Heroic

by Phil Earle

  They played typical football for ten-year-olds, swarming after the ball like bees, shouts of a single word again and again that I guessed was ‘pass’. There was one lad, though, who went about things differently. He wasn’t about the big boot. Instead he kept the ball tied to his foot, flicking it past the others whenever they dared to stand on his shadow.

  He was fast too, despite being a good half-metre smaller than the bigger lads. The thing I liked about him was that he had some spirit. There were dozens of times when the others were so frustrated by his skill that they hacked at him, leaving him hugging the dust. But he never moaned about it, or rolled fifteen times clutching at his leg. He just looked for the ball, jumped to his feet and ran until the game was back under his control. It never took him long.

  ‘You seen this?’ I laughed to Tommo. ‘Mini Messi, this kid.’

  Tommo let the gun drop to his side, face softening as he watched.

  ‘How old do you reckon he is?’

  ‘Dunno, can’t be much older than nine, ten.’

  ‘He’s got it, though. Reminds me a bit of myself back in the day.’

  I laughed. Great to hear the Tommo humour returning, even if it was complete nonsense.

  ‘Back in the day? You’re eighteen, not forty-eight.’

  ‘Yeah, but before I spotted women I had the same hunger he’s got.’

  ‘Hunger, yes; skills … not so much.’

  ‘What are you on about? I had that scout come over, tapping me up for a trial.’

  ‘Oh yeah, the mythical trial. Funny how no one saw a thing except for you.’

  I heard him huff and tried not to laugh. We knew all about the scout and weren’t surprised either. Tommo was skilful and pacy. Had enough about him to get on a club’s books.

  What he couldn’t do, though, was get it past his old man, who said he hadn’t the time to drive him all the way to Leeds just to be told he wasn’t good enough.

  ‘Who’s going to pay for the petrol?’ he’d moaned. ‘And anyway, I’d have to miss a shift. No shift means no food to eat, you selfish little …’

  Tommo had bitten back, something about all the money going on beers not food, which led to the mother of all fights and an end to his dream. The trial was a week later and the bruises were only ripening by then.

  He seemed to lose interest after that. Football didn’t seem as important as the next girl that he promised he’d marry – and there were plenty of them.

  It was great to see him now though, completely fixated by the kids’ game, almost itching to get among it. We didn’t have long to wait either, as the ball ended up booted at my feet. Without wanting to make an idiot of myself I flicked the ball up on to my knee, but it was so flat it fell, pudding-like, to the floor.

  ‘Feel how soft this is,’ I laughed, side-footing it to Tommo. ‘Shows how good the little kid is, if he can control that.’

  Tommo squeezed it into a rugby ball shape. ‘Fair play to him. We should smuggle him back with us, be his agents. Twenty per cent of what he’s worth would see us sitting pretty.’ He dropped the ball then flicked it effortlessly into the air, bouncing it off his knee, before dipping forward and catching it on the back of his neck. It nestled between his backpack and helmet, sitting tight, even when he stood upright. The kids whooped and shouted, surrounding him in a second, begging him (I guessed) to teach them the trick.

  It was hilarious to watch him. The ball was still stuck, so he made out like he’d never even seen it. Every time a kid jumped to dislodge it, he’d spin out of range, making out he had no idea what they wanted. The grin stretched across his cheeks, threatening to disappear into his ears, and there was a cockiness to him, a swagger I hadn’t seen since we’d arrived. It was the Tommo I knew, so I smiled stupidly at him.

  If I’d known all it would take to make him feel at home was a footie, I’d have kicked one at him weeks ago.

  Sonny

  Four days had passed. Four days, twenty-three hours and thirty-two minutes to be exact, and I was still three hundred and eleven quid short.

  I’d raided everything I owned, taking anything of worth down to Cash Converters. I walked out only sixty quid richer but a hundred times more depressed. If that was what my life added up to, then I reckoned I should give in and take the kicking that was coming to me.

  The others did their bit, Wiggs threatening to pawn his silver-plated Zippo lighter (complete with engraved Playboy logo), Den boycotting the essentials for three whole days. It was the longest he’d gone without a beer in years. As I said, they did what they could.

