“We’re not coppers or anything else. We’re friends of Laura, do you know her?”
“Friends of Laura. Is that what they call it now?” said the blonde with a smoker’s dirty laugh. “Laura’s getting very broad-minded in her old age.”
“Well, money talks, honey,” said Jess, giving the woman a conspiratorial wink.
“Have you seen her?” said Eva.
“Yep. Not sure if she’s out tonight, hun’” said the fashionable young pro.
“What do you mean?” said Jess.
“Look, she’s all upset!” laughed the older girl.
“She was here a while back but she’s got some problems, that’s all. A situation. These things happen.”
“I told you, we’re friends. It’s important, and we may be able to help her. What’s going on?”
“I doubt it, hun. Stick with us? Laura’s busy.”
“We want to help Laura. I mean it.” Eva pulled out a twenty pound note from the car door pocket where the envelope of Dan’s cash was loosely stashed. “What’s going on?”
“And you’re not coppers?”
The young girl took the note and tucked it in the pocket of her jeans. Eva saw the other woman watch and memorise where the money was going.
“Laura’s got man trouble. Lee. Do you know Lee? He turned up with his dodgy mates, the scumbags who hurt the girls.” Now she began to whisper the word, “The Somalis.” It was a silent whisper.
“Oh.” Nodded Eva. “Where’d they go?”
“Not far. They’ve got digs all over. I think they’re in Dunlop Drive. It’s the road behind this one. Joins Albany Park at the dead end. You know the one?”
Eva did. “I know it. Laura’s in trouble? How do you know she’s in trouble?”
“I know it when I see it. I have to, don’t I? But poor Laura, she’s got no bloody choice.”
“Do you know the house number they might be at?”
“That’s enough, alright. I don’t know who you are or what you want. Don’t need no trouble. Come on, Georgie.”
The young girl folded her arms and stomped off.
“You got another twenty there, hun?” said the blonde woman.
Eva drew another one out and handed it to her.
“Twenty three. That’s the number you want. But I didn’t say a word.” The blonde winked and walked quickly away as another car slowly passed them by.
Dunlop Road adjoined Albany Park, probably the smallest park in the town and by virtue of the Tudor hall at its centre, the most interesting. The hall sat on the crest of a small hill, a proud old thing which seemed justifiably scared of the shady characters beneath who lurked around the picturesque duck ponds. Like most of the town’s parks, it was overcome by people who used it for recreation of a less sedate kind than originally intended. The alcoholics and druggies on the piss gathered around the ponds, cussing through their stories of people, places and services that had got their nerves frayed. Swearing was interspersed with sprinklings of heinous laughter. All of this could be heard from Dunlop Road through the green spiked fence, though the people themselves were hidden from view by hedges and trees. The houses were slightly better around here, but they were still in need of refurbishment, some with cracked rendering and overgrown gardens. It was still better than the forlorn street they had left behind, and if the working girls were here before, they definitely weren’t here now. But the Mitkins were. Number twenty-three was near the dead end of the road by the mouth of the park. It was a pebble dashed house, with old school leadlight windows. Once it must have been the home of a middle class family with aspirations, two holidays a year and a nice car. Tonight, a garish lime green BMW sat sprawled at an arrogant angle across the driveway and front lawn. And there in the road was the white car Jess and Eva had seen not long before – she saw it was a Mitsubishi, with a fat spoiler on the back to please a two-year-old or a boy racer from the nineteen eighties. Her heart thudded in her chest with increased anxiety. The cars were both empty and their windows were down all the way; the presumption, the statement, was clear. Nobody would ever dare to touch cars belonging to the Mitkins and the Somali boys.
Eva saw that there was a gathering of black and white men by the doorstep, in a huddle facing the open doorway. Eva and Jess hesitated, keeping their distance. Eva couldn’t see anyone in the doorway itself from her proximity, but it was wide open. The way the gang were talking at the open door, heads tilted down, told her someone was sitting in the doorway. She heard them laugh, but it sounded mocking and fake. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. This wasn’t right at all. Something unpleasant was unfolding before their eyes.
