Broken Windows

by Janet Pywell

  * * *

  The following day, the filming is finally over, and I’m walking down the road, arm in arm with Peter, heading for the tube station when I hear my name called. I stop and turn around. Adam has caught up with us, and although he’s not out of breath, he’s breathing heavily.

  ‘I’m worried about Monika.’ His pale blue eyes remind me of a frightened animal.

  ‘Why?’ replies Peter.

  ‘She’s not answering her phone.’

  ‘Maybe she’s busy.’ Peter moves on and tugs my arm, so I walk with him.

  ‘She still hasn’t shown up, and it’s the second day.’ Adam’s pale face is distressed.

  ‘She probably wants to be on her own,’ Peter replies.

  ‘It’s not that.’ Adam places a hand on Peter’s trench coat. ‘We had a code. A signal – but she’s not responding.’

  ‘What’s the code?’ asks Peter.

  Adam looks at me when he replies, ‘She’s to mention pizza in a message, you know, like ask me for a pizza. Then when I say, Four Seasons, she replies Margarita.’

  ‘So?’ says Peter.

  ‘She hasn’t replied.’

  ‘Did you ask her for pizza?’ I ask Adam.

  ‘Yes, last night. I wanted to make sure she was okay. She was really pissed off with her auntie again. She said she couldn’t film with us and couldn’t be involved with the Parks. She was going home to speak to her mum—’

  ‘So, you haven’t heard from her at all today?’

  Adam shakes his head. ‘I called her first thing and then whenever we had a break, but she’s not answering at all.’

  ‘Maybe she’s busy, or she’s found another friend.’ Peter attempts to pull me away.

  ‘No! She would always talk to me. Especially—’

  ‘Especially what?’ I ask.

  ‘Especially after what happened to Ali.’

  ‘Come on, Mikky. Maybe she wants to get away from all of this.’

  ‘Peter, stop!’ I unhook my arm from his and stand glaring at him. ‘What if they’ve taken her?’

  Peter stares back at me and then replies slowly, ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘Because,’ says Adam, and we both turn to look at him, ‘because she wants out, and she was ready to tell the police everything. She came up with this crazy idea that the police would give her immunity and a new identity, and that she could live somewhere else in the world if she told them everything.’

  ‘Everything about what?’ asks Peter.

  Adam glances over his shoulder before he whispers, ‘About the Asian.’

  ‘Is that what Ali was going to do?’ I ask.

  Adam won’t look at me, so I take a step forward.

  ‘You must be honest with us, or we can’t help you. Tell us, did Ali go to the police? Did he want to get out?’

  ‘I don’t know! Ali was different. He was braver.’

  ‘If you know so much, why don’t you tell us everything?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ Adam protests. ‘I’m not one of them.’

  ‘You certainly risked Mikky’s life the other night – with your friend Badger.’ Peter snarls.

  ‘Badger wouldn’t have hurt her. Besides, I would have looked after her—’

  ‘But we didn’t know that, did we.’ Peter walks menacingly toward Adam. He pulls his hands from his trench coat pocket, and in a nanosecond, Peter pushes Adam against the wall and is holding his arm across his throat. He pulls up his hoodie and tugs Adam’s T-shirt from his jeans.

  ‘Peter!’ I shout, but he pushes me away with his elbow, and I realise what he’s doing. Holding Adam securely across the throat, he scans Adam’s chest for a dagger tattoo.

  ‘There isn’t one,’ I say, leaning closer to look at Adam’s chest.

  Peter lets Adam go.

  ‘Do you believe me now?’ Adam tucks in his clothes.

  ‘Not until you tell me who Badger is,’ Peter replies.

  Adam pauses before whispering, ‘He’s my brother.’

  * * *

  ‘Could this have anything to do with the body that turned up in the canal?’

  ‘Mikky!’ Peter admonishes me in front of Adam.

  ‘We’ve got to save her,’ I argue.

  ‘No, Mikky. It’s not happening! You’re not going near Badger or any of the other gang members, I mean it. And that’s final!’ Peter says. ‘Don’t storm off, Mikky. That’s what you always do; you walk away and then do your own thing and get into danger!’

