Ride or Die

by Khurrum Rahman

  ‘Mmm, there’s something about a full moon that makes me feel alive.’ She smiled. ‘Can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?’

  She took her time cutting the distance between them with one foot deliberately in front of the other. She leaned over him, the whites in her eyes veined red and her breath intoxicated.

  ‘Darling,’ she said, as she trailed a sharp fingernail slowly down the open collar of his kurta, ‘you don’t look very dangerous to me.’

  ‘Zara,’ a man’s voice called, a voice that Bin Jabbar was familiar with even with the drunken slur. ‘Didn’t I leave you waiting in bed for me?’

  Bin Jabbar was tired. Too tired to move his eyes across to the other side of the room, but he could sense the man enter his space. He walked around the bed and stood close behind Zara, a small towel around his waist.

  ‘I got fed up waiting for you to shower, so I came hunting for a real man.’

  ‘And, did you find one?’

  She looked down at Bin Jabbar and gently rubbed a thumb along the trail where a tear ran from his eye to his ear. ‘No,’ she said.

  Humiliation filled Bin Jabbar. Their laughter echoed long after they had left the room, only melting away into animalistic grunts and the rhythmic squeaking of their bed against the wall that separated their rooms.

  Bin Jabbar’s focus remained steadfast on the window. The face in the moon was smiling at him. It lent him strength. From the very far corner of his eye he felt as though he could see every thick blade of grass on the inviting hill. He could almost feel it to touch under his fingertips, almost feel it gently caress his neck as he lay under the stars. Bin Jabbar let the sensation embrace him as heavy boots against concrete steps rushed up the stairs.

  The headboard that had been banging against his wall stopped. The grunting that had invaded his ears stopped. And for a glorious moment, silence filled the room.

  And then started the desperate cries of begging.

  Bin Jabbar kept his eyes at the window, for what he knew to be the last time. The moon looked smaller now, as though it was drifting away, until it was untouchable.

  Abdul Bin Jabbar closed his eyes as two gunshots tore his captors apart.

  The only thought that came into his head was seeing his son again.

  Chapter 34

  Imy

  I’d had a drink. A few. Then I was sober. I searched through the kitchen cabinets, slamming the door shut harder each time as the bare shelves told me I’d had enough. I stretched my neck all the way back, wanting it to click and relieve the pressure on my shoulders, and stared at the kitchen ceiling. Beyond it was the bathroom and the bathroom cabinet. Within it the vials of tablets. I pictured taking one pill after another after another. The pressure in my shoulders gently eased, and the base of my neck released a series of small cracks as the doorbell rang.

  I stretched my neck to the side, my ear brushing one shoulder and then the other. I checked the time on my watch as the bell rang a second time. I licked my lips and stretched my mouth as I walked to the front door and opened it without checking through the peep hole.

  ‘Imran,’ he said, and then hesitated, as if he hadn’t worked out whatever needed working out.

  ‘It’s two in the morning, Lawrence. What do you want?’

  ‘Are you going to invite me in or do you want to do this on the doorstep?’

  ‘Do what, exactly?’

  ‘I have work for you,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not interested.’ I stood firm.

  ‘I’m afraid that decision is out of your hands. Besides… I think you’re going to want to hear this.’

  Lawrence made himself small and squeezed past. I turned to face him in the hallway. Under the light, I noticed his suit was crumpled, and his navy tie was rolled into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Shoes off,’ I said, walking into the living room.

  I sat down in my armchair. In front of me on the coffee table was an empty glass and an empty bottle of whisky. I couldn’t care less how it looked. Lawrence stepped in, looking a little insecure with his socks on show. He eyed the sofa, our sofa, which I still couldn’t bring myself to sit on. Though it frustrated me greatly, I’d allowed Jay to sit there earlier, but there was no way I was letting Lawrence.

  ‘Over there,’ I said, pointing out a dining chair.

