Breakdown, page 8
‘And if nothing kicks off,’ I say, ‘is that still a deal?’ I make my point. I only help if the deal works both ways.
He looks at me. Reluctantly nods.
The pan banging reaches a crescendo. Careem raises his hands. In each one is a long bone. He waits till the noise subsides. ‘Careem of Bone Cross Bone Crew salutes you peeps,’ he says. He knocks the bones together.
On the far side of the fire, the leader of the Limehouse Gang stands up. The rest remain squatting like tribesmen. They’re armed with every kind of weapon going. There’s a real hush. Everyone strains to hear their business.
‘Buffalo Badman of Limehouse Boys greets your peeps too.’
Careem knocks the bones again. ‘Times is hard and it’s Dog’s Law, but we’re better off working as allies. The Blah-Blah says south gangs getting up a bevy and Brixton Boys joining up with Peckham Shooters and Catford Peel Dem Crew.’
‘That’s what we heard too,’ says the big guy, Buffalo.
‘Yeah,’ says Careem. ‘So Limehouse and Games City Bone Cross Bone gonna get up a horde too.’
A gasp goes through the people. They swallow it quickly, try not to let their dismay show.
‘I don’t like them,’ says Lenny. ‘They’re mean.’ The brindle tracker creeps forwards. She licks Lenny’s hand.
I want to laugh. It’s not exactly like Careem is kind and the Bone Cross Bone Boys are saints is it?
‘I’m scared,’ says Lenny.
‘What of?’ snaps Tarquin, but I notice he stands in front of Lenny, putting himself in between the Limehouse crew and his little brother.
‘Guster says they eat people,’ says Lenny.
‘Shush,’ says Tarquin.
‘Nobody eats people,’ I say, smoothing Lenny’s hair back.
‘I’m still scared.’
Careem waves the bones again. A hush falls. ‘Give my Limehouse brothers a cheer,’ he says. There’s a half-hearted cheer – no pan banging, and a bit of mumbling.
Careem whips round. The mumbling stops. A hush replaces it. ‘Give my friends a better greeting,’ he says, his voice low and dangerous.
There’s a strained cheering. A few claps. And then silence.
‘We’ve entered into a deal with them,’ he says. There’s no clapping.
‘If anyone don’t wanna do the deal I can take yous down to the coast, over to the continent and trade your arse.’
Deadly silence. Everybody knows the continent is a wasteland. Everybody knows France had the most nuclear hits. Nobody wants to be sent down the tunnel there.
‘All right,’ says Careem. ‘You give them respect. They’re allies now and we’re going to make the usual fealty ties.’
‘What’s that?’ I ask.
Tarquin doesn’t answer. He’s gone pale. He’s pushing Lenny behind him.
‘Yeah, so you bring one of your youngers to us and we’ll raise him as a Games Ganger and we’ll give you one of our youngers to be raised as a Limehouse Boy. Cement the good will,’ continues Careem.
I feel Lenny’s grip on my hand tighten.
‘We brought you one already,’ grunts Buffalo. He shoves forward a little girl. She’s been stripped to the waist. Buffalo spins her round like she’s a top. Her back is a lattice of lash marks. She’s so thin every rib shows.
‘She’s had a fair bit of use, but she’s well trained and’ll do anything.’ A filthy laugh goes through the Limehouse Boys.
‘But it sounds like you prefer boys?’ yells one of them. There’s another dirty laugh.
‘Some of us do an’ all,’ another adds.
‘Yeah, we prefer boys,’ says Careem, unabashed. ‘And I’ve got just the one for you.’ He looks around. Tarquin pushes Lenny out of sight.
‘You,’ calls Careem, pointing a bone right at Tarquin. ‘Bring him out.’
A chant goes up. ‘Len-ny. Len-ny.’
Lenny’s hand grips mine till it hurts. But there are other hands working against ours. They tear him from me, push Tarquin sideways, drag Lenny out into the centre of the arena. The brindle dog suddenly growls.
‘There he is,’ says Careem. ‘He’s been a bit spoiled, so it’ll do him good to toughen up. You do what you like with him.’
Lenny’s shaking, trying not to cry. Tarquin is whiter than a ghost. ‘No!’ he yells. He tries to struggle forward. Kaylem approaches him, wielding an iron bar. ‘I’ll go instead,’ yells Tarquin. ‘I’m grown. I’ll be more use.’