  Cam did oceans better, pressing a wad of creased tenners into my hand on day two.

  ‘Savings,’ she shrugged. ‘Sorry it isn’t more.’

  ‘It’s loads. But how am I going to pay you back?’

  She leaned into me, her whisper sending a glow through my terrified body. ‘You already are.’

  The other thirty-nine pounds came from a variety of places. Six fifty-pence coins from behind the settee cushions, plus a handful of twenties from the ashtray in Wiggy’s mum’s car, which gave us the idea of washing motors at a fiver a go.

  We didn’t get far, there were too many cars sat on bricks for people to take pride in how shiny they looked.

  Which left me well short. I thought about coming clean to Mum, but couldn’t bear to see more disappointment on her face at my expense.

  All I had left was my motor mouth. I’d have to front it out with the crew and hope I could negotiate another few days. It was my worst idea yet, one that would probably lead me to a whacking great fall, but at least I’d have Den and Wiggy with me before I flew. There was no way they were letting me go on my own.

  ‘I promised Jamm I’d keep an eye on you,’ Den argued as we stood in the lift at Pickard House.

  ‘And there’s nothing on the box tonight anyway,’ grinned Wiggs.

  It was selfish of me – after all, this was my mess – but I couldn’t help but curse Hitch as the lift creaked upwards. He’d gone underground again, but not before a cryptic text, arriving not long after Cam’s donation, had offered a bit of hope.

  Won’t let u down

  But since then? Nothing, nada. Not a text or a call or even a book token came my way, making me think that his message wasn’t even meant for me in the first place.

  It wasn’t just me that noticed his absence. Den was still smarting from Hitch’s last aggressive appearance.

  ‘Something’s going on with that boy,’ he said as we trundled past the fifth floor. ‘Something weird.’

  ‘Weirder than normal?’ puffed Wiggs, filling the whole lift with smoke. ‘He’s hardly sane at the best of times.’

  ‘Yeah, but I didn’t like the way he was the other day. All creased up like that. And to be honest, he stank.’

  ‘I thought that was you.’

  ‘Do you want to eat that cig? It can be arranged.’

  Wiggy said nothing else and neither did I. I hadn’t mentioned Hitch’s offer of help to anyone. Just as well, it would only have made matters worse, especially as neither he nor his cash were anywhere to be seen.

  The lift arrived as the last of my bravery departed. The doors slid open to half a dozen meatheads, all dressed in regulation high-tops, hoodies and caps, the brims unbent and sporting the shop tags. I didn’t know if that was a fashion statement or whether they’d come straight from a spot of ram-raiding, but it didn’t seem the right time to ask, especially as they weren’t impressed to see my reinforcements.

  ‘You was told to come on your own.’

  ‘Eh? What about you, then? I might have been concussed but I could swear there was only two of you kicking me before.’

  ‘Security, bruv. Reckoned we’d need back up to carry all the coins you were bound to turn up with. So? Where is it?’

  I pulled a thin roll of notes from my pocket, managing to scatter a load of coins on to the walkway in the process. Not the best start when you want to stay in control. The leader ignored the shrapnel a
nd ripped the notes from my hand, sucking his teeth in disgust when he finished counting.

  ‘It’s not what we agreed.’

  I tried to get him on a technicality. ‘What you demanded, you mean.’

  ‘What’s the difference? You take business from us then you have to pay it back.’

  ‘And I will. I just need a few more days.’

  He said nothing. Just stared hard into my eyes before turning to his pals and nodding, as if agreeing to my request.

  It had been too easy, of course, but a small part of me celebrated anyway as he stepped forward, head still bobbing and teeth bared in a dumb grin.

  It was only when he was right up in my face that his expression changed, jaw clenching as his forearm slammed across my neck, pinning me to the lift door.

  I heard a scuffle beside me as Den reacted, ploughing towards the other crew members, who all pulled knives from their pockets. He was bigger than all of them, stronger too, but was packing nothing but his fists, and within seconds found himself backed up next to me and Wiggy.

