Black Coke

by James Grenton

  The mention of El Patrón sent a shiver down Elijah’s spine.

  ‘Where are the pickup and delivery points?’ he said.

  ‘Pick up is Baranquilla. Final destination is Florida for this one. London for the next one.’

  ‘Florida?’ Elijah grinned. ‘I’ve got great networks there.’

  ‘You won’t be taking it to Florida. Some Haitians will. El Patrón prefers it that way. You’ll meet them half way on an island to hand over the load. I’ll give you details shortly.’

  ‘Haitians? You trust them?’

  ‘If El Patrón does, then that’s good enough for me.’ Amonite took a gulp of tea. She spat it out. ‘What the hell is this shit?’

  ‘Cerasse. Traditional Jamaican. Good for the blood and headaches.’

  There was a faint buzz. Amonite plucked a phone from her coat pocket and put it to her ear with a surprisingly graceful flick of her hand. She listened for a long while, her acned face darkening.

  ‘They’re onto him are they?’ she said. ‘I’ll be straight back.’ She tucked the phone away.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Elijah said.

  ‘What the fuck do you think?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You look nervous, reverend. Is there something you’re not telling me?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ Elijah pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and blew his nose. It came out bloody. He looked up. Amonite’s gaze sliced through him. Elijah rose unsteadily to his feet.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a sermon to prepare.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. My profuse apologies for intruding on your holy time.’

  Elijah led the way out of the office, back to the front door of the church. ‘Good to see you.’ He spun round to shake Amonite’s hand again. ‘Call again anytime.’

  Elijah watched Amonite strut down the street, deftly side-stepping the potholes with the grace of a catwalk model despite her oversized frame. Any white man or woman in their right mind would never walk alone through Kingston, even in broad daylight. But Amonite was different. Nobody would attack such a monster. Or if they did, they’d regret it.

  With a sigh of relief, Elijah turned back into the relative coolness of the church.

  He had important work to do.

  Chapter 13

  North London, UK

  8 April 2011

  Nathan strapped on his bullet-proof vest and scanned the street. They were in Hackney, one of the roughest areas of London. Wheelie bins overflowed on the pavement outside a crumbling Georgian house with boarded-up windows. A scrawny Alsatian skulked around the rusty metal gate. It barked at passers-by like an emaciated Cerberus trying to guard the gates of hell.

  ‘That’s the one.’ Steve jabbed a finger. ‘Typical crack den, in all its fucked-up glory.’ He turned round to inspect the riot police shuffling around impatiently behind them. They were all kitted up in black overalls with blue helmets and visors and see-through shields and truncheons.

  Nathan wiped his forehead. The overcast sky was releasing a persistent drizzle. Street lamps flickered to life as the late afternoon sun struggled to break through. He’d hardly slept again last night. Caitlin had got wasted at dinner in the Spanish restaurant, so he’d just about carried her home. He’d then lain in bed, staring at the moonlight through the curtains, going over his conversation with Cedric. His heart raced at the very thought of Amonite in the UK

  ‘Alright, lads,’ Steve said. ‘Let’s get cracking. You know the score.’ He looked Nathan up and down with his bright blue eyes. ‘So, Natty boy, fancy a go with the old enforcer?’ He patted the metal battering ram that was leaning against the brick wall.

  Nathan tried to smile. ‘Sure.’ He cradled the enforcer in his arms. It was as heavy as it looked.

  Two wraith-like crack-heads emerged from the house. They stumbled down the pathway to the gate, kicking the dog into silence. One had a black woolly hat and a ripped army coat. The other had a faded Guns ‘n Roses t-shirt and shivered in the cold. Their gaunt faces fell as the riot police charged towards them, Nathan in front with the enforcer.

  Nathan kicked the gate off its hinges. He shoved past the crack-heads, sending them tripping over the dog, into the rubbish-strewn garden. He sprinted for the front door and braced himself for the crash. He hoped the door didn’t have a New York latch: an iron bar placed diagonally across the door frame to prevent rival gangs from breaking in.

  It didn’t.

  Shards of wood exploded. The door crumpled. Crack-heads scattered in the hallway. Nathan hurtled past like a missile, straight into the kitchen. A half-naked young woman with short bleached hair and skinny arms sat at a table, puffing on a crack pipe. Nathan skidded to a halt in front of two comatose men sprawled on the floor amid used syringes, empty pizza boxes and scraps of tin foil. The acrid stench of burning drugs and stale sex filled the smoky air.

  The riot police piled in, swearing and shouting. They whacked addicts with their truncheons, pushed them to the ground, handcuffed them. Some fought back, swinging chairs, throwing cans and bottles and bits of furniture. Nathan dropped the enforcer. He headed for the fighting in the stairway. An addict with wide eyes and a nasty grin swung a knife. Nathan blocked and punched his attacker, who crashed backwards against the wall. Nathan ducked past a policeman who was pinning another addict against the banister. He raced up the stairs three at a time.

