Authors: Christopher Heffernan
“Jason junior here
will be without a father then, and he'll either get sold by one of your crack
whores for another hit or dumped in a rubbish bin to decompose,” Richard said.
The toddler
began to scream again, and Jason spat at them. “Look what you've done,
fuck-face. Are you proud of yourself for kicking down doors and scaring kids?
You ain't got nothing on me, so walk on out of here while you can and I'll
forget the door.”
Michael shook
his head. “Are you doped up right now? You're in the middle of running your own
drugs factory here, knocking up your druggie workers and probably supplying the
entire estate here. Maybe your son will be better off dead so you can't turn
him into another addict worker for your business.”
Jason shoved the
boy into the clutches of his women. He lunged forward, reaching for Michael's
neck with both bony hands. Richard kicked him to the floor again.
“Sit down. Your
meth-head whores can go. We're not interested in them.”
The women filed
out of the room on cue, taking the child with them.
Jason tried to
sit up. “Hey, that's my son!”
Richard pinned
him down with a foot on the throat. “I have it on good authority that you
sometimes roll with thugs from the B&S. Your esteemed associates have
dropped off the radar of late, and we wish to know where they are.”
“I don't know. I
don't hang with them anymore,” Jason croaked.
“Liar.” He put
more weight onto Jason's throat.
“Be careful you
don't kill him,” Michael said.
Jason twitched.
He slapped at Richard's foot, and then tried to wriggle out from under it.
“Let him go,
Richard. He's going to choke to death.”
Richard kept his
foot down for another moment before backing off. His cheeks turned a faint
shade of crimson as blood rushed to his face. He took a deep breath and walked
out of the lounge.
Jason was still
wheezing for breath when Michael knelt down beside him. “I recommend that you
start talking, or this is going to get even more unpleasant than it already is.
We'll haul you into the station if you keep going down this road, and then you’ll
get five minutes in front of a tribunal before they ship you off to join a
chain gang cleaning up radioactive waste. Take a minute to think about that.”
He lay limp on
the ground, licked his lips and sighed. “And what happens if I did some digging
and found out where they were? You still gonna haul me before your kangaroo
court?”
“That really
depends on what you do afterwards. This dump is in a bad enough state without
you peddling all your filth to the inhabitants. Ditch the drug dealing or ditch
your freedom.”
“So how the hell
am I going to survive, huh? There are no jobs around here. It's make drugs and
keep everyone around here happy, or starve to death. Half the time I'm just
bartering with them for food. Life's real cushy for you and your kind. You
ain't even a real police officer; you're just another prick come to lord it
over us before you crawl back into your nice little gated community.”
Michael stood
up. He sniffed the air and felt a dizziness come over him. “You're not the only
one up the creek without a paddle. No drugs, that's the terms of the deal.
You've got two minutes to decide, and don't even think about screwing us,
because we'll be coming to check on you again at some point. And get rid of
this shit before you blow the entire place up.”
He made it into
the hallway before Jason shouted after him.
“Wait! Wait!
Deal!”
He came back
into the lounge, snatching a notebook and ballpoint pen from his pocket. “I
want the address for your friends.”
“Feltham. Let me
write it down for you,” Jason said. He scribbled the street name and building
number in barely legible handwriting. “There's some houses in that part, yeah?
It's the one at the curve in the road. You'll know it when you see it.”
“Don't forget
our deal.”
Michael found
Richard outside, leaning on the balcony. The three druggies were waiting at the
other end by the staircase. They puffed away on cigarettes, one still holding
the toddler under her arm like a handbag made of human skin.
“You all right?”
Michael said.
“I got carried
away, it's nothing. Did you get what we needed?” Richard said.
“Yeah, I don't
know how we're going to do it, though. I don't like it, either. These guys
sound like they've been around the block for a while, if you know what I mean?
It's not an issue of efficiency, they're just providing us with the manpower
needed to keep the streets clean. They used to bust gangs with platoons, not a
couple of guys in an IFV.”