  ‘You must think we’re mugs, turning up like this. You really think we’d accept this as payment? Or give you more time?’

  I had comebacks queuing up in my head but none of them were right, not unless we actually wanted to get shanked. Instead I imagined what Jammy would do if he was stood here, but came up with nothing. Because he was too smart, too savvy to ever find himself in this mess. Unlike me, who’d walked slap-bang right into it.

  The pressure on my neck increased as a second hand came into view, waving a switchblade with a rusty sharpened tip. I knew it was dirty as it rested a millimetre from my left eye, teasing my pupil with its filth.

  My whole body tensed, my neck threatening to dent the lift door as I tried to lever myself away. Den made one last attempt, but got a blade to his throat for the trouble. Wiggy said nothing, but I heard his chest rattle; craving a smoke more than ever before.

  They had us in a place there was no way back from. Or so I thought. As my eye began to water at the full horror of the blade, the lift doors opened behind me and I crashed to the floor, falling at someone’s feet.

  He must have cursed his luck, walking into the middle of our ruck. My first instinct was to pity him, couldn’t see how he could back away and claim to have seen nothing. But instead of running for the stairwell, the feet stepped over me and backed the crew leader up a step or two.

  ‘I’m late, aren’t I?’ he said, his voice familiar but in my panic impossible to place. At first I thought some weird time-slip thing had happened and Jamm was back. But then I saw the scabby clothes and unwashed hair, heard the nasal whine of his voice and knew it was Hitch, later than he’d ever been. Late and unprepared.

  Except he wasn’t. He seemed to know exactly what to do and wasted no time in doing it.

  ‘How much?’ he asked as I scampered beside him. He was wearing that look again, a whirlwind of agitation, working a ball of gum around his tight jaw with a ferocity that was making me dizzy. Although he had no weapon in his hand, no knife to match that of any of the Cuda crew, they eyed him with a look that screamed ‘danger’.

  I’d seen the expression on Hitch’s face before, on other lads as they stalked the Ghost. It was a look you’d cross the road to avoid, one you didn’t ever want focused in your direction.

  And from what I could see, the crew knew it as well as I did.

  ‘Who are you, then?’ my tormentor asked, unsure if he really wanted the answer.

  ‘Never mind that,’ Hitch answered. ‘I asked how much?’

  ‘How much what?’

  Hitch took another step forward, so full of aggression that I swore he was on the edge of exploding, taking not only the crew, but us and the whole balcony down with him.

  ‘How short is my mate here?’

  ‘Call it three hundred,’ the guy answered, confused by how he’d lost control in thirty seconds flat.

  ‘And that’s what you need to disappear?’

  ‘Always was.’ He tried to look brave but failed miserably.

  I watched Hitch ram his left hand into his rear jeans pocket, all eyes going with him, not knowing what he was going to pull out. His movements were so twitchy and taut that I had no idea what game he was playing, if any at all.

  Fourteen years of friendship in that moment meant nothing. It was like none of us knew him.

  His hand stayed hidden as he moved forward, past the crew until he reached the balcony edge. Then, casually, he brought a huge wedge of tenners out into the open, but instead of paying them off and getting us out of there, he let his hand drift over the edge of the rail, allowing the tops of the notes to flutter in the wind.

  What was he doing?

  He seemed calm, although his eyes continued to bulge out of his head.

  ‘I’ve got three hundred and fifty here,’ he chewed. ‘More than you want.’

  All six lads took a step towards him, drooling, only to have their tongues rammed down their throats as Hitch threw his arm further into the abyss.

  ‘But from what I saw when I arrived, maybe you’d rather have a ruck instead.’ The cash went back into his pocket as he fronted up to the crew, causing Den, Wiggy and me to suck in air; I wanted to scream, ‘NO!’

  What was he doing? Give it to them! Even if he was wired, he could still see we were outnumbered and out-tooled.

  ‘So which is it?’ he asked, and I swear all nine of us stood stunned, no one understanding which way this was going to go.

  ‘For three hundred quid, pal,’ their top dog answered, ‘it makes no odds to us. It’s pocket money.’

