The Survival Game (31 page)

The phone then rang again—the van had just turned off the main road and into a side road, Bullingham Avenue. They asked John what they should do. John’s mind worked crazily, keeping tabs on the road and on the rear view while he worked out what to do.

He overtook a bus, now doing 65 mph. ‘Tell ’em to block off the end of the road,’ he shouted over his shoulder before checking his rear view.

‘What?’ came the reply from the backseat.

‘I said tell ’em to get ahead of the van and block off the end of the fucking road it’s on!’ John shouted, pushing his foot down more. ‘Don’t let it get out of that road! We’re coming! Tell ’em we’re coming!’

He flattened his foot, zooming between a motorbike and a Transit van, almost clipping the bike and sending it flying.

A loud horn went off in his ears. ‘
Yeah, fuck you too!
’ he shouted out of his window, before checking his rear view with hot, paranoid eyes. By then, he was doing close to 70 and if any
astinomia
clocked him they’d be chasing him down hard.

Just a little more,
re
… just a little more…

The other unit were in the process of carrying out John’s orders. The side road the van went down was up ahead, maybe a couple of miles. His unit just had to get there in time, and not a second late…

John blatantly jumped a lingering red light at the crossroads that would lead them into Edmonton. A car emergency braked to his left, its tyres sliding along the wet tarmac, just about avoiding a head on with him. Its horn rang in his ears like an air raid siren amongst the frantic drums and basses. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and checked his rear view. Behind him was a mishmash of cars.

‘Which road are they on?’ he shouted over his shoulder, ignoring any near pile-ups he’d just caused.

The other unit relayed that they’d made it to the end of Bullingham and had blocked off the exit. They were just waiting for the van to reach them any second.

‘Tell ’em to hang on.
Hold your ground!
We’ll be there in a second!’ John shouted.

He clunked it into fifth, and flattened his foot. He raced into Edmonton, his hands gripping the steering wheel vice-like, his knuckles white as bone. The others were keeping their eyes peeled for the road. Suddenly, they began shouting. For a split second, John thought it was
astinomia
and his heart shot up into his throat. Hot doughy lead. His head spun round left and right.

‘
That’s the road.
’

‘
… Missed the road!
’

‘
Road’s back there!
’ he heard ringing in his ears, all at the same time, but no mention of
astinomia
, which was a relief.

But worse, they were pointing back and to the right, and he quickly realised he’d passed by Bullingham Avenue, and he was on a busy main road. He’d have to go keep going and double back at the traffic lights in the distance, which would kill any chance they had of catching the van in time.

His eyes were darting everywhere, searching for quick answers, while his mind raced in a million different directions, hoods all around him shouting and pointing. He had to act fast, had to improvise. Had to do something.
Now!

He slammed the brakes and yanked up the handbrake, frantically spinning the wheel round like a madman. Tyres screeched all over the tarmac like multiple nails down chalkboards; horns went off all around him like a bizarre concerto. The world blurred by them like they were taking a ride on the Waltzer, the kids in the back screaming like schoolgirls. John gritted his teeth, hanging onto the wheel for dear life. The car jacked round 180 in one smooth sliding motion across the wet tarmac.

It came to an abrupt stop, making them all jerk across to the right.

Everything went quiet.

John glared out of the windscreen with anxious eyes to see they were now on the opposite lane. He puffed his cheeks.
Good move,
re
…
A few small hands patted him on the shoulder. He began grinning and nodding. But a car then clipped past them from behind, its horn and driver raging at them. John checked his rear view; his grin quickly vanished. A stream of cars were now heading his way, and they didn’t look like they were in any mood to slow down. He quickly released the handbrake, instantly caught the bite, and put his foot down. The car revved into gear, and in no time, they were heading back for the turning he missed.

One of his boys started pointing to the left. ‘In there!’

John looked up. The sign read—Bullingham Avenue. He quickly turned into it. He pushed himself forwards in his seat, his eyes eagerly scanning the road ahead for the M.C.S van.

‘They made contact!’ his boy on the walkie-talkie informed him. ‘At the end of the road!’

