Ride or Die

by Khurrum Rahman

  ‘Nice one,’ Jay said.

  ‘I leave you now.’ Haqani turned away and before shutting the door he said in all seriousness, ‘Leave plastic on chair, okay?’

  Jay wheeled his trolley and parked it beside a La-Z-Boy. He sat heavily down and adjusted himself noisily on the plastic covering before pulling the lever so the footrest shot up. He kicked off his shoes and let them drop as he murmured sounds of appreciation. I sat down on the armchair next to him, slipped off my Crocs and placed them neatly by my chair. I pulled the lever and stretched out.

  I stared at the television. It wrongly reflected two normal guys casually sitting on La-Z-Boys in front of the TV. We sat in silence for a moment, the earlier incident no doubt running through Jay’s head, as it was mine.

  Latif had forgiven us a little too easily for my liking. He’d told us that once he’d put his children asleep, he’d make some calls, but couldn’t promise anything. It was exactly what Jay wanted, needed, to hear – the nerves and excitement coming from him were tangible. I could sense it, but I was seeing things very differently.

  I’d given up my gun and we were in a room with one lockable door.

  I got to my feet.

  ‘Where you going?’ Jay asked.

  I ignored him and padded my way to the window. I tried to push it open. It was locked. I ignored Jay’s stare and moved across to the door. I put my ear against it before turning the door knob.

  I pulled it open just enough for light to seep through. I shut the door.

  Jay twisted in his seat. ‘You thought they’d locked us in?’ He shook his head. ‘You got to stop being so paranoid. We both do.’

  I sat back down. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ I said. I didn’t have to look at Jay to know that his sigh was accompanied by an eye-roll.

  ‘Of course you have,’ he said.

  ‘Do you remember how Mustafa greeted you at the camp? The waitress, too?’

  ‘Jameelah,’ Jay said. ‘Yeah, what about it?’

  ‘And all those people in the village, the love and affection they held for you because of who you are, because of what Bin Jabbar meant to them.’

  ‘Do you wanna just get to the point?’

  ‘Latif was Bin Jabbar’s confidant, like brothers, that’s what you told me. You don’t think it’s strange that Latif didn’t show you the same affection as everyone else?’

  ‘That it? That’s what’s on your mind?’ Jay shrugged. ‘I wasn’t exactly expecting Latif to embrace me.’

  ‘You must have expected something. Some emotion, a little respect, even. Instead, Latif kept his distance. He didn’t even shake your hand. You don’t think that’s a little off.’

  Jay twisted in his seat and glanced at the closed door, before leaning in closer. He kept his tone to a whisper. ‘It’s like this. When I was here last year, I was the centre of Bin Jabbar’s world. And he, Latif, did not like it. Trust me, it was written on his face. Yeah, I did say that they were like brothers, but, honestly, Latif looked up to my father as though he was his father. He was under the impression that he would be the natural successor.’ Jay cleared his throat. ‘Until Bin Jabbar made it clear that role would one day belong to me. So yeah, there’s some resentment there.’

  I nodded. Did it fit? I wasn’t sure. But it did explain the animosity.

  ‘You’re looking for something that’s not there,’ Jay said, settling back into his chair. ‘If anyone can find Bin Jabbar, it’s Latif.’

  ‘Let’s say that he does manage to give us Bin Jabbar’s location,’ I said. ‘How do you think it’s going to play out?’

  Jay shifted in his chair. I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

  ‘Jay.’

  ‘What?’ The frustration in his voice was barely restrained. He tried to even it out. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Have you thought this through?’

  ‘The fuck, Imy! ’Course I’ve thought it through. I’ve thought of nothing else.’

  ‘So you think the authorities are going to bring him back to England? That the world is going to find out he’s alive? That he’ll get his day in court?! Come on! You must know that they’re going to lock him up in an unknown location again, and no matter what fuss you kick up, people will believe what they are told.’

  Jay laughed, but it didn’t come easy. ‘You think I’m naïve.’