Careem doesn’t even bother turning his head. Kaylem lowers the bar. Tarquin ducks, kicks out. The bar spins out of reach. Tarquin goes to shout again. Kaylem’s fist crumples into his face. His cry is cut short.
‘We’ll make the exchange tomorrow,’ says Careem. ‘Bring your younger over and we’ll kill a dog and roast it.’
Lenny shoots me a terrible look.
I didn’t know I cared about him. I didn’t know his little-hand holding and his snuggling up had found a door in my heart. My chest freezes. I can’t speak. I can’t take in that look.
They let him go. He runs, stumbles, finds me.
I cling on to him like he’s my own flesh. Tarquin struggles up, blood dripping from his nose. He stands in front of us. Broken.
And Careem is laughing and doing high fives with the other gang leader. He waves his hand, as if that’s all there is to us – no more favours, no more future, no more nothing, and his two henchmen come and roughly pull us over.
‘Lock Tarquin and Lenny up with the girl,’ orders Careem. ‘Let them have their little fond farewells. Ain’t nobody gonna say I’m a hard-hearted man. Use the secure room, down by the lockers. We don’t want any of ’em trying a runner, do we?’ He guffaws, vulgar, loud-mouthed, raises a bone and shakes it at Tarquin. The message is clear: You had this coming. I told you I’d deal with you. You ain’t nothing. I’m the boss. You’re gonna get it now.
Nailey and another ganger shove us out of the arena.
Tarquin turns on me. ‘You witch,’ he shouts, his voice cracked, venomous. ‘You wait. See what I’ll do to you.’
My eyes fly wide. My throat closes up. Tarquin? I can’t take it in.
I thought he was on my side.
I thought I’d won him over.
As I pass near, he lunges out. My heart stops. The ganger hauling us stops short, knocks him back.
Nailey comes forward, grabs Lenny and cruelly twists his arm. ‘You don’t do nothing to her,’ he snaps at Tarquin. ‘I’ll break Len’s arm right now if you try – if she gets one mark on her, you’re dead.’
Lenny stares like a sleepwalker. His face shocked, drained of colour.
‘She bewitched us,’ screams Tarquin. ‘We was all right till she came.’
Lenny seems jolted into action. ‘It ain’t her!’ he screams, twisting his head up. ‘It ain’t her, neither.’
‘Lock ’em up and report back to Boss,’ yells Nailey. The second ganger pushes Tarquin and me into the cell. Once we’re well away from the door he steps back, leaves. Nailey lets go of Lenny and shoves him in too.
‘You wasn’t never all right.’ Nailey sneers. ‘You always thought you was better’n us. See where it’s got ya now.’ He slams the door shut, slides the bolt into place.
And there we are, Lenny and me and Tarquin, locked in, looking at Nailey through holes busted in the door. And Lenny’s crying and I’m just sitting there and Tarquin’s seething and cursing. And Nailey’s saying: ‘I’m gonna be watching, and if you touch her, if you switch on her, even one little finger, Careem’s gonna slit your gizzard and watch the dogs guzzle it.’
And I don’t know what hurts me most: going to the General, or Lenny being handed to thugs.
Or Tarquin’s sudden hatred.
17
After a while we hear pans. Through the holes in the door we see Nailey get up. ‘I’ll be back,’ he warns. He shakes a finger at Tarquin. ‘And you’ve been told.’
We hear his tread receding down the corridor.
Instantly Tarquin’s on his feet. He bounds across at me. I shrink back. Lenny jumps up too.
‘It’s OK,’ hisses Tarquin. ‘I didn’t mean any of those things. Listen. We’ve not got long.’
I look up, confused.
‘There’s only one way out and that’s through that door.’ He gestures at the door. Welded metal. Rusty. Locked.
‘And there’s no way they’re going to open it and give me the chance to take them out for any cheap trick.’
I position myself as far away from him as possible. Isn’t this the same person who was trying to take me out a minute ago?
‘I’m a ganger. I know how they work. The only way I can get them to open that door is if they think I’m gonna hurt you.’
I blink.
‘And even then it won’t be easy. They’ll need to believe I will and still believe they can stop me.’
Had he thought this through, right from the stadium?
‘Lenny, I didn’t mean it, OK?’
‘And are you going to hurt me?’ I ask. I don’t know what to think.