“Careful, Jess. This is bad.”
Jess nodded; she was anxious. Eva began to make out the words now.
“…like a fruit machine.”
“More like a cash machine, with benefits,” it was Rob Mitkin’s voice. He was out of sight. Lee was the one in the huddle among his African friends.
“But there are no benefits anymore. Just problems.”
Eva heard a whimper. What were they going to do to her? It’s my fault. The thought flashed into her mind and suddenly, it wouldn’t go. What if it was her fault?
“She’s not turning enough tricks to be worth the hassle, she’s talking far too much.”
“Got a loose tongue? You’ve been talking to people, haven’t you? Talking to those snitch-bitches who are looking for your lover boy.”
“He isn’t my lover boy. He was a friend. I told you. We never even kissed.”
“Yeah, right. You give it out to every sad-case bastard in this town, but you didn’t kiss your little prince? Lying bitch.”
“That’s right.” Laura squealed, in pain or upset. But she was out of sight, inside the doorway. There were far too many of them. She couldn’t risk sending Jess into the lion’s den.
“You’re a risk. A dirty little skank, a smelly little snitch. I can’t touch you anymore. You’re disgusting. I can see why the punters are leaving you alone. No one punches their ticket in a skank, do they?”
“Bastards. Bastard!”
Another squeal. The other houses were silent, curtains unmoving, well in the habit of turning a blind eye. She knew why. They were all afraid; they had learned to be afraid. How long had the Mitkins and the Somalis been running this house near the park? Long enough for the neighbours to play dumb. It was a great location for dealing and pimping. The addicts could buy their gear in the house, a stone’s throw from the park, then slouch out all over the park’s benches and lawns. Pressures on the police budget meant they didn’t give a toss about the human wrecks draped across the parks - how could they? There were simply too many of them to deal with. The working girls would turn tricks in the hedges and ditches and in the punter’s cars too. That’s the kind of recreation Albany Park offered these days. And all of it paid the Mitkins and the Somalis. Intense laughter came from the park. It sounded different to the other laughs, stronger, keener, louder. Eva paid attention, and signalled Jess to stay back. They both stepped into the front garden of an empty looking house as movement spilled out from the park gate into the twilight of Dunlop Road. Daylight was fading fast, but she could clearly see Devon Parker ambling along, laughter trailing aggressively in his wake.
“Look, if it ain’t Sheriff Fatman,” said Lee Mitkin, and the others laughed as they turned and spotted him.
“Doesn’t he just look like that fat old toy cat from TV? No wait. He’s Sad-Sack! Sad-Sack from the Raggy Dolls. That’s who you are, fat man.”
“Very humorous, I’m sure.”
“Shut it, Sad-Sack. Don’t get any delusions of grandeur.”
“I see it,” said Rob. “He’s got a head like a screwed up sack, and the guy is also a complete puss. Got it.”
“Fuck the lot of you,” said Parker. Eva had never heard him swear. Listening to him now was like listening to a Devon Parker from a parallel universe.
“Oooooooh! Big man.”
“Bi
g Puss.” And there was more laughter and slaps on the back.
“Help me!” appealed Laura; she must have thought of Parker as a potential ally. Parker ignored her.
“What’s the deal with her?”
“The answer is on a need to know basis, Sad-Sack. And you don’t need to know anything. Which matches what you know already.”
“I don’t like any of this.”
“Who cares what you like or don’t like? What are we doing taking that from this old loser, Rob? You getting short of friends or something?” said Lee.
“At least he’s got some kind of brain, Lee.”
“Get rid of him.”
“Since when did I ever listen to you?”
There was tense silence now.
“You know what to do with the tart, Lee. And don’t get all soft on me. Me and Sheriff Fatman have got some business to sort out.”
“What business?”
“If I need to tell you later, I will. Depending on if I want to. Take the tart inside and finish off. Have some fun. Say goodbye. The Sheriff and me are going for a stroll.”
“Since when did I start taking your orders?”