  I hesitated. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘It wasn’t a question. You think I’m naïve.’ He shook his head, as though he was tired of having to prove himself. ‘You think I don’t know how Lawrence and fucking Robinson and all those pieces of shit at MI5 operate? Check this, Imy: they used me once, trust me, I won’t let them use me again.’

  ‘And how will you do that? We’re leading them straight to him. You’re being used as we speak.’

  ‘They’ve underestimated me,’ Jay said. ‘And so have you.’

  Chapter 65

  Jay

  ‘Can you see the TV remote anywhere?’ I said.

  It was an odd thing to say considering all the shit he was throwing at me, but I just needed a fucking break from Imy, some distraction. I was getting beyond frustrated with him casting doubts on me.

  ‘No,’ Imy replied through an almighty yawn. He squeezed his eyes shut and then forced them wide open in an attempt to stay awake. The last time he’d slept would have been on the plane.

  ‘Get some shut-eye,’ I said.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, looking anything but. ‘Do not let me sleep. You see me close my eyes, you wake me. Is that understood?’

  I nodded. Everything he said felt like an order, as though he didn’t trust me to be alone. Rather than reply and escalate it, I let it slide. If he did go to sleep, I’d be tempted to slap him awake.

  I spotted the edge of the remote control hidden behind the legs of the TV. I reached for it without having to get out of my seat and switched the TV on. I flipped through the channels and nothing but snow came back at me. Not even Freeview. I muttered my disdain under my breath and eyed the PlayStation still sealed in its box. I was tempted to hook it up, but I couldn’t bring myself to take away the pleasure of unpacking it from the kids. I pictured Latif and his children setting it up. That new smell. All that polystyrene. Malaila and Misbah sitting on the La-Z-Boy, their feet barely reaching the footrest, game controller in hand. Latif proudly watching on.

  Fuck, man! I hated that this fucking monster was a good dad. What’s worse, now I knew where Latif lived, I had no choice but to pass on that information to MI5, and then I’d have to live with the fact that I was responsible for leaving his children without their old man. They’d have to go through the same shit that I did when they found out that their father was a terrorist.

  The fuck is it with dads?

  It got me thinking. What kind of father would I be to Jay Jnr and Jaya? What kind of mum would Sophia be? I shook my head clear of that straight away. I hadn’t even asked her out, and already I was picturing her as mother to my children!

  I laughed quietly to myself, and then feeling self-conscious I looked across at Imy, who was purring gently through his nose. Sleep had finally defeated him.

  Despite what he said I wasn’t going to wake him.

  I killed the TV. The plastic cover on the armchair rustled loudly as I lifted myself off the chair. With little to do but wait, I twisted at the waist a few times to loosen up. I thought about dropping down and knocking out twenty push-ups, but, honestly, it was never going to get past the thought process. I glanced around the room for something to keep me occupied. My eyes landed on my trolley.

  I knelt down beside it and untied the pink ribbon and laid it down on its side. I unzipped it. It didn’t look as though Latif or Haqani had interfered with it. The contents were exactly how I’d left them. My black leather toiletries bag wedged between shirts and shorts and a spare pair of Jordans. I removed the toiletries bag and moved to the newly installed basin in the far corner of the room, hoping that the plumbing had been put in place.

&n
bsp; I flipped the tap and to my relief water ran. I looked up above the basin where a mirror should have been and wondered what I looked like. Only my shadow stared back at me. Even that looked like shit, my hair sticking out at odd angles. From my toiletries bag I took out my toothbrush, toothpaste and some moisturiser; the weather and the environment had not been kind to my skin.

  I splashed cold water on my face and over my hair. Brown dirt pooled in the basin before disappearing down the drain. I scrubbed my face hard over and over until the water ran clear. The same effort with my whites: I squeezed out a double decker of Colgate onto the toothbrush and went to town, paying attention to my gums and tongue until my mouth fizzed.

  I knew what I was doing, if Latif managed to come through for me. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, maybe it was a subconscious thing, but I wanted to look my best for when I saw my dad.

  There was no towel, but I had one packed in my trolley. I dried my face and finally applied moisturiser. My forehead and nose – the T-zone – required the most care. I picked out a clean pair of boxers, a half-sleeved shirt, light blue with a repeat shark print, and cream combat shorts.

