Fragile Cord (35 page)

‘Shut your mouth, Pauly.’

‘Who you orderin’ around, man?’
Pauly moved forward with confidence; Aston might be taller and well
built, but the older man had the benefit of his henchmen playing on
the X box in the next room if needed. Aston took a step back, tried
a different approach. ‘Just lookin’ out for ma family, man, you
know the score.’

It was hard not to notice
Pauly’s ‘chib’, a scar from a knife slash that ran from the right
side of his mouth, curving down below his jaw line. A memento from
a turf war ten years earlier, in the days when he travelled alone,
fought his own corner. He’d moved on since then, got himself a
reputation and the muscle to protect it.

Pauly stretched his lips into
the widest smile; put his arm around Earl’s slender shoulders,
drawing him closer. The sight of the gangster pawing at his brother
like that turned Aston’s stomach but he knew how intoxicating it
was to hold Pauly’s attention. ‘C’mon Pauly,’ he placated; arms
open to show he’d not give them any trouble, ‘you can’t blame me
for watchin’ his back.’

Pauly seemed to give this some
thought. ‘He’s a big bwoy now,’ he said in his defence, ‘and if he
wants to work for me that’s his choice…but…’ he paused as though
working out how they could come to an agreement without him losing
face, ‘him do this last job for me and you have my word I’ll leave
him alone.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m fuckin’ sure man.’ The
grin was starting to slip. ‘Now leave him, he’s got work to
do.’

Aston paused, looked back at
Earl, who, at fourteen, was six years his junior. Fourteen going on
forty.

‘You OK with this bruv?’

Earl nodded. ‘Yeah man, just
go
.
’ Aston tutted; sucked his teeth once more before
slamming out onto the tower block landing.

‘Pussy.’ Earl snarled after
him.

Pauly patted Earl on his back,
nodding his approval, his smile returning to its Cheshire Cat grin.
At that moment one of his foot soldiers, all seven feet tall and
shoulders as wide as the Hulme Flyover, entered the room carrying a
package wrapped in brown paper. He paused in the doorway, waited
for Pauly to grant right of entry before approaching them, stopping
just in front of Earl. They both turned to look at Pauly,
waiting.

‘Empty your pockets.’ Pauly
instructed.

Bewildered, Earl did as he was
told; removing the parcel of puff resin he’d been instructed by
Pauly to pocket an hour before. A look of confusion flashed across
his face.

‘I thought you wanted me to
deliver…’

‘Tings have changed.’ Pauly
said abruptly, nodding at the Hulme Flyover to unwrap the parcel he
was holding, careful not to touch the contents directly, holding
the paper’s edge so his prints didn’t transfer onto it.

A 9mm semi-automatic.

He wrapped it up again before
holding it out for Earl to take. Pauly’s arm around Earl’s narrow
shoulders tightened in a vice-like embrace. ‘An important job has
come in.’ he breathed low into Earl’s ear, inhaling cheap body
spray and teenage boy sweat.

‘And when I heard what was
needed, I knew juss de man for de job.’

The queue was already snaking
round the block by the time the taxi pulled up at the kerb outside
Ego, a long line of over made up girls in skimpy skirts and young
men in knock-off designer clothing waited patiently to be let
inside. Abby counted out the cab fare and included a tip, thanked
the driver once more for waiting longer than was decent while she
and Becca had run round the flat in a flurry of excitement
collecting bags and purses, performing last-minute make-up
retouches as they’d said their goodbyes to Marion, Abby’s mum. The
cab was Marion’s treat; she’d given them money for the return fare
too:

Won’t have to worry about
how you’re getting home then – or if, ;)
Her typewritten note
had read, hinting at a humour almost forgotten along with the sound
of her voice.

‘Seriously she’s really cool
your mum, Abby,’ Becca gushed, ‘bet she was a total honey when she
was younger. I think my mum was
born
an accountant.’ It was
true that Abby’s good looks had originated from her mother, going
by old photos and the comments her dad used to make before the
emphysema took him – and a stubborn streak to go with it. Sadly,
two years into Motor Neurone Disease her mother’s mobility had
deteriorated, along with the ability to carry out most tasks – she
relied heavily on Abby now to dress her, do her hair and make-up
and help with her two younger brothers. Abby had been in the
process of speaking to social services to ask for help with caring
for her mother once she’d left for university, so in many ways not
getting the exam marks she’d needed had been a relief, besides, she
wasn’t quite sure she was ready to leave home yet, in some perverse
way she enjoyed being needed.

