Cut Off (Book 1): Cut & Run, page 2
part #1 of Cut Off Series
“Now Camden,” Mr Dreyfus said. “Don’t look at me that way.”
“How come everybody else gets to go do what they want and we’re stuck with the Jack the Ripper show?”
“It’s not a show,” Darryl said. “It’s a…” He saw the look on his friend’s face. “Never mind.”
“Because every time we go on a field trip, you sneak away to carry out some harebrained scheme, risking your life for a cheap thrill,” Mr Dreyfus said.
“Actually, it’s not cheap,” Darryl said. “I mean, the actual stunt is. It’s not like he gets permission to do it. But he has a growing membership and earns quite a lot in donations. He’s even got some companies interested in sponsoring him.”
“Sponsors?” Mr Dreyfus said, scratching his chin.
Camden scowled at Darryl. “Look, Mr Dreyfus. I don’t expect you to understand this, but I want to explore the city. It’s for a very, very important reason.”
“Really? I didn’t realise it was for a very, very important reason.” His tone implied it made no difference. “Look at it from my perspective. If I let you go, you might end up killing yourself. Do you know who’ll get the blame for that?”
“Actually, it’s more likely the building’s security will get the blame–” Darryl said.
“I will,” Mr Dreyfus said. “I love my job. I’m hanging onto it by the skin of my teeth thanks to your shenanigans. One more stunt and I could lose it. You don’t want me to lose my job, do you?”
Mr Dreyfus was one of the best and most liked teachers in their school. The reason they got to go on any field trips was because he was the one who volunteered to take them.
Camden hung his head. “No. I don’t want you to get fired.”
Mr Dreyfus beamed. “Today won’t be so bad, you know. The Jack the Ripper tale is really quite fascinating. You see…”
As Mr Dreyfus entered speech mode on everything he knew about the history of Jack the Ripper, Camden peered over the side of the bus once more at the busy street below.
“It might be good for you to keep your feet on the ground for once,” Darryl said. “You know, like everyone else.”
“I only had one thing I wanted to do on this trip. And now I can’t do it. I don’t know when I’ll get to ask Hannah out on a date.”
“She would have probably said no anyway.”
Camden gave him a flat stare.
“If you want to go out on a date with her why don’t you just ask?”
“Because I can’t do it that way. It has to be on my terms. If she says no, it’s okay. I’ll be prepared. At least I would have done my best. I guess that doesn’t make much sense. I’ll try not to ruin your tour.”
He gave Darryl a smile. It was sad, not one Darryl was used to seeing.
Darryl looked at Mr Dreyfus. His back was to them and was still unloading his lecture on the politics of the 19th century. It was probably something he would find interesting. His eyes shifted to the red traffic light ahead, then to the sign at the side of the road. He removed his baseball cap, fingered the fangs, and sighed.
“You know,” he said. “If someone were agile enough, they could probably jump off this bus, slide down that signpost and escape before Mr Dreyfus even knew they were gone.”
Camden followed the plan his friend suggested. “But how would someone without any agility get down?”
“Oh, I’m sure an opportunity will present itself for such a person.”
Mr Dreyfus hadn’t paused to take a breath in five minutes. His speech had reached the topic of socio-economics.
Camden stepped onto his seat. A family sitting across from them watched, goggle-eyed. He barely even glanced at the sign before throwing himself over the side of the bus. His hands wrapped around the thick metal pole. He slid down it, his momentum spinning him around with ease until his feet hit the pavement. He entered a shop and peered through the warped glass at the big red tourist bus.
Darryl poked the teacher on the back.
Mr Dreyfus took a moment to notice Camden was missing. He checked under the seats. “Where did he go?”
“He climbed down the signpost and took off that way,” Darryl said, pointing in the opposite direction he had gone.
Mr Dreyfus ran to the front of the bus and hurried down the spiral stairs. The door hissed open. The teacher moved to the crossroads and peered in each direction. The traffic lights turned green and the tourist bus pulled away. Mr Dreyfus spun around but saw no sign of Darryl.
Darryl waved as the bus took a corner, leaving poor Mr Dreyfus by himself.
Camden slipped the camera into its holder. He made sure no one was watching before attaching it to the lamppost. He strapped it into position and checked his phone had access to the camera’s remote controls. He altered the angle so the image was clear, pointed directly at the top of the Shard building. Sunlight glinted off its edge.
“How are we doing?” Darryl said.
The tourist bus pulled away from its stop at the top of the road. More tourists entered the Shard.
“Ready to rock and roll,” Camden said.
“Awesome.” Darryl seemed a little forlorn.
“You should be on top of the world right now. Don’t you want to be a part of history?”
Darryl gave him a look. “What’s historic about this? We’ve done it a million times.”
“Not from the Shard, we haven’t.”
“That’s what scares me. We’ve never done anything from this height before. Or in a city this crowded and dense. Maybe we should wait for someone else to do it first. You know, make sure it’s safe.”
Camden rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? If you’re not first...”
“...you’re last. I know, I know.” Darryl muttered under his breath. “The first to die, maybe. I’d rather be last in that case.”
