by Nick Oldham
Mark ducked out of sight and kept surreptitious nicks on Jonny and Co. for a few minutes. It looked like they were settled there for the duration. Mark knew it was a location they liked to hang out in because it was a bit of a crossroads on the estate and plenty of people passed by.
Then, confident they weren’t on the move, Mark legged it back to his bike and tried to recall where the nearest phone box was. He could have done with a mobile. It would have made things much easier … but then again, a mobile could be checked, whereas a public call box could not.
The nearest he could think of was outside Aziz’s newsagent’s and though he didn’t particularly want to show his face there, he would have to.
He propped his bike against the phone box and made the call. When he stepped out, Mr Aziz was waiting for him, a glowering look on his face.
Mark’s heart sank. ‘What?’ he asked meanly.
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘None o’ your business,’ Mark replied, feeling dreadful. Aziz had been good to him and behaving like this towards him made Mark feel shitty.
‘I know you’ve got problems, but you should keep me informed. I’ve a business to run and I’ve had to do your deliveries myself.’
Mark shrugged, keeping up appearances. ‘Tough.’ He mounted his bike.
‘Mark,’ Aziz said plaintively, ‘this is not like you.’
I know, Mark thought. I know it’s not like me, because it isn’t really me.
‘I can only keep your job open so long, then someone else gets it. There’s plenty of other kids, you know.’
‘Do what you have to do.’ Mark rose and powered away.
‘Don’t become like the others,’ he heard Aziz shout as he put some distance between them and gulped back a tear.
Mark swore to himself. This was getting a bit too much now – running into people he would rather have avoided – as, out of nowhere, a stony-faced Katie Bretherton stepped into his path and defiantly stood her ground, causing him to brake and swerve at the same time, almost propelling him over the handlebars.
‘You nearly bloody—!’ he began angrily.
‘Nearly what?’ she demanded.
‘Nuthin’.’
‘What’s going on, Mark?’
‘Dunno what you mean.’
‘You got arrested with Jonny Sparks. I saw you get carted away.’
Mark hesitated, said, ‘And?’
‘What’re you doing, hanging around with him?’ Katie pleaded. ‘I thought you hated him.’
‘Nothing to do with you.’
Katie was glaring at him, a mixture of incomprehension, annoyance and frustration. Her hands were shaking. She tried to maintain eye contact with him, but he kept dropping his gaze sheepishly, unable to give her a direct look.
‘Yes it is … and what about us?’
Mark quickly looked her up and down, his young heart fluttering, his breath shallow. She looked really good, stunning, slim, long-legged, boobs and all, skin soft as silk, on the verge of turning into a gorgeous young lady. A quick memory of her touch made his lower guts stir. God, he just wanted to get hold of her and kiss her and pick up from where they’d left off.
Instead, a sort of disconnected voice came from his mouth. ‘What about us?’
Her eyes rolled heavenwards. ‘Have you cut me out of your life? You been avoiding me? I thought we were friends … more than friends.’ Her bottom lip quivered. ‘Mark, can we at least talk? I know Beth’s death has hit you hard, but don’t push me out of the way, don’t go off the rails.’
Mark forced a horrid sneer on to his face. ‘You don’t know anything … I–I can’t tell you anything … Look, just sod off out of the way, eh?’
‘Don’t do this, Mark,’ she said desperately.
‘You have no idea what I’m doing,’ he said, rising on his right pedal and forcing it down. Katie reached for him. He ducked, avoided her, and sped away, not even glancing back when he heard her call his name.
He held his head up in the wind. He knew if he weakened, he would not be able to do what he had to do. Only when he had done it, would people start to understand and, he hoped, forgive him. He also hoped that Bradley, his best friend, wouldn’t suddenly appear from nowhere. He was surprised he hadn’t turned up yet as it was.
Jonny was still there, sitting on a low wall outside the dilapidated Spar shop, Sam and Eric crowded round him, hanging on to his words, laughing uproariously at some crap joke he’d told.
When Mark caught sight of him, he knew Katie had been right.
