by Jade West
“Fifth floor isn’t deemed an intruder risk, not for the windows. That might take some time, funding’s tight.”
“Fifth floor, tenth floor, won’t bloody keep him out.”
“Has your son made any threats towards you? Been in contact since our last visit?”
“Not since he got the dog back. Don’t mean he ain’t still coming after me, mind.” She lit up a cigarette, blowing smoke in my direction. “Why d’you help him?”
Blood drained from my cheeks. “Excuse me?”
She smiled, and under her haggard appearance I got glimpse of the family resemblance. “Weren’t born yesterday, love. People talk.”
“I, um... did what I thought best for the animal.”
“Which one of ‘em?” Hannah Jackson laughed, rocking back on the sofa and blowing a fresh cloud of smoke over me. I tried to age her, placing her forty at most, although the years really hadn’t been kind. She’d have been an attractive woman, minus the pitted face and sunken eyes; she was carrying a bit of extra weight, but carrying it well. She’d her own red-flag on our system, a much lower grade than Callum, but nonetheless cause for concern, yet I didn’t feel the same intimidation in her presence. Maybe my bad, or maybe she wasn’t showing her worst on a weekday morning. “You ain’t the first and won’t be the last.”
“Sorry?”
She rolled her eyes. “Suckered by the looks. Prettiest damn thing I ever made. His dad was a pretty boy too.”
“His dad?” The question was out before I could stop myself.
“Inside. Murder. Callum’s got the same bad blood in him, too. Born nasty.”
“I don’t think violence is hereditary, Mrs Jackson.” I met her eyes, challenging her with my own belief system.
“Believe what you like, love. Like I said before, kid’s a monster, always has been. Loves that bloody dog and not much else.”
I tried to hide my distaste, pushing it back behind a veneer of professional neutrality. “I’ll submit a further request on the window security, although they may want to survey the balcony, establish any access points.”
“He’ll find a way up, if he wants in. Would scale the bloody wall in the right frame of mind.”
“I’ll do my best with the funding.”
She stared at me, her face a weird mix of disdain and fascination. “You think I’m a bitch, getting rid of that dog.”
“It’s not my job to make judgement, Mrs Jackson.”
“Think it was spite. It weren’t.” She stood, kicked her way through rubbish to the living room door. She pushed it closed, where I could see the back of it. It was clawed to shit, destroyed almost all the way through. She toed the carpet to show me the threads, torn up all along the edge. “That dog’s got no place inside, couldn’t control the thing. Ain’t never had dogs, won’t be getting one, neither. Ty was helping me by getting shot of it, though Cal won’t see it that way. Hate each other these days.”
“Tyler Jones?”
“Got his problems, I know. Good lad, though, under it all.”
I pictured the Tyler Jones I’d seen in the garages, the Tyler Jones wishing Casey dead and landing his fist on Callum’s jaw. “Again, it’s not my place to make judgement.”
“Don’t be listening to that skanky ex of his, Vicki Pollock. Had a thing about Cal as long as I can remember, that one. She’d say anything to get a bit of sympathy. Ty may have raised his fists, ain’t denying that, but that little bitch would have asked for it.”
I knew of Vicki Pollock, ground floor of tower two, single mother of a young son, Slater, already on the at-risk register with Social Services. She had a direct link to the emergency services as part of the non-molestation order she’d been awarded against Tyler Jones. I’d seen her case file, met her numerous times as part of my initial tenancy visits. I struggled to believe any woman in her situation asked for that kind of violence, but I decided to keep my mouth shut in this instance. My pulse quickened, unease in my stomach. A stupid, ridiculous feeling.
“Are they together now? Your son and Vicki Pollock?” I raised my clipboard. “Background information for the funding case.”
“Asking the wrong person, love. I dunno. Doubt it, though.” I could almost see the cogs turning. “But then again... for the funding, like... I think he could be with her. She’ll be hostile towards me, as well... my friendship with Ty... they could both be after me.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.” I stood to leave, smiling as politely as I could muster. I made my way through to the hallway, craving the air outside. A door was open at the far end, revealing a tiny bedroom, walls a mass of colour and lines. I unconsciously took a step forward, straining for a better view.