“Right, right, I
hear you, but I just want to keep my job so I don't end up in a hell hole like
this. If hammering these guys is what it takes, then so be it.”
Jason stepped
out behind them. “Hey,” he said to the women. “Get back in here. Me and these
pigs are done.”
“I want another
hit,” the one with the baby said.
He glanced at
Michael. “Nuh-uh. We can't do that anymore. I'll come up with a new plan,
something else. I'll sort it all out.”
“You're such a
little pussy, Jason. Two guys kick down the door and your balls shrivel up.”
He scowled at
the woman before clicking his fingers at her. “Come here. Me and you are going to
have words, bitch. I made you what you are. I've given you everything, and this
is how you repay me? Come on, get over here. Give me my son.”
“You should take
this conversation in doors before it gets ugly,” Richard said.
The woman stuck
her middle finger up at him. “Fuck you, rentacop. And you, Jason. I'm sick of
you and your little toy here. You want him back? You can go and fetch him.”
She tossed the
toddler over the balcony.
“Bloody hell,”
Private Ganders said. He stared down at the five corpses.
“You've said
that how many times now?” Richard said.
“I've just never
heard of anybody throwing a bloody toddler off the twentieth floor of a
building before. And those people over there keep looking at us like we're
their dinner for tonight. Maybe they're cannibals.”
Michael
shrugged. “I don't know. People around here have to eat something.”
“There's a lot
of stray dogs about. Maybe they eat them,” Richard said.
“And the dogs
probably eat the dead,” Ganders said.
A group of
youths on bicycles gathered at the edge of the muddy field, faces half hidden
by hoodies and scarves.
“They're sizing
us up for sure. We should just light them up. God damn gang territory.”
“Shut up
already. Go and sit in the vehicle if it's too much. You sure find a lot of
trouble, Detectives. What happened here?” Corporal Hill said.
“Corporal, I
don't even want to write the fucking report for this, let alone try to explain.
I think this one is best left off the records,” Michael said.
A Molotov
cocktail shattered ten meters short of their position and spread fire across
the ground. Another followed, but missed again.
“Your call. Did
you get what we needed?” Hill said.
Michael flashed
him the page in his notebook. “It's right smack bang in the middle of some very
bad areas. Somebody from the station could've come along at any time and turned
this guy over, but nobody has until now, right when we're absolutely desperate
to get something done.”
“We are a little
understaffed,” Richard said.
“A little?
You're joking. We're grabbing at straws. Look, no more Assurer contract, no
more job. There are people out there just looking to shaft us. This thing here
spits 40mm shells. We'll find away,” Hill said, slapping the side of the
infantry fighting vehicle.”
A policeman
fired a tear gas canister at the youths. They cycled off as soon as the gas
began to disperse.
“I'll tell you
what, we roll up short of gang territory, scout the place out a bit and then
move in for a quick snatch and grab. Do it right, and we'll be in and out
before the whole place comes down on our heads.”
“Whatever we pin
on them has to stick, okay? I don't want to go into the station later on and
find you've written them up for making chemical weapons and planning terrorist
attacks across London,” Michael said.
“Relax, you
worry too much. My section and I have this in hand; just follow our lead and
it'll be fine.”
Fire engulfed
one of the corpses, and then spread to another.
“Ah, Christ,”
Richard muttered. He pinched his nose. “How do you intend to scout the area out
in police uniforms, Hill? Are you going to go up to their fort, ring their
fucking doorbell and ask them if they'd like to answer some questions?”
“Nah, that'll be
Michael's job. You've got just the right look, Mike. You look like enough of a
pussy not to be a threat. They'll see you and probably won't even care.”
“I'm dressed in
a suit. They'll see me and think I look like a banker with money in my pocket,
and then they'll try and rob me.”
“These guys
we're going after are hardcore; they've had their fingers in a lot of drugs and
other imports. They bring them in along abandoned railway lines and tunnels.
Nimble little tossers as well. They're always gone by the time somebody tries
to nab them in the act. Maybe they hear the rumble of the vehicles or have
lookouts, I don't know, but they like to leave a grenade in a tin every now and
again as well.