I look at his face through the darkness of the room. Try to read his mind. Lenny looks at both of us. Eyes wide. Tiny face streaked with tears. He doesn’t know what to think either.
‘Quick,’ says Tarquin. ‘Nailey ain’t gonna be away long. As soon as he’s grabbed his share of the food, he’ll be back. He’ll stand outside that door an’ keep watch. Only chance to get it open is to make him believe that if he don’t, Careem’ll do him too.’
‘But how do we do that?’ I say. I see he’s right. If I get hurt, Careem may kill Tarquin, but he’ll also lose the deal with the General, and he put Nailey on duty. So Nailey’ll get it too.
‘Hit me then,’ I say. ‘If that’s what it takes, hit as hard as you like. You know how this works. Just make sure we get out.’
Lenny runs to me, pulls on my hand. ‘No, Miss,’ he sobs.
I squeeze his little hand. ‘Lenny,’ I say. ‘Sometimes we have to do things. You just stand over there and don’t look.’ I brace myself for the punch. ‘Come on,’ I say, ‘I get it. We don’t have long. Let him see me bruised and bleeding.’
‘Not like that,’ hisses Tarquin. ‘We gotta time him, so he’ll think he can get in and stop me and save his own neck. Len, you stand there where he’ll think he can grab you. Twist your arm like before.’
Tremblingly Lenny obeys.
‘And I’ll hit you first, where he’ll think it won’t show.’ Gently Tarquin touches the crown of my head. ‘Then your nose. Not too hard – enough to make it bleed. Sight of blood will fetch him.’
Tarquin steps up close, balls his fist, draws his arm back, screws his face up, concentrates as if punching me will hurt him too.
And we wait, poised in some strange tableau, hearts racing, until we hear footsteps.
‘Now,’ says Tarquin. ‘Start screaming.’
Immediately we hear Nailey coming, Tarquin bursts into insults again. Vindictive. Vicious.
I scream. The footsteps quicken. My heart pounds. Lenny sobs.
‘HELP!’ I scream. ‘HELP ME!’
The footsteps come running. And Nailey’s shouting, rattling the door, pressing his face to a hole.
And this is it.
I brace myself.
But no punch comes. No flat-handed slap. No tight fist. No gush of nosebleed.
Tarquin moves close, bends over me, screams insults and between his teeth sobs: ‘I can’t do it.’ And instead of hitting me, he staggers back as if I’ve pushed him and bangs his own head against the wall.
Sodding hell! What’s wrong with him?
Nailey yells. Threatens. Lenny sobs. I look at Tarquin. He really can’t do it.
Holy shit. Think of something, Melissa.
I look around. A fistful of gravel, scraped down my face? Fall to the floor, grab some?
It won’t do anything. When I brush it away nothing will bleed. No rush of red.
Think. Think. You’re losing the advantage.
But there’s nothing.
Time’s running out. Nailey’s withdrawing his face from the hole. Now! Or our chance’ll be gone.
I spring forward. Tarquin’s shown me the way. I throw myself at him. Scream savagely as if all the witch in me has burst loose. I scratch him viciously across his face. He raises his arm to defend. I spin away from it, as if he’s punched me. I crack my head against the wall. Bone on concrete. ‘BASTARD,’ I scream.
I reel back. My mind spins. I taste blood, hope to hell I’ve done enough damage. I let out a volley of screeching. Nailey’s back, cursing. I’m about to throw myself against the wall again. Strong hands hold me.
‘Melissa.’ Tarquin’s voice, pleading, guttural. But I struggle against his hands. Like a wild cat, I am all teeth and nails and spite.
Tarquin holds me steady.
‘Do something!’ I hiss. I start screaming again. Ear-splitting. At the top of my voice. Struggling in his grip. ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!’
I shake him off me. I throw myself around the cell. I bang into the door. I kick it. Throw myself at the floor, at the walls. Tarquin can’t stop me. Twice I break his hold, scratch at him, tear at his hair. And scream at the top of my voice, ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’
At first Tarquin’s too confused to do anything – except hold on to me. Then at the top of his voice, ‘WITCH!’ he yells. His voice breaking.
Lenny starts too, high-pitched, hysterical. I can’t tell whether his screams are real or not. I think they’re real. They make me afraid. Lend power to mine. I scream and scream until my lungs burn.
