Arctic Zoo, page 10
Duke took a slug straight from the rum bottle as Julius pulled his T-shirt over his head.
Julius had rediscovered the easy vibe they’d felt when racing up the stairs. They paused, chest to chest, no sound but breathing and rain. Then they moved together to kiss.
FIFTEEN
Seventy minutes later, Julius stood breathless in a shower cubicle, wrestling a grimy curtain that billowed and stuck to his legs. It was barely warm, and the sixth-floor water pressure feeble, but he felt full of life.
He’d already been away from home longer than planned. But if military school was the price of making love to Duke, it still felt worth it. He imagined telling his mother every detail and seeing her head burst like an egg in a microwave.
Duke had showered first. Towelling dry, then spending ages fixing his hair in the steamed-up mirror. He put on clean shorts, tidied a stack of books they’d crashed into, flipped two sofa cushions with sweat patches and buried the empty rum bottle at the base of the trash can.
‘Hungry?’ Duke asked as Julius ambled out, slightly drunk as he found his shorts.
‘I don’t want to go home,’ Julius said longingly, casting an eye at his backpack with the unused skateboard poking out.
‘We’ll sort something,’ Duke said. ‘Somehow …’
Julius ached at the thought of how difficult that would be. ‘It’s rare that my ma goes on weekend business.’
‘Might have to run away,’ Duke joked. ‘Scam one of your rich relatives and ride trains around Europe …’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Julius said.
He stepped past the sofa, intending to put his arms around Duke, but a key sounded in the door. While Duke glanced about, chasing evidence of bad behaviour, Julius envisioned Adebisi family guards powering through the door and dragging him home for a whipping on his mother’s orders.
But it was Duke’s Uncle Remi. Heavier than the man Julius watched on television as a small boy. Waves of processed newsreader hair had been traded for a simple razor cut with tufts of grey, but he’d retained bleached-white teeth and studious good looks.
Remi was abuzz, zipping through the door, pirouetting a large tan briefcase onto the sofa, then rushing to the fridge to gulp from a carton of pineapple juice.
Julius anxiously kicked his towel back into the bathroom and tried to locate his T-shirt. But it wasn’t unusual for boys to sit about in shorts when there was no air conditioning, and Remi’s mind was on a higher plane than stray towels and rearranged cushions.
‘I thought you were in Lagos till Monday,’ Duke said.
‘Drove back when I heard there was trouble in town,’ Remi explained, draining and refilling his glass of juice. ‘Have you seen?’
‘Things kicked off, so we stayed indoors,’ Duke said. ‘This is my friend Julius, by the way.’
‘Julius Caesar!’ Remi said as he spun extravagantly and grabbed a little FM radio out of a cabinet above the sink. ‘It’s pleasing that you have company. My nephew spends too much time with a tin of pencils.
‘I had Radio Tango International on as I drove into the garage,’ Remi continued. ‘They had people phoning in, talking about the situation across the city. Rotimis and Adebisis have been spraying election money like confetti. The Godmother must have given the area boys an absolute fortune to make them cocky enough to start a war with the Transport Union.’
‘Casualties?’ Duke asked.
‘All over.’ Remi nodded. ‘Unconfirmed reports that three people burned to death inside a shop close to the precinct. There are brawls and smashed glass all through the city.’ Remi looked frustrated as his radio stayed silent. ‘Fresh batteries?’ he asked, agitated, as he pulled a kitchen drawer hard and began to rummage. ‘Or can you get radio from that box under the television?’
‘Not Radio Tango, Uncle,’ Duke said. ‘It’s an unlicensed station and we’re out of diesel for the generator. There might be a website I can stream through my phone, but I’ve almost used my data allowance …’
‘Never any batteries!’ Remi complained. ‘Where do they all go? They’re worse than socks!’
‘I’ve got unlimited data,’ Julius said, reaching into his shorts for his phone, then realising he’d left it on a shelf in the bathroom.
But Remi’s interest in the radio was fleeting. He placed his empty glass in the sink, then reached for the tattered briefcase he’d thrown on the couch as he walked in.