John put his foot down, zipping past parked cars and houses. And as he went a little further, he finally clocked it. The van’s brake lights were on. Beyond it, John could see the other unit’s car parked sideways across the road, blocking the van’s exit, as per the plan. One member of the unit was standing by the side of the car. A bandanna was covering the lower half of his face; he was pointing at the van and shouting at it. John raced up behind the van, just as its reverse lights flicked on. It was trying to get away, but John’s unit had arrived just in time. The van abruptly braked just as John went right up its
kolo
. It then became still; sandwiched in, caught like a bug in a Venus flytrap.

John pulled up the handbrake and opened his door. ‘Let’s go!’ he ordered.

They all jumped out of his car. John grabbed his gun from his belt and raced over to the driver’s side of the van. Inside was one of Marek’s boys, his wide eyes going round and round like marbles. He was gripped by shock, which was perfect.

John tapped on the window with his gun. ‘Open the door! Open the fucking door!’ he shouted.

The van driver put his hands in the air the second he saw the gun. John grabbed the handle of the van door and it popped open.

He swung it open wide and grabbed the driver’s arm. ‘I said open the fucking door,’ he shouted.

The driver began stammering in broken English about ‘van not his’ or some
skata
. John glanced over at his boys and indicated for them to get in the back. In no time, they were all inside.

John threatened the driver with his gun. ‘You drive,’ he said. ‘You follow that car,’ he added, pointing to the other unit’s vehicle. ‘Okay?’

The driver mumbled some more gibberish.

John stepped up and poked his gun in the driver’s temple. ‘You drive to Neocrema factory!’

The driver then began nodding his head feverishly, having finally got the message. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ he stammered in a frantic voice.

‘Good.’ John stepped back down and slammed the door shut. He turned to the blocking unit. ‘Clear the way, and then follow me,’ he shouted at them before walking back past the van towards his own car, giving the van a friendly pat on its side.

He smiled to himself, taking in a long deep breath.
Fuck me, that was intense,
gamota
!

He looked up to see an old granny holding a black cat had come to her front door, wondering what was going on. John shooed ’em both away. The granny jumped back inside, scared out of her mind. John chuckled to himself, glad to get rid of that fucking cat, and got back in his own car. The blocking car straightened and pulled away, the van swiftly following. John followed up, and they were soon escorting the van through the roads like security surrounding the President’s limo. He sparked up a much needed
cigarro
, nodding his head to the sounds of DnB, pumped up on drugs, power, and excitement.

All objectives had been met;
Operation M.C.S Jack
was a success; phase one was now complete.

*****

Alisha wiped the tears from her eyes. A cold, untouched skinny latte sat in front of her. What she was hearing was killing any appetite she had, even for a coffee. Ishmael agreed to meet her for lunch at Starbucks in Holloway. She got a cab down there, and relayed to him what had been happening recently. In turn Ishmael told her something that she’d refused to believe for years.

He looked her sincerely in the eye and licked his lips. ‘It was John who first sold heroin to Yousif
and
on the night he died,’ he said, straight up.

Alisha rocked back in her seat, her hands flying up to her gaping mouth. She looked away, out of the window. The revelation shocked her so badly, it sent her into a spin—a kind of fuzz in her mind that she just couldn’t totally grasp. It was too much, too quickly.

When Ishmael’s words finally sunk in, she stared back at him. ‘And how do you know that, Ishmael?’ she managed to ask through her confusion.

‘I was there the night he first sold it to him. And John told me after he died it was from him he got the stuff that night. I’m sorry, Leesha. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want you to get hurt. I knew you loved him, and if I told you all this, it could ruin your marriage. I couldn’t see that happen. On the other hand, I hated so much keeping it a secret from you, but you’re my cousin, I can’t watch you suffer any more.’

Alisha nodded her head. She understood what Ishmael was saying to her. John had shoved him into a terrible dilemma and just left him to deal with it on his own. Just about John’s style—put someone in the shit, then leave them to deal with all the emotional stuff.

‘And to think, all this time, I believed him,’ she said, staring blankly at her latte. ‘He always said it wasn’t him that got Yousif into that shit. He was adamant.’

‘He’s a good liar,’ Ishmael said. ‘That’s why I was so against you marrying him in the first place. ’Cos of what he done to your brother. My cousin.’