  Tony had to be in this house. Steve’s snitch had seen him here a couple of hours ago.

  A movement caught his eye. He ducked to the right as a cricket bat cut the air just where his head had been. He grabbed his attacker’s ankles. He yanked him to the floor and pushed him down the stairs. He jumped up and rammed his way into the bedroom in front of him.

  Just a pile of trash in a corner and an unmade bed covered with ripped and stained sheets.

  ‘Found him?’

  It was Steve’s rusty voice. Nathan turned. Steve was leaning against the door frame, a half-grin on his rough face.

  ‘Let’s check the rest.’

  Nathan pushed past Steve, ignoring the clamour of the battle downstairs. He flicked on the light in the next room. It shimmered feebly, as wasted as the rest of the house’s inhabitants. Syringes, crack pipes and crumpled cigarette packs were strewn across the worn-out carpet. Nathan shook his head. It never stopped shocking him the depth of squalor junkies could descend into.

  ‘He ain’t here,’ Steve said. ‘Let’s try the other den down the road. That one’s heaving at this time of day.’

  Muffled sounds came from the third bedroom, across the landing. Nathan dashed towards it. He yanked the handle.

  Locked.

  The sounds turned into screams.

  ‘Give me a hand, Steve,’ Nathan shouted, as he pressed his shoulder against the door. Steve joined him. They hurled themselves against the door, but it was no use.

  Nathan leaned over the banister. ‘Hey, bring up the enforcer.’

  A heavy-built policeman jumped up the stairs and placed the battering ram in Nathan’s outstretched hands. Nathan took a step back. The screaming from inside the room was turning into shrieks of terror. Nathan leapt forward, smashing through the door and the table placed behind it.

  He froze.

  A gaunt-faced man had his arm round a young woman’s chest and a knife at her neck. He had pupils as wide as saucers and blood streaking from his nose. He was plump and bald and wore a white shirt and black trousers. The woman had leathery skin and gaunt cheeks, the result of years of drug abuse. She was shaking.

  ‘Don’t move,’ the man said, his gaze fixed on Nathan’s.

  Nathan stayed completely still, his mind rapidly assessing the situation. If he could calm the man down or somehow distract him, he’d then be able to reason with him long enough to move round and disarm him.

  ‘Leave her, Tony,’ Steve said over Nathan’s shoulder. ‘You’re in enough shit as it is.’

  Nathan tensed. Steve wasn’t helping.

  ‘Drop the
knife, you fuckhead,’ Steve shouted.

  The knife drew a faint trickle of blood.

  Nathan dropped the enforcer. The floorboards cracked. Tony’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Steve,’ Nathan hissed over his shoulder. ‘Let me deal with this.’ He held out his hands, lowered his voice. ‘Let her go. You’ll be alright.’

  ‘Get out of the fucking way,’ Tony said.

  ‘Let go of the knife. Come quietly.’

  More blood. The woman screamed. Nathan stepped sideways, palms outstretched. He signalled to Steve and the other policeman, who moved aside. Tony dragged the sobbing girl past them.

  ‘There’s twenty coppers down there,’ Nathan said.

  Tony waved the knife at them. He made his way through the door and stumbled down the stairways, pushing the girl before him. Nathan followed them down, a few steps behind. He toyed with shooting Tony, but he needed him alive.

  ‘Let him through,’ Nathan shouted to the policemen who had gathered at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Armed and dangerous.’

  Steve grabbed Nathan’s shoulder. ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘If we try and stop him, he’ll kill her.’

  The policemen parted into two lines. Tony pulled the woman past them, then through the front doorway. He shoved her into the garden and ran off, his short legs showing astonishing speed. Nathan and Steve sprinted after him.

  Tony turned into a council estate and entered a building. Nathan rushed in, glancing up the stairwell.

  ‘No sign of him,’ he said to Steve, who was looking up and down the ground floor corridor.

  Steve pulled out his radio: ‘Bring in the heli. We’ve got a scrotie on the run just off Dalston Road.’

  A male voice crackled back: ‘On its way.’

  A shadow moved outside. Nathan rammed through the metal door further down the corridor, into a deserted car park. Tony was climbing a six-foot wall, struggling to slide his obese body over it. Nathan raced over and jumped up just as Tony was letting himself down the other side. Nathan balanced on the wall and pulled out his gun. The other side was pitch black. A rock flew past him. He lay flat.

  A whirring noise appeared above him, bringing Nathan momentarily back to the Colombian jungle. A helicopter’s floodlights lit up the area. It was a garden, with well-kept bushes and flowerbeds and a kids’ corner with swings and a sandpit.

  But no sign of Tony.

  Chapter 14

  North London, UK

  8 April 2011

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ Steve said as they walked back into the crack house, brushing the dirt from their clothes. ‘He’ll show up eventually. Then we’ll get the fat bastard.’

  ‘This place is like a war zone,’ Nathan said.