Hannah Jackson followed my eyes. “Cal’s room, not that he was ever here much.” She paced on down, flicked the light switch. “Keep meaning to paint over it. Think I could get a decorating grant? For some magnolia?”
I joined her, pretending to consider it. The walls were alive; incredible, vivid scenes of horror colliding into each other. A portrait of Callum Jackson, crouched in the corner surrounded by flames. An urban landscape in greys and blacks, morphing into a crazy sunset. Some areas of the wall were much more rudimentary, biro scribblings of a child, most certainly, obscene language in jagged letters, faces with scribbled eyes. “This is quite something.”
“Couldn’t stop him. He’d paint with whatever he’d get his thieving little mits on. Painted in his own blood once when I took his pens off him.”
“Did he study? At school?”
“Never went to pissing school.” She lit up another cigarette, and her face lit up with it. “Tell you a funny story. When Cal was still a mite, eight maybe, I dunno, he got hooked up with old Jimmy Randall down Veil Parade. He loved it over there, went for years, learning all that bleeding spray painting. Anyway, one day he comes home, back to me and Rick, my ex, right as we was switching over to watch the soaps and that, and he sits down, proper serious like, and he says, hey, Mam, I’m gonna go to art college. Just like that, really bloody pleased with himself. He says, Jimmy says I’m good, says I can be an artist.” She cough-laughed, a picture of pure amusement. “Me and Rick nearly pissed ourselves, we did. Art college! Bloody art college! Like a kid like him’s ever gonna go to bloody art college. I said to him, I said, don’t be such a stupid, gay bloody poofter. Only fucking posh twats and faggots go to bloody art college, who d’you think you bloody are? Leonardo fucking Van Gogh or summat?”
My stomach fell, all the way to the floor, twisting in horror at the heartless crappy mother in front of me. “What did he say to that?”
She let out a belly laugh. “Nothing much, stupid little shit. Stormed off all huffy and smashed up all his pens and that. Threw them off the balcony. Called him little Leonardo fairy boy for ages, we did. Rick had to give him a hiding in the end to put an end to the sulking.”
I stared at the wall, trying to decipher the colliding scenes. “It looks pretty good, to me.”
“If you say so,” she laughed. “Try asking the pigs what they think of his art, been arrested for it more times than he’s had hot dinners.”
I forced myself away, while I could still hold my tongue. “I’ll be in touch soon, when I’ve filed the paperwork.”
“Make sure they gives me my window bars, won’t you? Don’t want him getting in here.”
I didn’t answer, already reaching for the exit. I was beyond done here. My hand was already on the latch as the door flew open, sending me thudding back into the wall. I steadied myself, shocked to find I was staring up into the face of a brute. The eagle on his head was even uglier up close, and his eyes were swollen red. Too much weed, and probably something else.
“Hey, Ty, I’ll be getting them window bars. Miss washername was just leaving. Got all the paperwork together.”
Tyler Jones stared down on me with nothing but venom in his eyes. “Dog weren’t fucking dead, then, shame.”
“The dog is fine, now, thank you,” I s
aid, despite myself.
He stepped towards Hannah, and I caught the way she smiled up at him. Lord have bloody mercy. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Next time I beat the shit out of him I’ll be sure to let you know. You can come watch again, tend to lover boy’s wounds when I’m done with him.”
Hannah slapped his thigh. “Watch it, Ty, she’s with the housing.”
“I know who she’s with. It’s written all over her. Ain’t the fucking housing why she’s here.”
“Goodbye, Mrs Jackson.”
I was out of that seedy, incestuous little shit hole as fast as my legs would carry me, only stopping to catch my breath by the main entrance. The rain started up, drizzle grey sky doing nothing for the appearance of the place. I leaned back against the wall, hiding out under the porch for the worst to subside, coat-less and umbrella-less and really bloody ill prepared.
