‘We gotta get this done today. I need Marek today,’ John anxiously stated.
Dread I squinted. ‘Why?’
John smiled wryly. ‘My boss gave me a deadline. I have to get back what Marek stole today or I’m in it.’
Dread I grinned, his gold tooth shining. ‘Ya boss, huh?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Ya like ya boss?’
John shrugged. ‘He’s all right. Moans a lot, but he’s okay…’
‘He pay good?’
John was getting proper confused by this line of questioning. ‘What’s this got to do with Marek?’ he asked.
Dread I shook his head. ‘Nuthin’.’
‘Then what—’
‘Mi got a lickle proposal for ya, bredda,’ Dread I interrupted. ‘Mi lieutenant on the north side got heself arrested a month ago. He now doing fifteen year. So mi looking fi someone new in mi family. Someone who mi can rely ’pon, who mi can trust, who got the know how…’ Dread I smiled and began nodding his head knowingly, even though his eyes stayed as dead as doornails. ‘Yeah, I know you. Ya wonder how, but mi do. Ya expertise is on the street. Ya feel me, bredda?’
John stared at him, totally nonplussed. Is this malaka saying he wants me to start dealing crack for him?
‘That’s right, bredda,’ Dread I said as if he just read his mind. ‘I’ll give you ya own army. Dem out there. All yours to control. They’ll work the streets for you. You get the cream; everything ya want—money, power, women, gold… You’ll be king a da hill! You proved ya worth, ya got the brains dem. Ya know the game from long time.’
John looked away for a second, then began shaking his head. ‘I-I can’t…’
Dread I kissed his teeth. ‘Why ya gonna fock around with monkey work, huh? Your boss nah good for ya. He just gets you to do the shit he don’t wanna do heself. Fock him! After we bring down Marek, we go over there today and tek him down.’
John waved his hands on the air. ‘Nah-nah, don’t do that!’
‘Why not?’
‘Complicated. I-I owe him. I fucked up and I gotta put it right. I can’t show disloyalty, it’s not me.’
Dread I leant back and smiled. ‘And that’s why I like you, bredda. Trust me, you an asset to any organisation. That’s why I wanna make ya part a mi crew. And I don’t make offers like that easy, ya unnerstand?’
John nodded his head. He understood. He was also gobsmacked by what he was hearing. He was actually being offered a job. And when he thought about it, thought about it really hard, he matched the job spec perfectly—
Mature, experienced drug dealer needed. Knowledge of pistols, submachine guns and rifles required. Criminal record (goes down well with the yoot), and a complete lack of empathy and remorse a must. The ability to kill another to further career desirable. Please forward all CVs with covering letter to Mr. I at [email protected]
He had both the perfect CV and all the right credentials for the job. And now he had just passed the interview with flying colours. He smiled wryly. He must have sent out a thousand fucking CVs to different companies in his life and received no replies. Zero. One look at his work and Dread I was offering him a job on the spot. Yeah, ’cos this was the only job he was fit for, the field he had experience in, this was the only job he’d ever get… A lowlife drug dealer. Maybe he just had to accept that’s what he was and get on with it…
He glanced down at the table and it summed it all up perfectly—lines of coke, a submachine gun, and more fifty pound notes than he could count. Jesus, how much he wanted to grab that money and just stick it in his pocket, gamota. And he could, if he took the job. If he did that, his pockets would be lined with gold. In no time, he could get his wife and moro a new flat. Fuck it, he could be feeding them caviar, and quaffing champagne for himself.
But you promised her you wouldn’t go back there again. Yeah, he promised, gamota. But those notes on the table kept calling him. They could be his, not once a month, but weekly, daily, hourly. And he’d have his own crew. They’d work the streets for him, meaning he could take a back seat. It sounded too easy. Easy money.
But, your wife will leave you straight away, re.
Yeah, that was true. She’d be out the door before he could say ‘bloodclot.’ It was all right for Dread I—his wife and kid were brown bread. John had a future with his.
What future, re? Struggling every fucking month? Miserable forever?