They crossed the road and entered the building. They slapped their money down for their tickets. The last of the tourist crowd crammed into the lift. A tour guide disgorged facts about the shard as they rose higher and higher.
Camden leaned in close to Darryl. “Soon they’ll add a new item to their fact sheet: the first man to base jump from the top.”
He turned his cameras on and checked his phone to ensure they were each working. The lift came to a stop. They were so high Camden’s ears popped. He swallowed what little saliva he had and followed the crowd outside. As the tourists turned a corner, Camden and Darryl headed in the opposite direction.
Camden unhooked the chain attached to a sign that said: “DO NOT ENTER”. He proceeded up the stairs. Darryl eyed the security camera. The red light flashed.
“Security camera,” he said. “Won’t be long before they crash the party.”
Darryl cast furtive glances over his shoulders as they scaled higher. Each of his footsteps came slower, and his face became paler.
“A-Are you s-sure we s-should be up h-here?” Darryl said.
He already knew the answer to that. But he needed someone to lie to him.
“Of course we should. Why else do you think they built these stairs?”
They emerged at the top. The wind was strong.
Camden leaned forward and peered over the edge. An intimidating drop below. He breathed in a deep lungful of fresh air and let out a booming laugh. “Have you ever smelled air so fresh?”
Darryl pressed his back firmly against the wall, eyes clenched shut. “Yeah. S-s-smells great.”
Camden grinned. No matter how many times he offered, his friend never jumped over the side. Probably a good thing as his heart would likely explode before he reached the ground. Camden’s heart rate rarely registered higher than sixty beats per minute. Only intense exercise made it beat faster. And yet, Darryl faced his fears every time Camden pursued his next thrill. Meanwhile, Camden never faced his own by asking Hannah out on a date. Who was the coward?
True bravery was taking action despite your fears.
“Check the camera,” Camden said. When he didn’t hear a response, he said: “Darryl?”
Darryl turned his head to one side. “I think somebody’s coming.”
Considering the size of the building, security’s response time was very fast.
“We’d better hurry,” Camden said. “Give me a hand with these cameras.”
With modern technology, he made a good income carrying out his stunts. Money could always be made doing things others wouldn’t. As he spoke, thousands of people signed in to watch his latest live stream. With each stunt, he gained more followers.
He scrolled through their names until he reached the one he was looking for: Hannahbookreader. Hannah’s ID. He’d been shocked – and more than a little thrilled – when he discovered she was one of his followers. Right now, somewhere in London, she was watching him. His chest swelled.
“Security are nearly here,” Darryl said.
Camden took out his final camera and turned it to face him. He waved at his live audience. “Hey, guys. This is Camden, reporting in with my latest stunt. Want to see where we are today?”
He strapped the camera to his GoPro headband and leaned forward to peer over the Shard’s edge. His audience enjoyed three camera angles. The first was on his head, the second was held by Darryl, and the third was on the street below, peering up.
Camden switched angles. “Are we ready there, Darryl?”
“Almost,” Darryl said.
They would wait until the security guards came up the stairs. That was the money shot. It was the fact they weren’t supposed to be there, had no permission, and almost got caught that made his viewers’ hearts pound in their chests.
“You there!” a deep voice bellowed from the stairwell.
“Here they come!” Darryl said.
“Okay, gang,” Camden said into camera. “Here we go!”
He stepped forward, brought his arms back to leap and–
“Wait!”
Camden almost tumbled over the side.
“You almost forgot this!” Darryl said.
He pulled the T-shirt out of the bag and tossed it to Camden. He extended his hand to catch it but it caught on the wind and flew over the side.
“Oops,” Darryl said.
The security guards were on them. Camden threw himself over the edge. The idea of his followers leaning back on their chairs right that moment, fingers clutching their hair and saying “No way!” as he sailed into empty air and toward the ground was the ultimate thrill.
The T-shirt fluttered ahead of him, hard to track. No way he could accurately shift position to grab it. Instead, he held out his arms and legs as wide as he could. The T-shirt flapped one way and then the other. He was a little relieved he wouldn’t have to go through with his plan. The risk Hannah might turn him down was terrifying.
Then the T-shirt snagged his face. He pulled it off, considered his options, and then rolled his eyes. If Darryl can face his fears, so can I. He put the T-shirt on.
The ground rushed up fast. His viewers must be going crazy. It didn’t bother him they secretly hoped something went wrong. It was the risk he took.
His watch beeped as he entered the best height to yank the ripcord. The parachute unfolded from his backpack and he felt the keen jerk as it caught. He slowed and sailed downward.
“Woohoooo!” Camden bellowed as he sailed over the shorter buildings.
He passed London Bridge tube station and swung around the Hilton hotel. In the distance, he made out Tower Bridge. By now, people had spotted him. Some of his followers might even be watching live on their screens. He waved to them as he sailed past. Just to the right of City Hall was his landing strip. Potters Fields Park.
This was it. If he was going to ask Hannah out on a date, now was the moment.
