by Graham, Tom
‘She’s probably with Chris and Ray. I reckon Raymondo managed to get his hands on the Magnum. He’s smart like that. He’ll have held off them scallywags long enough to get him and Chris and Bristols to a place of safety. They’re all holed up somewhere, like us.’
‘But we don’t know that!’
‘No, we don’t. And for the time being we ain’t gonna find out one way or the other. So until we get out of here, we have to trust them Tyler. You know? They’re all serving officers, even that soppy tart Annie. They know how to look after ’emselves, they know how to handle trouble. So – have a bit of faith, Sam.’
Hopelessly, Sam battered at the solid door, dragging his fingers down it the way countless terrified inmates must have done over the years.
‘Stop making a tit of yourself,’ Gene barked from the darkness. ‘Just ’coz I can’t see you don’t mean you don’t look like a right prat clawin’ at that door. Pack it in, park your arse somewhere and pull yourself together.’
Sam threw a last, furious punch at the door, and then slumped down, his back against the hard surface. He had no choice but to trust in Annie, that somehow she had got herself to safety, that she could indeed take care of herself.
Sam gently placed his palms together. The skin was neither hot nor blistered.
Perhaps I had no chance to change the past. Perhaps all I witnessed was a replay of what happened, a glimpse of how Tony Cartwright died, and how Clive Gould got his hands on Annie. And, of all people, it was McClintock who tried to stop him!
He could hardly believe it. And yet, it made a curious sense. McClintock was uptight, a disciplinarian, a by-the-book sort of man. Ten years ago, as a serving police officer, before he switched and joined the prison service, he’d be just the sort who’d stand out from the others, refuse to take bribes, refuse to be corrupted.
Like me, Sam thought. Maybe we’re more alike than I could ever have imagined.
McClintock stood up, he defied Clive Gould, he tried to save Tony Cartwright – but he failed, and in the process he was burned.
He died in that fire – and he ended up here, in 1973, just like me. But, unlike me, he brought something with him – something solid, an object from Life. He brought that watch. It’s not just evidence to link Gould to murder – it’s a direct link to Life itself!
He had sensed it, right from the start, at the very moment he clapped eyes on that fob watch nestling in McClintock’s uniform pocket. He had sensed there was something about it, something vital – and yet also something repellent.
But of course. It’s not just a physical link to Life – it’s a physical link to Clive Gould. Gould handled that watch – it was in his possession during those final moments before Tony Cartwright died. That watch is graced by its connection to Life, just as it is contaminated by its contact with the Devil in the Dark.
Sam shook his head to clear it. This was no time for sitting about, fathoming out riddles in the dark. They had to get out of this damned punishment cell – right now!
‘Get your cigarette lighter out, Guv,’ Sam said. ‘Let’s at least have a look around, see if there’s any way we can get out of here.’
‘Bad news, Samuel,’ Gene intoned sadly. ‘I lost me lighter in the crush outside. And me packet of Players. It’s a tragedy I don’t deserve. I’m fagless, Tyler. Fagless in the dark. Now that is what I call punishment.’
‘We could be stuck in here for days, Guv. Just you, and me, and the darkness.’
‘And no snout.’
There was a pause, and then Gene said, ‘Shit, let’s get that bloody door open.’
They moved about clumsily in the darkness, running their hands over the door in search of the mechanism.
‘How good are you with locks, Tyler?’
‘So-so. But this one’s going to be a real pig.’
‘I think you’re right. Let’s force it.’
‘Force it? Gene, this door is solid iron.’
‘So am I.’
‘It’s built to withstand a bloody tank rolling into it!’
‘So am I.’
‘It’s donkey’s years old and covered in shit and graffiti.’
‘Tough luck, Sammy boy, I ain’t walking into that one!’ He sighed and shuffled away from the door. ‘There’s nowt for it. We’re not getting out, not for the foreseeable. It’s just you, me, and the slow passing of time. Think of it like a camping holiday, Tyler, only worse.’
They settled down again in the pitch blackness.
‘Remember what you said to me first time we came to this borstal, Tyler?’ Gene said.
‘I’m not in the mood to chat, Guv.’
