Heroic

by Phil Earle

  ‘You’ve spoken to him already, haven’t you? What did you tell him?’

  ‘The truth. That I’m proud of you; how much Tommo meant to you. It’s nothing that anyone doesn’t already know.’

  I could see the anger in him, the thought processes running across his face.

  ‘Do you think I want to see myself in the paper? Be reminded of what’s gone on? There’s nothing to be proud of. Nothing. So if he calls again you can tell him that. Do you understand?’

  Mum nodded, too shocked to do anything else, leaving Jamm to look the tiniest bit awkward. ‘I’ll get in the bath, then. Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘And I’ll probably turn in after that, before … well, you know.’

  What? Before you go for her like you did me?

  ‘All right, son, it’s fine. Sleep well.’

  And off he went, leaving me with an opportunity.

  ‘We need to talk, Mum.’ My words sounded urgent, but so did her response.

  ‘Not now, Sonny.’

  ‘But it’s import–’

  ‘Not now. I can’t do this now. I’m sorry.’

  And with a feeble excuse about an early shift, she shuffled off to bed, leaving me at the table, with more questions than my head could process, including where was it safe to sleep that night.

  I woke suddenly to Jamm shaking me by the shoulders. But as panic gripped me I noticed two things. Firstly, the sun creeping around his shoulders, and secondly, he was dressed. I might have been groggy, but I doubted he’d have pulled on a jacket before throttling me in his sleep.

  ‘Wake up, will you? We’re meeting the lads in twenty minutes.’

  I swore at him. Nine a.m.! Nine a.m. and he’d already spoken to the others? I imagined he’d got the same response from them as me. Mind you, they’d probably had more sleep.

  The good news overnight was that Jammy had stayed on his bunk, his arms going nowhere near my neck. The bad news was that he’d still managed to moan, wail and tilt the bunk in every direction possible as dreams invaded his sleep. I would’ve been irritated had it not seemed so genuinely terrifying. A lot of it was unintelligible noise like before, but the same names were obviously haunting him: Tommo and Wayne, whoever he was.

  I’d had to fight hard not to step in at various points, or fetch Mum. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t woken her too. Suppose a lifetime living on the Ghost explains a lot. It’s not like the place ever really falls silent.

  I looked at him through bleary eyes, no evidence of him feeling any effects of a broken night. Annoyed, I swung my legs on to the floor and, once upright, went straight in with a direct question.

  ‘Who’s Wayne?’

  ‘What?’ He’d been tying up his trainers, but with those two words I had his full attention.

  ‘Wayne. Who is he?’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re on about. Now get ready, will you?’

  ‘You keep talking to him. In your sleep. From the way you go on at him he seems to annoy you more than I do.’

  ‘No one could do that. Now get yourself up.’

  ‘So who is he, then? Someone in your regiment?’

  ‘Just shut up, will you?’ he spat, pulling so hard on his laces they were in danger of snapping. ‘For once, just do what you’re told. I don’t know what you’re going on about, so leave it.’

  And that was that. Conversation over. Another perfect start to the day. And I’d learned nothing, well, almost nothing. Whoever Wayne was, he’d got right under Jammy’s skin.

  Sonny

  From the state of the other two idiots, I couldn’t imagine we’d achieve anything today. We met at the bottom of our block, Den appearing first, a mess of stubble and stale lagery breath, with Wiggy staggering across ten minutes later, wheezing hard on what was probably his fifth cig of the day. He really was a wreck first thing, could barely speak or stand straight until he’d mainlined three cups of tea and ten Marlboros. The steaming mug in his hand told us he was on the way to sorting himself out, though he’d have to drink and smoke quickly if he wanted to avoid Jammy’s wrath.

  ‘Where’s the fire?’ he moaned.

  ‘You should know,’ answered Jamm, stealing a cig from him. ‘The fire is Hitch. When was the last time any of you saw him?’

  I said nothing. Was too busy biting my lip, regretting not holding things together like I was supposed to in the first place.

  ‘About three weeks, I suppose.’ Wiggs was typically vague.

  ‘And there’s been nothing? No contact at all?’