“Since the world began, Lee.” Parker and Rob Mitkin stepped away from the driveway of house 23 and walked into the mouth of the park, which itself was being swallowed by dusk and a swirling cloud of gnats.
Eva heard their arrogance, complete and imperious. They acted like warrior kings, in the confidence that they were the power around here, undisputed, unchallenged. To speak so openly about violence, they had to believe their own hype. This was how bad things had become in her own town, and she hadn’t even known it until right here and now. The cases she worked were middle class affairs, white collar fraud, and safe little cases of paranoia which paid, but weren’t the real deal. But here was something as violent, sordid and poisonous as anything in the Glasgow tenements, the Peckham Estates, or the slums of any city in the world which was going to the dogs. It was unreal. She wanted to wake up.
Lee was angry now, barking and snarling at her. “You stupid whore. Who was looking out for you? I was. You know that. But you’ve been dicking around with that streak of piss. You’ll never see him again, you know that. And do you know why?”
Eva’s heart almost stopped. Say it. Just say it. She felt Jess turn to look at her, and Eva would not make eye contact.
“Because he’s dead meat.”
“You bastard.”
Eva closed her eyes firmly, closing out the world, the light, the sounds.
“As good as. He’s on Death Row, sweetheart.”
“No.”
“Oh yes. It’s a dead cert.”
Eva opened her eyes; water flooded them and blurred her vision. He was still alive now, at least.
“You burned your bridges, you slut. We know you’ve been gassing. You were seen.”
“No… I promise.”
“Yes, you did. One of the girls saw you.”
There was a painful wail.
“You’re a lying slut. You betrayed me. Guess what - you don’t even get death row. You get instant karma.”
The park grew quiet in anticipation. As if it knew. And then in the quiet, something changed. Eva didn’t notice at first, but there was muttering coming from the darkness. Eva was focused on 23. Something had already changed. The darkness had altered. There was an awkward hush amongst the Somalis surrounding Lee Mitkin, a tension that indicated they were about to pounce on Laura. Lee detected it immediately. “NO! She’s mine. Mine only. She was my girl.”
“Don’t be stupid,” piped up a voice in a Somali accent.
“Don’t you be stupid. She’s mine.”
A scream tore the humid evening wide open. Eva sprang out of her hiding space in an empty front porch to see Lee Mitkin yank Laura up from the ground by her short hair. Laura seized his hands to stop Lee ripping her hair out, but he carried on yanking and spun her right round and into the doorway.
“Game over. See you in ten, boys. DO NOT disturb.”
This wasn’t it. Something in the park – something dark was happening – something else.
The noise in the park was becoming louder – a distorted mix of shouting and swearing, and then a new commotion – Eva heard it now, and it bothered her, and worried her - a row escalating quickly into desperate shouts of confrontation - aggression, panic and fear.
Some words were shouted outright – in something like French or Arabic – and the Somalis by the front door of 23 turned around, looking towards the park. A couple of them made off quickly into the park in response. More shouting came, a mixture of grunts and swearing, before a man let loose a guttural scream, awful and deep. Then the words, “He’s got a knife, he’s got a knife!”
The scene changed before them, like the wrapping paper was being torn away. It was all moving too fast for Eva, she felt stuck, exposed in slow motion while the world lurched from one side to another. There were shouts at the house and two of the African men shouted up into the doorway, “Lee! Lee! Come now! There is trouble. Lee!”
