Authors: Minette Walters
Ah, sweet Jesus!
He lifted a boot and, using the banister for leverage, brought his heel into direct contact with the lock. It took five kicks before the mortise ripped from the jamb, only for the door to come up short against an obstruction. Jimmy lowered his head in exhaustion, then with a deep breath, put his shoulder to the panel and thrust his whole eighteen stone into shifting the door and whatever stood behind it.
9 Humbert Street It was with relief that Gaynor heard the news that exits were opening up all along Humbert Street. Although she didn't know it then, the story of how “Friendship Calling” used its network to recruit sons daughters, nieces, nephews and friends to make through-passages to the gardens on both sides became the silver lining to the awful trauma of the July riot. It spoke of a continuing sense of community in even the most fractured of societies, and sowed a seed of hope for the future.
At the time, since no one had told her differently, Gaynor assumed that Jimmy was responsible. “I said he was a good 'un,” she told Ken Hewitt when he relayed the news. "So are you gonna let me go for Mel and Col?
I'm that worried about them. My battery's almost out, and I reckon the lot round here have got the hang of what to do. There hasn't been any bargin' and shovin' for ages."
“We think we know where Melanie is,” he said, repeating the information from the helicopter. "Jimmy said the description of the blonde girl sounded like Melanie. There's a lad in the line as well. Holding her hand. Wearing a Saints T-shirt and blue denims. Could that be Colin?"
“Oh, thank God, thank God,” she said, her voice breaking on a sob. "Are they all right?"
“As far as I know,” said Ken. "One of the officers monitoring the footage has been keeping me posted, and the last I heard they were putting a fire out at number 23 to stop it spreading. They're brave kids, Gaynor. You should be proud of them."
She gave a joyful laugh as if a weight had dropped from her shoulders.
“They're my babies, darling'. ”Course I'm proud of them. Always have been. So where's Jimmy? Is he with them?"
There was a tiny hesitation. "We're not sure at the moment. His mobile packed up, so we can't speak to him."
“What about the little ones? Where are they?”
“You mean Melanie's children?”
"Yeah. Rosie 'n' Ben. She had them with her when we started the march."
"We don't know. They're not with her, so we think she must have put them inside her house. It's pretty rough where they are, Gaynor."
Worry took an immediate hold again. “Oh, God!” She looked up the road but couldn't see through the crowd that was still thronging the tarmac.
“What's going on? You said there was a fire.”
"Some boys are trying to petrol-bomb the house. Your kids are standing in front of it to stop them,“ he told her. ”I said they were brave Gaynor."
There was a long beat of silence. "I should've known the little bastard wasn't joyriding," she said obliquely before cutting the line.
Inside 23 Humbert Street There was blood on the floorboards and in splattered droplets on the walls. The sight of it brought back the nausea that Jimmy had felt in the Glebe Tower lift. That and the terrible heat and smell of the room. Body odour and the must of disuse. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see something human lying crumpled in a corner, but all his attention was focused on the man and woman facing him across the room.
He'd taken too long, he thought. Too long helping to put out the fire.
Too long breaking through the door.
The woman was propped across the man's lap like a ventriloquist's dummy, eyes closed, face battered beyond belief, chin and chest saturated in gore. Jimmy couldn't even tell if she was alive except that blood and saliva bubbled from her lips like ectoplasm. She must have fought like a tigress. The old man's face was scratched and clawed as if two-inch talons had hooked into his skin and ripped it wide.
“You want I should kill her?” Franck put one hand under Sophie's slack jaw and the other round the back of her head. "I snap her neck if you make movement. She stay alive if you keep your friends away till policemen come."
Jimmy didn't move a muscle. He wanted to say something, but the only words that formed themselves in his mind were obscenities and recriminations. Hadn't he warned the fucking doctor? He remembered saying it. What's the fucking difference between one man and a thousand? You've got a fucking psycho bastard who's gonna kill her if I get it wrong. He'd fucking said it. Jesus! Even a fucking moron should've fucking known this would happen.
“You understand me, nigger? Or you too stupid?” demanded Franck angrily, fazed by the man's gaping mouth and look of blank incomprehension. “I kill her if you come close.”
Jimmy watched a sliver of silver appear between Sophie's lids. He nicked a glance at the crumpled figure in the corner. “I understand,”
he said in a voice husky with dryness.