Findlay and Jordan, her younger
twin brothers were at that impossible stage – most days they did
something that made her want to explode, like pouring her best
perfume into their bedtime bath, or lathering themselves in her
designer body lotion – a birthday present from Angela - but at the
end of each day they would look at her with their big round eyes
and little boy grins and all would be forgiven. She was like a
second mother to them, how could she, in all conscience, leave them
while she went away to study? Besides, there was another altogether
selfish reason she was happy to stay put…

‘What are you plotting now?’
Becca giggled, already in the party spirit thanks to the bottle of
sparkling wine they’d shared before leaving. Abby had wanted them
to have some time alone, a chance to reflect on their friendship
before they met up with the others and got off their faces. The
first couple of hours after Becca had arrived at Abby’s flat they’d
stayed in her room, laughing and joking as they did each other’s
hair, swigging from bottles of Smirnoff Ice that Becca had brought
with her. Afterwards, they’d shared a takeaway with Marion, the
twins dispatched to their room to watch a film.

The taxi had arrived early and
Abby still hadn’t given Becca her gift, so hurriedly she’d thrust
the simply wrapped parcel into her friend’s hands. ‘I’d got a
speech prepared and everything,’ she admitted shyly, ‘but all I
really wanted to say was good luck.’ She waved her hands in front
of her face as she felt the tears begin to well, ‘I’ll miss you,’
she gasped, ‘and whenever you wear it I hope it’ll remind you of
me.’

Becca tore into the parcel and
opened the velvet jewellery box inside to reveal a silver chain
with a small diamond chip pendant hanging from it. Lost for words,
she rushed towards Abby to plant a kiss on her cheek.

‘And don’t go bloody losing it
either,’ Abby warned, ‘I’ll still be paying for it after
Christmas.’ The sound of a car horn beeping spurred them on, Becca
handed the necklace to Abby to fasten around her neck, then with a
flurry of hugs and handbags and a puff of perfume they were
gone.

The blast of cool air and
cigarette smoke as Becca held the cab door open for Abby in front
of the nightclub brought her back to the present. Abby smiled as
she answered her friend’s question with a white lie. ‘Just
wondering if the men of Salford know what’s gonna hit ‘em tonight.’
She replied, linking her arm through Becca’s as they strolled
towards the end of the queue.

‘Here! Bex, Abby, over
here!

They followed the voices until
the unmistakable shape of Dixie and Kristin came into view. Dixie,
at six foot three, had always been the tallest girl in high school,
Kristin, at four eleven, suffered from a growth hormone deficiency
that resulted in her having rods inserted into her legs to
stimulate bone growth. With killer heels she was a reasonable
height, although forever overshadowed by her towering best friend
who wore ballerina pumps to compensate. Waving, and ignoring the
filthy looks and tuts from the crowd behind them Abby and Becca
slipped into line some ten yards in from the back of the queue.

Later, Abby would look back at
their decision to push in with regret. The defining seconds that
formed a fork in their future, taking them on a path from which
there could never be a return.

The car travelled south across
the city, a heady mix of rap music and adrenaline causing the
chassis to vibrate in time to the MC’s lyrics. Earl wiped the front
passenger seat window with his sleeve for the third time, his
over-breathing causing it to steam.

‘You sure you don’t want some
o’ dis?’ Pauly asked, taking the reefer from Kester, his driver,
offering it to Earl before taking it himself. Earl shook his head.
Despite moving drugs around the city for Pauly, he’d never actually
taken any, had seen up close what it did to the losers who bought
from Pauly’s men at the several trading posts across the estate,
not long out of school but hooked on a substance that reduced them
to nothing. Yeah, so it hadn’t stopped him keeping the supply chain
going but drugs would always be around, and while there were buyers
there would always be someone like Pauly, ready and willing to cash
in on other people’s misery.

The stench of the reefer was
beginning to make Earl feel light-headed. The atmosphere in the car
was cloying, the leather seats giving off their own particular
odour. He pressed the button on the passenger door to open the
electric window.