  ‘Have you met Hitch?’ Wiggs again. ‘I don’t think he’s got a fax machine.’

  He crumpled under a look from all three of us. It wasn’t the time for jokes. Not when we were talking Hitch.

  ‘So we need to find him,’ Jamm said. ‘He’s always liked to keep a low profile, but if he’s tied himself up in something dodgy, then it’ll make him ten times as elusive.’

  ‘We have tried, you know.’ I couldn’t forget most of the sights I’d seen while searching. ‘But if he’s using like we think he is, he could be anywhere.’

  Jamm rubbed at his face. It didn’t look like a night’s sleep had ironed the kinks out of his head. ‘If he’s using then it’s even more important we find him quickly. He could be in a right state by now.’

  He looked in my direction as he spoke, doubling the guilt that I carried on my back.

  It wasn’t as if I’d bought Hitch a crack-pipe and told him to get stuck in, but the end feeling was the same, believe me.

  ‘So let’s start again. Couple of hours and we can cover the Ghost between us.’

  You had to give it to Den. He might’ve had a hangover, but it didn’t stop him being up for it. Maybe I needed a dose of what he’d been on last night.

  So we split up, arranging to meet at midday. Me and Wiggs had to cover the northern blocks plus the parade, with Jamm and Den scoping out the rest. I didn’t mind, couple of hours away from Jamm might clear my head a bit. Shame I had to spend it with Wiggy, though. From the look of him, I’d spend every minute carrying him on my back.

  So we tried. Tried hard too. Once we were back on the skagheads’ stairwells it focused our heads right in. We did have to find Hitch, we just couldn’t find anyone either prepared or able to help us. We tried every tactic we had. Said it was an emergency, his mum was sick, dying even, but every gaze remained blank. Lips were cracked and blistered but said nothing. They weren’t interested unless we could get them mashed.

  After three tower blocks and a load of stairs, we were ready to blow, especially me. All this morning had done was remind me how worried I was about Hitch.

  Wiggs tried to help, but moral support wasn’t exactly his strength. ‘Maybe if we hadn’t robbed the van like we did, he wouldn’t have had the cash to try whatever he’s smoking.’

  Brilliant. Cheers for that, mate.

  Another half-hour and I wouldn’t have been able to let comments like that slide, so it was a relief to get a text from Jamm, telling us to get over to Hitch’s flat as soon as we could.

  ‘Take a look in there,’ gasped Den, as soon as we arrived.

  So I did, but it wasn’t the view that bothered me. All right, there was a bigger post mountain than before, more pizza boxes and litter on the floor. But the real problem was the smell. Soon as the letterbox opened it overpowered your senses. It was the same rankness I’d got off Hitch the last time we saw him, but multiplied by ten. I told Jamm so as I backed away and Wiggs had a whiff.

  ‘Do you think he’s in there?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t believe anything alive is,’ answered Den, ‘unless it’s growing out of a pizza box.’

  ‘I reckon he’s inside.’ The thought filled me with panic. ‘We need to get in there. Do we call the police or what?’

  The only answer I got was from Jammy’s boot as it crashed against the door, splintering the wood like it was a wafer. As the door crashed back on its hinges, Jamm ploughed forward, tucking
his t-shirt over his nose as he went.

  The stink was unimaginable. It wasn’t sewagey, it wasn’t a smell that you could place or put some logic to. This was different. Death clung to it, a rotting odour that invaded every inch of the air around us. The prospect of finding Hitch was suddenly a real one, and terrifying too.

  We started in the kitchen, but there were no surfaces to be seen and barely any floor either. Fast-food boxes littered every space.

  Jamm moved first, the sights not seeming to bother him. Instead he leaned over the sink, piled high with festering plates and rancid water, and unhooked the window. A breeze wafted in then out, probably appalled by what it found.

  ‘Try the lounge,’ Jamm ordered in full-on soldier mode. I didn’t argue, probably out of relief that he hadn’t sent me to the bathroom. God knows what we’d find in there.

  The lounge was in no better state: the same food carnage, but there were also blankets thrown across the floor, making half a dozen makeshift beds. Whatever Hitch had been doing (and I could guess by the burnt spoons on the coffee table what that was), he hadn’t been doing it alone. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared.