It was the horns now speaking to him, overriding his conscience. The things now sitting proudly on his head. The new demon that had taken over him. And when those thoughts came to him he began to feel guilty. He glanced down at the lines of coke on the table again. They were chocolate rivers; fat juicy steaks; banoffee pie. His mouth was salivating.
‘Tek a lick, bredda,’ Dread I said, noticing him staring at the white lines. ‘Get ya angry, get ya lively for when we go tek down Marek.’
John let out a long sigh, and shook his head. He couldn’t. Couldn’t do that. He hadn’t for years and promised himself and his wife he wouldn’t.
But, you got horns now, re. You’re a kakos and there’s nothing you can do about it…
He put his face in his palms and closed his eyes. Behind them he saw the bloodstained face of Green T’s sister once more. She was screaming wildly. Horns then shot out of the sides of her head, and in the next instant, it was his own reflection he was seeing. Then Green T’s sister. Then his own. Green T’s sister, then his own/Green T/hisface/Green/him/Green/him—
ARMATIA, RE!
‘Arrggggh!’ he shouted at the yellowing ceiling, tortured to fucking hell.
His eyes snapped back open. ‘Fuck it!’ he spat.
He reached down, grabbed the tooter from the table and stuck it up to his nose. He wanted to blank out the images, the guilt, Alisha, Dread I, Yousif. Wanted to blot it all out for the next twenty-four until all this skata was done and dusted, and he could go back to normal, and sort his life out, and—
He hoovered up a line in one long sniff, threw his head back and closed his eyes.
Every part of him numbed in an instant.
‘That’s it, bredda,’ Dread I said in his jovial, ringmaster voice. ‘Help yaself…’ He then began that rusty blades cackling, and from behind John’s closed eyelids it sounded right.
So, so right…
PART FOUR—SURVIVING
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
John pulled into the camper site at 9:10 am.
On the way, he stopped off at a petrol station for another line of coke in the toilets; Sagat gave him a very generous gram before he left to ‘keep him going.’ The lines he had with Dread I were wearing off fast, so the guilt alongside the images of horns and death combo were free to torture him again. He needed to blot ’em out, just get through this fucking day in one piece and with the delivery in his hand. He told Dread I he’d give him an answer on his job offer once the day was out and all scores had been settled. At the moment he was 50/50. The way he saw it right then, the pros weighed about equal to the cons. But at least for once it wasn’t an impossible choice; he actually had a choice in this one.
He parked up outside the caravan and killed the engine. He wanted to go back home for two reasons—one was to collect those mugshots of the twins Ahmed made for him. He wanted to hand out copies to Dread I’s crew just to make sure they had a clear idea who not to kill. Secondly, he wanted to check on Alisha, make sure she was okay, and feed her another lie before hitting the road to meet with Dread I and the boys.
He checked himself in the rear view mirror. His horns sat loud and proud on top of his head, constantly telling him what he’d become over the last few days. His eyes were bloodshot, his pupils big dilated dots. Black rings hung underneath them like half moons. He could blag that away by saying it was ’cos he’d been up all night at the shop. And if he kept his distance, she wouldn’t see his pupils. If she spotted them, she’d know something was up. She wasn’t stupid and her days of drug naivety had died
with Yousif. He checked his nose, wiping it over and over to make sure any white flecks of coke weren’t loitering there about to tell tales on him. All was cool.
He got out of the car and stepped up to the front door of the caravan. He then realised it would’ve been a good move to have bought her something—flowers, chocolates, something just to keep her sweet for being away all night. But he hadn’t. Oh well, next time…
He cleared his throat as he stepped inside. ‘Alisha,’ he called. She wasn’t around. He went straight to the wardrobe and began rummaging around for his shoebox; the one he kept his documents and various crap like that inside.
When he found it, he pulled out the mugshots from inside and stared at them with hatred in his heart. ‘I’m coming to get you…’ he said quietly to them before folding them up and placing them in his inner jacket pocket. He closed up the box, put it back in the wardrobe, and got to his feet.
He looked around. ‘Alisha?’ he called again. She still wasn’t answering. ‘Leesh!’