  ‘I don’t!’ I stop and turn around.

  Peter walks toward me and says in a reasonable tone, ‘Look, we can’t get involved.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Joachin.’

  ‘Since when did you turn a moral corner? Where’s the adventurous veteran I met last year?’

  ‘He grew up. He has a family now.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s it? That’s what’s stopping you—’

  ‘It’s not stopping me—’

  ‘Of course it is! What if that was your daughter they’d taken? What if it was Aniela or Zofia who was being held against their wish?’

  Peter doesn’t reply, so I press on.

  ‘Monika doesn’t have a father, mother, or sister to protect her – she has no one, and she’ll end up at the bottom of the canal just like all the other poor kids who’ve had a rotten start in life—’

  ‘This isn’t about them, Mikky. It’s about you, isn’t it?’ Peter holds my arms and squares me to face him.

  ‘You had a shite upbringing, Mikky, I know that. Lots of people do, but you can’t save them all. You can’t be everyone’s sister, mother, or best friend.’

  ‘She came to me in Morocco, and she trusted me. She told me what they’ve done to her—’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ He lets me go.

  ‘Then help me, Peter. Please! Look, the police won’t do anything now because there’s no proof she’s missing and her auntie won’t report it, but if I can get into their gang, find her, and find the Asian, then you can call the police and come and find us. It’s simple. Let’s not overcomplicate it.’

  ‘You think you can walk into their seedy place, wherever it is, confront the Asian, and ask for Monika to be set free?’

  ‘No, but I can threaten him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll wear a camera. You can view everything and relay it back to the police. I know you can stream it live on the Internet if you want to, we can video it all.’

  ‘He’ll shoot you.’

  ‘He won’t.’

  ‘Why not?!’

  ‘Because I’ll tell him that I can get the real dagger for him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll tell him that I can steal the real dagger that once belonged to the shah.’

  Peter laughs. ‘He doesn’t want a dagger! He deals drugs.’

  I square my shoulders. ‘If it’s worth $3.3 million, you can buy a lot of drugs for that.’

  Peter stares at me then says slowly, ‘You’re going to steal a dagger worth $3.3 million and give it to him …’

  ‘Yes, but he must let Monika free.’

  ‘Her life is worth that much?’

  ‘Everyone’s life is worth more than that, but I can’t save everyone.’

  ‘So,’ Peter says, sounding amused now rather than angry, ‘you’re not making sense! How are you going to steal the dagger? You don’t even know where it is.’

  ‘No, but I’m going to find out!’

  Peter stares at me. ‘You’re completely nuts, Mikky. You’ll never be able to do it.’

  ‘Watch me.’

  * * *

  ‘I’m not watching you do anything. We’re going to Dixon House.’

  Peter pushes both Adam and me in the direction of the charity building, and we walk, in silence, until Adam asks, ‘Why are we going there?’

  ‘Matt will call Monika’s auntie and find out if she is okay. We’re not stormtroopers, and we’re not going around to her
house all guns blazing.’

  Adam grins. ‘That’s a shame.’

  If Matt is surprised to see us at Dixon House, he doesn’t show it. His cheeks are still red from filming out in the cold, and he ushers us into his office and closes the door behind us.

  ‘Adam has something to tell you,’ Peter explains.

  Matt listens carefully to Adam’s explanation of the pizza code that he and Monika have, to make sure they are safe and well, and how Monika hasn’t responded.

  ‘So, rather than going to the auntie’s house, we’d like you to phone and make sure she’s okay,’ Peter sums up our request.

  It’s clear that Matt doesn’t want Adam – or us – in the room, so he suggests we wait outside in the canteen while he calls Monika’s auntie.

  Peter helps himself to coffee.

  Adam plays on his phone, and I stare out of the window into the courtyard, assessing the small group of homeless smokers, wondering how their lives took such a dramatic turn and how easily mine could, and did, for several years. It spiralled out of control. The only thing that saved me was my art, and through that, I developed a love of paintings. I remember the countless hours I spent in churches, as I learned to appreciate the old masters, tapestries, and artefacts. It was, fortunately for me, my refuge, my safety net, and ultimately what saved me from a life of alcohol and drugs, as I travelled with my parents like gypsies through Spain.