‘No, it weren’t that. It were that these lads, locked up here, they could’ve been prime minister given half a chance. Summat like that. You remember?’
Sam sighed. ‘Yes, I remember.’
‘And what do you reckon now, mmm? Still a bunch of future Winston Churchills, are they? I mean, now you’ve seen what a scummy, nasty, shitty, treacherous shower of shite they really are?’
‘I’d say, Guv, that given your description of them they’ve got the perfect character reference to go into politics.’
‘Oh very good, Tyler. Right off the flamin’ Frost Report, you are. God, I wish I had me fags!’ There was a pause while Gene hunted through his pockets, just in case, then admitted defeat. ‘I only mention that stuff, Tyler, ’coz I think you’re wrong.’
‘You always think I’m wrong, Guv.’
‘That’s because I’ve been around and I’ve seen what’s what and I’m not afraid to call a spade a spade. And, no, I didn’t mean that racialistically.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t, Guv.’
‘The thing is, Tyler, there’s a reason lads end up in places like this. It’s not about hard luck. It’s about choice.’
‘Spoken like a true Tory,’ said Sam.
‘But I’m right. You choose which way to go. You see different roads, and you decide which one to follow. Some blokes choose crime. Some blokes choose the path of least resistance. Me, I chose the path of the angels.’
‘The path of the angels?’
‘I was speaking poetically, Tyler. I thought you’d appreciate that. Something about sitting trapped in the dark brings out the poet in a fella’s soul.’
Sam thought about that for a moment, then said, ‘Weirdly, Guv, I think you’re right.’
‘Life ain’t a cakewalk for any of us – except perhaps them born with the silver spoon. You can’t avoid trouble, and you can’t avoid getting shafted. But what counts is how you choose to deal with it. You’re in the saddle, you tell the horse where to go, not the other way round. We’re all skippers of our own souls, come fair sea or foul.’
The Guv was hopelessly mixing his metaphors, but even so there was a ring of truth in what he was saying. His words were making Sam think of his father, Vic, and the choices he had made. He could have played it straight, earned an honest living, but instead he had looked for the shortcut – and that had taken him into criminality, into violence, even murder. And then, later, when everything had unravelled for him – when CID had been closing in and the game was up – he could have stood by his wife and his young son. It would have meant arrest, and prosecution, and prison – but it would also have meant retribution, atonement, and the chance to stay in the lives of those who loved him, even if he was behind bars.
But Vic Tyler had chosen otherwise.
Not me, though, Sam thought. I’ve made my choice – and that is to stand by Annie until the bitter end.
He could not bear to think of her, not while he was trapped hopelessly in the dark, unable to get to her. He shook his head to clear it, fearing that panic and terror would get the better of him, and decided to distract himself by keeping on talking.
‘Tell me, Guv,’ he said. ‘What you were saying just now.’
‘Aye?’
‘Where’d you get the bit about “come fair sea or foul”?’
‘Don’t be patroni
zing, you saucy get.’
‘Straight up, Guv, I’m not knocking you. I think it’s rather sweet.’
‘All I’m saying, Tyler, is that you spend too much energy trying to understand what makes a villain. Nobody gives a stuff about that! We’re not bloody sociologists, Tyler. We’re coppers. The people out there, them walking the streets and trying to make ends meet, the ones we’re set to protect – all they want is certainty. Certainty, Tyler. The certainty that there’s a blue line standing between them and the bad ’uns. The certainty that, for all its faults, the law’s on their side. If you understood that, Tyler, you’d be a better copper.’
‘I believe in fairness for all, and that goes for criminals as well as everybody else,’ said Sam. ‘It’s being fair that makes us the good guys. The law is an ass – it really is – but it’s still better than all the alternatives.’
‘When asses don’t budge, you gotta whack ’em up, right up the Khyber, and pay no attention to a load of bleedin’ hee-hawing!’
‘You are getting poetic, Gene!’
‘That’s your problem, Tyler, you don’t actually listen. You’re a mouthy Peter Cook smart alec but you don’t listen. You tried to stick up for the shits in this place, and what did you get for your troubles. Eh? You think they give a damn about you and your namby-pamby botty-wiper’s care and compassion?’
