The Survival Game (37 page)

‘If what you’re saying is true,’ John then asked, ‘why did Marek mug me? Why didn’t he just get himself some on the black market?’

Valeria gave him an incredulous glare. ‘You think we make money out of this? We have to pay off police and politicians, buy ingredients, pay our men to keep their mouths shut…’ She then smiled wryly and glanced to the sides. ‘Besides that, he said it would be easy.’

John returned that wry smile and shook his head. ‘Well, that was a big mistake ’cos it hasn’t been easy, has it? Huh?
I need that delivery as well, Valeria, okay?
Now, not counting your old man, how many lives have been lost ’cos you mugged me? Hmm? You wanna do the maths since you’re the only fucking genius out of the three of us?’

Valeria glanced downwards and John realised his point had hit home. He was so pissed at Marek right then for creating this whole mess, for creating murderers, for stirring anger, for spilling blood. It created a nasty mixture of resentment and guilt inside him that he hated experiencing. And right then, he just wanted the whole fucking mess to be cleaned up and sorted out once and for all.

‘Now, ya gonna tell us where Marek is?’ Dread I then asked her as if he’d just read John’s mind.

Valeria looked up at him sharply, her lips pursed. She was showing bravery, even though John could virtually smell the fear emanating from her eyes. He flicked his stare from her to Dread I, wondering exactly what he was gonna do to get it out of her. The unbearable tension then overcame him, and he suddenly felt sick, sick of the whole situation. The
shit
uation. He also started feeling bad for Marek and Valeria right then, ’cos both their worlds were shattered. Marek’s army was beaten and Valeria had a straight choice between giving up her brother and torture. But at the same time he was so, so pissed at them both that he didn’t have a clue which feeling to jump on and ride with. It was all too conflicting, too confusing.

In the end, he shook his head in frustration. ‘Fuck it!’ he finally shouted. ‘You two sort it out between you!’

When he heard that, Dread I smiled, and it was a gleeful smile from Hell itself; the kind of thing a demon would do when it sniffed the sweet aroma of nearby fresh meat to play with. John looked from him to Valeria, and he sympathised with her ’cos he knew Dread I wasn’t a man to be fucked with, if he wanted to be a grade A
malaka
, he could be just that…
and worse
. But, she wasn’t talking, so… horses for fucking courses…

He sighed and headed for the garage door. He swung it up and walked back out to a grey cloudy sky just as a grinning Dread I advanced on her, the pliers clutched in his hand opening up and closing like a hungry alligator’s jaws.

*****

John sat on a small wall opposite the cache, surrounded with the remaining soldiers that made it out of Neocrema. They were waiting for instructions, waiting for orders on the next move. They lounged around the alleyway, telling jokes, texting on their phones, listening to what was going on inside the cache. One or two of the boys were shocked by the sounds, but most of the others just thought it was funny, a big joke. John just stared at the ground while it was going on, praying for it to end. He just wanted the whole thing to be over.

Just end,
gamota
…

Inside him, he was cursing Marek hard for causing all this. Christ, if the
malaka
had offered the right fucking money, John probably would’ve been persuaded to part with some of the delivery and sell Aziz some bullshit excuse to get him off the hook. Fuck, for the right money, Aziz himself probably would’ve parted with all of it.

But, it never worked out that way.

Marek made his choice and was now suffering the consequences.

John picked up a stone from the floor and threw it at the garage door, just as a muffled scream rang out from behind it. He looked up at the little horned and capped bods all around him. He didn’t want ’em to be near him any more, he didn’t need ’em. They’d done their jobs and done ’em well, but now they were just making the surrounding area hot and that wasn’t good. Especially now that he knew
astinomia
were after him.

He got to his feet and dusted his hands. ‘Right, you lot. Get outa here,’ he ordered.

They all stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

One of them narrowed his eyes. ‘Why?’ he asked, his voice laced with attitude.

John stepped to him. ‘Cos I make the fucking rules, okay?’ he replied, staring down hard at him. He didn’t need lip from these pricks right then, he really didn’t. Any more of it and he promised them he was gonna proper switch on ’em.