“It's doing
everybody a favour getting rid of them. Come on, let's go. It's starting to get
hairy. Follow behind us.”
They parked five
streets away from the address, stopping the infantry fighting vehicle inside an
alley just big enough to accommodate it. Michael left his car on the corner,
and their group met up just outside the alley, under the blinding light of a
lamp mounted on the wall.
“You look
nervous,” Corporal Hill said. “Don't.”
“I won't,”
Michael said.
“But you already
do. You need to chill out before you soak your shirt through with sweat. It
looks suspicious, otherwise. One look at you and these gang bangers will smell
the stench of law enforcement, and they'll bag you before we can get close.”
Michael frowned.
“I'm sorry, Corporal, but making reconnaissance runs on my own into gang
territory is not an activity I usually carry out, now get off my case.”
“I'm just trying
to keep you alive.”
“We've both given
you a long leash to run on, and we've let you call the shots, but don't get
ahead of yourself. If things go wrong, I want you to get me the fuck out of
there ASAP, got it?”
Corporal Hill
nodded. “I understand. Don't worry, we'll keep you covered.”
Richard clicked
his fingers together. “You've got to hand over your identity, Mike. The front
pocket of your coat isn't exactly a choice hiding place; it's safer this way.”
Michael handed
it over.
“Okay, you've
got five minutes to get in there, scout the place out and get back to us. Stay
on the main street. If you're not back in five, we'll come after you,” Hill
said.
“Good luck,”
Richard said.
Michael started
walking. His spine was rigid with fear, and sweat formed in the crevices of his
palms. Some of the houses and flats had lights on inside, silhouettes moving
now and again behind net curtains.
He passed a few
boarded up corner shops and takeaways. A street light flicked on and off ahead
of him, and the road was blocked by a barricade of rusting cars and rotting
rubbish, with just enough space in the middle for him to pass through. Wild
dogs roamed the shadows, sniffing at his trouser leg as he continued onto the
house.
The houses here
had been converted into smaller flats. Radio antennae protruded upwards from
the roof, and barbed wire fencing surrounded the perimeter, laced with
electrical wires and lit by the few street lights that still functioned.
He saw the
address given to him, as well as the gang member standing by the front door as
he smoked a cigarette. A 9mm pistol protruded from the tops of his trousers.
Yellow light escaped from behind the curtains, and the ground pulsed with the
vibrations of electronic music blaring from a stereo inside.
Michael kept on
walking, looking for the next turn in the road that would allow him to double
back. Another barricade blocked his path, but there was no way through this
one. He turned around, saw a face peering down at him from a second floor
window.
Three men came
forward from the shadows. Michael reached for his gun.
“Drop it,” the
one in a grey sweatshirt said, pointing his own weapon at Michael's head, gang
banger style.
Michael raised
his hands to the air. They moved closer and snatched the weapon from its
holster. The one in the sweatshirt walked with a cocky swagger and wore an ugly
frown on his face. His crew cut was just beginning to grow back.
“Yeah, come on,
Sunshine. What do you want? Don't you know whose neighbourhood this is?”
The others
searched his pockets. They took his wallet and keys, and the one in the
sweatshirt frowned. “You've got a gun, money and you can afford clothes, but no
identity? I smell bullshit.”
Michael tasted
bile in the back of his throat. “I'm in the area on business.”
“Business?
You've got fuck all on you.” He looked back to the house. “Yo, Ben. Get out
here, mate, I've got some dick causing problems.”
The gang member
by the door went inside and returned with another in tow, dressed in a navy
blue tracksuit and wearing his hair in dreadlocks. They walked forward with
that same old swagger, bouncing from foot to foot in their trainers.
Ben toyed with
the .45 in his hand. “What does he want?”
The man in the
sweatshirt grabbed a handful of Michael's hair and dragged him forwards. “Said
he's in the area on business. I say it's bullshit. He's got nothing on him but
a gun, two magazines and a wallet. Check the holster, it's proper made.”
“Really?” Is
that so?” Ben said. “You've got to be fucking stupid to wander around here.