  With no privacy to get changed, I stood behind Imy’s armchair and got dressed. I realised half-way through that if Imy woke up right now, he’d see me in the reflection of the TV screen, hopping on one foot trying to get my boxers on. My shirt was the last to go on and as I buttoned up I took a moment to consider, how much chest is too much chest?

  I checked myself out in the TV screen and tried to picture myself through my dad’s eyes. A light caught on the screen and I spun around to see the door open. Haqani filled the doorway.

  ‘Javid,’ Haqani whispered loudly.

  I moved across the room towards him, but stopped a distance from where he was standing. Haqani noticed and I felt stupid for doing so. If Latif wanted me dead, I’d be pretty much dead by now. I moved closer until I was standing in front of him.

  ‘No sleepy?’ he whispered.

  ‘No, no sleepy,’ I whispered back.

  ‘You want pillow? Blanket? I can get.’

  ‘Nah, it’s all good… Any news?’

  ‘Latif make many calls. No luck. He trying very hard for you, Javid.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ I said, keeping my disappointment in check.

  ‘You hungry? Come with me to kitchen. I make you best sandwich.’

  I turned towards Imy. I had a sudden urge to wake him up before quickly realising I had no reason to. He’d only want to tag along and bring his paranoia with him. I really didn’t need another incident, not whilst Latif was actively trying to find news on my dad.

  ‘Yeah,’ I shrugged. ‘I could eat.’

  Chapter 66

  Jay

  I left Imy counting Zs and stepped out of the room and into the adjoining kitchen. Haqani shut the door behind him gently and pointed me to a high stool at the island. He buried his head in the fridge and took out ingredients at will and got busy fixing us both a chicken sandwich. Thick white bread, heavy on mayo, light on salad, and heavy-handed with the hot sauce. Just how I like it.

  I watched him carefully, making sure he used the same ingredients for himself. He placed two identical plates on the island for me to pick. I noticed a wry smile on his face as if he had read my mind. I pulled forward a plate without deliberation and took a bite.

  ‘Hmm,’ I nodded my appreciation. It was a damn fine sandwich.

  ‘Hmm,’ he nodded back, appreciating his own work. After a minute of munching he said, ‘You are… how you say… crazy, no?’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Too much problem for you here.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, wiping my mouth. ‘I know.’

  ‘But I…’ he started, then shook his head. ‘We… never forget who you are. What you did for us. We very proud, yes?’

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure what I’d done for him to feel such pride but it hurt me a little that he did. He was just one of many that saw me as somebody that I wasn’t.

  ‘Look,’ Haqani exclaimed, his eyes as big as his smile. He gestured at the sandwiches. ‘I not believe I make food for the son of Al-Mudarris. You tell him, yes? When you see him you tell him I feed you with my own hands.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’

  He took another bite, and I did too. He kept his eyes on me, his features soft, that same look of adoration that I was getting used to.

  I understood that, here, I was not Jay. I was Javid Qasim.

  ‘You want we eat sandwich and watch movie?’ Haqani suggested. ‘Latif have big TV.’

  I approved in the form of a shrug and he led me out of the kitchen. We stepped into the hallway by the wide staircase that the twins had disappeared up. Haqani stepped into the living room, and, opposite me, across the hallway was Latif’s study. The door was half open. I couldn’t help myself. I glanced in.

  Latif had his back to me and was standing facing the large map that I’d clocked earlier. His white shirt was half tucked out, half tucked in. One hand was massaging his lower back. He sounded proper stressed as he spoke on the phone.

  ‘Every safe house. Yes! Every single one! Three in Gardez… Yes, yes, including the godown. Wake up Ahmed, send him to the bungalow in Jalalabad… I don’t care what time it is! And, find somebody to go to the house in Kandahar. Is this understood…? Good. Now repeat it back to me.’

  I stood watching until Haqani reappeared in the hallway. He reached past me and gently shut the door to Latif’s office. ‘It’s okay. Latif trying to help. Come.’