I stared out over East Veil, over past the garage block to tower two, wondering where the savage was now. Was he dry somewhere? Holed up with Casey and Vicki Pollock and her poor little boy? Was he laughing with her, laughing about me and his stupid security job? The thought hurt a lot more than it should have.
The rain eased up after a few minutes, but kept me pinned long enough to find the answers to my questions. For as soon as I committed to move, several others did too.
Callum Jackson appeared from the shadows of tower two, hood up and pacing on a mission as he headed towards the garages. I could see him well enough that the ferocity in his eyes stopped my breath, but this time he didn’t see me.
He didn’t see me follow him, either.
***
Chapter Six
Callum
Three hundred quid could go a fuck of a long way for me and Vick. Could feed us for fucking weeks, pick us up some new gear, decent shoes and shit. Three hundred quid could buy me all the paint I needed, get some proper food in Casey too. It felt so pissing rough to hand it over to the Stoneys.
I’d have told them to stuff it, to fuck off and leave Vicki alone, but they’d only take me down. Me and then her. They don’t fuck around, people like that.
I told Vicki to stay at home, lock the pissing door and let me handle them. Eleven sharp, they’d said, and I’d picked the venue. The garages round here are quiet, see.
I called Casey to my side, and she stayed close, eyes full of play as I rounded the corner. I saw the Stoneys approaching from across the way, but kept my head down until they’d closed the gap. It was Trent Stoney who’d come for his cash, a couple of his guys hanging back behind him. One was a big, tough old cunt, built like a brick shithouse. The other was small, and scrawny, nasty eyes. They’d both be packing, I knew that much. Blades for sure, if not bullets. Casey didn’t like them, she kept well back, low to the floor with her hackles up.
“What ya got for me?”
“Three hundred.”
“Said three hundred minimum.”
“Everything I got.” I handed it over, and it fucking pained to watch the bastard count it.
His coat was expensive leather, his fingers rammed with bling. Gold no doubt, the proper stuff. He shoved the cash into an inside pocket.
“That’ll have to do, then, won’t it? Same time next week.”
“Next week?” I couldn’t hide the fury from my eyes, the fucking panic.
“Aye, soft lad, next fucking week. They pack your brains with cottonwool while you were inside?”
“How much?”
“Five. This three only clears the interest. That little skank should count herself lucky. We don’t normally come to terms.”
I checked out the men at his back. No way I could take them, not even with the advantage of surprise. “We can’t get five, Trent. I swear down.”
“Maybe the little slag should come tell me that herself, ask me nicely, then.”
I wanted to smash the smirk from his fucking face. “I’ll get what I can.”
“What pissing use is that to me?”
“I’ll pay it back, Trent. Debt’s on me now.” My heart pounded in my fists.
“My kind nature ain’t gonna hold up much longer, soft lad. That loan’s overdue. Maybe I should go have a word, eh? Let her know what’s at stake.”
He made to leave, tipping his head to his sidekicks, but I was in his face in a flash, heading him off. “Back off her, Trent, yeah? Like I said, debt’s on me. You’ll get your fucking money.”
The wanker smiled, slapped my shoulder. “Good lad. Guess she’s got a tight pussy, eh? I’ll keep that in mind.”
I stepped to the side, letting him pass. Out of words, out of hope, out of fucking everything. He turned back before he crossed the street, a hint of a smile on his smug face.
“Say, Jackson, you’ve got some spark. Let me know if you wanna run with my guys sometime, maybe we could come to some arrangement.”
My fists twitched, angry yet desperate. The Stoneys ran girls, and drugs. A nasty scene. Desperate hookers who’d do anything for an armful of smack. The Stoneys were brutal, into the hard stuff, slicing off noses and ears and anything else they thought would send the right message. It was Casey’s wet nose on my wrist that brought some sense back to me. I needed to stay out, for her. I shook my head. “Nah, thanks, Trent. Not for me.”
“Suit yourself. Same time next week, don’t be late.”
I wouldn’t be.
I wasn’t that fucking stupid.