  ‘Mikky?’

  I look up, and Matt is standing at his office door, waving us inside.

  Once we’re seated, Adam hovers by the door.

  Matt explains, ‘Monika was at home the night before last, but she went out yesterday morning. She hasn’t come back yet.’

  ‘She didn’t come home last night?’ I ask.

  Matt shakes his head. ‘Her auntie thinks she may have stayed with a friend.’

  ‘They’ve taken her,’ says Adam, pacing by the door. ‘I know they have.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ replies Matt.

  ‘They have, I just know it.’

  ‘What can we do?’ I ask Matt. ‘Call the police?’

  Matt shakes his head. ‘I would call the police, but her auntie isn’t worried. She’s not ready to register her as missing.’

  ‘That’s because she’s frightened,’ Adam raises his voice. ‘Her sons are all in on it. They abuse Monika …’

  Matt raises his hand. ‘We don’t know that—’

  ‘You do, I’m telling you. Monika told me!’ he shouts.

  Matt replies, ‘Yes, well, we don’t have proof—’

  ‘She told me as well,’ I add.

  Matt looks surprised, and Adam stares at me.

  ‘Monika came to my room in Morocco, and we chatted. She told me everything …’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ says Adam.

  ‘Neither did I,’ says Matt. ‘They were supposed to stay in their rooms.’

  ‘Lisa and Joe were together, so she didn’t want to listen to them making out all night.’

  Matt shakes his head and clenches his jaw.

  ‘You should have told me—’

  ‘There was nothing to tell—’

  ‘Look!’ says Peter. ‘This won’t help now. Where would they have taken her, Adam?’

  We all look at Adam.

  He looks at the floor and shakes his head. ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Think!’ I urge him. ‘Would Badger know?’

  ‘I’ll find out,’ he replies, reaching for his phone.

  * * *

  Peter disappears, leaving us at Dixon House, waiting for Badger to reply to Adam. He returns an hour later, driving his battered van. He slides back the door and Adam and I climb inside.

  It’s his VW that we used in the New Forest when we tracked Roberto, Marco’s brother, eighteen months ago. It’s filled with computers, tracking equipment, and an assortment of gadgets. Fortunately, he’d driven it over to England the night before we flew to Morocco, and has kept it safe in the parking bay at Josephine’s apartment.

  Peter sorts through boxes of protective gear and we chat quietly as I get ready. Finally, Peter fixes the poppy pin to my parka and he hooks me up to the lapel camera, then checks his computer.

  ‘That should be fine,’ he says.

  Meanwhile, Adam watches silently. He bites his nails, nibbling the skin at the corner of his cuticles.

  I reach out and take his hand. ‘It will be alright, trust me.’

  Adam blinks but doesn’t reply.

  We test the microphone, and Peter says, ‘We’ll be able to communicate, Mikky. If there’s any danger, I’ll know.’

  ‘And where will you be, Peter?’ Adam asks.

  ‘I’ll be nearby. I’ve called in the help of a good friend, and he will help me track you – hopefully from Bill’s helicopter.’

  ‘Thanks, Peter,’ I say, ignoring the feeling of fear that begins to ripple the inside of my stomach. I swallow the bile in my throat, hoping I won’t be sick.

  ‘Where’s Badger?’ I ask Adam.

  He checks his phone. ‘We’re meeting him near the canal. We have thirty minutes.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s go.’ I stand up.

  ‘Look, Mikky.’ Peter holds my arm. ‘Marco, Josephine, Joachin, none of them will forgive me if anything happens to you.’

  ‘It won’t. I’m indestructible.’

  ‘You’re not, and I don’t want to find your naked body, raped and slashed and floating in the canal.’

  I swallow hard and blink back tears.

  ‘It’s not me I’m worried about; God knows what they’re doing to poor Monika.’