He hated Jonny.
It was an emotion with which he was uncomfortable. He did not want to hate anyone … but for what he believed Jonny had done to his sister, he hated him. But he hated the Crackman even more.
His instinct was to turn and fly in the opposite direction. He fought that battle and hoped for the best, taking a deep breath and setting off slowly in Jonny’s direction.
He was spotted immediately. Jonny said something out of the corner of his mouth and rose to his feet. All three of them angled toward him, saying nothing, but even from a hundred metres Mark saw the expressions on their faces. It was as if all their dreams had come true and payback time had arrived. Mark was cycling right into their arms and there was nothing to say that Jonny would show any mercy this time. Mark was convinced that last time was just a blip.
Each time the pedal went round, Mark intoned the word ‘Shit’ to himself, repeating it with every beat of his cycling.
He was getting closer and closer.
Fear was starting to grip him now. Icy fear, clawing his innards.
Time seemed to slow right down.
From behind he heard the approach of a vehicle.
‘Please, God,’ he said.
He was twenty metres from Jonny and the Hyenas and closing. Eighteen metres … fifteen metres … Jonny raised the level of his eyes to look beyond Mark, and took a cautious step back … twelve metres … still a vehicle coming up from behind … ten metres now … please, God … then the vehicle was alongside Mark, then in front, then it had stopped.
A police van.
Two cops jumped out – the same two Mark had encountered in the amusement arcade, chasing the gang of lads.
Mark yanked his brakes on and screeched to a stop, eyed the cops, then tried to haul his bike away, but the two officers moved on him in a pincer movement.
‘We want a word with you, sunshine,’ one called.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Jonny relax, sit back on the wall to watch. He pulled his two buddies back, a restraining hand on each of their arms as one cop came up behind Mark, the other in front.
‘Stop right there,’ cop number one said. Mark saw that the number on his hi-viz jacket epaulettes was 810 and a name badge on his breast pocket declared he was called Dave Briggs. He was a squat, muscular and powerful-looking guy, with no hair, a round, cheerful face, but with watchful eyes that intimated years of cynical experience.
‘What’s up?’ Mark asked. He looked nervously around like a trapped dog looking for a means of escape.
‘I think you know,’ Briggs retorted.
‘Nah.’ Mark shook his head.
‘A lad fitting your description’s been into Tonno’s trying to get rid of nicked CDs, DVDs and games.’
‘Ain’t me,’ he said cockily.
‘And you were the one in the arcade when those lads we were chasing ran through, weren’t you?’
‘So what?’ Mark could see Jonny straining to hear the conversation.
‘They dumped their stash with you, didn’t they, laddie?’
‘Don’t know what you’re on about.’
Briggs eyed Mark. ‘And not only that, the bike’s nicked, isn’t it?’ He nodded down at the BMX between Mark’s legs.
Mark was outraged. ‘This is my bike and it’s not stolen.’
‘Yeah, well we checked the frame number on our computer system when you were locked up the other day. This bike was nicked over a
year ago from outside a house in Bispham – so you’re either the thief, or you’ve bought stolen property … whichever, you’re coming with us.’
‘No way.’
‘And we’re going to your house to have a look round that on the way to the nick, where I’m sure we’ll find those stolen discs.’ Briggs leaned into Mark’s face. ‘Won’t we, mate?’
Mark’s upper lip reared into a snarl. ‘You’re so wrong,’ he protested.
‘And you’re so nicked,’ Briggs said loudly. ‘Suspicion of theft of this bike and handling stolen property – namely those discs that came your way. Now get off the bike and get into the back of the van.’
The other cop, who had been hovering behind Mark, took a firm grip of his left bicep. Mark dismounted, apparently acquiescing to the officers, but without warning, he wrenched free of the grip, ducked low, did a back kick which sent his bike clattering against the police van – and started to run for it.
He’d managed to get maybe three metres when the full weight of the law, literally, crushed him to the ground. Briggs moved a whole lot faster than his bulk suggested he would have been able to do. He dragged Mark down on to his knees, then slammed him face down on to the pavement, knocking all the wind out of him.
