The Survival Game (19 page)

She stared longingly at the tulip in the beer can as she carried on eating.

The shower then switched on. The sound of running water stayed with her while she satisfied her cravings for Chinese food.

*****

John remembered the beers he got earlier that day from the Polish offy were still in his car, so he fetched them and started drinking. He sat at the table, making an attempt to eat even though he wasn’t hungry. There was too much
skata
on his mind. He tried to pull off something today that went proper pear shaped. All he achieved was to piss off Marek—at the same time making him aware he was on his case—and use up a tank of petrol for nothing.

He finished off his first can of Lech and straight away opened up another. Alisha turned her head and gave him the eye, the one that said
‘are you planning on getting drunk?’
It came with the added bonus of an angry pout. John returned it with a
‘yes I am planning on getting drunk ’cos I’m pissed off and I’ve had a shit day, petal’
look, which came exclusively with a
‘so get off my fucking case, yeah?’
glare. She got the message loud and clear, turning her attention back to the portable TV and rubbing her belly, her halo dimming.

John took a long gulp of beer.
This Lech stuff is proper bitter and watery,
he thought to himself with mild disappointment.
Piss. Cheap, industrial
skata. He checked the ingredients—water, piss.

Yeah, like I thought.
His impressions of Poland so far were all negative as far as the people and the beer went. Not good at all. He grabbed a prawn cracker and munched it to try and mask the taste.

He then started contemplating his next move. He could still play the father card with Marek ’cos as far as
he
knew, he was still alive and in John’s custody. John had been convinced Marek would just hand the delivery over once he assumed his dad’s life was in danger.
I mean, surely he values his own dad more than anything else,
gamota. But, it didn’t appear so. Marek wanted that delivery for something big. Money? Surely his dad was priceless, even if it was all worth ten million pounds—which it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination—surely his dad’s safety was worth more? Nah, it wasn’t money, it was something else.
Love?
John glanced at Alisha, lying there on her back watching the TV, her halo glowing like the sun.

Could it be love that drives Marek so insane?
Could it be for love that he needs that delivery?

He took another gulp of his beer and winced at the bitterness of it, wishing it was Keo. Well, whatever the reason he wanted it so badly, it was clear he wasn’t handing it back easily. John would have to push harder, let Marek believe beyond all shadow of a doubt that if he didn’t play ball, his dad was brown bread. Simple as that. He nodded to himself and put another prawn cracker in his mouth.

Something on the TV then caught his attention. BBC Local News. He stopped halfway through crunching on his prawn cracker and became perfectly still. His eyes widened. They were showing pictures of a skip outside a building site. One that he recognised.

‘
An elderly man’s body was discovered dumped in this skip in Willeseden earlier today after a local homeless man was rummaging through it. The man identified as Polish born Henryk Kolovski had only been living in England for three months and was a cancer patient being treated on the NHS. His body was discovered wrapped tightly in a rug, with fatal shotgun wounds to the chest. Police are urging anyone with information on this case to come forward immediately.

In other news…’

John stared at the TV open-mouthed, pieces of prawn cracker falling out of it and onto his lap.
What the fuck,
gamota
?

‘God, there’s some sick people in this place,’ Alisha said. ‘An old man dying of cancer and they shoot him and dump his body in a skip! Sick! They’re the ones that should be shot and thrown in the trash!’

John rubbed his forehead. Things were going from bad to worse. He
had
to get rid of the body, he could hardly bring it home with him.
How would he explain that one off?
He’d hoped no one would notice, and the skip would be emptied into a disposal unit and crushed beyond all recognition. But no, a fucking tramp had to stick his hooter in where it wasn’t wanted,
gamota
… And now with that news broadcast went the only leverage he had against Marek and even worse, it would piss him off even more AND now the fucking
astinomia
were dragged in. If they somehow got to Marek before him, Aziz’s delivery would end up behind bars and off come Yiannaki’s testicles.

