25. Julien
twenty-five
Julien
T he London Underground wasn’t as bad as Julien feared. It certainly wasn’t as dirty as the Paris Metro and also had significantly fewer people rudely barging into you.
Their flight landed an hour late, catapulting them straight into the five p.m. rush hour. Julien had tried to reason with Cinn, citing the benefits of taking a black cab, but he’d rolled his eyes and headed straight for the underground sign. When Elliot smirked and followed Cinn, Julien knew the battle had been lost.
As they descended onto the platform, the distant rumble of an approaching train echoed through the tunnels, accompanied by the distinct smell of grease and an announcement shouting at them to mind the gap over and over. Flickering fluorescent lights overhead bathed the diverse mix of commuters in a surreal glow.
When they finally pushed their way into an overcrowded carriage, Julien tentatively clutched the slightly damp handrail. “How long are we on this thing for?” he said, making no effort to stop his nose wrinkling in distaste.
“All the way to the end of the Northern Line, High Barnet.”
The train came to an abrupt halt, sending Julien’s body jerking forwards.
“Think you can survive that long, princeling?” Cinn’s eyes sparkled.
“What? Princeling ?”
Cinn only laughed .
Scowling, Julien jumped out of the way of a throng of people now pushing their way off the carriage.
Cinn, gliding in between the moving crowd like water through fingertips, said, “There are seats now, so stop your tantrum.”
Elliot howled with laughter, and Julien wondered at what point he was going to have to intervene with the union they’d clearly formed, one that took great joy in teaming up against him.
The carriage was still packed, forcing Elliot to sit a few seats down from the two Cinn and Julien took, side by side. He instantly struck up a conversation with a stranger who was carrying a motorcycle helmet.
“How does he do that?” asked Cinn, with a slow shake of his head.
“ Why does he do that?” replied Julien.
Cinn snorted, then rubbed his hand over his face and slumped back into his seat.
“Are you okay?”
“Just anxious to get there and see what the situation is.”
“What do you think we’re going to find?”
“Sounds like he’s deep in it this time. Both the drugs and his debt to Heino Richter.”
“Have you ever met him?”
Julien conjured images of Cinn with the heinous crime lord he’d heard a bit about, but he couldn’t quite make it work.
“Once. When I was helping Tyler clear his last debt, and I agreed to his plan of letting his men rob Rosewood’s safe.”
Cinn’s eyes shot straight to his shoes, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Julien said, in lieu of his actual thoughts on the matter, which was quite the opposite. To Cinn’s credit, his loyalty to those who he cared about certainly knew no bounds .
“It helped that although I loved the team at the restaurant, the owner was a wanker. I kind of figured he could claim the money back on insurance. Serves him right for paying us minimum wage on twelve-hour shifts with stupidly short breaks.”
Julien brushed his hand over Cinn’s. “I’m not judging your decisions, honestly.”
“Thanks.” Cinn’s smile didn’t meet his eyes. “I judge myself enough for both of us, though. I ended up killing four people, after all.”
“The murderous ghost did,” Julien corrected.
Cinn didn’t argue, only slumped back further into the seat, arms folded.
Diverting the topic, Julien said, “Has Tyler ever sought professional help? For his addiction?”
Eyeing Julien warily, Cinn answered. “He’s been in a few free programs. It’s hard to get into them, and they’re quick to kick you out for any reason under the sun.”
The line further emptied, leaving the seats opposite them free. Julien’s gaze flicked to Elliot, but he was waxing lyrical about motorbike tyres.
“ Oui , I’m sure, but he can’t continue to rely on you to drag him out of his shit every time he fucks up.”
He’d said the wrong thing by far. The look on Cinn’s face chilled him. “I don’t mind him relying on me. I never have. I’ll always be there if he needs me.” He narrowed his eyes. “I told you that you didn’t have to come with me for this, you know.”
But if him relying on you ends up with you being coerced into committing crimes, surely it’s time for you to rethink your approach.
“I only meant that Tyler needs to learn to stand on his own two feet.”