‘If that’s the way you want it to be, sonny – no problems.’ His big hands wrestled Mark’s arms behind his back as Mark struggled and cursed underneath him.
‘Hey, cop! Watch it!’ Jonny Sparks shouted. He and his little gang were on their feet, bouncing on their toes, approaching the scene of the arrest, ready to intervene and have a dig at the cops.
Mark twisted his head round, his cheek misshapen as it was crushed against the concrete.
Briggs, the big cop, who had a friendly face, suddenly turned aggressive. ‘Don’t even think about mixin’ it, Sparks,’ he warned. He cuffed Mark and dragged him painfully to his feet, one big hand gripping the solid bar of the rigid handcuffs, the other on Mark’s shoulder, his fat fingers digging into the flesh. He spun his prisoner round and frogmarched him to the van, whilst the other cop warily eyed the Hyenas with a warning hand wrapped round the handle of his still holstered baton. A clear gesture that, if necessary, it would come out and be used.
The rear door of the van was pulled open, the internal cage door opened, and Mark was shoved in roughly. He staggered to the front, bent double, turned and glared at Briggs, who said, ‘Siddown.’ Mark complied and perched on the bench seat.
The two cops heaved Mark’s bike into the cage as well, slammed both doors shut with a metallic finality and jumped back into the cab, driving quickly away from the scene.
Breathing heavily, wrists restrained, knees sore from being dragged to the ground, Mark peered out of the rear window of the police van through the steel mesh cage and saw Jonny Sparks by the kerbside, watching with great interest.
Once out of sight and off the estate, Mark leaned back against the side of the van, his head tilted on the metal panel. ‘What the hell have I done?’ he said stutteringly. ‘What the hell have I got myself into?’
Sixteen
‘You complete arsehole!’
‘Don’t, OK?’
‘You told me that bike was kosher.’
‘I thought it was, OK?’
‘But it was nicked.’
Mark shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
‘And what’s the story behind the games and DVD’s? How the friggin’ hell did you happen to get them in your possession?’
‘I found them, OK? By accident.’
Jack Carter, Mark’s older, respectable brother, had been going on at him, brow-beating him, strutting up and down the carpet, gesticulating angrily, for what seemed an eternity. Mark had pretty much had enough.
‘You, my lad, are going down the shitter faster than a greasy rat.’ He towered over Mark, hands on hips, head shaking in dismay. Mark looked directly into his eyes once, then looked away. Jack exhaled a long, pissed-off breath, then his body wilted and he sat slowly down next to Mark on the settee. He leaned forwards, elbows on knees, fingers intertwined, his body angled in Mark’s direction. ‘Look, I know this is a tough time for us all, but you’ve got to keep yourself together for Bethany’s sake. You’re better than this, Mark. You’re not a thief. I know that.’
‘It’s all right for you – you’re out of this shit hole. I’m stuck in it here by myself. Beth’s gone … Mum’s … Mum.’ He frowned. ‘I’m by myself. Where’s big bro when I need him to keep me on the straight and narrow? Eh? Swanning about, doing business with clients.’ His head fell into his hands and he stifled a deep sob. Jack’s arm slid around his shoulders.
‘Yeah, sorry, kiddo. Been all tied up with business, I guess. It’s been my escape, in a way. Kept my mind off what’s happening and I’ve obviously forgotten about you in the process. Not good,’ he admonished himself bitterly. ‘Look, tell you what’ – he gave Mark a reassuring, gentle shake – ‘after the funeral, then, when you’ve been sorted by the cops – I mean, they’re only going to caution you, aren’t they? I can’t see you going to court. First offence and all that – so after you’ve answered your bail and been dealt with, we’ll go away, eh? Just me and you. Let’s bog off to the Costa del Sol for a week, just us guys. How does that sound, mate?’
Mark raised his head. ‘Sounds bloody fantastic, actually.’
