Brotherhood of Blades

by Linda Regan

  ‘How near are CO19?’ Georgia asked Stephanie.

  ‘A few minutes away,’ came the reply from Jim Blake.

  Jason’s chest felt as if half a dozen wasps had landed on it. Yo-Yo’s heel ground the remains of the wire into the green lino beneath them.

  ‘So, you’re an arse-licking grass,’ he said, poking the knife under Jason’s balls. ‘I had you down as cleverer than that.’

  Everyone knew Yo-Yo Reilly was half mental when he was sane. When he lost it, no one knew what he was capable of.

  He bent his head towards Jason’s until their noses almost touched. ‘Penalty for grasses is death and looks like I’ve got the pleasure.’ He hacked the knife into Jason’s shoulder as if he was testing a joint of meat for tenderness. Jason tried not to scream.

  ‘You think I’m stupid or something?’ Yo-Yo yelled. ‘You come in here bleating about your gran and that slag Chantelle. They got what was coming to them.’ He ran the knife across Jason’s chest. A trickle of blood rolled out. It stung like hell and his legs were growing weak. This was going to be a slow and painful death. He wondered if the Feds would save him.

  Boot, Scrap and three dogs moved in behind Yo-Yo. Jason’s vision was bleary, but he heard those dogs, spoiling for someone’s blood.

  Yo-Yo smashed a fist into his head, once, twice, three times. Then he butted him, and blood spurted from Jason’s nose. He was pinned against the wall, and all he could see was a galaxy of stars, but still the noise of snarling dogs was crystal clear. He wondered if Chantelle felt this bad as she prepared to meet her maker.

  A hard kick in his balls buckled his legs, and he toppled to the ground.

  A blurred hand waved in front of his face, and he heard Yo-Yo say, ‘I’m having this bastard myself.’

  Not the dogs then. He saw a glint as the knife caught the single shaft of light from the window. It was a long blade with jagged edges. The edges would catch on his skin as it entered his body.

  Police surrounded the flat. Stephanie Green stood at one side with David Dawes; Georgia Johnson and Hank Peacock were at the other. A couple of uniforms struggled to keep the swelling crowd back. Chants of ‘Feds, Feds, out the Feds,’ warned the Brotherhood members inside the flat.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Georgia shouted. ‘Keep your distance, or we’ll arrest you for obstruction.’

  The crowd didn’t move. ‘Let’s move in,’ she said to Dawes.

  He shook his head. ‘Wait for CO19.’

  ‘We can’t wait. There’s someone in there with a serious knife wound. And we don’t know what’s happened to Young. We gave him our word we’d look after him.’

  ‘It’s not safe,’ Dawes pointed out. ‘Someone in there has a gun.’

  Stephanie caught Georgia’s eye. ‘Surround the building,’ she told the waiting uniformed officers.

  A dozen or more police spread out across the entrance and round the side of the flats.

  ‘There’s no back entrance, only a tiny window,’ one shouted.

  ‘The last thing we heard was Jason saying a knife wound needed urgent attention,’ Georgia repeated. ‘We haven’t time to wait for CO19.’

  SIXTEEN

  Around the estate, the usual array of missiles and foul-smelling liquids were raining down from the high-rises. Stephanie Green tried to make herself heard over the clamour of dustbin lids and shouts of, ‘Out, Feds, out!’

  ‘Keep everyone back. Try to keep this area clear,’ she shouted to a uniformed sergeant who was trying to control a gang of youths.

  Georgia picked up the loudhailer and turned to the flat. ‘Listen up inside,’ she shouted. ‘This is DI Johnson. Everyone in flat number three walk out slowly, keeping your hands in the air.’

  There was no reply.

  ‘We know you have an injured man in there. We have paramedics waiting to help.’ A rotten apple landed on her back and she shrugged it off. ‘An ambulance is ready. You need to release him, and come out with your hands up.’

  A stick landed on the ground close by, and the uniformed sergeant shouted up into nowhere, ‘Pack that up!’

  ‘We have the building surrounded,’ Georgia continued. ‘We know you are in possession of a firearm.’

  No answer.

  ‘For your own good, throw out any weapons, and come out with your hands above your head, or we will come in.’

  Still silence from inside the flat.