‘What about Marek? We got his sister, but what about
him
?’ Shortbredd then asked in a cooler tone.

‘Marek ain’t shit no more,’ John replied over his shoulder while he still screwed at the kid giving him lip.

The kid finally lost his bottle, backed down and broke the stare.
Yeah, stay down, boy!

John then turned to face them all. ‘His factory’s dust and his crew’s been dropped. His sister is everything to him right now. Without her, he’s nothing on the street, and like you say—
we
got her, so we’re holding all the aces right now. All you lot are doing by being here is attracting attention and that’s bad. You done your jobs and you done ’em well. Me and Dread I will take care of Marek.’

‘But, you don’t know where he—’ Shortbredd was cut off mid-sentence by another scream from inside the cache, swiftly followed by a rusty blades cackle that made John’s skin crawl.

‘Well, as you can hear, that’s being worked on,’ John said before reaching for another
cigarro
and placing it between his lips. He sparked it up and took a long drag. He held his face up to the grey sky, savouring the taste of it.

He then looked back at his boys. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Just go. We’ll call you when Marek’s down.’

A few of the boys turned to leave, some wanted to stay, but the others quickly persuaded them to join them, citing a confrontation with Dread I for disobeying orders as a bad thing. John put his
cigarro
between his lips again and turned his back on ’em all. He took a few puffs and then turned back round. Now they were gone, leaving him alone in that thin corridor with nothing but sounds of torture and feelings of paranoia. He paced around nervously, looking left and right, taking short sharp puffs of his
cigarro
. He had to get
astinomia
off his case. He couldn’t afford to go back inside. They’d throw the fucking key away.
He
didn’t kill the old man. Dread I did. And just as he had that thought another scream shot out from behind the garage door. He stopped and stared at the cache, wondering why Dread I did the things he did.
Why was he so cruel?
Marek and John were doing fucked up things for their families. Dread I’s family were ashes, so what did he do those sick things for? What was his motivation for it?

Personal gain,
re
. He’s a power freak, wants to run things. Probably to compensate for losing his family.

Yeah, that sounded pretty legit. He’s doing all this ’cos deep inside he’s bitter and twisted. There ain’t an iota of love left inside that man; it must’ve died with his wife and kid.

That’s why you see zombie before you…
said a voice in his head that sounded uncannily like Valeria.

Yeah, the old truth drug. It showed him exactly what Dread I was. A zombie, the living dead, an empty shell, with snakes and horns on his head. He shivered. Then following on from that thought, something else suddenly struck him like a bite from one of those snake dreads—an image of a possible future. He envisaged himself, his hands full of massive baggies packed tight with crack rocks. His trouser pockets were brimful with cash, wads of notes overflowing out of ’em onto the ground. He pictured himself standing in front of a mirror, scrutinising his reflection. What stared back made him feel ill. Dead fish eyes, grey, rotten skin. A man alone in the world, the love in his heart wilted and long dead like an ancient tulip. And he knew exactly what he was looking at—this was a glimpse of the future, the one that awaited him if he took up Dread I’s offer, ’cos of course, Alisha would be out of the door before he could blink, taking his
moro
with her. Yes, he’d have loads of cash,
loadsamoney
. In fact, no money troubles at all and with an empire of his own, soldiers on the streets,
astinomia
in his back pocket.

But in spite of all that, he’d be alone.

A dead man walking. The living dead.

Then the image of Green T’s sister popped up in his mind. And she was screaming—

Another scream went off from inside the cache that caused him to flinch out of his daydream. He locked his eyes on the garage door.

Inside there is you in the future,
re
. That’s what’s waiting for you…

He thought of Alisha and the guilt was suddenly returning. It was a straight up choice—lose her, but gain everything else, or keep her and be nothing forever.

He sucked on his
cigarro
, and thought long and hard, staring at the ground as if the answers were there waiting for him.

Is there really a choice,
re
?
A voice asked him, the voice of reason.
You can’t risk losing your family, they’re all you got!

True. Very true. But, maybe it was ’cos of them he was in this fucking mess. If he didn’t have to worry about
them
, he could do whatever he liked. He could keep his money for himself, he could get on with the only occupation he knew, the only trade he ever learnt. He could just get on with it, untroubled. And he’d have no money worries and no headache from the other half.

