Authors: Casey Kelleher
“What if my mum comes back while I’m gone?” Tyler asked, worried that his mum would lose the plot when she came home to find that he had let this man into her home. It was almost eight o’clock, there was a few hours until closing time, but she sometimes came home before then, especially if she had ran out of money and people to ponce drinks off, and if that happened she’d already be in a foul mood.
Tyler had yet to meet anyone who could stand up to his mother’s temper or her vicious threats, but he expected Jerell to be more than a match for her. Still, he would be in a whole world of shit with her for bringing this amount of trouble to her door, so either way he was done for.
“If she comes back, she comes back,” Jerell said. “You leave her to me. You just make sure no-one sees you ditching the gun, ya get me?”
“I haven’t got my bike; I’m going to have to walk.” Tyler couldn’t wait to get out of the flat, which seemed smaller with Jerell’s intimidating presence inside it.
“Don’t you be getting any silly ideas, Tyler,” Jerell said. “You ditch that gun in the river, and you get your arse straight back here. Any funny business and you’ll be in the Thames with it. I’ll cut you into tiny pieces and feed you to the fish, ya get me?”
Jerell was glaring with such malice that Tyler felt two inches tall. Jerell had a way of intimidating people, even without his loaded words and evil tone; it was in the cold glare of his eyes. Tyler nodded; his own eyes were wide; Jerell’s threat petrified him. He was more than capable of carrying it out, and Tyler knew if he fucked this up, he could be killed. The thought of doing a runner briefly crossed his mind, but he wouldn’t be able to get away with it. He wasn’t that brave and he had nowhere else to go. And Tyler knew that if he did manage to get away, Jerell would be certain to catch up with him eventually. The man had eyes and ears everywhere; Tyler wouldn’t stand a chance.
Gavin, his hand on Les’ shoulder, gently helped him onto Jamie’s black leather sofa and went across the room to switch on the TV; anything to stop the looming silence. The plasma was plush, the thing must be at least sixty inches, he thought, and it must have cost a bomb. Jamie had expensive taste.
What a nice pad, Gavin thought, as he looked around the apartment. When he had first come through the door, he had whistled in awe. Jamie had obviously invested his earnings wisely, unlike himself and Shay who had a tendency to piss most of their money up the wall with heavy drinking sessions, pulling birds was the ultimate objective of such evenings. Clearly he was missing a trick, though; glancing around Jamie’s chic bachelor pad, Gavin saw what he could have if he chose to stop spunking his cash on good times.
Gavin had wondered many times over the past couple of years what Jamie’s place was like. The flat Gavin shared with Shay looked like a squat in comparison. They often struggled to meet the bills, preferring to spend their money on gear and strip clubs, and as for their bulky old fashioned telly, it had an arse bigger than J-Lo’s, it was nothing like the slim-line model that Jamie had gone for. Feeling a bit jealous, Gavin reasoned that Jamie must lead a very dull life, and probably spent most of his time dusting and cleaning and fluffing up his fancy cushions. He reasoned that actually given the choice, he would rather have a big pair of titties grinding in his face on a Friday night at one of the clubs, than sit here on his tod, in a bare room, watching a fancy telly. He would like to live in a spotless apartment like this one, though: there was no dirt or mess anywhere.
Jamie was a very private man who didn’t give anything about himself away. His home was just like Jamie, Gavin reflected, immaculate and bare. It had no personality, giving away no clues as to who lived in it, of who was really inside. The apartment could have belonged to anyone: a middle-aged school teacher or a highly paid corporate lawyer; it was a blank canvas.
Gavin found it strange that in the two years he had worked alongside Jamie, this was the first time he had been inside his gaff; in fact, Gavin couldn’t remember a time when any of them from the garage had been invited over. Jamie was all about work, Gavin knew that. Jamie took his job extremely seriously and was a control freak. Gavin had no clue what he was like outside of work. His guard was always up. Jamie never spoke about girlfriends or family, and it was as if his social life didn’t exist. Gavin couldn’t quite work him out, he was a bloody good-looking fella with all that jet-black hair and that chiselled look about him that women normally couldn’t get enough of, and he must have a nice amount of cash tucked away. Still, he reasoned it was none of his business, each to their own as they said. If Jamie was happy to live like a recluse, he could get on with it.