Lee Mitkin emerged ten seconds later, bare-chested, as panic shot around the park. It was a freakish sound, like scared chimps at the zoo. “Run! Now!” The shout was full of a wheezing desperation. Parker was in the middle of it all. Eva looked at Jess - Jess read her mind and shook her head. “You can’t go in there, Eva, it sounds like hell!” Jess was right. Dan was her priority, nothing else, but she still she found herself making towards the park on automatic pilot. Now there were running footsteps slapping loudly off the tarmac path around the park, a herd of escaping and chasing feet. The stampede was full of heavy gasping breaths and shouting. The first one emerged from the black mouth of the park gate – a gangly Somali, running like a Kenyan athlete, long legs revolving underneath him. Two more followed, and then came Rob Mitkin, terribly pale, a sheen of sweat glistening on his face, a child running from a nightmare, looking back over his shoulder. Rob made it into the dead end of Dunlop Road before the sound of another painful scream erupted from the park. Ten seconds later, Parker emerged slowly, wheezing, raincoat tails flapping around his short legs. He was hunched and clutching his chest. “What the hell is this? No. Oh no!” He shook his head looking down at his own body. Behind him, a tall man emerged from the darkness. He looked almost part of it. Pale faced, clothed in black, the kind of man a man the darkness clung to and followed, seeming to billow behind like a cape. He was lithe and swift. He was on Parker in an instant.
“Devon!” shouted Eva. Parker wheeled around, searching for the voice who called his name. The thin man from the darkness jabbed straight through Parker’s shoulder as he moved. Parker yelped and went down like a shot dog. Another man emerged in the blackness – in the same thin white-faced mould, this one with a more pointed look to his face. He sped past his partner and leapt towards Rob Mitkin, who fell backwards in retreat. As he fell back, his brother Lee leapt forward past him, throwing punches whilst in mid jump - some connected, but the pointed one chopped with his hands at Lee’s head, neck, and landed a punch in his gut. There was a grunt, a groan, and gouts of dark liquid filled the air. Lee’s blood. He buckled and landed awkwardly. The one with the pointed face, a kind of Germanic face, dropped low and punched Lee Mitkin with a staccato one-two-three to the back three times, and more blood spurted out. The knife was invisible in the man’s grasp. Lee Mitkin stopped moving.
Robert Mitkin said nothing; he wiped his brow and backed towards the door through the remaining group of Somalis. Eva saw weapons now glinting in the Somali’s hands, knives, but larger, longer and hanging beside their hips.
“The bastard. The bastard…He’s killed my brother. Do something!” Rob appealed to the men around him. “He killed my brother, Lee.”
The Africans muttered something as the Somalis who had run into the park appeared now behind the men in black. “Get those bastards!” said Rob.
Eva saw Parker was still moving, struggling down the street, away from the danger area, duckin
g again behind a garden wall. She prayed they might not see him.
“Why are they doing this?” said Rob Mitkin, the tone of his voice weak and frail. He was experiencing a moment of clarity, or maybe he had given up. The Somalis did not move. They were not taking any orders.
“Tell me. Why? It was working!” He shouted, spitting into the street. Albany Park was utterly silent, listening, the whole park trying to hide, like Eva was doing right now.
“A new phase has begun.” The Germanic one nodded. The other man drew alongside. The Somali men gathered around Rob’s back. He cast an eye over his shoulder to the Somali boys and then slowly dropped his head. “You used us.” There was silence. Rob Mitkin’s head stayed down. The blades flashed all around him, and the air was filled with elegant ribbons of dark matter. Rob Mitkin growled in agony and fell to the pavement on his knees, then on his face. Dead. The Somalis pulled away. One of them walked over to speak to the men in black – a brief conversation of only few words and then they parted. The pale-faced men in black moved as slyly as ghosts, their shadowy figures disappearing back into the park. The Mitsubishi engine roared and five of the black men crushed into it, the car screeched into a tight turn before it revved and span away. The others moved off on foot, running past Eva and Jess without even sensing their presence. They didn’t matter tonight. It was over. There was a withering scream from number 23, and the hush in the park deepened to something chilling and unsettling. The park – and whoever was still left inside it – had been scared to death.
“Parker!” called Eva.
His huddled shape pressed against the road and he shifted and groaned. He lifted his head.
“Are you okay?”
Eva stared at the darkness just behind him.
Parker said “I think so. I was betrayed, Eva. Totally betrayed.” He said again, and began to pull himself up to his feet. Eva offered no reply.
Eva took her chance and ran to join him. His shoulder was coated in blood.
“I’m sorry, Eva. You should never forgive me.”
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