She then slowly ambled out of the toilet, a strained expression on her face. She glanced up at him. ‘So, you’re back,’ she said.
‘Yeah, long shift.’ He sniffed hard. ‘You okay?’
She limped over to the table and sat down with a groan. She then shook her head in response. ‘No, I’m not. I feel sick.’ She rubbed her forehead with her palm. ‘I had those pains again all night.’
John went over and touched her cheek. It was hot. ‘You better go and lie down till I come back,’ he ordered.
Alisha’s head snapped up, her eyes suddenly becoming alert. ‘Why, where are you going?’ she asked.
‘I gotta go back to the shop. Do my day shift.’
‘What? You’ve been gone for almost twenty-four hours.’
John nodded. ‘Yeah, but there’s no one to cover my shift, so I have to do it.’
‘But you haven’t slept, have you?’
‘I don’t need to sleep,’ John replied and sniffed hard.
Alisha stared at him with sleepy eyes. She groaned. ‘Are you telling me the truth, John?’
John glared hard at her, anger now brewing inside him big time. Telling the truth, gamota? Is the bitch winding me up or what? Does she know what I’ve fucking been through the last week?
‘Of course I’m telling the truth. I’m not the one who tells the lies round here!’
Alisha gave him a grave stare. ‘What do you mean by that, John?’
John stepped forwards. ‘You know exactly what I mean, my precious…’ He stopped and craned his neck forwards, making sure to open his eyes fully so he could see every part of her. Her halo was glowing, but not as bright as usual. ‘You got yourself pregnant, didn’t you?’ he asked flat out, and watched her like a hawk, eagerly awaiting a reaction. He was expecting something to happen once she responded—her nose to grow like Omar’s, or her eyes to change, something, anything to tell him she was lying.
She stared back at him, her own eyes widening momentarily, her chest tightening ever so slightly.
After a second, her eyes became slits, and she appeared to relax a touch. ‘No, no. I didn’t, John,’ she replied with a neutral tone. ‘I told you, the pills stopped working…’
Her halo suddenly went dark.
Very dark. It tried to light up again, but it struggled like a light bulb on the brink of burning out. She couldn’t hold her stare any longer. She glanced down, and when she did, her halo turned ashy and became shadow.
It was enough. Enough to tell him she was lying. Now he knew.
He knew the truth, and how did it make him feel? Let down. Badly let down. Even though deep inside his heart he knew the truth from the outset, to hear her lie and to see that she was lying made it worse. Maybe he would’ve been better off not asking her. Maybe he should’ve lived with the lie.
‘Is that what your funny mood has been about lately, John?’ she then asked.
John met her stare. Her halo was now glowing again and she looked so innocent. Yeah, the lying putana looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her fucking mouth! She lied to me, lied to me badly…
And suddenly anger was beginning to burn in his belly. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, John. You’re acting funny and—’
‘You’re imagining it,’ he smartly interjected. ‘You’re tired. Go and lie down, and I’ll be back later.’
Alisha shook her head in defeat. ‘Oh, John, what are you and that fucking Aziz up to now?’
That made his back straighten. ‘Nothing!’ he snapped. ‘I’m not up to anything! What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘Why are you getting angry, John?’
From nowhere, rage mushroomed inside him like an atomic bomb. ‘I’M NOT GETTING FUCKING ANGRY! IT’S YOU ASKING QUESTIONS AND CONSTANTLY GIVING ME THIS SHIT!’
Alisha flinched back, her eyes wide with fear. ‘John…’
John’s hands balled up into fists and he smashed ’em on the table, making Alisha shriek. ‘JOHN NOTHING!’ He stared at her hard, his face twisted for the next few seconds, and something deep down inside him told him he was acting like a proper headcase, but something else was at the controls, something nasty and there was nothing he could do about it.
‘I’m going back to work to get us some fucking money. I’ll be back later, okay? So, stop fucking moaning and get into bed before you do damage to the fucking baby. Now!’ John stayed where he was, staring at her through hot eyes, an acute rage burning like an inferno just behind his face.