‘Shhh!’ hissed Sam.
‘I see, you can’t stand hearing the truth, eh?’
‘No, no, I heard something. Listen.’
‘What, Tyler? What is it?’
‘Hear that, Guv?’
‘If I could hear it, I wouldn’t be asking what it was, would I?’
Dimly, as if filtering through to them from another world, they heard the squeal and squeak of feedback over a megaphone. At once, they caught Chris’s youthful voice, massively amplified.
‘Aye up, Ray, it’s workin’ now!’
‘It’s Chris!’ exclaimed Gene, excitedly. ‘I knew it! Him and Ray got out! They grabbed the shooter and they fought their way out! You see, Tyler – you get further in life with a Magnum in your hands than a—’
‘Shut up, Guv, I can’t hear!’
‘That dopey-tits bird probably got out with them. She’ll be safe and sound out there, filing her nails.’
‘Guv, please be quiet.’
‘I’m dead chuffed! Chris and Ray got out! You see, Tyler? You reckon my boys are just knobheads but it just shows what you know!’
‘Guv, for God’s sake …!’
‘School of Gene Genie’s taught ’em everything they know. A couple of Gene Geniuses, my boys.’
‘Just shut your stupid face!’ Sam roared.
Invisible in the darkness, Gene went silent.
Sam pressed his ear to what he assumed was the outside wall. He could make out the howl of the megaphone, coming from presumably the far side of the prison walls, and then Ray’s voice echoing out of it:
‘Right! This is the fuzz. The game’s up, the place is surrounded. No point playin’ silly buggers, you ain’t got a hope.’
Gene joined Sam at the wall, listening.
‘That’s it, Ray,’ he muttered. ‘Good ’n’ tough.’
‘You’re all nicked, you hear me?’ Ray went on. ‘I mean, you’re all nicked anyway ’coz you’re in borstal, but now you’re all nicked again.’
Chris’s voice suddenly piped up, ‘Double nicked!’
‘Get your hands off the megaphone, Chris!’
‘I want a go on it!’
‘I’m senior officer. I’m negotiating.’
‘I don’t care, I want a go!’
‘I said get off it!’
‘Gimme the—’
‘Chris, what the hell are ya—’
‘Come out with your hands up!’
There was a high-pitched electronic howl, and then the megaphone went dead.
After a pause, Gene said flatly, ‘When we get out of here, I’ll send ’em on a course.’
‘Shhh!’
‘I’m not happy you shushing me like this, Tyler. it inverts the whole master–servant dynamic.’
‘What’s that noise?’ Sam hissed.
They listened. Metal tapped hesitantly against metal.
‘Is that you chattering your fillings, Tyler?’
‘Somebody’s unlocking the door, Guv!’
A key was clattering in the lock. Sam and Gene both tensed.
‘The second that door opens, rush ’em!’ breathed Gene.
Sam grabbed at him in the dark and got hold of his camel-hair coat. ‘No, Guv!’
‘Off the lapels, Tyler, and get yourself ready to fight your way out of here!’
‘For God’s sake, Gene, that lad out there is showing us trust. And we’re going to prove ourselves worthy of that trust!’
‘Prove ourselves worthy?’ Gene sneered. ‘Prove ourselves? To them shites? Didn’t you listen to nothing I was saying just now?’
‘Listening? Yes. Agreeing? Nah.’
A line of light appeared and gradually broadened as the door edged open. At once, Gene burst forward, flinging the door wide and rushing through it. The lad who had released them – a tall, red-haired boy with powerful shoulders – jumped back, raising a length of lead piping to defend himself.
Gene clenched his fists and swaggered forwards. ‘Thanks for opening that door, Sonny. But don’t think it’s going to save you from beating you so hard your nose’ll end up sticking out your arsehole.’
‘Wait, Guv!’ Sam cried. ‘I know this lad!’
‘Know him?’ Gene rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, typical. Tyler’s got chummy with the lags. He must bloody love ’em!’
‘Priest, it’s me,’ said Sam holding up both hands. ‘It’s okay, nobody’s going to touch you.’