‘From an insider at the Chinese Development Bank in Lagos,’ Remi said, thumping the case like the back of an old friend. ‘Audited accounts that the Chinese requested before funding projects by Ondo State government. My friend tells me these figures are way more honest than the state accounts released to the public. I’m hoping they go back far enough to show that Rotimi Rotimi and SJ Adebisi are even bigger crooks than—’
‘Uncle,’ Duke interrupted violently. ‘This is my friend from St Gilda’s, Julius Adebisi.’
For a second, Remi looked like he was going to inhale his tongue. Then he clutched the case to his chest as if Julius might snatch it and bolt.
‘Don’t upset yourself, sir,’ Julius said respectfully. ‘My lips are tight. I’m no fan of my mother’s politics.’
Remi considered this suspiciously as he slotted the briefcase into a gap between the refrigerator and the wall. He moved closer to Julius, then eyed him over the top of his amber-tint sunglasses.
‘I see resemblance to Bunmi,’ Remi noted. ‘Your height and posture. These are not the only copies of the documents, by the way.’
The worry in the last sentence made Julius suspect it was a lie.
‘Uncle, he’s not going to go running to his mum,’ Duke said reassuringly. ‘They don’t get along.’
‘But I should probably leave,’ Julius said, feeling awkward. ‘I think I saw a taxi stand when we arrived …’
The mention of a taxi focused Remi’s brain. Bunmi Adebisi would never let one of her kids out without a car and a bodyguard close by. And now Remi studied his surroundings. He saw the towels and wet hair. Sensed the rum on both boys’ breath and finger scratches on his nephew’s back.
‘I see now!’ Remi said, wagging a finger and grinning to himself. ‘This old fool walked in on something naughty!’
SIXTEEN
Maya messaged as Georgia was on the bus home from meeting Zac.
Maya: Just found out there’s gonna be an INSANE house party on the estate tonite! Wanna come?
Georgia: Am I invited?
Maya:You’re so innocent! Girls who look like you are invited to EVERYTHING :-)
Georgia was wary of going to some random kid’s house on the estate. But booze and boys were not without attraction, and with her dad working crazy hours, the other Saturday-night options were sitting home alone with dark thoughts, or walking to her nan’s and watching Britain’s Got Talent.
Georgia: OK, count me in!
It was just before eight and Georgia was on foot, close to Isaac Newton Estate, as she felt her mobile vibrate. Dad Calling.
‘Cookie, I just got home. Where are you?’
‘Hey, Dad,’ Georgia said, walking slower and feeling guilty as she lied. ‘I’m going to Maya’s. Just a quiet night, watching a movie or something. I left a note on the dining table and a Pyrex in the fridge with that chilli bake Nan brought round.’
‘I’ve hardly seen you this week,’ John moaned. ‘I thought we might order pizza and find something on Sky Movies.’
‘Tomorrow’s Sunday,’ Georgia said. ‘I’m free all day.’
‘I’ve got to go into the workshop tomorrow,’ John replied. ‘Metro Powerlines sent a bunch of detailed queries about our survey drone proposal. Things are going to get sticky if we don’t win the contract, so your Uncle Phil and I are going to power through while the workshop is quiet and get back to them first thing Monday.’
‘Detailed questions must mean they’re taking your proposal seriously,’ Georgia pointed out.
‘Hopefully,’ John agreed. ‘If you’re not coming home, I might drive round and see your nan for an hour.’
‘I’m a bit late, Dad. I’d better go.’
Georgia felt anxious about the party and guilty for lying to her dad, but her mood improved as Maya answered her front door and gave her a hug.
‘Georgia girl, you scrub up nice!’
The scruffy little flat had kids charging around. Maya’s twelve-year-old brother kept peeking up from homework to ogle Georgia’s legs as she waited in the kitchen while Maya went upstairs for her coat.
Maya came down with her neighbour Amy and her older sister Courtney, who surprised Georgia with more hugs.
‘Gutted ’bout your sister,’ Courtney said. ‘She doctored me one time at hospital, when I busted my elbow.’
‘Really?’ Georgia said brightly, as Maya cuffed her brother around the head.