  Dawes moved up beside her. ‘Wait for CO19,’ he said. ‘We can’t risk any officers getting hurt. We already have three murders to account for.’

  Georgia was too angry with herself to look at him. This was her responsibility; she should never have agreed to this pantomime. It had turned into a mess, and she was going to carry the can. DCI Banham had made it quite clear that no risks were to be taken, and they had disobeyed that direct order. It was clear Dawes was only interested in bringing in Yo-Yo Reilly; the man was completely blinkered. He wasn’t even thinking of her officers’ safety; all he cared about was losing Reilly. She had never been a hundred per cent sold on Jason Young’s innocence, or Reilly’s guilt for that matter, but right now lives were at stake, and their job was to make sure they saved them.

  She lifted the loudhailer again. ‘Reilly, every moment you hesitate is a threat to your friend’s life. Throw your weapons down and come out.’

  No reply.

  Stephanie approached, breathing hard. ‘It’s getting to crisis point, ma’am. We need to stop threatening or go in. Someone has just thrown custard over two uniforms and called them yellow bellies.’

  ‘They’ll live.’ A bubble of hysteria almost escaped Georgia’s mouth.

  ‘There’s at least one gun in there,’ Dawes argued. ‘Maybe more. We have to wait for CO19.’

  ‘And while we’re waiting, what if Reilly shoots Young and Michael Delahaye bleeds to death?’ Georgia snapped. ‘How many deaths do you want on your hands?’

  Stephanie instructed Hank Peacock to get uniform to cover both sides of the flat. As they moved around the building, Reilly shouted through the window. ‘We ain’t got no gun in here. That’s Young, lying as fucking usual. And I ain’t done nothing neither. The dogs ain’t dangerous, and Mince was cut when he came in here. He says ’e don’t want no ambulance.’

  A takeaway carton of curry landed not far from Georgia’s feet. ‘Then let the paramedics check him out,’ she shouted, kicking at it angrily.

  A filled nappy landed on the ground next to a group of uniformed police. It was impossible to see which balcony it came from; they had no choice but to ignore it.

  ‘At the moment you are suspected of possessing a firearm with intent to cause harm,’ Georgia shouted, keeping her temper with an effort. ‘Unless you let us in to see for ourselves, we will continue to believe you are holding a gun. If you have no firearm, why not come out? Delahaye can be checked out by a paramedic, and if all is well, we will leave you alone.’

  A brief silence followed, broken by a few youths from the crowd, who made gun shapes with their fingers and shouted, ‘Bang!’

  ‘Pack it up,’ the uniformed sergeant warned them.

  ‘Reilly, if anything happens to Delahaye, or to the other hostage you are holding, the charge will be very severe. Open the door, and let us in. Now.’

  ‘No one’s being held hostage. And Mince says he don’t want no ambulance. That ain’t a crime, is it?’

  Dawes was staring at her. She changed tactics. ‘He’s a suspect in a murder enquiry. Lock the dogs away and let us in, or let Michael Delahaye come out.’

  ‘You don’t seem too interested in Young, your grass. You think he’s innocent, is that it? My, lady, you are so wrong about so many things. Listen. We ain’t got no gun. It’s only Young that says we have. He’s lying, like he lied and wound you up about his gran and the other woman he killed. If I let you in you’ll take my dogs again, and I ain’t letting that happen.’ Yo-Yo was getting angrier. ‘What, you think I’m stupid or something?’ he shouted. ‘You lot have set us up
and it’s backfired on you. You’ve got it fucking wrong again.’ His voice rose. ‘The dogs ain’t done nothing, and neither have I, and Mince don’t want to go to hospital. So can you just fuck off.’

  ‘Last chance,’ Georgia shouted. ‘Come out or we’re coming in.’

  ‘Why would I trust you? You’ve just sent a murderer in here to set me up. He’s killed three people and you think he’s innocent. What kind of a Fed are you?’

  A couple of flying sticks narrowly missed Georgia. She had been working flat out for nearly two days without sleep, and her nerves were jangling. And it looked as if she had allowed Dawes to persuade her into a wrong judgement. It was still on the cards that Young had killed both Chantelle’s aunt and his own gran; they’d found the knife and the gun on him, and DNA evidence placed him at Haley’s murder. They only had his word that he hadn’t committed both murders.