Franck nodded in satisfaction. “You stay scared,” he instructed. "That way she live."
Jimmy did as Sophie had done several times, ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth to unglue it from his teeth. "You're a dead man unless you come with me, Mr. Hollis," he said.
A glimmer of humour twitched the man's eyes, as if he saw a threat and was amused by it. “The girl dead if you try and take me.”
“No, you don't understand.” He injected urgency into his voice. "There are barricades round the estate and the police can't get in. The whole place is rioting. There's guys in the street wanting to burn you alive with petrol bombs. I've agreed to take you and your son out the back and get you to the police at the perimeter wall. You've got about thirty seconds to make up your mind."
More amusement. "You think Franck believe this? You think Franck a fool?"
Sophie's eyelids started to flutter with returning consciousness.
“Yeah,” said Jimmy recklessly, itching to wipe the smile off his face.
"I've never met a psycho bastard yet who had a brain. They're all sodding retards. What's so clever about smashing a woman's teeth in?
Any fuck wit can do it."
Franck tightened his grip on Sophie's neck as she started to move. "We stay,“ he said. ”You guard the door. Keep us safe."
It was Jimmy's turn to smile. "They're gonna fry you, Mr. Hollis. You got enough brains to understand that? Me standing here ain't gonna make a blind bit of difference 'cos the only way out'll be through the window, 'n' there's guys down below waiting with blades. They don't like sickos, and they're stoned out of their skulls. They'll cut you to pieces soon as look at you."
Franck's gaze never wavered, but it wasn't clear to Jimmy if lack of fear or lack of comprehension was the cause of his imperturbability. He couldn't fail to hear the shouts from outside, which were louder and more persistent since the bedroom door had been opened. Jimmy could make out Wesley Barber above the rest and that worried him, because he guessed that Wesley was moving closer to the shattered downstairs window.
“Touget the brother out, Met, or we gonna, burn him, too .. .”
"You call the wrong man dirty names, nigger. Do you ask if the son is sick? Do you ask if the son does this? No, you spit on the dada and say he must be the guilty man.“ He stared Jimmy down. ”But it's me Franck who does nothing wicked and me Franck who does what he can to keep his life."
“He'll never blame himself.. .” Jimmy glanced at the body in the corner again. “Is that your son? Is he dead?”
“I knock him from the girl with a chair. He doesn't move since.”
"Yeah, well, you can save all that for the cops, Mr. Hollis. There's no way I'm gonna believe your hands are clean. You have to be a well sick fucker if you're willing to break a woman's neck."
"You give me no choice. Without the threat, you would not listen. But Franck is not the one you want. It is Milosz who causes this trouble.
Milosz who does bad things." The old man's eyes narrowed as Jimmy's expression changed. “Why you look like this?” he demanded. "What you thinking?"
“They told me your name was Hollis.”
“So?”
“It's fucking Zelowski, isn't it?”
“What difference is a name?”
Jimmy's fists clenched at his sides. He knew now why there was a studio downstairs. "A hell of a fucking difference. Jesus! I know what you did. No wonder your son pisses himself every time the door opens. You whipped a five-year-old kid, you bastard."
“This is lies.”
“Don't bullshit me!” he said angrily. "I knew your son in the nick. I liked him. Milosz Zelowski. Best fucking musician I ever met." His voice rose in wrath. "They broke his fingers because they heard he gave hand-jobs, and there's only one bastard who could've taught him to do that. You're a real piece of work. Fucking brave when it's kids 'n' women.“ He spat on the floor. ”No guts at all for taking on men."
The sound of his raised voice caused Sophie's eyes to open. Her face was turned towards Jimmy, but he couldn't judge if there was any understanding there except that she lay still, seemingly aware that movement might be dangerous. She stared at him unblinkingly, and he had the impression she was trying to tell him something. But he didn't know what it was.
Franck was unimpressed. "This is to fight me, yes? Do you think it so easy to make Franck forget why he hold this little white neck between his hands?"
“If you break it, I'll chuck you out of the window myself.”
The old man's eyes lit with amusement again. "Maybe I don't care.