‘Something to look forward to, eh, when all this bad stuff’s over. I’ve been thinking about buying a place out there, anyway.’ He ruffled Mark’s hair, bringing a begrudging smile to the young man’s face.
‘I’d really love that, Jack.’
‘Me too. But in the meantime’ – Jack tapped his nose with his forefinger – ‘nose clean, OK? No more stunts.’
‘Yeah, sure.’
Jack’s mobile phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the caller display. ‘Need to get this.’ He stood up and left the room.
Mark answered the door.
Bradley stood on the front step. He said, ‘Long time, no see.’
Mark muttered something, then looked past Bradley and saw Katie hovering at the garden gate, her arms folded haughtily.
‘Well?’ Bradley insisted.
‘Well what?’ Mark’s eyes half closed.
‘Well let me tell you this, matey’ – Bradley poked him in the chest. Mark staggered back a step, knocked off balance at the unexpected assault – ‘I don’t like thieves and I don’t like people who get into fights … I know you’re going through a tough time and you want to have a go at the world, but it doesn’t give you the right to diss me and Katie. I thought we were friends – and you turn to friends when the going gets tough, or so I thought. But you’ve obviously lost your mind … so don’t come crawling to us when you get your sense back, because we’re not interested.’
Mark saw tears forming in Brad’s eyes. He desperately wanted to say something to his best mate, his best pal. But he knew he couldn’t. He had to ride out this storm alone. A casual, thoughtless word would bring it all crashing down and Mark did not want that to happen. He just had to trust that, despite Bradley’s rant, these guys were truly his friends and that at the end of it all, they would still be there, whatever was said.
He slammed the door in Bradley’s face.
The police had confiscated the bike, making Mark feel like he’d had some vital organ removed. He was lost without it and the only alternative he had was Shanks’s pony – walking. A very strange experience, on foot on the estate. He killed time mooching along the roads and footpaths, rediscovering long forgotten short cuts. It was pretty quiet, no one about, and he found himself back at home without having achieved anything.
After filling the kettle, he sat back, waited for it to boil. He liked tea with three sugars and was looking forward to a nice brew in his big, cracked mug.
Before the kettle boiled there was a knock at the door.
Fearing a rematch with Bradley and Katie, Mark dragged his feet sullenly down the hallway and opened the door.
&nbs
p; His senses tingled when he saw who was standing there.
Jonny Sparks.
Mark’s first instinct was to slam the thing, but Jonny, obviously experienced on the doorsteps of people who didn’t want him there, jammed his foot and shoulder in, preventing closure.
‘Wait!’ Jonny said. Mark thought quick and hard about smacking the door against Jonny, but relented. ‘I’m alone, if that’s what’s worrying you,’ Jonny said with a sweeping gesture, proving to Mark that his two stooges, The Kong and Rat-head, were nowhere to be seen. Mark surveyed the area suspiciously. ‘I come in peace,’ Jonny said earnestly. ‘Word of honour, cross my heart and all that shit.’
‘Why?’
‘Just want to chat, eh? No violence, no fisticuffs.’
‘I don’t know if I want to talk to you,’ Mark said. ‘What are we going to talk about? We have nothing in common.’
Jonny gave him a knowing look. ‘That’s where you’re well wrong,’ he said, and almost winked. ‘We’ve got loads in common, you and me. We just don’t know it.’ Jonny looked down the hallway to the steaming kettle in the kitchen. ‘You brewing?’
‘Aye.’ It was said reluctantly. Deep in his chest, Mark’s heart was pounding. He imagined this whole thing was like trolling for a fish. Suddenly, when it nibbled the bait and you could feel it on the line, you would have to resist the urge to just yank it in otherwise the fish would be lost. It needed to be allowed to swallow the bait, chew on it – and then! Heave back on the rod and drive the barbed hook into its upper lip so that it could never escape, no matter how much it writhed and twisted.
Trouble was, Mark had never been fishing in his life.
‘Four sugars – sweet tooth.’
Mark piled them into Jonny’s mug, wishing he could have added a measure of arsenic, stirred, handed it across.