‘Eyes on homework, Kieran,’ Maya ordered.
‘Heading off, Mum!’ Courtney shouted into the living room, grabbing keys off the kitchen counter and smiling at Georgia as they stepped outdoors.
Georgia relaxed as the foursome headed across the estate, but the others were wearing jeans or leggings and she wondered if her black tights and skirt were overdoing it for a house party on the Isaac Newton Estate.
As Georgia had recently learned, the low-rise section of the estate was occupied by families and old folks. The homes were packed tight, but the vibe wasn’t much different to the streets where richer kids like Georgia lived. When outsiders talked about Isaac Newton, they were usually thinking about a pair of nineteen-storey towers on the estate’s eastern side. Apple House had been empty for years, though asbestos and government cuts had delayed the demolition. Its twin, Gravity House, where the party was taking place, had been given a cheap makeover and was used as housing of last resort. This meant refugees, the homeless, people released from prison and kids like Andre, who grew up in the care system and got the boot on their eighteenth birthday.
The lift rattled up to the eleventh floor and the four girls emerged, gagging and holding hands over their faces.
‘Old sick and dog crap all mixed up,’ Maya moaned, dashing to a railing and heaving fresh air.
Georgia had never been up one of the towers. The sun was getting low and her inner geek wanted to trace the rows of lights and see if she could spot her street. But the other three were charging down the balcony that ran in front of the flats, towards music booming out of an open front door.
They passed a furious barefoot Hindu man who’d just been protesting the noise. Georgia baulked when they got to the door of the party house. There was an enormous dude on the doorstep, keeping out three gobby lads who’d barely hit their teens and had the waistbands of their trackie bottoms almost down to their knees.
‘If you turds try and get in again, you’re goin’ over that balcony!’ the giant shouted. But his voice changed when he saw Courtney. ‘Girls, welcome!’
‘This big beast is Andre’s big brother Marco,’ Courtney explained. ‘When’d you get out of young offenders?’
Georgia didn’t hear Marco’s answer because she got sucked inside, sandwiched between Maya and Amy, as they passed down a hallway pinned with posters of boxing movies and a soupy haze of marijuana smoke.
‘Oy-oy!’ Rolf shouted, scrambling off a chair, before giving Maya a kiss and a Peroni.
It needled Georgia that Maya had forgiven her boyfriend for the incident at the station, but there was no denying Rolf’s appeal. He had cocky charm and a cynical world view that made Maya laugh, plus a great body and the social status you get dating one of the coolest boys in year twelve.
Amy spotted a bunch of pals and Georgia was living her worst party nightmare. Stripped of her friend group, overdressed and standing on the bare boards of a living room full of people she didn’t know.
‘Rolf said you were coming,’ Georgia heard from close behind. ‘I told him Georgia Pack was too straight to come to a house party on the estate.’
‘Eh?’ Georgia said, getting handed an absurdly yellow supermarket-brand alcopop by a tall guy in a V-neck.
He was a year-twelve or thirteen, but she knew him as one of the lifeguards who manned the leisure centre pool when she helped at the Old Ducks Aqua Club. He was Dean. Possibly Dwayne …
‘Lifeguard,’ Georgia said, remembering her mother’s warnings about drinks spiked with date-rape drugs before bravely taking a sip. ‘I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’
Dean or Dwayne laughed. ‘You’re great with the old ladies, but I haven’t seen you there for a while.’
Georgia nodded. ‘It used to be me and one other girl. But it’s the kind of activity that looks good on a university application. They’ve got so many volunteers, there’s a rota now.’
‘Dean, you big ponce!’ a guy who looked absolutely trashed said as he stumbled past. ‘Why don’t you …’
Georgia didn’t hear the end of the sentence because the loudmouth tripped on an upturned bread crate that Andre used as a coffee table and sent empty cans and bottles flying.
‘Some people can’t pace themselves,’ Dean said, cracking a big smile. ‘It’s not even half-eight. So, what was I saying?’
Georgia took a gulp of her yellow drink and smiled. ‘Introductory conversation, something about me not being here because I’m too straight …’
Dean laughed.