Priest kept his distance. He backed up against a wall and held the strip of pipe in both hands, ready to take a swipe.
‘Why’d you let us out of there?’ Sam asked.
Priest shrugged. ‘Owe you one.’
‘You owe me one? Why? Was it because I stepped in that time you were getting a beating out in the punishment yard?’
‘You didn’t have to stand up for me,’ muttered Priest. ‘But you did.’
Sam turned to Gene. ‘You see, Guv? Treat them like human beings and see what you get.’
‘Curryin’ favour, that’s all,’ growled Gene. ‘That little shit knows what he can expect when our boys come crashing back in here to secure this place.’ He glared across at Priest, then seemed to relent. ‘Fair enough. I’ll put a word in for you, lad, tell ’em what you did.’
‘What’s happening out there?’ Sam asked. ‘Are the boys trashing the place?’
‘It’s pretty mental,’ said Priest. ‘You’re going to have to be careful trying to get out. There’s lads here who’ll have you.’
‘You reckon?’ put in Gene, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes.
‘And what about Annie?’ Sam asked anxiously. ‘You know, the female officer I was with. She got out, right? She’s safe, yes?’
‘She’s still around,’ said Priest vaguely.
‘Still around? You mean she didn’t get out with the others?’
‘She didn’t get out. She’s with Donner.’
‘Donner! Why the hell’s she with him?’
‘Her and Mr Fellowes and Mr McClintock, they’re all with Donner,’ said Priest. ‘He had a big knife from the kitchens, so …’ He trailed off with a shrug. ‘P’raps he’s holding them hostage or summat.’
‘Where?’ demanded Sam, grabbing Priest by the denim straps of his prison-issue dungarees. ‘Where? Where?’
‘I dunno, honest!’ Priest insisted, his eyes wide. ‘I let you out, remember? I played fair! I been good!’
But Sam had already let go of him and was racing away along the corridor. Gene dutifully lumbered after him.
‘Hold up, Tyler! Me knees ain’t what they were!’
Sam sprinted on. At every corner, he braced himself to find Annie
lying sprawled on the floor. His imagination tormented him with every horror it could dredge up.
I brought McClintock’s System crashing down – but I was wrong! McClintock’s not the enemy!
In destroying the System, he had also destroyed the only glue holding Friar’s Brook together. Now, all was anarchy. The boys were running riot – and Annie was lost somewhere amid it all.
If anything’s happened to her, it’s my fault! I let her come here, I smashed the System, I unleashed this chaos. Oh my God, is this what was decreed for her? By trying to change Fate, did I just play straight into its hands? What have I done? What have I done?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: UNDER SIEGE
Running through the borstal, Sam and Gene found nothing but wreckage and ruin. Like a medieval army sacking a city, the boys had rampaged through the rooms and corridors, destroying everything. The once shiny corridors were strewn with trashed furniture and broken glass, the sharp stink of bleach now obscured by the choking smell of smoke. And everywhere – scattered on the floors, tied to the bars on window frames, ripped, burned, trampled – were ragged patches of brown cloth, the so-called ‘Stain’ ordered by McClintock to be worn by every boy as a mark of his criminality, his sinfulness, his fall from grace.
And yet there was no sign of the boys themselves – or, for that matter, the warders.
Turning a corridor, they stopped at one of the huge painted slogans on the wall: ‘SILENCE – RESPECT – DUTY’. It had been defaced with a single word: ‘BOLLOCKS’.
Gene strode over to a door that hung limply on wrecked hinges. Glancing inside, he said, ‘It’s even worse than your gaff in there, Tyler.’
Sam looked through the door into what had once been a dormitory. The beds had been violently attacked and smashed to pieces, the broken remains heaped up along with the shredded blankets and ruined mattresses to form a chaotic, smouldering mountain of wreckage.
Gene reached down and picked up a warder’s peaked cap. It had a hole in it, and the lining was stained with what could well have been blood.
‘And you think they’re all innocents,’ he growled.
‘We don’t have time for any of your bullshit, Guv,’ Sam snapped. ‘Our priority is to find Annie.’