‘What the fuck-?!’ Pauly kicked
the back of Earl’s seat, swore at Kester, his driver to close the
fucking window, disable all the other fucking windows while he was
at it.

They’d reached the main street
that snaked its way through Salford’s city centre, parallel to the
new club that had once been a Casino, stripping the residents of
hard earned money long before on-line gaming saved them the trouble
of leaving their homes to be fleeced. Kester slowed, looked in his
rear view mirror at Pauly, a baffled look on his face.

‘Drive!’ Pauly barked, pissed
that Kester couldn’t read his fucking thoughts, that he had to
spell out everything. No wonder he was the main man, the one they
looked up to, the rest of the crew couldn’t find their arseholes
with two hands and a mirror. Pauly sucked air through his teeth,
leaned forward between the two front seats to turn the radio down.
‘Round the block one more time, man.’ He said to the back of
Kester’s head, and then, staring at the scalp between Earl’s
cornrows, instructed: ‘I’ll let you know when we’re ready.’

It was the blast of loud music
that caught her attention. The blare of Dizzy Rascal, full on and
close up, that made her turn, glance at the car as it slowed down
behind them before cutting the sound and moving on, foot down to
beat the lights, engine revving, tyres screeching as it shot across
the junction before turning left into the one-way system. Abby felt
a flash of recognition, so quick she couldn’t place it before it
flew out of reach, moving deep into the corners of her mind where
it evaporated, leaving a notion of unease in its wake.

At the start of the road
leading up to the club Kester killed the engine, sat grim-faced,
while Earl urinated in a side street. ‘S’all we fuckin’ want,’ he
moaned, ‘im gettin’ pick up for pissin’ in public while we sit
around in a stolen-’ the nozzle of the gun at the base of his skull
stilled his tongue. He stared solemnly at Pauly in the rear-view
mirror, planning how to back-pedal. ‘Look man,’ he placated, ‘I
know he’s cool, but he’s young, s’all I’m sayin’.’ He tried to
laugh but it died in his throat.

‘How ol’ were you when you
join’ me?’ Pauly asked.

‘But that was different, man. I
had nobody else, I had to look out for myself, I was hungry…’ His
words tailed off as he recognised the glint in Pauly’s eye, felt he
was back on comfortable ground. ‘You were always hungry,’ Pauly
soothed, ‘always willing to please…’

Pauly sat back in his seat as
the car door opened and a sheepish Earl climbed back in. Handing
him the weapon, Pauly removed his gloves, his hand dropping to the
boy’s thigh giving it a playful squeeze, leaving it there longer
than was necessary.

‘S’all right, pretty bwoy,’ he
drawled, ‘everyone get nervous their first time…’

The moving line had picked up
pace, the doormen letting girls and couples enter without a second
look, the groups of men held back, pockets patted, bodies frisked,
questions asked and accusations made, pressing buttons until they
got a reaction, refusing entry providing the only entertainment in
the evening’s proceedings.

They’d reached the entrance to
the club. Dixie, after flirting outrageously with the man on the
door had jumped the queue claiming she needed the toilet, dragged
Kristin along with her, promising they’d get the drinks in. From
where she was standing Abby saw the car that had driven passed
earlier approach a second time, pausing as it drew level with the
club’s entrance once more, no music this time as the passenger
window lowered. From the corner of her eye she saw an arm, gloved,
holding something steady.

Blink.

Her brain went into go-slow as
she tried to make sense of what she was seeing, of what it could
mean…the arm pointing out of the window…the boy in the passenger
seat, the flash of gold around his neck, his face turned towards
her, the fear in his eyes.

A gun.

Everyone around her oblivious,
laughing, stamping feet to keep warm as they waited in line; the
doormen, speaking into their mouthpieces as they jostled with a
couple of chancers, unaware of the danger approaching.

Abby swung away from the
gunman’s aim, pulling Becca with her, but the force of her movement
wasn’t enough to remove them both from his range. Becca had an arm
outstretched, as though she’d seen him too and was warding off the
impossible. The shot when it came sent them reeling back, legs
buckling beneath them, falling hard. The bullet entered Becca’s
neck, above the silver necklace Abby had given her for luck.