They talked about the leisure-centre pool being privatised, a physics teacher they both hated and found common ground discussing difficult mothers. As Georgia finished her second yellow drink, she was starting to buzz.
Then Dean made a cheesy comment that he felt he had a connection with Georgia and started touching her hand. And while Dean seemed nice, no part of Georgia wanted anything more than a conversation with him. She babbled something about having to ask Maya a question and bounced.
Georgia found everyone in the kitchen. Stoned people were eating tubes of shoplifted cookie dough, Rolf had no shirt on and Courtney was kissing big Marco, who they’d met on the door.
‘So, Dean-o?’ Maya said, phrasing it like a question.
Georgia shook her head. ‘Not my type.’
Maya shouted. ‘All the cool people are here in this kitchen!’
A Metallica song came on. Georgia talked to Andre, the host, switched from yellow alcopop to sweet cider, got hit on by three guys and chased by Dean, who repeated the line about having a connection, then asked for her number.
Georgia gave her number out of pity and immediately hated the idea of having to deal with his call. He was smart and attractive, but four years older and there was no spark. But as nine o’clock and a second cider passed, Georgia noticed everyone pairing off and felt jealous when she saw Dean on the doorstep with his hand squeezing a buttock.
Maya and Rolf were entwined and Georgia found herself on the hallway floor, getting in the way of people using the bathroom and wondering about a bus home, or calling Dad to pick her up. He’d combust if he found out she was at a party in Gravity House, but she feared walking this neighbourhood alone.
She’d just joined the queue for the bathroom when a man with a beard came bundling through the front door.
‘Move, move, move,’ he shouted.
He was older than the partygoers, barefoot and wearing jeans soaked in blood. Georgia backed up to the wall as he shot past, clutching a Londis carrier bag and chased by two men. The one in the lead held a yellow stun gun and wore regular clothes. Georgia only realised they were cops when the second one went by, shouting into a radio.
The bloody man crashed the particle board door at the end of the hallway hard enough to leave a dent. The bedroom had a circle of kids sharing a joint and screams erupted as he raced to the back of the room.
The window had been opened to let out smoke and he flung out the carrier bag and shouted, ‘Free drugs!’ before jumping onto the bed.
‘Hands in the air!’ the cop with the Taser shouted.
Another cop swept past Georgia as the lead pair wrestled the bloody man down in the bedroom.
‘What happened?’ Rolf asked, scrambling out of the kitchen.
‘Drugs or something,’ Georgia said.
The party music had stopped. Georgia felt her ears ringing as an officer with stripes spoke into her radio by the front door.
‘Suspect detained. Package, suspected narcotics, has been thrown from window on east side of Gravity House. I need bodies down there looking, before someone steals it.’
Georgia suddenly felt sober. None of the partying kids had anything to do with the drug dealer who’d burst through the front door, but everyone was drunk, there was a thick marijuana haze and Georgia was far from the only kid who hadn’t told her folks they were going to a crazy party at the most dangerous address in town.
She had to get out of here fast …
SEVENTEEN
Julius rolled over in his bed, squinting as he caught blazing sunlight through a crack in the curtains. The day before felt like a dream. The violence. Duke’s apartment. Getting the cab to drop him a few doors from home and sneaking back into the compound, unnoticed.
He had his official phone on the bedside table, but he reached for the other one, which was tucked behind his headboard, with the charging lead out of sight. He’d bounced messages with Duke before he went to sleep and was disappointed to find nothing new now. He was hungry enough for breakfast, but it was only eight and a lie-in was more tempting.
A click from the bedroom door startled him. Julius buried the illicit phone under his covers as Orisa’s head came around the door. Sunday was her day off. She was dressed in a Nigeria soccer shirt that had been passed down from one of the twins and grey leggings, sweaty from a session on the cross trainer in the downstairs gym.
‘May I step in?’ Orisa asked. But it wasn’t a question.
Julius moved his long leg out of the way as Orisa settled on the edge of his double bed. Her post-workout glow was surprisingly pungent and her well-defined shoulders and biceps reminded Julius that his petite cousin often did free weights with the bodyguards.