  The front door was off its hinges. The banister was in pieces. Shattered furniture lay everywhere. The police had lined the addicts up against the wall in the hallway as though preparing them for an identity parade. Some yelled obscenities. Others tugged at their handcuffs until their wrists bled. A young woman blubbered and sobbed. The rest looked too mashed to speak, their eyes rolling and saliva dribbling down their chins.

  ‘What’s that with their eyes?’ Nathan said.

  ‘They’re mashed, that’s what,’ Steve said.

  ‘Look.’ Nathan pointed to the young woman, who was leaning against the wall, head hanging back. ‘Those black spots on the eyeballs.’

  ‘Could be nothing.’

  ‘They’ve all got them.’ Nathan looked from one to the other. ‘And their ears. Look at them. All black and blue.’

  ‘Bruisings. Junkies are always getting whacked around the head.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘Hey, guv, check this out.’ A policeman handed Steve a bag of black powder about the size of two cigarette packets. ‘Found it upstairs.’

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ Nathan turned the package over in Steve’s hands. On the other side was the logo of a black beetle. ‘Straight from southern Colombia.’

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘I was there last week. I saw the labs where they make this stuff. It’s genetically-modified.’

  ‘Explains why this lot are so wasted,’ Steve said. ‘Found some in a den in Camden yesterday. Looks like it’s getting rather popular.’

  Nathan slit open the packet. He licked the tip of his index finger and dabbed the powder with it. He placed a tiny amount on his tongue. It went totally numb. A buzzing sensation spread throughout his mouth. He wiped his finger on his trousers and handed the packet back to Steve, who tasted it and grimaced.

  Nathan was already thinking through his report to Cedric. The presence of Black Coke here confirmed his prediction that the Front was seeking to expand fast internationally. Amonite was setting up the supply chains, generating demand. For all Nathan knew, a huge shipment of Black Coke may already have landed and was about to spark an epidemic of drug addiction and gang violence across the country. George would never be able to shrug this off as not being hard evidence.

  ‘Why you smiling?’ Steve said. ‘Something funny?’

  ‘No, nothing. Just thinking of the Soca board’s reaction when I tell them about this.’

  ‘Why?’

  A voice came from behind them. ‘Guv! Over here.’

  They ran into the kitchen.

  ‘Where?’ Steve said.

  ‘Down here.’

  A wooden door was open to their right. A smashed metal padlock lay on the floor. They went down wooden stairs into a basement stinking of decay. Empty bottles and crushed cans were piled to one side. The walls were made of large bricks painted a sickly yellow. The ceiling was too low, forcing everyone to stoop. In a corner, a cop was crouched over something.

  He turned round, showing missing teeth in a wide grin. ‘Look at this, guv.’

  At his feet was an open leather suitcase brimming with cash.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ Nathan said.

  The cop pointed to a large hole in the wall to their right.

  ‘Hand me your torch,’ Nathan said to Steve.

  He peered in. Someone had torn a hole through the brick wall and deep into the earth. They’d dug out a small room, the floor and walls all muddy and sticky. It was cold and damp.

  Nathan shone the torch up and down, then left, then right. Bricks were stacked to one side. Mice scurried away. In a corner was a mass of brown blankets spread over a mattress. The ground was littered with syringes, crack pipes, and empty wine bottles. Was this some kind of hideaway? A place where the junkies came to jack up on Black Coke and then pass out?

  Nathan stepped through. The stench of rot was nearly overpowering. A chest of drawers was balanced on a mound of earth. He hadn’t seen it at first as it was tucked away in the darkness to the right. He tugged the top drawer. It was stuck. He yanked hard and it slid open, but it was empty. The second one had a broken torch, while the third drawer had a few ripped shirts, trousers and underwear.

  ‘Find anything?’ Steve shouted through the hole.

  ‘No need to yell. I’m right here.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’

  ‘Just this old antique. Looks like some guys were living down here.’ He rummaged through the clothes. ‘Hey, look at this. A Glock and some Black Coke. Here, catch.’

  Steve deftly caught the gun and the bag of powder.

  ‘It’s half empty,’ he said, studying the bag. ‘Must’ve been about a quarter of a key. Whoever was living down here developed quite a bad habit.’

  ‘And was guarding the suitcase with the cash.’

  ‘What’s that over there?’

  ‘Blankets,’ Nathan said. ‘I’m guessing they were sleeping down here.’

  ‘There’s something underneath them.’

  ‘It’s just a big pile.’

  ‘Check it out.’

  ‘Okay.’ Nathan lifted the top blanket. It was heavy and sticky. Underneath were more blankets. They were torn and reeked of rot. He peeled them away like bits of dead skin from a sunburn. The
re was something underneath. Nathan pulled the final blanket away.

  He lurched back. Glazed eyes and an emaciated face reflected back the light of the torch. The body was so skeletal the skin hung off the shoulder-blades like tattered curtains.

  ‘What is it?’ Steve said.

  Nathan leaned closer. The knee, elbow and shoulder joints were all knobbly and gnarled, with streaks of black. The eyes had large black spots in them and the ear lobes were dark blue.