Chop-chop! You want fries with those?

‘What’s wrong, John?’

John’s head flicked upwards and he met Alisha’s gaze. Her eyes were big and warm, and she looked proper concerned.

John waved his hand on the air and shook his head. ‘Nothing. Nothing. You’re right. Sick world we live in…’ He sighed, then picked up his beer. ‘
Sick…
’ He suddenly wanted to get out of there. Wanted to cool off. ‘I’m just gonna go to the car and get my other box of fags from the glovebox…’

Alisha stared at him with those concerned eyes again. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You seem tired…’

John stood up and smiled wryly. ‘It’s all that work I did today. Not used to it. That’s all. A good night’s kip will do me good.’

‘You’re sure?’

John bent down and kissed her on her head, just below her halo; a part of him was scared to touch it in case it burnt his lips. ‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ he told her before he headed for the door. As he reached it, something hit him like a hammer, a sudden urge from nowhere.

He stopped and turned back round. ‘Alisha,’ he said.

She looked round at him. ‘Yeah, babe?’

Did you get pregnant on purpose?

He took in a deep breath as he prepared himself to hit her with the killer question, staring at her wide brown eyes and her glowing halo.

But, he bottled it. Instead, he just lowered his head and shook it. ‘Nothing,’ he replied before he opened the door and stepped outside. He just didn’t need to get into all that crap right then. He closed the door behind him and headed for his car, a sinking feeling overwhelming him. It was nighttime and the place was quiet, bar the odd person drinking beers outside their caravan or enjoying the moonlight. John got in the driver’s seat and sparked up a
cigarro
. Things were going wonky, badly. He was running out of time fast and Marek was gonna be much more cautious and harder to get to. The really bad thing was that the more time that went by, the more chance Marek would somehow get shot of the delivery.
If
that happened, then John was in the
skata
big time.

He smacked his fist on the steering wheel.
Why does it all have to turn to
skata
? Always! Every fucking time,
gamota
! Why does God fuck me so fucking much?

‘Why do you do it!’ He shouted at the sky outside. He was answered by a still, shiny moon. He took in a deep breath and then patted his hands on the air ahead of him.

‘Calm down. Calm down,
re
…’ He took a long drag on his
cigarro
, and expelled thick white smoke from his lungs. The clock was ticking big time and he couldn’t waste any precious seconds being angry. He had to be calm so he could think. Think hard and clearly; analyse his situation. It broke down like this—it was Wednesday tomorrow, Aziz’s deadline was Friday. He had no idea where Marek was hiding, and staking out his old man’s house was well out of the question ’cos it’ll now be crawling with
astinomia
.

But, there’s still Neocrema,
re
…

He nodded his head. Yeah, some
malaka
at that place was bound to know where Marek was. Maybe he’s in there himself from time to time, maybe all the time, who knew?

But from the looks of things it’s protected by bods twenty-four seven
,
and did you see how many of those bastards turned up today? There must have been forty of the
malakes
!
He couldn’t take them all on by himself, he’d get crushed like a bug, especially now that Marek would be pretty keen on avenging his old man’s death. Nah, he needed a crew, an army to match Marek’s. Beat ’em into submission, get the delivery back, and then wing it round to Aziz before chopping board time.

Yeah, it was the only way forward.

But, who,
re
? You’ve been on your Jack Jones for years now. You’re so out of touch, who’s gonna risk their
kolo
backing you? The Greeks won’t, that’s for sure, not an outcast like you…

His brain worked it over. Then something clicked.

That Yardie could handle himself…

He nodded his head slowly. The one with death in his eyes and the snakes on his head.

See the way he killed those two back there?