  Chapter 12

  “A crime is a crime irrespective of the birthmarks of the criminal.”

  Narendra Modi

  Adam walks nervously and silently beside me, along the canal. ‘Aren’t you frightened?’ he asks.

  ‘No,’ I lie, pulling the collar of my parka closer to my chin. The wind is bitterly cold, and I suddenly wish this were all over and I was sitting in front of the fire at Blessinghurst Manor with Marco, drinking brandy.

  ‘Peter is watching over me,’ I add, to reassure Adam, and self-consciously I hold my lapel so that the pin can see our route.

  ‘I can’t believe you’d do this for Monika. You barely know her.’

  ‘I know her well enough. She trusted me. I also knew Ali. This is for him.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re not the police?’ He glances nervously around us, but there are only couples, and people hurrying past us eager to get inside the warm. It’s almost three o’clock, and it’s already drawing dark; the days are shorter, and when it begins to rain, I pull my hood over my head and shove my hands deeper into my pockets.

  ‘Positive. I’m not the police.’

  Adam’s phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket, listens silently, and hangs up. ‘Change of venue. They’re not taking any chances.’

  He slips his arm in mine, and we disappear down another alleyway and into the darkness.

  At the end of the passage, a hooded figure is waiting for us. He’s holding a Rambo knife with a thick blade, pretending to manicure his nails while he waits.

  ‘Alright?’ Adam asks, as we draw alongside the motionless figure.

  Badger’s face is covered with a stocking. ‘Come on,’ he says, nodding with his head for me to follow him.

  ‘No!’

  They both stop and look at me.

  ‘Not Adam. This is as far as he goes.’

  ‘What?’ Adam protests.

  ‘Go home. I’ll call you later. You’re not coming with us.’

  ‘But I want t—’

  ‘Piss off, Adam,’ Badger says. ‘She’s right. Go home.’

  * * *

  My breath is rasping against my collar as we walk. I’ve lost track of where we are. We’ve walked down alleyways, dark passages, and streets that I don’t recognise. Eventually, we come to a cul-de-sac, and we clamber over a building site to get to a disused warehouse. The light is fading, bu
t just before we go inside, I glance up and recognise the building on my right. I’m momentarily pleased, yet confused. We’ve walked around in circles. My heart lifts.

  We duck inside and wait.

  Badger raps the steel door with the handle of his knife, and it opens. A man wearing a ski mask stands back and allows us through.

  Inside, it’s brightly lit with fluorescent strip lights. There are two parallel rows of tables, and on either side, children are sifting, packing, and placing small bags of white powder on scales. They barely look up, and when they do, they are glassy-eyed, tired, and lethargic. It’s like a workhouse, a children’s factory.

  I follow Badger, past teenage guards supervising the children, to a room at the back, where three guys are gathered around a steel table. Behind them, on the wall, an array of CCTV cameras show the entrance to the warehouse and the streets nearby. They saw us approaching.

  ‘What do you want?’ The bald man could be a weightlifter.

  Badger replies, ‘She wants to join us.’

  The guy grabs Badger by the throat and pins him against the wall.

  ‘Why did you bring her here?’

  Badger can’t speak. He’s gasping for air, choking, his eyes bulging.

  ‘It was my idea,’ I say quickly. ‘I’ve got experience with this shit!’

  He throws Badger aside and turns his attention to me. He’s massive, Turkish, bald, and broad-muscled, with not an inch of fat. His eyes are glassy, and his breath is rank.

  ‘Get your clothes off.’

  ‘I want to speak to—’

  He pulls at my parka, but I move instinctively and kick him in the balls. He doubles over, grabbing his crotch.

  ‘Bitch!’ He lunges at me.

  I dodge him, but an arm comes between us. He suddenly backs off, but I feel his spit on my face when he hisses, ‘I’ll get you.’

  ‘Who are you?’ The man who’s blocking his path faces me. He’s dressed head to toe in black. He’s small, wiry, and speaks with a Mandarin accent.

  ‘Mikky.’

  ‘What experience?’

  ‘Drugs. I did all this in Spain, in Malaga.’

  ‘When?’