Maybe I do it anyway. Maybe I say to myself, let's see if a nigger tell the truth for once.“ He watched Jimmy's face greedily. ”Hah!" he said triumphantly. "Now you not so interested in fighting. Maybe you carry messages for Franck instead. Make your friends go home to their cages. Tell them if Franck is safe, the girl is safe. Go. Do what Franck say' he stretched a finger to caress Sophie's cheek 'and the little miss live. Argue any more, and she don't."
Sophie's eyes widened immediately, and this time the message was clear.
Don't leave me. She was more alert than she was pretending, thought Jimmy.
He had already calculated that he couldn't cross the gap between them before Franck twisted his hands. He could take a gamble that Sophie would strike out when he made his move, or that Franck wasn't experienced enough to get it right first time. But the risk was too great. He held no cards because he didn't want her dead. Franck held them all.
“They won't listen to me,” he said.
“Don't argue.”
“I'm a nigger, 'n' niggers aren't welcome in Acid Row.” He jerked his head towards the door. "Listen! They're saying they're gonna burn me too, just 'cos I'm black."
This time a flicker of doubt did creep into Franck's gaze. It was unlikely he could make out individual words among the shouts, but the sentiments Jimmy expressed matched his own views on blacks so he believed them.
Jimmy nodded towards Sophie. "They'll listen to her. She's their doctor. If we take her into the front bedroom she can talk to them through the window."
Franck shook his head obstinately. "It give you chance to take her away from me. Go. Do what I say. Maybe they listen more than you think."
Jimmy's seething anger boiled over. He didn't have the time or the patience for negotiation, nor the mindset that would allow a man like this to think he would tamely take orders. He slammed the side of his fist against the wardrobe. “Listen, motherfucker,” he roared. "I've had it with you. You'd better believe I'm the only bastard in this street who doesn't wanna kill you. You've got one way to save your sodding life, 'n' that's with me. I'm coming in for Milosz, so let the lady go and get your fat arse off the floor."
Perhaps Sophie had been waiting for just such an ultimatum, perhaps she felt an easing of the hand under her jaw, because she gave a sudden lurch and twisted out of Franck's grip, scrabbling on hands and knees towards Jimmy. He was half a second slower off the mark than she was but still a damn sight faster than a seventy-one-year-old.
“Gotcha,” he said, lifting her round the waist and swinging her round behind him. He lowered his head and spread his arms wide, ready for the tackle. “How about it, motherfucker?” he taunted. "Fancy your chances against a nigger?"
“Don't trust him,” said Sophie's voice in a rasp behind him. "He's mad. I think he killed his wife. He'll kill you if he can."
Franck chuckled. “She talk rubbish,” he said. "She very stupid girl.
Yack-yack all the time. Now you make good your promise. Keep Franck alive the way you say."
Jimmy straightened and dropped his hands invitingly to his side. "Sure thing, baas, but I'm not leaving without Milosz." He took a step towards the crumpled body of his friend, heard Sophie's anguished cry as Franck made a lunge at him, and planted his fist on the side of the old man's head. “Like I said,” he murmured, massaging his knuckles “I've never met a psycho vet who had a brain.”
Saturday 28 July 2001 outside 23 Humbert Street
MELANIE WONDERED WHY Wesley and his friends didn't just rush them. All they had to do was barge the line and they'd be in through the window quick as winking. It was weird. Almost as if they knew that Mel and Col were in the right and they were in the wrong. In an exhausted abstracted way, she played Star Wars films across her mind, picturing herself as Princess Lela and Col as Luke Skywalker. Brother and sister Jedi knights. The force was with them.
She felt Colin shake her arm. “Are you gonna faint?” he asked in alarm.
“No, I'm OK.”
She didn't believe in good or evil. Just kindness when you felt like it; and idiocy when you were wasted. So maybe it was the black lady at her side who kept telling Wesley his mother would have his guts that made him hang back. Or the helicopter, hovering overhead. Or his friends, who were Colin's friends, too. Wesley was a fuck-head whichever way you looked at it. Stoned on acid. Prancing around with a flick knife in his hand. Yelling insults. Telling her he was going to slice Jimmy's gonads the next time he saw him.
Well, who cared? What had Jimmy ever done for her except get his arse banged up and leave her to carry his baby on her own? He wouldn't come on the march .. . wasn't there to take care of the hairns when she needed him. Where was he now?