He saw it all right. The prick was as cold as a cadaver laid out on a marble slab. And he was sure he’d never forget it for the rest of his days. It was so cold, so robotic, the way he killed ’em both, as if he didn’t even contemplate the fact he was about to take life. Just like they want you to be in the
strato
. A cold hearted merciless killer. Take life without blinking…

And those Yardies go round in crews,
re
. Big fat crews of merciless, hungry killers…

He took another long drag on his
cigarro
, the car steadily filling with smoke.
But why was he there anyways? Why did he want Marek?
He was going on about this being
his
town and warning Marek to get off his turf. What turf? How was Marek affecting this
malaka
? He must have really pissed him off. Then he began thinking about Neocrema. Vans with MEDICAL COURIER SERVICES stamped across them. Stocky bouncers on the door.

What exactly are they doing in there,
gamota
? They’re brewing something, but I don’t know what…
No doubt the Yardie’s in the drugs game.
So what’s Marek brewing in Neocrema that’s got the Yardie’s back up so much?
No, no, no, it wasn’t Marek was it? It was Valeria.
She
was the doctor, the chemist, the alchemist, the witch brewing her potions in her cauldron.

Now it was beginning to make sense.

The Poles were here brewing something and knocking it out. Some kind of drug. And it was affecting the Yardie, which in turn got him hunting for Marek and his family to snuff ’em all out. Valeria had the formula. She was the brains. Marek was the muscle.
Christ, it’s a proper slick operation you’ve been dragged into here,
re. This
skata
was deep. He puffed his cheeks, suddenly overwhelmed by it all.

But it didn’t explain the role of the delivery.
Why did Marek need it so desperately?
John was very keen to find out. But, first things fucking last, he had to get a crew together.

If I could get that Yardie on side, convince him to join me, I could get to Marek. My enemy’s enemy is my friend and all that
skata
… And I’ve got the info that he’s looking for—Neocrema.
And John knew that place like the back of his hand from playing hide and seek in there when he was a kid. He was invaluable to the Yardie right then; he could use that to his advantage.

He took a final drag on his
cigarro
and stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray. Yeah, he needed to make contact with that Yardie ASAP. And that led onto a new problem—
how the hell was he gonna do that?

He had to think of a way. Quickly. He rested his elbow on the steering wheel and gently tapped the side of his head with his fingers. The moon stared back at him like a big giant spotlight. There
was
someone he could ask for help in this situation. But it was someone he really didn’t want to make contact with. Someone from the past.

Just do it!

Hmm, he’d have to. There was no other clear choice.

He got out of the car, and after spending so long in a cramped smoky space, the fresh air outside hit him like a cold shower. He went back to his portable home, his chemical toilet, his hormonal wife, and fold-away bed, where he spent the remainder of the night staring at the darkness, thinking, unable to get the image of a pair of dead fish eyes out of his mind.

*****

Valeria Kolovski arrived at the South Mimms service station just as the rain started up again.

She got there via the morgue, where she’d had to identify the bodies of both
Papa
and Adrian. If anyone were to ever ask, she’d say with certainty it was the worst thing she’d had to do in her entire life. To be asked to identify one close relative would be horrible enough,
but two at once?
It was like having both your nails
and
teeth pulled out simultaneously.

Stefan pulled up in the service station car park and switched off the engine. He turned to Valeria and offered her a friendly smile. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

Valeria wiped her wet, red eyes on the back of her hand and nodded in return. ‘I’m okay, Stefan,’ she replied. She looked out of the window to spot the short, bald man standing next to a small hedge at the far end of the car park. He was wearing a trench coat, an open umbrella in his grip, protecting his head from the rain. From where she sat, he looked like some kind of horrible little child molester. ‘I’ll have to be,’ she added as she stared at him with contempt.
He
was the reason she was here. An emergency meeting had been arranged after the day’s events. Marek had already filled her in before
they
contacted her, telling her everything he knew. The Arab—the one they robbed in the alleyway—had returned, just as she’d warned him he would. But even she never imagined he’d bring murder with him.
If
she’d known that, she would’ve worked harder to discourage Marek from robbing him. But Marek was desperate and desperate men do not listen to reason. They act without considering consequences, and most of the time, someone was hurt. Badly.