  I kicked at the blankets, not wanting to touch them. I don’t know why I bothered. It wasn’t like anyone could possibly be underneath them. So with sickness rising in my throat, I headed for Hitch’s room. But as I reached the door I was called back by Wiggy, clearly freaked out by what he’d found in the second bedroom.

  Except, like the kitchen, it wasn’t a bedroom, not any more. The bed base was gone and the mattress leaned across the window, blocking out the view of the walkway in front. With all light gone, and only one naked bulb buzzing, it gave the room a seedy edge.

  In the middle of the space, running its full length, were three wallpapering tables, every one of them crammed with rolls of clingfilm, baggies and weighing scales. Tiny traces of brown and white powder were scattered across the surface: not enough to get you up and flying, but there was no doubt it was marching powder of some sort.

  ‘What is going on?’ asked Wiggy, though he knew the answer. ‘Hitch can’t be dealing this stuff, can he?’

  ‘Hitch can’t manage to wash his own clothes. No way he could get himself as organized as this.’

  ‘Could be someone’s taken advantage of him. Promised him enough of whatever he fancies to use the place.’ Den looked like he was going to throw up.

  Jamm, though, was on the move, mumbling something as he marched towards Hitch’s room. With his momentum rolling forward, the bedroom door crashed open, exposing us to a whole new wave of nausea.

  Seriously, the smell was so intense it burned our nostrils. I felt like I should put my hands to my face to fend off the swarm of flies that had to be heading our way. But none came, and on Jamm’s order, we followed him in.

  It was like nothing I’d ever seen. Piles of magazines filled every corner, vying for floor space with mounds of clothing so filthy they were in danger of melding into the carpet. Drawers from the dresser lay upturned, scraps of paper and receipts the only things left inside. I’d never seen a place so desperate or chaotic; after just seconds I could feel it sucking at my spirits. God knows what it had done to Hitch.

  ‘Come on,’ I gasped, grabbing at Jammy as he approached the bed. ‘He’s not here.’

  But Jamm didn’t hear me, or chose not to. Instead he walked forward, reaching for the corner of the blanket on the mattress. It looked identical to what I’d seen in the lounge. Empty, any sign of life long gone.

  That didn’t stop Jamm from whipping it away, though, and as the dust sprung into the air, we were left with a sight none of us expected or wanted to see.

  A body: the thinnest, palest excuse for a human that I’d ever seen. It belonged in some history book from the Second World War, not here in the middle of our estate. Each limb looked withered, ankles and arms jutting out from clothes several sizes too big for them. It was like someone had dressed a comedy skeleton. But there was nothing funny about it as we recognized the clothes. Hitch didn’t have an extensive wardrobe. There was no doubt that the wasted face we were all gawking at was his.

  The air turned blue, all thoughts of the smell forgotten. Jamm was first on to his knees, his cheek resting millimetres from Hitch’s blistered mouth.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I screamed. ‘Help him, will you?’

  The stillness was agonizing. It took every bit of strength I had to stop myself from pulling Jamm away and taking over.

  ‘He’s breathing,’ he said. ‘Shallow. But there’s something there.’

  I reached for my phone, hands shaking too much to even take the keylock off.

  A second later it lay on the floor, knocked to the ground by Jammy who’d leapt back to his feet.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he yelled.

  ‘Calling an ambulance. What do you think I’m doing?’

  ‘No ambulances. Not here.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘What do you mean, not here?’

  ‘Call an ambulance and they’ll bring the police. Soon as they turn up, Hitch is in serious trouble. They’ll have him for dealing. We’ve no idea what else is hidden here, have we?’

  That was it for me. I was smack-bang freaking out.

  ‘What are we going to do, then?’

  We all looked to Jammy. It was like he’d never been away.

  But he didn’t answer. There wasn’t time, as the front door slammed and the hall filled with strangers’ voices. It had to be Hitch’s new mates, and by the time they reached his door my fingers were already curled into fists.