***
I took a different route back, heading in the opposite direction from Stoney. We’d been so relieved, me and Vick. Now it was all for nothing. I had no phone credit to call Jack Willis and chase up any delivery jobs. I’d have to call round there later in person, but he didn’t like that much. Case loped on ahead, as happy as I was to be away from those wankers. Her nose was in the air, tail high, turning back every now and then to make sure I was following. Fucking hell, now I had to break the news to Vick.
I stopped to roll-up, and that’s when I heard them. Footfalls, down the alley behind us. They stopped when I did, meaning only one thing.
Seemed Trent weren’t so happy with his three hundred after all. I weighed up which one he’d have sent for me. Hopefully the bigger one, he’d fall harder, run slower. I darted on ahead, veering off to the right to a connecting pathway. Casey changed course with me, and I sent her on away, waving my arms that she was free to run. The path opened up onto some boarded-up retail units, and I sloped down the side of them, into a little known alleyway that led to the bins at the back of tower two, and not much else. Casey lay down at the far end when she figured we were stopping, ears up.
I waited for Stoney’s sidekick, fists clenched and adrenaline pumping. I’d need to take him quick, knock him down and shoe him good. My brain raced, but I blanked it all out. No time to worry about what came next, no time for planning. His footsteps were echoey, hesitant, lighter too. Shit. Must be the smaller guy, he’d be more of a springer, harder to take.
Casey started whining and I hissed at her to shut the fuck up. The footsteps stopped, and so did my breathing. I readied myself, determined at least to put up a good fight. He started up, coming closer, footsteps louder, closing the gap. The echo was loud, clackety... strange.
Heels.
My tail was wearing fucking heels.
I flung myself into the path regardless, fists high and ready, teeth bared and eyes wide fucking open.
Sophie Harding screamed and scurried backwards, catching a heel on a pothole and falling hard on her pretty little ass. Her paperwork scattered, landing in puddles like oversized confetti.
We stared at each other, breathing heavy.
“Jesus Christ!” she screeched. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“I could have fucking killed you.” I was still wired, high on adrenaline, muscles on fucking fire. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
She grabbed the papers, soggy forms mushing together in one big mess. “I’m on an estate inspection. You know, doing my job.”
�
�What you supposed to be inspecting?” I scoffed.
She waved her arms vaguely. “Here. Around.”
“Round the bins of block two? Get fucking real.”
She clambered to her feet, twisting to look back over her shoulder. “Pissing hell, I’m soaked.”
“At least you’re in one fucking piece. I talk with my fists first, mouth later.”
“Nice.”
“Truth.” My arms were still twitchy. I reached in my pocket for my baccy, leaning against the wall as my heart slowed down. I whistled to Case and she came running, jumping up at my legs like I hadn’t just seen her five seconds ago. “Why you following me?”
“I wasn’t,” she lied.
I rolled my cig. “Whatever.”
“Who did you think I was? One of those guys back there?”
I narrowed my eyes, stared straight at her. “Do you ever mind your own fucking business?”
“This is my patch,” she snapped.
“Yeah, well this is my life.”
She stood in silence, and so did I, letting the tension ease off a little. Casey fixed her with curious eyes, tail twitching as though she hadn’t quite made up her mind. Sophie watched her back, expression softening.
“She looks better.”
“She is better, thanks.”
She dropped on her haunches, hand out. “Hey, Casey...”
Case wasn’t sure what to make of her. She looked up at me and I gave her the nod, sending her over to the woman who’d saved her furry ass. Casey sniffed Sophie’s hand, then wagged her tail, satisfied Sophie was one of the good guys.
Sophie Harding smiled her lovely smile. “She’s put on weight.”
“A bit, yeah.”
“That’s good.”
I watched her stroking the dog awhile, gentle little fingers. “Why were you following me?”
She shrugged, eyes still on Casey. “Saw you in the garages.”
“Then came for a snoop?”
“I wanted to make sure you were good... after the weekend.”
I sparked up. “Ain’t told no one, if that’s what you’re pissing worried about.”