Everyone knows this is a no go area if you ain't paying protection, Blood.”
Michael's heart
pounded. He tried to breathe, but his breath came only in starts and stops,
like he was being suffocated.
“He looks like
he's about to piss himself,” the one in the sweatshirt said. “What do we do
with him?”
“Take him inside.
I smell a rat, and if there's a hit coming down on us, then I want to know.”
“Jason sent me.
Like I said, I'm here on business,” Michael said.
“Oh yeah,
Blood?” Ben said, looking towards the other end of the street. He lingered for
a moment, watching, waiting, listening, and then he turned his attention back
to Michael. “He never mentioned you.”
“That's because
you haven't spoken to him for months. I've hooked him up with drugs now and
then, but he's a small player. He hasn't got the cash to touch the stuff I'm
dealing of late,” Michael said.
“I know Jason,
and that faggot tells a lot of lies. It's why we don't speak no more. Says one
thing to your face, another behind your back. He knocks up so many skanks that
the world will be populated and run by his brood. You know that freak increase
in population a year ago? That was probably because of him.”
“Then you'll be
happy to know he's dead.”
Ben nodded.
“Somehow that doesn't surprise me. He should have ended up dead in an alley
years ago. How did it happen?”
“An argument
with his harem over drugs. It got messy real quickly. They tossed his son off
the balcony and stabbed him in the heart. I put them down with my .45 before
they turned the knife on me.”
Ben spat a
mouthful of saliva onto the ground. “Yeah, that figures. That boy was always
going to get himself shanked sooner or later. Take him inside. I still don't
trust him.”
They kept a gun
jammed against the back of Michael's head, forcing him to go first. The music
played louder inside, and the air was thick with the smell of dope and drugs.
They'd piled a stack of stolen goods up against one of the walls, and his ears
began to ache from the noise.
The gang put him
in the lounge, where mice droppings lay scattered across the wooden
floorboards. He looked up at the poster on the wall, showing some glamour model
with an orange tan, draped over the front of a sports car in her bikini.
“Tell me
something, Blood. Say you're legit and we don't skin you alive. What can you
offer us? Guns? Drugs? We make our own drugs, you know,” Ben said.
“I'm looking for
a seller for some products. I provide you with the stuff, you sell it on the
streets for a cut of the revenue,” Michael said.
They locked the
door and left him alone in the room. He listened as the footsteps trailed off,
and then moved to the window. He looked out onto the street, empty except for
two foxes fighting each other over a scrap of rotting pork chop.
Something moved
at the barricade, and Hill's section slipped through the gap, keeping to the
shadows as they advanced in a column. Michael tried to wave at them through the
window, but they didn't see him.
Trainers on the
floorboards outside. Michael moved away from the window. Ben and the man in the
sweatshirt opened the door, and they beckoned for him to come forward.
“This way. We're
going to deal,” Ben said.
They stepped out
into the hallway and went up a staircase into the other flat. Ben pushed him
forward. Four others were waiting inside, and they grabbed him by the arms and
pinned him against the wall. One patted him down.
Ben spun him
around and grasped his throat, tightening his hold just enough to make Michael
open his mouth. He jammed the barrel of his 9mm inside. “Do you think I'm
fucking stupid? You're sweating like a pig. A pig, get it? You're going to call
off your friends out there or I blow your brains all over the wall.”
They manhandled
him to the window looking out over the back garden, and Ben pointed to the
rotting corpse impaled upon a stake. “This what we do to motherfuckers like
you. That one was sniffing around here last week. We grilled his mate on the
barbecue and fed him to the homeless. Good deeds and all that.”
An explosion
sounded downstairs, and the rattle of gunfire and screams of the injured echoed
up the staircase. Ben turned him, locked an arm around his neck and pressed the
gun into his temple. One of the gang went to the door, and then fell backwards
an instant later, chest filled with bloody holes. A canister tumbled into the
room, bounced off the skirting board and settled in the middle of the floor.