  Had he played them? Or was this Reilly turning the tables? At this moment she really didn’t know. If anything happened to Jason Young, she was responsible. When the wire was active they had all heard him tell Reilly to put the gun away. But what she didn’t know was who was playing who.

  A bin full of rubbish came flying in their direction. David Dawes ducked, but some of the garbage landed on Georgia and Stephanie. Dawes flicked some mouldering vegetable from her shoulders. ‘Not a great perfume for you,’ he said softly.

  She brushed the remains of the rotten food from her leather coat, flipping his hand away with the same swift move. He irritated the hell out of her, he was so sure he knew how these gangs thought. He wanted Reilly so badly he was past seeing anything else, and she had agreed to put lives at risk by going along with his plan. Even if Jason Young was guilty of murder, she wanted him to be brought to justice, not out in a box.

  She had been ready to believe Reilly had set Young up, because Dawes told her that was how he worked, but it was perfectly feasible that it was the other way round. Young was a dangerous, manipulative criminal with a long history of violence. It was more than possible he was lying, and they would look very foolish when CO19 turned up if they found no firearm in the flat. But she still wasn’t prepared to risk anyone getting hurt.

  ‘Check on CO19,’ she said to Stephanie.

  In the few seconds it took Stephanie to make the call, a couple of youths were arrested, making the other troublemakers around them even more aggressive. Uniform were now struggling hard to keep the ever-growing crowd behind the cordon.

  Stephanie clicked her phone shut. ‘A few more minutes,’ she told Georgia.

  ‘Decision time,’ she said to Dawes.

  At that moment the door of the flat opened and Yo-Yo Reilly stood holding two angry, red-eyed dogs straining at their spiked leads. He looked around at the mob, which was shoving and jeering the police. His mouth curled in an approving half-smile.

  ‘Seems Mince don’t wanna come out,’ he said, flicking his nose with a finger. ‘Says he’s feeling better. And I ain’t got no shooter in there.’ He shook his head. ‘All this fuss. I’m flattered, but no need. We ain’t got no drugs here, neither, by the way. This place is clean. See, Young is a bit . . .’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘He tells porkies, like he’s gonna be a dancer and all shit like that.’ He tightened his grip on the dog leads. ‘I would invite you in, to check for yourself, but, see, my dogs are a bit protective. They don’t like strangers . . .’

  ‘You’ve got three seconds to lock those animals away, or we’ll stun-gun them,’ Georgia snapped. ‘We’re coming in, like it or not.’

  Yo-Yo pushed the dogs behind the door and kicked it shut behind him.

  ‘You don’t fucking touch my dogs,’ he shouted angrily from inside. ‘They’re guarding my property. Ain’t no law against that. This is harassment.’

  A voice came from the back of the flats: one of the uniformed officers. ‘There’s a child climbing in the back window.’

  Georgia and Stephanie dashed around the back just in time to see Alysha’s glittery trainers disappear.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Stephanie yelled. ‘Alysha, please don’t! Come back!’

  Georgia opened her mouth wide to let her frustration out. Alysha must have heard them saying that Michael Delahaye was injured, then waited her opportunity. When Reilly came out and all attention was on him, the kid must have run from the stairwell and in through that small window before any of them noticed.

  Georgia ran her fingers through her tousled hair, pulling some of it from its ponytail so it hung loose around her shoulders. She rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension.

  David Dawes was staring at her. She dropped her hands, embarrassed.

  ‘The girl’s got a crush on Delahaye,’ he said. ‘If anyone can help us get him out it’s her.’

  Georgia closed her eyes. ‘So now we’ve got a minor in there, as well as a man with a gun. And a knife. How can a twelve-year-old girl possibly make the situation any better?’

  ‘CO19 will be here any minute,’ Stephanie soothed. Another stone landed inches away forcing her to jump back. She swore under her breath.

  ‘We have to protect that child,’ Georgia said. ‘Reilly isn’t sane. We all heard her say he had sex with her.’

  ‘He has a gun and four dogs,’ Dawes reminded her.

  ‘No. We think he has a gun.’