Walking across the shining wooden floor to the dresser on which bottles of spirits were displayed like carefully placed ornaments, he thought Jamie must have a severe case of OCD: either that or a bloody good cleaning lady. Gavin unscrewed one of the already-open bottles of Scotch and poured a drink for Les who was now slumped on the sofa, staring into space, his mouth hanging open. Gavin had to stifle a chuckle. He was a sight, poor old Les, the bloke’s expression made him look like a proper mong.
Gavin had never been good at comforting people; such situations were his worst nightmare. He didn’t have a clue what to say to Les. He was better at telling crass jokes to make people laugh or if he really struggled to make a connection with people he used the opposite tactic and wound them up to get a reaction, which usually did the trick and got a bit of banter going. Gavin could rib people all day long, but reassurance was something that didn’t come naturally to him and, given the sensitivity of the situation right now, Gavin felt way out of his depth. He wished that Jamie had let him drive to the hospital instead and that Shay was here with Les. Shay would be better in this situation. He was a right soppy sod, sometimes a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but he meant well. He would do a much better job of looking after Les. Gavin had no idea what he could say to Les to make him feel better. He didn’t know if Gary would pull through himself, so how he was supposed to comfort Les he had no idea.
Visualising Gary bleeding and almost unconscious, Gavin hoped that Jamie and Shay made it to the hospital in time. Having filled Les’ glass to the brim, he poured himself a large Scotch too; they could both do with a stiff drink. Gavin handed Les the drink, encouraging him to sit up.
Les continued to gawp into space. On the TV, a game show was on; exhausted, Gavin sat down at the opposite end of the sofa to Les.
“Get that down ya, Les, eh?” Gavin took a gulp of his own drink, and savoured it as the heat trickled down his throat. He looked over and noticed the urine stains on Les’ trousers, and he wondered if he had even realised that he had pissed himself.
Les was a drama queen at the best of times, they all knew that. Gavin just hoped that a strong drink would help Les clear his head or at least take the edge off his shot-to-pieces nerves.
“Drink up mate, it will do ya good,” Gavin encouraged; he had finished his drink in two slurps. He watched as Les’ hands trembled and his untouched Scotch spilled over the glass, forming a small puddle of liquid on the expensive-looking flooring.
“I knew.” Les spoke quietly, still staring into space and seemingly talking to the room in general rather than Gavin. Les then hung his head and stared at the floor. “I knew this would happen, I dreamt this last night. We shouldn’t have gone. Now Gary’s going to die and it will be our fault, that bullet was meant for me, he jumped in the way.” Les sobbed loudly. A long string of snot was hanging out of his nose, as his body shuddered with every cry. It should have been him, it could have been him. The tears kept coming.
Shifting closer to Les, Gavin lifted the man’s drink. “Drink,” he ordered, “you need it mate, you’re in shock. It's nobody’s fault. We all knew what that cunt was capable of. And we all went in with our eyes wide open, Gary included.”
Gavin sounded so matter-of-fact that Les felt embarrassed that he wasn’t as good at holding it together as his younger colleague; it was another fault he could add to his long list. Doing as he was told, Les placed the drink to his lips and took a big gulp. Choking as the liquid bounced off the back of his throat, Les coughed noisily. Gavin shook his head at the sight of a spluttering Les, Scotch running down his chin as he winced at the strength of the drink.
“What are we going to do with you, eh?” Gavin smiled, feeling sorry for Les; after all, he supposed, Les had known Gary a lot longer than he had, they went back years. They were good friends, and it was not surprising that Les was distraught. Gavin couldn’t imagine what the man must be feeling. If it had been Shay who had taken the bullet today, Gavin would have been the same, if not worse, and aside from that, Gary had taken a bullet for him, it was no wonder Les was shaken up.
Gavin wanted to get Les sorted out; it would hopefully keep his mind off the day’s events. He went to have a nosey in Jamie’s bedroom. Jamie was much smaller than Les, but Gavin hoped that he would be able to find something amongst Jamie’s clothing that Les could change into: anything, as long as it was clean, would do.
The fact that Les was sitting there with piss dribbling down his leg at his age was a sight that even in this extreme situation Gavin was having problems stomaching. Les may be distraught, but he also looked a state right now.