Alisha slowly backed up out of her seat as if she were trying to safely evade a rattlesnake without alarming it. Her hands were visibly trembling. He watched her get to her feet and take small backwards steps over to their bed. When she reached it, she sat down on it and stared back at him with sorrowful eyes.
John abruptly smashed his fists on the table again, making his ashtray fly. ‘GET IN!’ he screamed.
Alisha’s eyes widened. ‘You’re scaring me, John,’ she told him.
John rushed over to her side in an instant. He put his face into hers and pointed his finger at her. ‘Oh, I’m fucking scaring you am I? Well, you’re doing my fucking head in! So, just get in the fucking bed and wait till I get back! Okay?’
‘Please don’t do this, John. Don’t get yourself into trouble, we can’t take it…’
‘I’M GOING TO WORK!’ he shouted and turned the finger into a fist. He brought it forwards forcefully.
‘John! No!’ Alisha shrieked.
John put his other hand out in front of his fist at the last second, catching it before it connected with her cheekbone. There was a loud smack that made Alisha recoil. Tears jumped out of her eyes and streamed down her face.
John smiled.
He could feel deep inside him that it was an evil smile, a mocking, contemptuous grin. The sort of thing Dread I would do. And at that moment it felt good. Felt like retribution.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Alisha yelled, choking on her tears. ‘Why? Why?’
John grinned more. He could really feel it now, so big and toothy it felt like his cheeks had been split open with a carving knife. A ‘Chelsea smile’ they called it. ‘I’m doing this to save all our fucking arses, darling,’ he replied. ‘You understand? For us! So we can have a nice flat to live in and not this fucking tin pot any more.’ He zipped up his jacket before he bent down and planted a big wet kiss on top of her head.
The feel of it made her skin crawl.
‘I’ll be back later,’ he said with more calm in his voice. ‘You just rest till I get back.’
Alisha looked away in disgust once he kissed her, and then just stared at him when he stood upright again. She wiped her eyes, trying to work out what the hell was going on. Who was this impostor? Where was her husband?
John then turned away and marched towards the front door. He opened it and stared outside for a few seconds, closing his eyes and taking in long deep breaths, acting weird. When it looked like he had enough of
that, he stormed out and slammed the door shut behind him. Alisha flinched at the sound of it smashing in its frame. Soon after, she heard the car start up, the engine rev, and then the tyres skid away.
And then everything was still; her chest could finally relax.
What the hell just happened?
She was too shook up to answer. She’d never seen John act so aggressively before. Okay, he hadn’t slept, so she could understand if by now he was getting a bit ratty, but that was just crazy. I mean did you see the way he went to hit you? You know what that was don’t you?
Hmm, yeah she did. It was like he was drunk or…on drugs. He wasn’t John. He was someone else. But he’d been clean for so long, why would he suddenly do…that? She wiped another tear from her cheek. It must be that bastard Aziz, she thought. What shit had he got John into now? And if he was using drugs again, then that must mean he’s dealing again. He’d been doing deliveries for Aziz before—coffee, tea, and brandy he said…Yeah, right… coffee, tea, and brandy my backside! More like skag, weed, and bootleg DVDs.
She released a heavy, burdened sigh, and rubbed her forehead. It was hot.
‘And I believed him,’ she said to the caravan. ‘I thought he’d finally changed. I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. How could I be so wrong?’ A deeply sad feeling plummeted into her heart. It was bad enough having to spend the previous night all alone—the first since they got married. Even when he was in a coma, she stayed in the hospital room with him. Sleeping by herself had been horrible—lonely, scary. And now this. She felt betrayed; she’d been lied to, made a fool of. He was laughing at her behind her back, just like when he’d been gambling their home away.
She pulled the covers up to her chin, wiping her wet eyes on them. Why? Why? Why does this shit have to happen? She turned away and her eyes locked onto the tulip in the beer can, the one John picked for her a few days before. It was now wilting.
So what are you gonna do about it all, Alisha? A voice suddenly asked her. It was a strong voice, one that made her stop crying and begin taking deep breaths. A voice that had a way of whipping her backside into shape when she needed it. After a few seconds of steadying herself, she gave an answer.
The Survival Game Page 22