The Graft (19 page)

Verbena picked up on his mood and said quietly, ‘Don’t blame me if you mess this up. You only have yourself to blame this time. Those two boys need you more than ever now. You should get back home and take care of them. They lost their brother, you know.’

’And I lost my eldest son.’

‘Those boys need you to take care of them.’

‘I’ll take care of them, I always have.’

She shook her head sadly.

‘See that you do, boy.’

She said it as if he needed a reminder of his fatherly duties and this made Tyrell angry even though he knew she didn’t mean the half of it. It was just the Jamaican mother coming out in her.

He looked her in the eye as he said coldly, ‘Look after my boys? Are you joking with me, Mum? I looked after Sonny, didn’t I?’

The words hung on the air.

His mother’s eyes seemed to be saying, ‘And look what happened to him.’ She had always believed he should have stayed with Jude for the sake of Sonny Boy. She believed that boys needed their fathers, needed strong male role models, especially if the mother was not up to much which was obviously the case with Jude. But he had refused to sacrifice himself, had felt he could do more for his son by getting him out of a drugs environment and giving him a glimpse of a different way of life.

He had been wrong, he realised that now. But at least his son had known some interludes of normality, some happy times, in his father’s company. Tyrell had to believe that or he would go mad. He had at least to hope he had made some difference in his son’s life or what would it all have been for?>

‘Thanks a lot, Mum. I feel so much better for that.’

‘He got in with the wrong crowd, didn’t have any chance with his mother and her lifestyle. That is why boys need their fathers. Your boys will need you now more than ever, can’t you see that?’

She was almost pleading with him.

‘That wasn’t a boyish prank gone wrong, Mum. Sonny’s gun was a top-of-the-range model. He had to have been into some pretty heavy stuff even to have got a sniff of one. This might have Jude written all over it in some ways - maybe he was working for one of her dealers, I don’t know - but what I do know is I have to find out if I am ever to know any peace. So don’t try and make me out as the villain here, I did my best with Sonny.’

‘I am not saying anything to you, son, except that I think you give up on people too easily.’

Tyrell picked up his coat and sports bag, too tired to argue with her. He had only been away from Sal a week but already he felt like a different man. As sad as he was over his son, he could deal with his feelings much better when he was away from his wife. Every time he had tried to grieve at home Sal had made him feel as if he was doing it to spite her and the boys. And he still resented the way she had treated Sonny in the past.

‘Don’t go stirring up a whole heap of trouble for yourself,’ Verbena warned.

He laughed despite himself.

‘When I find out what happened maybe I’ll be able to sleep again at night.’

‘Where you going?’

There was fear in her voice at his leaving her. He smiled, trying his hardest to keep a lid on his feelings.

‘I am going to find out where my Sonny got a gun, and who or what made him want to use it.’

 
Jude looked at the phone number scrawled on the scrap of newspaper and wondered if she dared to use it yet. She had promised herself that she would not until the dust had had plenty of time to settle. Then she would go for the jackpot. Sonny had told her everything but she knew she had to play this one close to her chest. Bide her time.

There was plenty of gear around at the moment and because of the way Sonny had died she was also getting quite a few freebies and mercy wraps. She had never been so well off for drugs in her life.

As she sat in her flat she felt a wave of peace come over her due to the fact that she had enough drugs to see her through the next few days. She would leave the phone number until she wasn’t in such a good position. Then the person on the end of the line would pay.

She glanced at a photo of Sonny and poked her tongue out at it. Then, smiling, she blew him a kiss. She was getting used to his being gone. It was funny but lately she felt as if she had been let out of school. She could take what she wanted now, drink what she wanted, and there was no one constantly trying to modify her behaviour. His friends had been so good to her as well, making sure she was taken care of. They loved having somewhere to hang out and she liked the company.

Especially Gino’s. If she wasn’t mistaken he would be on the brown in no time. He had the temperament for it, the natural laziness combined with carelessness that made a heroin addict.

People who had never tried it didn’t understand the feeling it gave you, the complete and utter peacefulness of the high. It was an acquired taste. The first few times you jacked up your body rejected it and the nausea was awful. But it was like anything else: you had to keep at it and then eventually it would all be worth it.

In a way she envied Gino his first taste. That first high was what you tried to re-create day after day, but you never, ever managed to feel that good again.

She was playing Canned Heat. ‘On the Road Again’ was her favourite track, it mellowed her out. She missed Sonny’s music, enjoyed hearing the boys playing it while they puffed. It occurred to her she had not opened the curtains in the flat again but she couldn’t gather up the energy to do anything about it. She would get one of the boys to open a window when they came round.

Gino’s mother was giving him grief about the amount of time he spent round here apparently and she knew it was hard for him. But he would arrive, he always did.

She leaned back and sank into the broken springs of her sofa. She would blast in a few minutes and set herself up for the rest of the day. But first she would listen to her music. When Sonny had been small, they had sung along with the music. It had made them both laugh for some reason.

She couldn’t remember now what the reason was. Like most of her life it was just a blur, a few fleeting memories that, cobbled together, made up some kind of existence.

 
‘Is Nick about?’

The man’s voice sounded disjointed coming over the intercom and Angela said loudly, ‘Who wants to know?’

She knew the score in this house. You never let anyone in who you didn’t know.

‘Tell him it’s Stevie D, he’ll know me, love.’

She went into the television room.

‘There’s a man at the gate for you, son. Stevie D. He said you’d know him.’

Nick jumped from the sofa, smiling.