  Lawrence moved across the room and slipped out a chair and turned it to face me. He sat down and ran a hand tightly through his hair. I suspected it wasn’t the first time that night. The wax used to style it had long disappeared with the day, leaving his hair greasy. He leaned forward on his elbows.

  Though I had all the time in the world, I didn’t have much time for him.

  ‘I saw you earlier,’ I said breaking the silence. ‘What’s changed?’

  We’d never met at my home before. I recalled how the details were revealed to me for my first and only mission in Berlin. A meeting in a secure location. Names and photographs in a concealed envelope. A target. An assassination. Clean. Cold. It wasn’t personal.

  This felt personal.

  This felt like something that Lawrence did not want to reveal to me but it was only me that it could be revealed to. I’d asked him what had changed.

  ‘Everything,’ Lawrence said. ‘Everything has changed.’

  Chapter 35

  Jay

  I woke up in a familiar setting, but I had never seen it from this position before. I was stretched out on the back seat of my Beemer. I lifted myself onto my elbows and peered through the window. I was still parked across the road from 15 Jersey Way, Osterley. The street was quiet, sleepy, no signs of blue and red lighting up the night sky, no signs of uniform. It was a carbon copy of my earlier visit to Clareville Road. A scene set as though nothing untoward had happened. A conspiracy of silence.

  Even though it would have been nice to start from scratch, I wasn’t fucking born yesterday. This was MI5. This was them tidying up. A concealed rescue mission without the heavy-handed interference from the police. They were looking after their own, which I wasn’t.

  I straightened up, my head heavy and dull, and let it drop back against the headrest. A man was sitting where I should have been.

  ‘You better not have adjusted my seat!’ I said it as if that was the biggest problem in my life right now. When he didn’t answer, I asked, ‘Who’re you?’

  He turned his head a quarter over his shoulder. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Do you always answer a question with a question?’ I said.

  ‘Do you?’ he replied. Bastard had me.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror. A bandage had been tied tightly around my head. I reached for it. ‘Don’t do that,’ he said. I moved my hand away and shrugged. He caught it in the rear-view mirror. ‘You were in need of a little medical attention.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, recalling Tommy striking down on me with a fucking power drill. Twice. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Two fifty-four a.m.’

  Sophia decided to pop into my head. I checked my phone, missed calls galore from her number. God knows what thoughts were running through her mind.

  ‘Do you think you can manage to drive?’ the man asked.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ I asked. ‘Did you get—’

  ‘Do you think you can manage to drive?’ he repeated.

  He wasn’t going to tell me shit. Judging by his blank eyes, I didn’t think he knew shit. I knew more. He was just some poor sap who’d been handed babysitting duties.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I’m alright to drive.’ Then feeling a little more like myself I added, ‘Get the fuck out my seat.’

  He didn’t react as though he’d been briefed about my gob. ‘You are to go straight home,’ he said. ‘Somebody will be in touch tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah, well. I’ve got plans tomorrow,’ I said. I had no plans. I just wanted to get in the last word.

  Our doors opened in tandem and we both left seats that we shouldn’t have been in. He held o
pen the door for me and my manners betrayed me as I mumbled a thanks, and without another word, he walked away like a poorly paid extra from a bad movie.

  I dropped myself into the driver’s seat, adjusted it to my smaller frame, and started my car. I threw one last glance towards number 15 Jersey Way. It looked back at me like butter wouldn’t melt. The lights were off and it looked like every other house on the street. But I fucking knew, I knew how many lies had been told and how many lives had been destroyed behind that door.

  I swear if my numbers ever come up, the first thing I’m buying is that house. The second thing I’m buying is a fucking bulldozer.

  I stepped through my front door late. Coming-back-from-a-nightclub late. Simpler times. Amongst all the crap clattering around my head I wondered if Sophia would still be there, if she had run.

