” Jayden replied. “F
or Kurt, Sam and Wright.”
“They deserved everything they got.”
“Tut tut, you should learn to keep your mouth shut,” Corey shouted.
Trent raised his fists, keeping Jessie as sheltered as he could when their attackers were coming from two directions.
Jayden moved forward, and Trent swung a fist at him, but Jayden was too quick. His blows sent Trent crashing against the wall, stunned by the speed and agility with which he had struck. A sharp kick to the back of his knee sent him to the floor. Corey lashed out, sending blows raining down on his body, but Trent wasn’t going to give up without a fight. He threw a punch and heard the satisfying crunch as it connected with Corey’s chin. Corey disappeared, but Jayden took his place, kicking him relentlessly. Corey re-joined the fray, punching Trent, a right-hook shattering his nose, and Trent groaned in pain.
He couldn’t win. Trent’s body ached and his vision was blurred. He could no longer distinguish which brother was where.
Jessie, he thought with desperation.
“Let Jessie go,” he said, spitting out a mouthful of blood.
Jayden and Corey began to laugh.
“Please,” he begged. “Don’t hurt her.”
Jayden’s face swam above his own, looking down on him, a smirk playing on his lips.
“We won’t hurt her,” he said. “She’s on our side.”
Trent aimed a fist at him, but Jayden easily knocked it away with his foot.
“Don’t you dare -” Trent snarled, but Corey kicked him hard in the ribs, winding him.
“Your precious little sister set you up,” Jayden continued. “It was her idea in the first place. Maybe you don’t inspire as much respect in people as you think you do.”
Jayden and Corey both laughed, and Jessie swam into Trent’s line of sight.
“Jess,” he said, choking on the blood and a dislodged tooth, “Jess, are they serious?”
Jessie smiled down at him, bright teeth in a dark, scowling face.
“Yeah, they are,” she said. “Like I said, they’re after you, not me.”
Trent opened his mouth to speak but the brothers’ fists rained down on him again and he saw Jessie standing a short distance away, watching the scene unfold with detached interest, Jazz standing beside her, arm around her shoulders, before everything went black.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The overhead strip-lighting made everyone look sick and the beeping of the machines made him feel nervous.
Looking down at his brother, lying motionless in the hospital bed, Troy was surprised at how different Trent looked from his normal cheeky self. The bruises and bandages aside, Trent seemed so vulnerable now, his lean frame looking skeletal and delicate. His head and face, wrapped in bandages, looked painfully fragile.
A hand on his shoulder startled Troy. He looked up to find Tyrese standing at his side. His eyes were dry now, but Troy shuddered at the memory of his eldest brother sobbing unashamedly when they’d first seen Trent, bloodied and lifeless, as he’d been rolled into the hospital by the ambulance crew.
An anonymous caller had rung for the ambulance, giving Trent’s location, before hanging up. The police, according to their mother, had tried to trace the call but only found a payphone and had given up. Still, Troy thought, at least somebody had called. It was only too easy to see someone in need and walk away, not wanting to get involved.
In Troy’s mind, there was no doubt as to who was responsible for the beating. The beating that could have ended Trent’s life, if not for the anonymous caller.
“It was Jayden and Corey,” Troy said, looking up at Tyrese.
Tyrese, not taking his eyes off Trent, nodded. “I know it was.”
Troy was rearing to go. He wanted to get them back. So far the Banks brothers had targeted only small fry, the dealers and associates of the Healy brothers. They had taken it a step further and gone for the big guns, and Troy was eager to follow suit and give them a taste of their own medicine.
“Are we taking them out then?” Troy asked, trying to hide the eagerness that bounced from every syllable.
“Not yet,” Tyrese said. He looked tired, having stayed up for two nights in a row, determined not to leave his brother’s side. “We need to do this properly.”
“How do you mean?”
“They’ll be expecting reprisals, so they’ll be waiting. They’ll be ready.”
“I don’t care,” Troy said. “I’m ready too. I’m gunning for them.”
Tyrese turned to face him, huge shoulders hunched.
“I know you are, and so am I. But we can’t rush into this, we’ve got to plan it properly or we’ll be easy pickings for them.”
“That’s what they’ll be expecting though. Maybe if we do it now, before they’ve got time to get ready or prepare or -”
“No,” Tyrese said, strict, his mind made-up. “We’ve got to do Trent proud, and getting our heads blown off or ending up in a bed beside him ain’t going to help any of us.”
Troy considered his words and reluctantly nodded in agreement. Tyrese was right. Being hasty was stupid. Jayden would be only too happy if they rushed straight round, judgement clouded by anger and revenge.