  Sonny

  There were two of them. Not Cuda crew. Older, hairier. They didn’t look like the sort to give you five days to pay back what you owed them.

  As they appeared in the doorway there were the inevitable questions as to who we were. I’m sure they probably asked more bluntly than that, I don’t remember. Was running on pure uncut adrenalin by then.

  We said nothing, to them anyway. Jamm turned to Wiggs and told him to pick Hitch up, carefully. Wiggy did as he was told, a sharp breath leaving Hitch’s lips as he was plucked skywards. Evidence that there was still some fight left in him.

  The meatheads in the doorway didn’t like it, though.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Jamm stood motionless, oozing a calm I hadn’t seen since he came home.

  ‘Listen. We don’t care what you’re doing in his flat. So don’t be thinking we’re after your gear. All we want is him. He’s our mate.’

  ‘And what if he doesn’t want to leave?’

  Jamm strode forward, Den and me falling in behind. He didn’t stop until he was inches away from the first guy. ‘We’ve already asked him.’ He paused, tipped his head to one side and leaned further in. ‘And do you know what he said?’

  I saw the guy respond to Jamm’s challenge, his own head coming forward until they stood like two rutting stags. ‘What’s that, then?’

  But Jamm said nothing. Instead, with a speed that had my eyes blurring, he slammed a headbutt clean on to the bloke’s nose, momentum sending them both stumbling. The crack of cartilage was sickening, but it wasn’t enough to put the stranger on the ground. Instead he let rip with a roar and piled his huge frame straight into Jamm’s midriff. The pair of them sprawled on to the floor, limbs tangled in Hitch’s festering clothes.

  That was it, the room exploded. The other gorilla, spotting I was the smallest, went straight for me, but as I dodged his flailing arms, he walked straight into a belly punch from Den that bent him double. I didn’t give him time to draw breath. Instead I raised my knee into his forehead and felt eight-foot tall when he crumbled in front of me.

  Den wasn’t finished. It was clear that they were proper players, so as the guy clutched at his face, Den leaned his knee across his throat and rifled his pockets, only stopping when he found a blade in his jeans pocket. ‘You wouldn’t use this, would you?’ Den hissed, and with the blade still shut
in his fist, he lamped the guy one last time, sending him deep into a blissful sleep.

  My attention turned to Jamm, still trading blows on the floor. He was holding his own, but as they rolled, neither of them could land anything significant. Skipping round I waited till the meathead veered my way, then swung my foot into his ribs. He didn’t flinch at first, his attention still on Jamm. So I tried again, taking a run-up this time.

  I felt something give, then saw his face crunch in pain. A gasp left his throat, an octave higher than his speaking voice, and as he writhed, Jamm leapt to his feet and weighed in too.

  The only thing was, Jamm didn’t stop, even after six kicks and the guy had stopped moving.

  ‘Stop it, Jamm,’ I called, my arm grappling with his. He either didn’t hear me or didn’t want to as another volley thumped home. ‘Jamm? Did you hear me? That’s enough!’

  I tried to get in front of him but he wouldn’t have it, his face so clouded with anger that I don’t think he even knew I was there. I looked at Den, who stared back, his surprise and fear mirroring mine.

  In the end we managed to pull him away, both Den and me straining to keep any kind of grasp on him as he ranted at the bloke, words we could barely work out. I’m not sure I wanted to either.

  I looked hard at Jamm’s eyes, and the hate flooding from them. I had no idea what he was seeing as he stared at the floor, but I doubted it had anything to do with the stranger who’d disturbed us.

  ‘Calm down!’ I yelled, not caring if it deafened him. ‘It’s us. It’s done.’

  With a final yell he shook us off, and seemed to come partially to his senses. He dropped to his knees and frisked the guy, pocketing a knife similar to the one Den found.

  ‘See if he’s got a phone,’ he shouted to Den as he patted him down, throwing a handset to the ground before stamping hard. The phone shattered quickly. ‘That should buy us another minute or two to get clear.’

  Having watched Den copy him, Jamm marched over to Wiggy and took Hitch himself. No strain showed on his face; it was like Hitch weighed nothing more than a bag of sugar.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’