  I removed my Jordans without unlacing – that took twice as long – and I left them how they fell. I considered a smoke and a drink but I couldn’t be arsed with the effort. Right now I needed my bed, to sleep and wish away the nightmares. Tomorrow, I’d deal with tomorrow.

  I held onto the banister, placed my foot on the bottom step and readied myself for the climb. Through the open door of the living room I saw Sophia. She was curled up on my armchair, her eyes closed, her lips parted. Christmas lights reflected and blinked softly in her face.

  She hadn’t run.

  I unpeeled my fingers off the banister and stood at the door, looking into my living room like an intruder. The Christmas tree that I bought from Argos a lifetime ago had been unboxed. It stood proudly in the corner of the room, red and white lights neatly wrapped around it. A silver star glittering on top.

  I nodded to myself to stop myself from tearing up.

  Sophia was still wearing my onesie, the sleeves stretched over her knuckles and gripped tightly into her fists. I liked noticing little things like that. I liked noticing little things like that about her. I stepped into the living room. The television was on low, set to The Comedy Channel. I wondered what her laugh sounded like. I picked up the remote and killed the TV. She stirred as did something inside me.

  It tends to get a little chilly downstairs at night; I couldn’t exactly leave her like that. A vision of Robinson freezing his fat ass off in the loft skipped through my head and I quickly swiped away that shitty thought before other shitty thoughts joined it. And I allowed myself, just for a minute, to let my mind drift away a little.

  I imagined a present under the tree. Two presents. I imagined pulling Christmas crackers with Sophia and telling terrible jokes over a dried-out turkey. I imagined lifting her in my arms and carrying her upstairs and gently placing her on the bed, then I imagined the impracticality of it. I imagined introducing Sophia to Mum.

  I was one step away from scrawling our names inside an exercise book and outlining it with little pink hearts. Fuck! I knew it could never be. Everything about that girl screamed trouble, and I had my own troubles to work through.

  I fetched a blanket from the airing cupboard and placed it over her shoulders and lap. I considered moving a stray hair away from her face but decided that may be a line I didn’t want to cross.

  I left her breathing softly and walked away.

  I couldn’t sleep, obviously. I lay on my side counting sixty seconds in my head and trying to time the exact moment the numbers on my clock would tumble as I tried to both forget and recall the shit-show that had just taken place. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

  After Tommy and Omar had left me bleeding and Robinson crying, I’d remained stock still and flat out on my back, staring up at his double chin as he rained tears over me. I think I must have popped in and out of consciousness because I could only remember snatches.

  A glimpse of black, shiny and impractical shoes hurrying past me as if I was wearing Harry Potter’s fucking invisibility cloak. Voices muffled because blood had gathered in my fucking ears. ‘We’ve secured the hostage’ into their radio or up their sleeve or who the fuck knows. Grunts of exertion as they carried Robinson away. Black, shiny and impractical shoes along with Robinson’s dirty bare feet going past me the other way. They lowered him down the hatch. It took them a while and a snooze before they came back for me. Their priorities apparent. I wasn’t one of them.

  What a shit fucking night.

  Omar and Tommy would have been hauled down to separate locations with MI5 dogs let loose on them. Would they confess? I don’t think it mattered. Omar had achieved what he’d set out to do. And I think… I think I was the only person in this world who could do something about it.

  I reached for my phone and slipped out my bank card from my wallet and made a purchase to the tune of £470. I should have given it some consideration, thought it out a little, but I think the outcome would’ve been the same. Whether it was the right decision or not, well, I’d find out soon enough.

  Fifty-seven Mississippi. Fifty-eight Mississippi. Fifty-nine Mississippi. Sixty-Mississippi. The digits on my clock tumbled to 4.28 a.m. Outside, dawn had broken. The sky was grey but birds still sang and still, sleep wouldn’t come. But it felt like I was dreaming.

  A dream where Sophia was standing at my bedroom door watching me. Her lips moving but my mind was too noisy to hear her.

  I think she said my name.