‘Oh, he’s a liar all right, Ish. That’s all he does. Lie. Everything. It’s all bullshit. Last night I got a message from him on my voicemail saying he was working
all
night and
all
day today, even though he’s worked non-stop for two days now.
How can that be?
’

Ishmael sighed. ‘And there’s another reason why I’m coming clean with you now, Alisha. ’Cos I don’t wanna see you get hurt any more, and so that you can see exactly what type of man this is we’re talking about…’

Alisha gave him a confused look. ‘What are you on about, Ish?’

Ishmael took a look round, then leaned in closer to Alisha. ‘Listen, he came over to the shop to see me the other day…’

Alisha looked at him, puzzled. ‘John? What for?’

Ishmael sighed. ‘You remember when I used to hang around with those boys from Ladbroke Grove?’

Alisha’s face screwed up like she’d just smelt something rotten. ‘Yeah, I remember.’

‘Well, John was looking for someone. A Yardie.’

‘
What?
’ she exclaimed.

‘Yeah. And trust me, this guy ain’t someone you mess with either…’

‘What did he want him for?’

‘I don’t know. He just asked me if I could get in touch with my old contacts to find him. He said it was for
you
he wanted to find him.’

‘Me? What the hell is he on about?’

‘Look, Alisha. This Yardie is basically the crack overlord in London, yeah, and I think John is doing some kinda business with him. I dunno what, but it can’t be good. I just don’t want you involved with anything like this. I want you to be safe.’

‘That explains a lot then,’ Alisha stated, nodding her head.

‘How d’ya mean?’ Ishmael asked.

‘He’s been acting so funny lately, Ish. Staying away for days, getting really angry and aggressive.’

Ishmael’s brow furrowed. ‘Aggressive? Did he hit you?’

Alisha waved her hands on the air. ‘No, no, no. But, I thought he was gonna at one point… I think he’s using again, in fact I’m almost certain. He came in earlier today, all aggressive, charged up. What do you think he’s doing?’

‘Well, if he’s staying up all night and acting like that, he could be on speed or coke or something. It could even be crack. If he’s knocking round with Yardies now, then it’s more than likely.’

‘So, he’s dealing again.’

Ishmael shrugged. ‘It looks that way.’

‘And you’re right. That explains why he’s back on the shit. If he’s hanging around other dealers all the time, then he’ll be around drugs all the time, and I know John, sooner or later he’ll find it impossible to resist.’ She huffed. ‘And I thought it was all because of that Aziz.’

Ishmael looked confused again. ‘Who’s Aziz?’

‘Oh, some Turk he was working for.
Is
working for. Uhh, I don’t know any more.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘God, I feel so fucking stupid.’

‘It’s not your fault, Leesha. It’s him.
He’s
the one who’s trouble.’

Alisha looked up at her cousin with teary eyes. ‘But I’m carrying his baby, Ish.’

Ishmael rolled his eyes to the side, and sighed again. ‘This is
sooo
messed up. God, I wish I’d told you this sooner…’

‘I wish you had too, Ish.
I would’ve killed him
.’

Ishmael chuckled humourlessly.

Then something else arose in Alisha’s mind. ‘Ish. Listen. I’ve got a confession…’

Ishmael squinted. ‘Go on…’

Alisha took in a deep breath, glanced outside, then looked Ishmael in the eye. ‘I got myself pregnant on purpose,’ she said, flat out.

Ishmael glanced down. ‘
Oh…
Why?’

‘John again! He lost our home gambling.’

Ishmael thumped the table lightly and looked out of the window. ‘
That prick!
’ he said angrily.

‘I took matters into my own hands,’ Alisha continued, ‘because I knew I couldn’t rely on him. I thought a baby would score me a few points with the council to get us a new flat. I was going to tell him, but his delivery job turned up. It seemed to get him going in the right direction, so I left it, let things play out…’

‘Where are you living now?’ Ishmael asked.

Alisha flipped her hand on the air. ‘I’ll tell you later…’

Ishmael shook his head briskly. ‘Why haven’t you told me about this?’

‘I was embarrassed,’ Alisha replied.

Ishmael sighed.