The explosion
blinded him, and then he heard the same old ringing again, hitch-pitched and
painful. Ben's hold went slack, and they fell together and hit the ground. He
tasted the blood running from his nose, and slowly, his vision returned. He
looked up at the shape of Corporal Hill.
Two policemen
cuffed Ben's hands behind his back, and then gave him a kick to the head. Hill
Lifted Michael to his feet. “You okay?”
“No,” Michael
said.
Michael
staggered down the stairs. The rest of the section dragged out their prisoners
and laid them face down across the patch of mud in front of the house.
“You were meant
to recon the place and then come back,” Hill said.
“Easier said
than done when you get jumped by some guys waiting in the shadows. This place
is like a fortress. Where's the IFV?”
“Coming. I
didn't want them to hear it, so we moved in on foot.”
“Looks like they
messed you up a little bit. Are you okay?” Richard said.
“I can't hear
you properly. Hill just blew my eardrums with a stun grenade.”
“And saved your
life,” Hill said.
“After
convincing me to go on a suicide mission.”
“It doesn't
matter now. The good news is that this will look really good on paper when they
see we've rescued kidnapped police officers who were threatened with execution.
They can't claim we've been slacking off when we've been facing such dire
risks. It's all about efficiency,” Hill said.
“I've been
facing the dire risks, not you,” Michael said. He staggered away to the side
and puked his breakfast on the pavement.
“He looks really
ill, and it's only noon,” Richard said. “You should go home and rest, Mike.
I'll write your reports for you, but you'll have to sign them tomorrow.”
The infantry
fighting vehicle widened the gap in the barricade, grinding metal and rubbish
as it drove through. One of the other policemen was on the radio to Croydon
Station. He retrieved his .45 from the man.
Ben wriggled on
the ground with his restraints. Michael's hand curled into a fist, and he
clenched his teeth until his gums hurt. The cold air turned the layer of sweat
on his skin to ice, soaking his shirt through. He walked towards Ben, waited
for him to look up, then stomped on his hands and kicked him in the ribs. Ben
grunted as his finger bones cracked.
“That's right, keep
breaking them, Blood. It's the only way you'll ever one up somebody. Pain
doesn't mean shit to me.”
“Don't get too
carried away, Ward. Nobody minds some broken bones, but we do need him alive,
okay?” Hill said.
Michael kicked
Ben in the groin and walked away on shaky legs. He stuck a finger in his ear,
wriggling it about, but the ringing wouldn't go away. “I'm going inside to see
if there's anything useful. Watch the perimeter; you woke half the street up.”
“Don't worry,
we'll splatter them with the forty mike-mike if they try anything,” Hill said.
Richard followed
after him. “This isn't exactly the kind of place where I'd want to hang around
with my homies.”
“It's only got
one main entrance, easily fortified, and the surrounding neighbourhoods are
hostile to the police. That's got to count for something, right? The locals are
probably watching us right now, waiting for us to leave so they can sweep the
place clean,” Michael said.
“Probably.”
They entered the
ground floor flat, and music still played from the media system. Michael yanked
the power cord free. “I used to have an African knockoff of these made by small
children in sweatshops, when I was about sixteen. The television wasn't so
good, though.”
“Didn't they
have faulty power supplies that caught fire?”
“My friends
called it the Roman candle.”
Richard removed
a set of ring-binders off the shelf. They flicked through them together under
the light of a pocket torch.
“They're running
this place like a business. Gang bangers like those guys out there don't keep
invoices or records. They buy, sell and then spend the money getting fucking
roasted,” Richard said.
“One of them
said they were producing their own stuff, and not small time like that prick on
the estate. Check this; the phone numbers are bullshit. The area codes don't
match the addresses. See?”
“I don't see it.
Wait, yeah, I do. Okay, so they're fake, but what about the rest?”
“I don't know.
Maybe it's to protect their buyers? Let's take it with us anyway.”
“If these guys
are as hardcore as you say, then they're not going to leave the good stuff
lying around in plain sight. Too much of a liability,” Richard said. He stood
up, shifting his weight back and forth to make the floorboards creak louder.
“I've got a great idea.”