  I think she stepped into my room and knelt down on the floor by my bed and gently touched the bandage around my head. I think she asked me what happened.

  I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know where to finish.

  I think I told her my dad was still alive.

  She climbed into my bed and held me tightly, and she didn’t let go.

  I think I may have cried.

  Chapter 36

  Imy

  After Teddy Lawrence had left I found sleep easily. A peaceful sleep. One that I didn’t believe I would again find. I woke up fresh, invigorated, and the first thing I did was reach across for my phone with anticipation and checked for messages.

  I dropped to the floor and pushed out thirty press-ups. It had been a while since I’d exerted myself and it took time for my body to adjust to form. I took shallow breaths before the next set and checked my phone again. The second set of thirty was quicker, lower, nose brushing the carpet, the adrenaline coursing through me doing most of the work. I gave myself a one-minute break, my eyes flitting towards my phone and away again, before I dropped into a final set. I purposely went slower, holding my position low, feeling the burn in my chest. I hit thirty and kept going, losing count along the way and only stopping once my arms and legs started to tremble.

  I leaned against the side of the bed and took deep breaths. I hadn’t trained to any level for a long time and though it was only press-ups it had exhausted me. I got to my feet and shook my arms and legs loose with one eye on the phone.

  Still no word.

  My body felt relaxed as I took a hot shower, my mind focused on nothing but the mission that Lawrence had put forward. It was one that, even if I had the choice, I could never have turned down. It would be my last. If MI5 had a problem with that, then they could come and say it to my face. I knew too much for them to be pulling my strings any longer. I had plans. Stephanie, Jack, my Khala, if there was a true heaven, a jannat, which I still believed in, then that’s where my family would be. For me to join them, I would have to repent. To live my life clean. But first, I had to walk the sinful path in front of me.

  I switched on the television in the bedroom and tuned in to Sky News and then flipped between CNN, Fox and BBC News. News that I was now aware of hadn’t made it to the mainstream. If I carried out my task as I was expected to, it never would.

  The news ran in the background as I browsed through my wardrobe. I’d always kept my clothes plain and simple, much to Stephanie’s annoyance and Jack’s amusement. The only items with a splash of colour or design, they’d bought for me, and I had worn for them. I left them behind as I packed a travel bag with light trousers and plain shirts. Clothes which I
wouldn’t be noticed in.

  I knelt down, my legs felt heavy from the press-ups and it reminded me again how unfit family life had made me. At the bottom of the wardrobe was a small safe. I keyed in the pin number and pulled the door open. Three British passports sat neatly stacked on one side. I picked up the top one, flicked to the back and took my time taking in Stephanie’s photo. Her hair was cut and curled at the bottom.

  This passport has to last me ten years, I don’t want to look like I’ve just woken up.

  When you wake up is when you look best, Steph.

  That’s sweet, Imy, but I’m not buying it! I’m getting my hair done.

  I picked up my passport, the photo portrayed a family man with hope in his eyes trying not to laugh as Jack did his level best to distract me outside the photo booth.

  Remember, you’re not allowed to smile, Dad. The airport police won’t let you go on holiday if you’re smiling.

  I placed the passport on top of my clothes in my travel bag.

  My fingers trembled as I picked up the third passport. I flicked to the back. His beautiful face, his beautiful blue eyes, his lips pursed, a picture of perfection in school uniform. A picture that had to be taken twelve times until it met guidelines. I clapped it shut before it made me weak.

  Inside the safe there was an empty space reserved for my handgun, which I no longer had in my possession. I’d been reckless. After I was taken to the police station, Jay had taken it upon himself to go prying around my home. I know it was him who’d pocketed my Glock. Why did he do that? What was his problem? What more did he want to take from me? Qasim. Javid Qasim. Jay. I still could not believe he had the arrogance to brazenly walk into my home and back into my life with such an air of self-importance, as though his simple presence could ever be any comfort to me.