He removed his headband and angled the camera at his face. “If you will indulge me, I have something to share with you. Right now, I’m speaking to one of my members. A girl that I’ve liked for as long as I’ve known her. I know what I want to say, but I can never seem to find the right words. I can jump off buildings without blinking, and yet I can’t look into your eyes without feeling scared. I have something I want to ask you, and as I can’t say the right words, I thought I would show you instead.”
He licked his lips before lowering the camera to his chest. He turned away so he wouldn’t have to put himself through the agony of it.
There. It was done. Nothing he could do to reverse it now.
He opened his eyes and looked at the camera, a proud smile on his face. The ball was now firmly in her court and he–
What the hell?
The camera light was off. It wasn’t recording.
He pressed the power button. It didn’t respond. He smacked it with the palm of his hand. Still no good.
Camden let out a roar of agitation. “Why me? Why now?”
Had his website been shut down? Had his account? Had the camera broken? Why now of all times?
But he had other problems.
He was moving too fast and needed to control his descent. He kept hold of the headband in one hand as he levered himself over the green of the park. As he came down, he pulled hard on the levers to help him land a little softer. But it was never soft. He hit the ground and removed his parachute. He held onto the straps and folded it back up.
Usually, people ran over to congratulate him, to ask where he jumped from. No one bothered him today. They were distracted by something else. They stared at their phones, tapping the screens and pressing them to their ears.
And that wasn’t all.
The cars had come to a standstill. The drivers stood staring at their vehicles, scratching their heads. Buses pulled to the side of the road. Drivers used special tools to open the doors manually so the passengers could disembark. Across the river, dotted along multiple bridges, cars, lorries and delivery vans had come to a halt.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong.
3
It was a sure thing. Guaranteed. Bona fide. One hundred per cent. It was… well, Terrence couldn’t think of another way of saying it. It was going to end his problems for good. The big one. If truth be told, he could have done with a big win like this several years ago. And then every year since then. Fate was a wily dame. She was his muse, his one case of unrequited love.
Until today.
Today, she would prove her love for him and he, in turn, would show them all. He was right and they were wrong, that being a professional gambler was no different to any other profession. It had its quirks – all the best jobs did. To be a winner, you simply had to work harder than everyone else around you. To find success as a gambler, you had to play the odds. Eventually, your day would come. You just had to keep playing.
The only way to die as a gambler was to stop making bets.
Terrence was man enough to admit he made a mistake. In his moment of need, he had chosen to borrow from Jake. Just thinking that name gave him the shivers.
Jake. He shivered again.
His concerns with Jake would end this very afternoon. He was certain of it. Soon after the first ring of that glorious fifth-round bell.
Terrence was nothing if not an optimist. You had to be when you were a professional gambler.
He stepped into the room and took a deep breath. He choked. He wanted to associate that smell with luck and good fortune. Instead, he smelt it for what it was: male sweat, sawdust, unwashed bodies, dirt and, strangely, lavender.
The boxing ring was a cordoned off area much like a recent murder scene. The rope that held the boxers in had no give in it whatsoever. It consisted of frayed rope that injected splinters into willing soft flesh. That was if they didn’t break beneath the weight of a fighter beforehand.
The potential murder victims sat on either side of the room. One smoked while wearing his boxing gloves. A tricky manoeuvre. It did show a certain dexterity on his part. The other man held a bottle of beer in his bandaged hand. Ready to slip on the gloves at a moment’s notice. They might not be what you would expect from traditional professional fighters, but then again this wasn’t a traditional boxing match. This was an unlicensed fight.
Terrence surveyed the crowd. At this time of day, they would ordinarily be huddled over a damp beer mat. He identified the bookie. A skinny man with missing front teeth. With all the money he made, he could have afforded as many teeth as he needed. Maybe even a shark’s teeth. It would go with his demeanour.
Around him stood half a dozen men in worn leather coats. Recruited from hard back alley streets and dark underpasses. They appeared to be at ease but were anything but. Some were ex-servicemen, others rough folks raised on harsh streets. Both possessed the same ruddy temperament and unquenchable willingness to inflict serious bodily harm on a fellow human being.
Terrence knew that from personal experience.
As he stepped toward the skinny man, a familiar voice sounded in his ear: “Terrence! Wait! Are you sure you want to do this?”
Another man might have mistaken it for his conscience, but Terrence had stopped listening to that little fellow a long time ago. He’d drowned it with liquid disappointment. It was his kid brother, Bobby. Without him, odds were good Terrence would have been found dead in a ditch already.
“Bobby, I told you. I’m onto a sure thing.”
“It’s always a sure thing.”
“It really is this time.” Terrence leaned in close. He didn’t need anyone else overhearing. “Bernie gave me the little nugget. See that ugly lump in the corner? No, the other one. He’s going to throw the fight.”
Bobby made a face. “Oh, you mean Bernie the wise and all-knowing. I thought you were referring to the loser who gave you the wrong football scores.”
Terrence shuffled his feet. “That was a one-off.”
“Then what about the red hot tip that Best Mate was going to throw the horse race? He ended up winning the Grand National!”
“Two out of a hundred ain’t bad. You’ve got to play the odds in this game.”