“Don’t worry,” Tyrese said, putting a gentle hand on Troy’s shoulder again. “We’ll sort them out for what they’ve done. And you’ll be my right-hand man.”
Troy looked into his face and smiled back at his brother. Tyrese was not only going to let him be a part of taking down the Healys, but he was letting him be his deputy in lieu of Trent’s hospitalisation.
The door of the private room opened and their mum walked in, a cardboard tray of coffees in her hands.
Tyrese took the tray from her quickly, freeing Keskia’s shaking hands, and she began kneading her hands together, her face lined with worry, bags under her eyes.
“Thanks, mum,” Tyrese said.
“I couldn’t get Jessie on her mobile,” she said, standing motionless in the doorway. “I left another voicemail for her, telling her what’s happened.”
“That’s good,” Tyrese said, hugging her. “Jess wouldn’t want to see her brother like this anyway.”
Keskia nodded solemnly and Tyrese guided her into the chair at Trent’s bedside, and Keskia dropped into it, quickly clasping Trent’s hand in hers and disappearing into her own thoughts.
A few minutes later, she broke the silence of the room.
“I know what you’re both thinking,” she said. Her voice was hoarse and quiet, but filled with a resolution that Troy had never heard come from her before.
“What’s that then?” Tyrese asked, looking at her.
“You want revenge,” she said, and raised her hand before Tyrese or Troy could speak. “Let me finish. You want revenge on the people who did this, and I don’t blame you. But you’ve got to do the right thing.”
“We will,” Troy said with force.
Keskia looked up at him and caught his eye, and Troy saw something in her look that made him uncomfortable. The adoration with which she’d always looked at him was gone, replaced by something else. Did she know about Shaniqua and the others? No, Troy told himself, she knew nothing.
“If you know who is behind this, which I have no doubt that you do,” Keskia continued, averting her gaze. “Then you have to go to the police.”
“The pigs?” Troy asked, shocked.
“They can catch the people responsible and lock them up in prison, which is where these animals belong.”
“We can’t go to the pigs, don’t be stupid,” Troy spat.
“Mum, Troy’s right, the pigs can’t do anything now,” Tyrese said, trying to appease them both. “But we can.”
“No,” she said, her voice cracking.
“They deserve it,” Troy said.
“That’s true,” Tyrese agreed. “And don’t think they wouldn’t do the same to one of us. It’s how the world works, mum. An eye for an eye, you know that.”
Keskia was quiet for a moment, considering
his argument. She swallowed hard, and Troy wondered if she was about to start crying but she didn’t.
“And what happens then? After you’ve put somebody else in hospital. They’ll say exactly the same thing as you just did. Then it’ll be one of you in here.”
“We can handle ourselves,” Tyrese said, and Troy nodded fervently in agreement.
“So could Trent,” she said, looking down at his unconscious figure. “Now look at him. I couldn’t bare if one of you were here as well. And what about Jessie?”
“What about her?”
“What if they go after her? Or me? I just can’t face any more of this.”
Tyrese shook his head.
“I want you to promise me,” Keskia said. Her voice was still quiet, yet determined. “Tyrese, I want your word. That you won’t go after whoever did this.”
“Okay,” Tyrese said. Troy looked up in shock at his brother’s agreement. “I promise you.”
Keskia closed her eyes and nodded.
“Thank you,” she said, before retreating back to her own thoughts.
Troy shot an angry glance at his brother, eyes questioning. What was he playing at? After everything they’d just discussed, and now he was brownnosing their mum just because she was worried they couldn’t take care of themselves.
Tyrese gestured towards the door.
“We’re going out for a fag,” Tyrese said, and Keskia nodded.
Troy followed Tyrese through the hospital, watching with a smirk as nurses and doctors moved out of the way for them, intimidated by Tyrese’s bulk. A few nurses looked curiously at them, but Troy wasn’t in the mood for that, even if the uniforms were on the skimpy side.
When they reached the sliding doors and stepped into the fresh air, Tyrese shook two cigarettes out of his packet and passed one to Troy. Troy lit his, savouring the first drag. He hadn’t had a fag in hours and with all the stress they’d been under, it was a miracle he hadn’t sparked up in Trent’s room.
“What are you playing at?” Troy asked, turning on his brother. “You said we were sorting them out.”
“We are,” Tyrese said, tone casual. “What I said still stands.”
“What about all that bullshit you were telling mum a minute ago?”
The Goldsworth Series Box Set Page 30