  My heart sank. This couldn’t be happening when we were so close. I wanted to bolt but couldn’t; all I could do was brace myself and watch as Hitch moved, his pent-up aggression fizzing as he took two steps forward.

  That was all it was.

  Two steps: not even a metre, but they were so full of intent, the muscles in his face screwed so tight, that every one of the meatheads took a step back, clueless as to the lengths Hitch would go to.

  I didn’t know either. He could’ve had an iron bar down the back of his jeans for all I knew, and that uncertainty was enough to see the balance shift.

  ‘You’re mental,’ the leader spat. ‘You know that?’

  Hitch shrugged, keeping up the mystery.

  ‘And you do it well. But you know what? I’m going to take your money anyway, fruit loop.’ He paused, in control again. ‘Despite you needing to spend it on a shed-load of deodorant.’

  He held his hand out, waiting for the cash. But Hitch didn’t move, apart from the grinding of his jaw.

  ‘Give him the money,’ I begged, not caring how desperate I sounded.

  Nothing.

  ‘Just do it, will you?’ Den was feeling it as badly as me, but was Hitch?

  He turned to the three of us and smiled, every inch of him buzzing. Slowly, his hand disappeared, pausing at his back pocket before a mad flourish had me cowering again.

  But there was the cash, changing hands not a second too soon for my nerves or theirs.

  ‘Didn’t have to be so painful, did it?’ I swear after he pocketed the cash, the Cuda’s front guy checked his hand to see what lurgy Hitch had left behind. ‘But you know what, pal? It’s been a buzz. We’ll be keeping an eye out for you.’

  Really? I couldn’t imagine any of them would relish another run-in with Hitch in this mood.

  With a last warning in my direction, they skulked to the stairwell. Taking the lift meant more time in Hitch’s presence. And right then? I’m not sure any of us wanted that.

  Sonny

  Fear does strange things to you.

  Right then, I felt like the crew had pummelled me anyway, whereas Wiggy acted like he’d won the lottery, bouncing round the balcony, threatening to hug Hitch until the smell of him hit again.

  Den wasn’t feeling the love, though, far from it. The only thing he wanted was answers.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ he y
elled, fingers crunching into fists.

  Hitch stared at him, bemused and no less riled than before. ‘You what?’

  ‘I said, where’ve you been? And while you’re at it, what was that all about?’

  Hitch spun on his heels, like Den was speaking to someone behind him.

  ‘Don’t be smart, I’m talking to you.’

  ‘What’s your problem?’

  ‘My problem?’ Den couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘My problem is the fact you almost had us stabbed. What were you doing playing god like that?’

  ‘Like what? They were never going to hurt us once they knew I had the cash.’

  ‘You reckon? What would’ve stopped them from shanking us all then taking it anyway? It wasn’t like we could fight back.’

  Hitch wasn’t having a bit of it, still pumped up and strutting. ‘Course we could. We’ve been in worse spots than that, haven’t we, Sonny?’

  Talk about a loaded gun. I had no idea how to answer without hacking one of them off. Den was right but Hitch had just paid me out of a mighty fall. It wasn’t easy to round on him after that, despite how psychotic he’d acted.

  ‘What we’re saying is that it’s not like you, mate.’ I stepped towards Hitch, then thought again when I saw him scowl. ‘To go in hardcore like that, especially when we didn’t know you were coming at all.’

  Den took over again, not as softly. ‘Wouldn’t have killed you to tell us you had the cash.’

  ‘I told Sonny I’d sort him out.’

  Den’s eyes were on me now, demanding to know why I hadn’t told him.

  ‘But that was days ago, mate, and when I heard nothing else I thought it had fallen through.’

  This was crazy, we should’ve been celebrating, not pulling each other apart.

  I saw Hitch bristle at Den and stepped nearer to try to calm him, failing to ignore the unbearable smell as I got in close. Whatever Hitch had been taking, it was stealing what we knew of him. I could see every muscle in his body was tense, almost to the point of shaking. Made me wonder if he was as high as a kite or craving a hit. Either way, he wasn’t interested in what we thought, even when Den asked him outright what he’d been taking.