“Yeah, of course, and I’m trying to get him there.”
By dropping everything to save the day for him, every single time ?
He knew that he should bite his tongue, but Julien couldn’t resist replying, “But what if he needs to be allowed to fall before he can learn to pick himself up?”
A red flush burst across Cinn’s face, and that was how Julien knew he had gone too far.
“ Fall ? You think he hasn’t fallen enough already? Christ, Julien, you have no idea what it’s like to watch someone you care about spiral downwards again and again, hitting every damn rock on the way. So no, I won’t watch him crash and burn just because of some twisted sense of tough love. This isn’t about letting him fall. It’s about lifting him up when he’s too damn broken to stand on his own. You’ve clearly been lucky enough that you’ve never been in the position of loving someone drowning in their own demons, so you’re in no position to judge.”
Stunned into silence, Julien could only stare at the blackness rushing past them outside of the window. A few lines of defence threatened to escape his mouth, but he swallowed them.
There was one question ricocheting around his mind that refused to be silenced, however. He studied Cinn’s reflection in the darkened glass across from them, asking the question, “Do you still love him?” Every fibre of his being held a breath in anticipation, every muscle in his face tensed, a perfect blank mask that would show no reaction to Cinn’s answer.
Fiddling with the drawstring of his hoodie, Cinn exhaled a breath, then said, “Tyler’s my blood. Have I even told you that we met in juvie? Anyway, he saved me in there. I wouldn’t have made it through without him. We grew up together, that year we spent in Feltham, then the years that followed. I’ll always feel connected to him in some way. But to answer your question, no. It’s not like that between us any longer. Hasn’t been in years.” Cinn hesitated before continuing, “For me, at least.”
Julien allowed some of the tension to dissipate from his body. “Does he still love you? ”
Cinn took a moment. “In a complicated way, maybe? His attachment to me is all wrapped up in how much we depended on each other in the past. He’s never been able to move on with his life like I have. He had an even shittier start to life than me, though,” Cinn said forcefully, as if demanding Julien believe him. “It fucked him up more than you could ever imagine.”
Julien offered one sharp nod, pursing his lips together.
“And he wants to get clean. He really does.”
“I’m sure,” Julien said.
Continuing to study their dual reflection in the window, the realisation hit him—he was now only a handful of minutes away from finally meeting this fabled Tyler. And he could only guess at what sort of opinion Tyler would have of him. He didn’t give a damn, but what would Tyler say to Cinn about him? And what if he somehow convinced Cinn that he needed to return to London ASAP?
“You get that it’s completely over between us, right? In that way?” Cinn said quietly, almost inaudible amongst the noise of the carriage. “You don’t need to be…”
Their eyes locked upon one another in the reflection. Jealous . The unspoken word hung in the air, its toxic tendrils poisoning the atmosphere.
Julien didn’t do jealous . After all, you couldn’t possibly get jealous if you never had relationships.
“I’m not,” Julien replied, dripping confidence into every syllable, turning to flash Cinn his wolfish smile.
Of course he wasn’t. He didn’t need to be. Cinn wanted him. He saw it in every quick glance towards him when Cinn thought he wasn’t looking, the way his eyes sparked with desire whenever they touched, the way he fell into step with Julien whenever they walked, his arms brushing his on every other stride. He saw it whenever he pulled on his olive-green beanie, the tiniest of smiles gracing his lips as he positioned it on his head .
Cinn wanted him, and as soon as they flew home, Julien was going to show him exactly how much he wanted him in return.
Three knocks on the door, followed by silence.
“Sure we’ve got the right address?” asked Elliot, eyebrows crinkled as he scanned the dilapidated exterior of the small block of flats. An array of small windows, all dark, sat above window sills featuring peeling layers of glossy paint.
The curtain of the window nearest to them twitched. Moments later, heavy footsteps sounded behind the door. Julien hovered behind Cinn with Elliot, shuffling his weight from one foot to the next.
The door opened a crack.
Then flew wide.