  Haqani asked me to select a DVD of my choosing as he mumbled something and disappeared again. The selection was vast and I picked out Fast & Furious 8 when really I wanted to watch A Few Good Men, but thought that Haqani may not be able to keep up with a courtroom drama, and may prefer to watch cars racing fast and furiously.

  Haqani returned and placed a bowl of crisps and a mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table. ‘Will help you sleep,’ he said, like the caring terrorist that he was, and sat down on the armchair adjacent to me, leaving me to stretch out on the three-seater.

  The hot chocolate with the pink marshmallow floating on top looked inviting, so I took a sip of that first. So good! The milk was thicker and creamier than I’d ever had. I took another, bigger sip. The hunger hit me suddenly and I went to town on the remainder of the sandwich, taking bites too big for my mouth. I took another sip to help wash it down. My body relaxing to the extent that I felt as though I was at one with the sofa.

  It felt nice. Dreamy. I sunk deeper and deeper into the seat, aware that I had a milky moustache, but not finding the energy to run an arm over it.

  The sandwich in my hand started to feel heavy as though I was holding up an anchor. The harder I tried to bring it to my mouth, the further away it went. Unable to carry the weight of it any longer, I let go of it and watched it come apart on my lap. I opened my mouth to apologise but the words wouldn’t come. I let my arm flop down by my side and my head felt as though it was spinning clockwise and then anticlockwise and I didn’t know how that was possible.

  Fuck’s sake! They had me.

  My mind dimmed, like a low battery, only able to execute the most basic of functions. I took a breath. On screen Vin Diesel and The Rock were facing off, and I wondered if it was true what was said about them in the tabloids. Did they really hate each other? If so, this fight had an extra edge. I tuned in. Focused. Ready for these two screen giants to kick the shit out of each other.

  From the corner of my eye I could just about make out that Haqani had been replaced by Latif. I turned to him and slurred, ‘You drugged me, you fuck!’

  I think he nodded and I think he was wearing different clothes, as though he was heading out.

  I glared at him, but honestly I had no idea what expression my face was making. Everything was so fucking numb, as though all my features had melted away. For all I knew I could have been dribbling over myself and smiling stupidly at him. I couldn’t straighten my mind. That shit had made me so fucking lethargic that
I wanted nothing more than to just stop and watch TV.

  I focused back on the film. I wasn’t pleased that I’d missed the dust-up between The Rock and Vin Diesel. I had the sudden urge to know the outcome. I tried to reach for the remote control so I could rewind the scene, but my arms didn’t want to know. I tilted my body forward hoping my arms would follow, but gravity kicked in and I took a slow motion dive off the sofa and landed face-first on the really comfortable fucking rug.

  Haqani was right, the hot chocolate did help me sleep.

  Chapter 67

  Imy

  A dull thud, and my eyes opened. I wanted nothing more than to close them again. I blinked away the sleep from my eyes and checked the time on my phone. The brightness of the screen stung my eyes. I’d been asleep for forty minutes and my body craved so much more. I slipped my phone away and I could see from the dark reflection of the TV that Jay was no longer in the room.

  He wasn’t one to follow instructions, particularly from me. It was understandable. I’d been cold and distant, refusing to form a relationship, knowing what I knew, knowing what hell I was about to unleash on him.

  I stayed rooted to my seat, unwilling to hold back the unease that was creeping up my back. My eyes moved around the room. There didn’t seem any signs of a struggle. Jay’s trolley was lying open on its side and the clothes that he had been wearing were discarded beside it. On the other side of the room his toiletries were sitting on the basin edge, beside a toothbrush and toothpaste.

  He was anticipating seeing his father and he wanted to be at his best.

  But he was gone.

  It didn’t mean anything, but at the same time it could have meant everything. His curious and foolish nature were troubling. I forced myself not to give in to the paranoia and decided, against my better nature, to trust Jay. I dropped my head back against the headrest and decided to wait a moment. But after sixty seconds I heard the front door close.

  I eased myself out of the armchair and slipped on my shoes. I crossed the room to the window. It overlooked a well-kept side lawn and not much else. But I was close enough to hear a car start, a diesel engine growl, and the wheels spin with urgency.