After a few minutes of rooting through Jamie’s walk-in wardrobe, Gavin came back into the room holding a large navy dressing gown. It was probably big enough to cover Les’ heavy frame, while Gavin sorted out his trousers.
“Come on, Les, Jamie’s got some sort of high-powered futuristic shower in his bathroom, why don’t you go and get yourself cleaned up, use up all of his lotions and potions, he won’t mind, and then whack this on.”
Gavin passed Les the dressing gown. A shame-faced Les looked down at himself; seeing the dark stains, his face flushed at the realisation that he had wet himself. “Drop your kecks outside the bathroom door, and I’ll try and figure out how to use the washing machine.” Gavin paused, wanting to lighten the mood and help Les to forget his embarrassment. “Me washing your kecks... who’d have thought, huh? You’re fucking privileged, man. I don’t even do my own washing, I take a sack of my stuff over to my old dear’s every weekend, bless her.”
Les did as he was told and trudged off to the bathroom, grateful for something to do.
Glad that he was helping to keep Les occupied for at least a few minutes, Gavin made his way to the kitchen to see if he could work out how to use Jamie’s washing machine.
By the time the sun had risen, Gavin had washed and dried Les’ clothes. Les was sprawled out on the sofa, snoring, Jamie’s dressing gown draped over him, barely covering his thighs.
Gavin was sitting on a chair in the lounge, flicking through the TV channels as he waited for news from Jamie; although his mind was too busy to notice what was on the screen, he found the background hum, and Les’ snores, comforting. There was nothing good on at such an early hour. Gavin changed from one channel to the next, irritated with the lack of choice. They put the most bizarre shit on TV at this time; who the fuck in their right mind watched it, he thought, as he settled on an old film that he had seen at least ten times.
Gavin liked to be around people: their noise… their drama… he loved it. As impressive as Jamie’s apartment had first seemed hours ago when he had arrived, the walls were now closing in on him. The place was too clean and sterile, and if it wasn't for the sound of the telly and Les’ snores, Gavin would have felt like he was going mad.
He had helped himself to another Scotch and had made sandwiches for him and Les earlier. Les had seemed much calmer after he had showered and eaten. He had insisted that he was too worried to sleep, but as soon as his head had rested on the arm of the sofa, he had immediately conked out, exhausted from the stress of it all. It had been one hell of a day.
Hearing a key turn in the door, Gavin sat bolt upright; he quickly muted the sound on the television and prepared himself for news.
Jamie walked into the room first, with Shay closely behind him. Gavin noticed that their body language looked defeated. Shay had his head bowed, and looking at their pale worried faces, Gavin saw that emotions were running high. He raised his eyebrows at Jamie.
Looking at Les to make sure he was asleep, Jamie shook his head.
The sky was dark grey, with a hard rain and a vicious wind. Reagan zipped up his jacket as he walked. The day may have been shitty, but he was in a good mood. He could finally give Jerell some positive news, which would hopefully stop the man from completely flipping out. It had been two weeks since the shooting and things had seemingly cooled down, so they could start to think about their next step. They needed to get back into the game, start getting their gear back out onto the streets before some other little scroats muscled in on their territory.
These past couple of weeks that Jerell had been hiding out, he had been doing Reagan’s head in by bombarding him with text messages and phone calls telling him what to do and what not to do. Lying low wasn’t really Jerell’s thing, it had turned out, and the bloke had obviously been going stir-crazy: he had almost sent Reagan mental too in the process.
Reagan had continued to help Louise grow their crop of weed, and because he had been given strict orders not to sell it, there was enough gear to get half of London stoned. Reagan had failed to persuade Jerell that he was capable of shifting the gear for him, eager for a chance to hold the fort while all this heavy shit was going on with the police, but Jerell had been adamant that everyone must stick to his rules. The boys had been told to stay well away, and they had unwillingly done as they were told. There hadn’t been much else for Reagan to do; he had just kept his ears open for news about the man that Jerell had shot and now he had it.
A car whizzed past Reagan, so near the kerb that its wheels skimmed it, making a puddle rise up and soak the bottoms of his expensive new trainers and favourite chinos.