“Buns! You came!” A young man stood in the doorway. He ran his hand over his buzz-cut blond hair. “I knew you would.”
Elliot snorted. “Buns? Please don’t tell me… like, cinnamon buns?”
The man grinned, friendly and warm. “Gave ’im that name his first day with us. He never did make them for us though, eh, Buns?”
Cinn groaned and let out a tired sigh. “Please forget you heard that immediately.”
After clutching Cinn to him with a whack on the back, the stranger reached out his hand to shake Julien’s. “Bradley. Cheers for coming all the way here.”
Bradley. Bradley Harrison. The name Cinn had given him, to transfer the money Tyler needed.
After following Bradley down a tiny corridor to the interior entrance to his flat, they were shepherded into a small kitchen. The room was a chaotic blend of mismatched dishes piled precariously in the sink, crumbs scattered across a chipped linoleum floor, and faded wallpaper peeling at the corners. A burnt toast smell hung in the air, even though it was almost eight p.m.
Julien pushed himself against a cupboard, hard pressed for standing space. The flat wasn’t warm; all three of them kept their coats on.
Bradley flicked his kettle on, then turned to them. “So, you’re that Julien, eh? Tyler often talks to Cinn in here.” Bradley nodded towards a phone on the wall. “Your name crops up a lot,” he continued, giving Julien a mischievous look that he interpreted as, not that Tyler enjoys it.
Bradley turned to Cinn, flashing him a grin. “Tyler’s been tight-lipped as ever about what the devil you’re up to in Switzerland. All hush-hush, is it?” His gaze shifted between Julien and Elliot, a touch of scrutiny in his eyes.
“Something like that,” Cinn said uneasily.
“Well, beats heading back to the slammer, I reckon,” Bradley remarked with a sigh. “I was proper gutted when I heard you got pinched. As for Tyler, mate, let me tell you, he was crushed. Took off like the wind, and I didn’t lay eyes on him for days.”
“Where is he now?” Cinn rifled through Bradley’s cupboard, producing four chipped mugs.
Bradley’s eyes darkened. “I’m sorry to tell you that Richter’s got him. That bastard. I warned Tyler a thousand times to steer clear of dealing for him again. But did he listen? Hell, no. Stupid fucker. I would throttle him, if Richter wasn’t doing it for me, anyway.” Bradley banged his fist against the counter. Perhaps Julien would have an ally in Bradley.
“What do you mean, Richter’s got him?” Elliot said. “As in, he’s locked him up somewhere?”
“Somewhere, yeah. He grabbed him off the street yesterday. I told him not to leave the house as well. No clue where he is. I keep my nose well clear of that world now.” A hint of bitterness tinged Bradley’s tone. “I only got the information about Richter grabbing him through a friend of a friend.”
Cinn passed out the mugs of tea he’d made, then closed his eyes in a dreamlike state to take a sip. Julien almost laughed. Apparently, any tea bag they found for him in Switzerland wasn’t the same.
Cinn set his mug down, then leaned against the table, crinkling his forehead. “I think I know someone who can relay a message to Richter. A kid that works for him. I was with Tyler when he spoke to him a few times. We can head out in a minute, see if he’s at his usual spot.”
“Worth a try, then,” said Elliot, who glanced at the door, clearly already wanting to be free of the claustrophobic kitchen.
“You lot can crash here tonight,” Bradley offered, and Cinn promptly expressed his gratitude, leaving Julien little room to politely decline. Elliot shot him a panicked look, but Julien shrugged in defeat. There was no way he was leaving Cinn here unprotected. “There’s a single in Tyler’s room, then there’s a sofa and a floor.”
Bradley opened the kitchen window and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the cool night air.
“Alright. We’ll be back later, then,” said Cinn. “Thanks, mate.” Draining the last of his drink, Cinn yawned before heading to the door, tugging his beanie further down on his head.
Once they were back in the freezing, early December chill, Julien and Elliot trailed behind Cinn as he marched them through numerous residential streets and a small play park to reach the top of a high street.