  Jason watched Alysha creep past the growling dogs. That kid really was something. He was pinned against the open lounge door with Dwayne Ripley on one side of him with the gun in his hand, and Yo-Yo on the other with the serrated knife glinting in his hand. Jason was wearing only his beige combat jeans, spattered with his own blood. The few small knife wounds on his bare chest were only bleeding a little, but they stung furiously as perspiration broke out all over his body. A small cut on his forehead smarted too, the wound in his shoulder was bleeding, and his face was swollen and aching.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Alysha said, not waiting for a reply. She hurried over to Michael, who still lay on the floor, his hand clutching his stomach, where blood had seeped through the cut in his black T-shirt and on to his light-skinned palm. It dripped towards the brown carpet, reminding Jason of jam being squeezed over a chocolate cake.

  Alysha knelt down and cradled Michael in her arms.

  ‘Good timing,’ Yo-Yo replied. ‘We need you to get rid of this gun.’

  ‘Don’t do it,’ Jason warned.

  ‘You’ve got to let them take him to hospital,’ Alysha told Reilly in a tone no one else would dare to adopt. ‘This is worse than you think.’

  ‘Dump the gun and they can have him,’ Yo-Yo said to her. ‘But get a fucking move on. It’s all going up any second.’

  Yo-Yo turned his attention to Jason. He rubbed the jagged blade of the knife across the end of one of his own fingers. Dark blood appeared, and he licked at it as if it was a rare delicacy. ‘Shame,’ he said to Jason. ‘Too many Feds around. I’ll have to catch up with you another time. Get dressed and fuck off.’

  As Jason leaned over to pick up his sweatshirt, Yo-Yo’s boot connected with his balls, sending a pain like a bolt of electricity through him. It robbed him of both breath and balance, and as he steadied himself another kick followed. He toppled to the floor, and as he hauled himself up he made a quick decision. He was well outnumbered in here, but the Feds were about to burst in, which had to put them at a strong disadvantage. This bastard had killed Chantelle and raped Alysha. He wasn’t getting away with it.

  He tugged his sweatshirt over his head, and sudden and fast as a bull charging he landed a punch in Yo-Yo’s temple; then, before anyone registered what had happened, he head-butted him.

  A click of metal froze him to the spot. Dwayne had released Yo-Yo’s dog.

  The beast flew at Jason, and he rolled in a heap as the animal sunk its malicious teeth in his leg.

  ‘Stop that!’ Alysha screamed. ‘Don’t let him bite, or they’ll have your dog destroyed.’

  Yo-Yo hauled the animal off Jason and held him back. ‘You and me have got un
finished business,’ he spat, clicking the chain back on the dog one-handed. The other hand pressed his cracked nose in a vain attempt to stop the pumping blood. ‘You’re a cunt of the first degree and I am gonna kill you. But not now.’

  ‘I’ll sort the gun,’ Alysha said to Yo-Yo. ‘I’m taking Michael out to the ambulance?’

  Jason ignored his smarting cuts and bitten leg. Alysha’s quick thinking had just saved him from a savaging; if he did get away, which at this moment looked very unlikely, he was taking Luanne and Alysha with him. He wanted to take good care of them. Alysha was completely out of her depth and didn’t realize it. She reminded him of himself when he was younger; she’d had no kind of childhood either, and learning to fend for herself had made her believe money was the way to happiness.

  He had made a big mistake turning grass; all he’d done was swap being banged up for a terrible death, which would surely come as soon as the Feds were out of the picture. He would be remembered as a Fed informant, if anyone remembered him at all. The police had used him to get to Reilly, and he had failed; they wouldn’t care what happened to him now. And he had been stupid enough to think he could get away, change his name, and take up a dance scholarship. An estate boy like him? How stupid was that?

  So now the police would raid the flat, and he’d get arrested again. They had enough to send him down for murder, and in prison the penalty for being a grass was death.

  Yo-Yo, one hand still cradling his bleeding nose, was staring at him. The others were running around, clearing and hiding things, and the police were still shouting outside.

  ‘I can’t fucking wait till next time,’ Yo-Yo said.

  ‘You’ll have to hope there’ll be a next time,’ Jason replied.

  ‘Oh there’ll be a next time. You’re the worst kind of toerag – a fucking grass. Next time I’ll hurt you a lot, then I’ll tie you up and leave you for my dogs.’

  Jason believed every word. Torture was Yo-Yo’s speciality. He said nothing.

  Michael was on his feet, leaning heavily on Alysha. They made their way towards the door so slowly it hurt to watch.