‘Let him in! I ain’t seen him since we were kids.’

He grinned.

‘You remember him, Mum? Steven Daly. He done a fifteen for armed robbery, I used to knock about with him when I was young, before he got a lump.’

She nodded happily, remembering.

‘Oh, yes. His mother was a lovely woman, Katherine Daly, died of cancer a few years back. I went to the funeral.’

Steven Daly drove up the impressive drive and marvelled at how well his friend had done since their days as school-boys together. Though in fairness when he had got his lump Nick had made sure he had a few quid to spend on the inside and also sorted him out a single cell through a friend in the prison service.

Stevie really didn’t want to be driving up this drive today, having to do what he had come to do. But Nick would understand, he was sure of that.

Nick stood just inside the front door, calming down the dogs he had recently acquired. This house was something else and Stevie wished he had brought his wife. She would have loved to have seen it. Maybe another time, when the business in hand had been taken care of.

As he parked Nick came outside to greet him, smiling warmly.

’All right, my son? Long time no see.’

Stevie gripped his hand and they held each other’s forearm as they shook hands. Nick walked his old friend inside the house, glad for once that his wife was out shagging her current amour.

Angela made a fuss of Stevie and he made all the right noises, telling her about his mother and how he missed her and how he had bought her a Mass that very Sunday. He thanked her for coming to the funeral and commiserated with her on the loss of so many of her friends.

Nick finally rescued him and took him into the library. Even in his evident agitation Stevie was impressed. Nick poured them both large Scotches.

‘I’m driving, Nick.’

‘Get a fucking cab, you nonce. Remember the old days when you could fill your boots and still drive home in peace?’

Stevie laughed.

‘I do. But thank God those days are gone, eh?’

Nick laughed too and nodded.

Stevie saw that his friend was still powerful-looking but noted the way his eyes were sad once again. Sadder even than they had been when he was a kid and had had to live around his father’s moods.

And Nick Senior’s moods had been legendary.

‘Sorry about your recent troubles.’

Nick shrugged, making a show of not really being bothered.

‘Shit happens.’

‘They’ll all think twice before they try and have you over again, eh?’

He nodded but didn’t answer directly.

‘How’s the wife and kids, Stevie?’

‘OK. She found it hard at first, me being home after such a long stretch, but we’re gradually getting back to normal, you know.’

Nick knew how hard it was for couples when they had been apart for so long to get back into the swing of things. He had always seen Bernice all right for a few quid over the years, it had been expected. But when Stevie had been banged up they had still been young and in love. She had waited for him, with three young kids and a broken heart, no sign of another man. She had done him proud by their standards. He only hoped the wait had been worth it for both of them.

‘So how are you, Stevie? There’s no way you drove all this way just to wish me well. What’s going on?’

He sat down opposite Nick in one of the large leather chairs placed to either side of the fireplace and looked around him at the book-lined walls before answering his friend.

‘This is some fucking drum, Nick.’

Stevie’s admiration was evident, and also the fact he didn’t begrudge his friend his good luck one bit.

Nick nodded, embarrassed.

‘It was Tams, weren’t it? She has trouble just leafing through an Argos catalogue. We had to have the real McCoy in here.’

He didn’t add this room alone had cost over one hundred grand, and that a lot of the first editions on display were his, books he had tracked down and purchased for himself. It would hardly have fitted in with his image, he knew that. It would have sounded as if he was bragging. He always played the house down even as he loved the fact it was his.

Or had loved it once, before Sonny Hatcher made his way inside and died in it.

He topped up his friend’s glass as they chatted about nothing, catching up on each other’s life. Nick knew Stevie would get to the point in his own good time. Meanwhile he was enjoying having some male company.

‘I don’t know how to tell you this, Nick, but I have to,’ Stevie broached the subject eventually. ’And I have to have some kind of retribution.’

Nick stared at his friend for a few moments before saying in a neutral voice, ‘Heavy words, Stevie. Have I offended you, mate?’

The threat was there if you cared to see it.

Stevie shook his head as he answered him.

‘Nah, Nick. Give over, mate. This is to do with one of your employees - Gary Proctor.’

Nick sighed.

‘What’s he done now?’

‘I don’t know how to say it, Nick. It’s fucking totally out of fucking order and I have to spank him - and I mean
spank
him.’

Nick looked at his old friend. His hair was still thick and red though now it was peppered with grey. He had the look of a man not long out of prison: the hesitancy was there, the fine-tuned muscles and the pallor that seemed to cling to a body for a while. He was also very nervous, but he had his rep and Nick knew that Stevie was not scared of him in any way. He was more worried about what he had to say.

Nick got up from the chair and poured them both another drink.

‘So come on, spit it out, mate.’

Stevie sighed heavily as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

‘You know my sister Laetitia?’

Nick nodded, puzzled.

‘Surely someone ain’t got her in the club? She must be forty if she’s a day.’

Stevie forced a laugh.

‘It weren’t me, Stevie. She’s a bit long in the tooth for me, my son!’

Stevie was laughing now and the sound was pleasant in the quiet of the room.

‘Nah, nothing like that. But it is about her son. He’s seventeen and a right nice kid. Wants to be a DJ . . . at least, he did until he had a run in with Gary Proctor.’

Nick frowned.

‘Tell me what Gary has done and what you want from me. If it’s a chance in one of the clubs for the kid to show his talent then it’s his, I’ll see to it meself. If Gary fucked him off I’ll put him wise, don’t worry.’