“Oh!” said Elliot. “There’s a fish and chip shop over there.”
The smell of grease wafted out from a shop that had a sign more battered than the fish they sold.
“We’re not here to play tourist, Elliot,” said Julien, but Cinn’s eyes lit up.
“I love that one! Maybe we can bring that kid some chips to butter him up. ”
“Butter him up? What is he, toast?”
Cinn rolled his eyes and headed straight into Cod on the Corner. Elliot shot Julien a smug, victorious smile. Yes, intervention was definitely going to be needed.
The takeaway restaurant was at least warm from the fryers. Julien studied the menu. Several of the price labels had fallen down.
“Why would you want your peas mushy?” Julien hissed into Cinn’s ear. “And what on earth are ‘scraps’?” When he reached the battered sausage, he groaned. “ Mon ami , please don’t tell me these are all typical English delicacies?”
Beside him, Cinn shook with laughter. “I’m ordering for you.”
“I’m honestly not hungry,” Julien pleaded, but Cinn ignored him, reeling off a list of menu items.
When he was finished, they huddled in the corner to wait, watching the steam blur the view out of the window. A loud, stern lady soon shouted at them that their order was ready. Cinn passed Julien a small greasy box, a tub of dark sauce, and a wooden fork. He eyed the cutlery with disdain, its cheap splintered edges seeming likely to leave him with a mouthful of wood.
Julien raised an eyebrow at the gloopy curry sauce, handing it back to Cinn with a bemused expression. “I’m not putting curry with fries,” he declared firmly.
Elliot snatched it out of Cinn’s hands. “You guys ever tried deep-fried pickles? I’ve only ever found them back in the states.”
“I fear my taste buds are not prepared for such transatlantic eccentricities. Let’s go find our friend then,” Julien said. The server was glaring at them for taking up valuable space.
He opened his box to find a surprising top layer of cheese. Certainly a bizarre choice. Underneath, the fries were far too chunky and salty for his taste, and drenched in vinegar, of all things, but Julien still wolfed them down—they hadn’t eaten any dinner. Cinn led the way all the way through the high street to a supermarket car park. He paused near a trolley stand.
“I think that’s him over there,” Cinn said quietly, jerking his head subtly towards two figures lurking by a bush. “Let me do the talking.”
“What are you afraid I’ll say?”
“Pretty much anything,” Cinn replied, and Elliot snorted.
As they approached the pair of youths, Cinn slowed his steps. The duo, a girl and boy, instantly stopped their conversation to study the three of them.
“Hey, mate. George, right?” said Cinn, stepping under a streetlamp to reveal himself clearly. “I doubt you’ll remember me. I’m Tyler’s friend.”
The girl maintained a suspicious gaze, but George flashed a smile. “Course I remember you. You’re that geezer who lent me a tenner. Need it back?”
Cinn shook his head and raised the paper bag. “I’ve come with an offering of chips in exchange for a favour. Tyler’s in trouble with Richter again. You still working for him?”
George eagerly accepted the bag, opening the box and handing it to the girl. She used her bare hands to scoop a large mouthful up. Julien stared at the pair of them, who couldn’t be much older than sixteen. They were dressed well enough, but their faces were slightly gaunt.
“Yeah. I heard about Tyler. Can’t believe he fucked up again. The story is that he was lugging around enough white to fill a damn swimming pool, but some slick crew rolled up and snatched it right from under his nose.” Even though there was nobody around, George dropped his voice to continue, “Richter’s proper pissed at him, mate. He owes him big time now. I’m worried for him, man. You know what happened to Hawk, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Let’s just say Hawk’s wings got clipped real short. The skies won’t be the same for him now. ”
Cinn flinched. Did he know this Hawk fellow? Julien moved closer to him, and George’s eyes flicked to him and Elliot.
“Who are your mates, anyway?” George asked, wariness colouring his voice.
“They’re here to help Tyler. Think you can get a message to Richter for us? We need to tell him we’ll get him the money.”