There’s no doubt something terrible is going on inside the cell. Maybe it’s the tone of my voice. The shrill shrieking. Lenny’s cries, ear-piercing, heart-breaking. Nailey slings back the bolt, kicks the door open. He draws his iron bar up, is about to bring it down on Tarquin’s head when, faster than lightning, Tarquin strikes.
One punch to the side of Nailey’s face. It looks nothing. But Nailey staggers, slips sideways. It seems as if he suddenly ages. His knees crumple. His head snaps back. He sags, goes down, banging on the wall as he falls.
Tarquin steps in close. Lifts Nailey’s head, jabs another punch into his temple. What he couldn’t do to me he does tenfold to Nailey. ‘C’mon,’ he says. ‘Out.’
I rush to Lenny, hold his shoulders, take his hand. ‘C’mon.’
Lenny tries to wind his little fingers about mine. Then lets go, confused.
‘It’s OK; I’m OK.’
We leave.
Tarquin drags the metal door shut behind us, slides the bolt into place. ‘He won’t wake up for hours,’ he says. ‘Let’s get out, hide, think.’
We run down a long corridor, take some steps up, some steps down, round a corner until there’s nowhere else for us to go, except out onto the terraces. Out into the open arena where the racetrack loops below.
‘Under the bleachers,’ whispers Tarquin. ‘Crouch low. Get to the store hollows, where they keep swag. This way.’
He leads. We slink behind a row of seating. We find one of the cavities where they used to pack the chairs away, in those old days, that long ago, when seating mechanisms worked, when fans cheered athletes to glorious triumphs.
We creep into a hollow and squat. Blood drips from my nose. Blood congeals on Tarquin’s scratches. Lenny shakes and shakes, in silence. And Tarquin, his eyes too dark to fathom, stares at me through the shadows.
‘Melissa,’ he whispers. ‘Melissa.’ He takes my face in his hands, turns it and inspects the damage. Then very gently he cleans the dirt from my cheek. With shaking fingers, wipes the blood.
And after it’s all done, he holds my scratched and bleeding hands tight in his own.
We crouch together under the bleachers. Lenny’s trembling so much I can feel his heart beating through his thin shirt. Tarquin doesn’t speak. He wipes the blood away from his own mouth. It smears across his lip. I feel so sorry for him, but I must strike now. Watch the eyes, Melissa, wait until they fall, wait until the load is too heavy, then attack while you have the chance.
In the shadows of the plastic seating, I watch. I pull the key out of my pocket.
Now.
‘I know you’re getting out. Take me with you. The cottage is there. Careem will never catch us. I’ll show you the way.’ I press the key into his hand.
Tarquin twists uncomfortably, takes the key, holds it up to the light, looks at the picture set in plastic, looks at me.
If you’re gonna lie, make it count. Do it up front and bold. Don’t hesitate. Lie your heart out. Make it work.
‘The cottage belonged to my nan. It’s mine now.’ I press up close to him, put my lips to his ear. ‘The pond is there,’ I whisper. ‘The ducks are there. The hazelnut forest is there. The bees are back. The valley’s hidden. The hills blocked out the radiation.’ Please God don’t let him know too much about radiation. ‘It’s OK there. We were going, me and Nan, but she got ill. I know the way. Just get us out.’
A shiver runs through him. I hold my breath.
Lenny draws in close, wipes his sleeve across his nose, sniffs, chin puckered tight. Tear tracks stain his cheeks.
‘Shush,’ Tarquin warns.
‘Please don’t let them take me.’
Tarquin puts his arm out, pulls Lenny close. ‘I ain’t gonna.’ His face’s tight. His voice crushed. ‘Careem can choose some other kid. There’s some that’d like it, even.’
Lenny buries his face in Tarquin’s shoulder. ‘He ain’t having you,’ promises Tarquin.
From the racetrack below comes laughter. A dog barks. More laughter. They don’t know we’re out.
Yet.
Lenny’s small frame convulses. The air grows tight around us. The seating above shakes a little.
‘Shush.’
‘Careem ain’t thinking,’ mutters Tarquin. ‘I’m his best scout. I got the shoes. I got him loads of stuff.’ He shakes his head and looks at me, perplexed, betrayed. And I know I’m one of those things he got Careem.
I look back.
His eyes are saying sorry.
‘Please let’s go with Missa?’ Lenny’s voice is all broken.
‘Where is this place?’ says Tarquin, holding up the key.
