Chapter 7
It’s stupid to think Ellis will come back, but it doesn’t stop me going back to the empty shop to check.
Why would he after the way I pushed him away?
The cruel words, the pained look on his face, have been seared in my mind.
And why? Because I’m a dumb prick who got jealous.
He spoke of a safe place, of a bed and a hot shower.
He looked good clean. There’s no way I could go with him, even if he says it’s safe.
It won’t be safe for long, not with the trouble I’ve got myself in.
Yeah, I’ve got some cash in my pocket, but I’ve made a deal with the devil, and I’m pretty sure that if they find out about Ellis, they’d have something to hold over my head.
To keep me in line and push me to do more.
After all I’ve been through, and the promises I’ve made to Ellis and myself, I’m now back in the hell that took my mum away from me.
I know how bad drugs are. I know the addiction and the havoc it causes, like a tornado taking everything and everyone in its path and throwing it, spitting and screaming into the wreckage. It’s how I ended up in care.
My mum was found dead with the needle still sticking out between her toes.
There wasn’t a vein anywhere else that hadn’t collapsed.
And now I’m running drugs for one of the hardest gangs around here; they know I’m in too deep to get away now.
I’m waiting for them to make me one of them.
I’m not looking forward to the process, but it will make me safer.
Just the name of them— Ten Down—is enough to make people turn a blind eye.
I have a burner phone, and all I do is wait for it to ring.
Then it’s collect the package and deliver it without being caught.
One of the reasons they picked me is that I’m unknown to the rival gang.
There’s no one looking for me. It also means no one’s looking out for me, keeping me safe and making sure the packet is safely delivered. Then I get paid.
Tonight, I’m hanging around in a pool hall.
I don’t look the way I did six months ago when I was permanently hungry or wearing filthy, stinking clothes.
I’ve got new clothes and a flat I can crash in and use the shower.
There’s something wrong; I can’t put my finger on what, but the atmosphere is wrong.
The people hanging here are mostly new faces.
Not all of them, but enough to make my skin crawl.
It’s dangerous to be here. But this is where tonight’s pick up is taking place.
I’m waiting for Marco, who usually saunters in like the world owes him a living, but he’s late.
That screams abort, to leave and head home.
I can get a message out when I’m clear of here.
I finish my can of Coke and take the last shot and clear the table, the balls clunking down into the pockets. I pick up the twenty quid I’ve won, and with a nod to my opponent, I weave through the tables to the exit.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, only the vibration alerting me. It never rings; it causes people to notice, to remember me.
“There’s a change in the pick-up. Get to Larry’s Fish bar.” The line goes dead.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Larry’s is a good fifteen minutes away, and running is the last thing I want to do. I get moving at a quick pace, and for once, people separate to let me through the post-work crowds.
Marco is leaning against the full glass window outside Larry’s and doesn’t even look up at me as I step too close for normal people.
As I pass, his hand slides across mine, and the package is now mine.
As I walk away, I shove my hands into my pockets, the weight of the small, wrapped packages inconsequential in my puffer jacket.
The drop-off is only ten minutes away from here, and I cross the road, taking a few wrong turns just to lose anyone trying to follow me.
The drop-off is plain sailing, no delays, no questions, just a simple smile and a greeting as if this stuck-up banker type is a friend. A couple of slaps on the back and a firm handshake and it’s over. I’ve got the money, and I can get back to my flat.
Except when I get to end of the road, a huge black SUV stops at the kerb just as I’m about to cross.
Another man walks up and stands beside me, then there’s a woman next to me.
This isn’t even a proper crossing, so what the fuck is going on?
“Come with me,” the man says in a low voice, his hand on my elbow.
I realise I’m surrounded, and there’s nowhere else to go but forward.
At the next corner, I’m made to turn into an alley, and fuck, I think this is it. I’m going be killed.
Instead of a masked man and a gun, there’s another black SUV. This is even more fucking frightening; there’s no one else around. “Get in.” And with a shove, I’m in the back seat.
“Good evening, Dean,” the tall man who shoved me says with a grin. His perfect white teeth shine brightly against his rich, dark skin. “Sorry, for the pushing.”
“Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck is going on?” I try the door handle, but of course, the door won’t open.
I’m jerking my head from the side window to the rear one, wondering if anyone saw me getting kidnapped.
They don’t look like anyone from the rival gang, but who the fuck knows.
All I know is this could be the final moments of my life, and no one will know—not even Ellis.
At least, for now, I don’t have a gun pointed at my forehead.
It doesn’t take too long before the huge car takes a turn, and we’re driving into an underground carpark. Oh shit, this is it. Do I tell them everything before the beating starts or what? What else can I do?
“I’ll tell you everything,” I say, ready to sing like a canary.
“Oh, we know,” the only guy to have spoken says. “Come with us.”
There isn’t anything I can do but go with them.
As I walk, flanked by the two huge men, I am thinking that if this is it for me, I’m glad Ellis isn’t involved; that he’s got his new life, and he won’t be waiting for me.
The stairwell has concrete stairs and paint-scuffed metal handrails, and I don’t have any idea where I am.
Our steps sound out loudly in the silence, especially since no one has spoken another word.
I keep my teeth clamped together so I don’t talk a load of shit and give away that I’m seriously freaking out.
There could be a gun to the back of my head, maybe that’s why I’m on stairs that can be hosed down to clean up any debris my exploding skull may make.
We climb up and up, passing many black doors with coded locks, until we reach a floor, and the man at the front stops abruptly, making me stumble into the huge guy in front of me.
“Shit. Sorry,” I sputter as I right myself.
No one replies.
The door opens into a corridor with plain white walls and an uninspiring utilitarian grey carpet covered floor.
There are more closed doors and silence, only our footsteps padding on the floor.
I’ve had enough. I no longer believe that I’m going to end up with a bullet through my head, not yet anyway.
If they were going to do that, then it would’ve happened by now and my body dumped in a dingy alleyway.
“In here,” the first guy says, turning to face me for the first time.
What surprises me the most is the almost smile that flits over his lips.
He enters the room, and his follower steps to the side, making space for me.
The room doesn’t give anything away. There don’t seem to be any cameras attached to the ceiling or corners.
The table has what looks like Formica on the top.
I didn’t think that was a thing that you could get anymore.
Man-number-one, I’ve decided to label them numerically, pulls out a chair. “Take a seat, Dean.”
I don’t think refusing is an option, so like the good little troublemaker I am, I do as he asks.
“Someone will be with you in a moment. Can I get you anything? Some water, a coffee?”
“Just some answers,” I tell him and slouch in my chair, boredom showing in my expression and my body. Better than looking as shit scared as I feel.
“All will be explained in a moment.” He walks past me, pats my shoulder, and leaves.
The door closes, and I’m alone and have no fucking clue what’s going on or who the fuck is behind this, because this is not how the Alpha District works. They just shoot you.
I only have to wait a few minutes before the door opens again and a tall, thin main dressed in a grey three-piece suit—one that looks like it cost a pretty penny—with not a hair out of place walks in. “Good evening, Dean, I hope you were treated well.”
He pulls out a chair, but before he sits down, he holds out this hand. “My name is Pilkington, and you have something I want.”