George snorted, shoving a chip into his mouth. “You sure about that? I reckon it’s a hell of a lot more than last time.”
The girl, grease all over her lips, added, “I dunno if you wanna stick your nose in. He’s really cutting loose right now. It’s not just Hawk that’s felt it. Word is on the street that he’s taken care of this woman named Sally. She was his girl, until she tried to leave him.”
“Taken care of?” Julien said, and the girl flinched. Cinn shot him a warning look.
“She was my mate’s mate. Nobody has heard from her in weeks.”
“What did the police say?” asked Julien, and George and the girl burst into laughter.
George grinned. “Where did you find this one, mate?”
“It’s a valid question,” said Elliot.
The girl eyed him with interest. “You American?”
Cinn glared at Julien and Elliot as if to say, I told you not to open your mouths.
“The police are looking into it ,” the girl mumbled through her final mouthful of chips.
“We need a time and place from Richter. We’ll meet him and Tyler with cash. That’s the deal.”
George leaned back, a sly grin on his face. “Time and place, eh? Sounds like this is a rush job. I could head there right now, but I’d lose money if I left this spot.”
Dear George didn’t seem to be teeming with customers, but Julien bit back that retort to say, “We can cover your loss for the evening, I’m sure. ”
When Cinn didn’t protest, Julien found his wallet. Luckily, they’d had the sense to exchange some money at the airport. As he handed over a handful of twenty-pound notes, George’s sleeve shuffled far enough up his arm to reveal a line of purple bruises.
George’s eyes widened in surprise at the amount, which he quickly tried to cover. “That should do it.”
“That will definitely do it,” said Cinn. “We’ll come back here at noon tomorrow for his response.” He paused. “Roughly how much money are we talking?”
“About thirty I’d say?”
Cinn failed to hide his reaction—he grimaced, then bit his lip.
“Shall I tell Richter that might be a problem?”
Julien brushed up against Cinn’s arm. “No. And don’t tell him anything about us that you don’t need to.”
George nodded, and then he and the girl headed off into the shadows.
Elliot filled their space. “Are they actually going to come back here at noon tomorrow, or will they go on a bender with that hundred pounds?”
“They’ll be back. He’s a good mate of Tyler’s. He’ll want to get him free.”
“Did you see those bruises on his arms?” Julien mused. “They looked nasty.”
Cinn shot him a dejected look. “At least he’s not dead or half-dead like Sally and Hawk.”
“This guy can’t be just walking around killing people! What is George even doing, working for a man like that?”
“Know any ethical kingpins?” Cinn said, then snorted. “In his world, things aren’t that simple.”
As the wind picked up, Elliot wrapped his coat further around him. “So, are we actually going to give that monster a load of cash, or are we going to give him his just deserts? You know which option I’d prefer, Julien. ”
A worried frown crossed Cinn’s face. “You guys don’t need to have any more involvement. I can—” He hesitated. “ Borrow the cash from you and meet him by myself. It’s easier if we don’t cause trouble.”
“Not a chance,” said Elliot before Julien could. “We’ll all go, and I’m more than happy to have a nice long conversation with our friend Richter.”
“What about Auri?” asked Cinn. “Would they be cool with that?”
Elliot shrugged. “How would they find out? Don’t you want to see that fucker punished for what he’s doing?” He looked to Julien for backup.
“We are not killing him, Elliot,” Julien said, pressing his mouth into a firm line. “Cinn’s right. We can’t take that risk. Let’s go back to that flat and come up with a plan. I’m sure we can find a way to sort this.”
The relieved smile Cinn gave him sent a comforting wave through Julien; the warmth radiating from him permeating through Julien’s ice-cold skin. As they fell into step, Cinn’s hand brushed against Julien’s several times before Julien grabbed it, squeezing it tightly, then ran his thumb over it reassuringly.
“This will all be over soon,” he murmured into his ear.
Cinn didn’t reply, but leaned into Julien’s side to nudge his head against his, the simple gesture so intimate it made Julien’s breath catch in his throat, his heart stumble, his mind whirl with possibilities.