But, you’ll become Dread I Mark II and you’ll lose all you love in the world…

He sighed and shook his head. He wished he could mix and blend the fucking two together,
gamota
. Go out dealing during the day and come home to wife and kid at night. Be a proper Tony Montana, an Al Ca-fucking-Pone.

It don’t work like that,
re
…

It’s one or the other. You choose.

A sudden screeching noise then made him start, destroying his thought processes. He looked up to see the garage door opening. Once fully opened, out stepped Dread I, adjusting his combat pants. There was a smug look planted on his dead mug. He nodded his head at John once he spotted him. As he closed the garage door behind him, John caught a glimpse of Valeria. She was motionless, leaning back in the chair. Dread I had put a plastic bag over her head.

‘Is she still alive?’ John asked. He didn’t want to kill her,
gamota
. There was no need.

Dread I locked the garage door, then went over to John and handed him the key. ‘She breathing,’ he replied.

Inside, John was relieved. Even though he wasn’t exactly fond of her, he didn’t want her to die.

‘Mi know where Marek is,’ Dread I then said.

John looked up at him, incredulity burning in his eyes. ‘
She told you
?’

‘Of course!’ Dread I said with a firm nod of his head.

Christ, what sick
skata
must he have done to her for her to shop her twin brother,
gamota
!

The guilt wanted to rise again, but it had to be dealt with later ’cos right then, they had to get their act together. There was still work to do.

Dread I looked around him, confused ‘Where the yoot?’ he asked.

John threw his
cigarro
to the ground. ‘I told ’em to leave.’

Dread I’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘Cos, we don’t need ’em. They’re just hotbods attracting attention to us. Me and you can handle Marek now. It’s just
him
against
us
.’

Dread I grinned and nodded his head in a positive fashion. ‘True dat,
bredda
. Mi gonna open him up like a can a peas, trust.’

John nodded his head. He could dig that. ‘So, where is he?’

‘At his yard inna Kilburn way. She gave I the address.’

‘And is she telling the truth?’

Dread I’s eyes widened. ‘Oh yes,
bredda
. Believe. ’Cos, she know, if she be telling I lies, she gonna get what she just got again,
but double!
’

John smiled wryly and nodded his head.
Yeah, he believed all right.

‘Let’s go,’ Dread I said, patting John on the shoulder.

‘Yeah,’ John replied. ‘Let’s get this show on the road…’

They left for the final showdown with Marek in John’s car, leaving Valeria behind.

At first Marek didn’t understand what he was hearing. Cezar was speaking to him, no,
shouting
at him down the phone.

Marek stood up from the weights bench and wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘Cool down, Cezar,’ he said. ‘Speak slowly and calmly.’

‘
We were attacked!
’ Cezar said in anything but a calm voice.

‘Who? The factory?’ Marek asked, now getting concerned.

‘
Yes, the fucking factory. They attacked us and burnt it to the ground!
’ Cezar blurted.

Marek’s eyes widened. ‘
What?
’ he asked, his voice brimming with incredulity. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘
Do I sound like I’m joking, Marek? They attacked the factory and burnt it down.
’

‘Burnt it down?’ he said, unable to believe what he just heard. ‘You mean it’s gone?’

‘
Completely gone. Ashes…
’

Marek’s hand went straight up to his forehead. He stared vacantly at Radek, who shrugged in return. ‘Wh-wh-who was it?’ Marek stuttered dumbly. ‘Who attacked you?’

‘
Blacks,
’ Cezar answered. ‘
All blacks. Kids…
’

Marek frowned in confusion. ‘
Blacks?
’ he echoed. ‘What do blacks have to do with us?’

‘
They’re drug dealers, Marek. They want to put us out of business.
’

Marek spat into his hand and then wiped it on his shorts. That was the thing he hated most about London—all the fucking blacks and the fucking Jews, all sticking their big noses into business that wasn’t theirs. He only liked them when they were either busy buying drugs from him or busy killing each other. That way, he liked them very much.