by John Booth
It was a surprisingly long walk to where his bedroom window looked down over the alley. When he got there, he stared at the door that had been so active the night before. It looked as though it hadn’t been opened in years. A single stone step stood in front of the door which was raised up eight inches or so from the street. The step was so old it had worn away in a gentle curve towards its middle.
The door may once have been painted blue, but the paint was so old that it looked almost white. Paint flaked off in large patches revealing dark wood underneath. There wasn’t a door handle, just a slit viewing port to see who was calling. Peter assumed the mechanism was brass but it was so black with grime it could only be a guess.
Peter turned his attention to the wall opposite the door. There was a similarly worn stone step on the other side but no sign of a door. The light down the alleyway wasn’t bright with the sun so low and the different shade of brickwork was difficult to spot, though it had been quite clear to him last night. Peter stood on the step to nowhere and pressed his hands against the bricks. The wall was filthy and he was shocked at how much dirt he had on his hands when he pulled away.
The bricks of the wall felt cold and a little damp. People often think you don’t get dew in the centre of a city as you do in the countryside, but Peter knew you did. Dew coats bricks and stone in the morning as if someone had used a mist spray on them. It made the bricks feel cold and disgusting. However, he found no sign of a break in the wall. The dirt lay evenly over bricks and mortar and though the mortar had a few cracks in it, the cracks were random and only ran for a few inches.
Peter gave up. He felt more than a little disgusted in his naivety in believing for a second that what he had seen wasn’t a dream. He was pretty certain the Goth girl was real, but he was almost sure she must have been a prostitute plying her trade.
Peter felt surprised there were no condoms or needles in the alley. Once he got over his initial reaction to the chip papers and puke, the alley was remarkably clear of rubbish.
He walked back up to the street and discovered he’d missed a street sign high up on the wall. Apparently, this alley was Hellport Lane. Peter found the name amusing, as it seemed to suit the place.
Leaving the alley, Peter turned to the left and once again found himself staring into the large windows of Solly’s Furniture Emporium. Once upon a time and in better days, the shop had probably been a department store. The shop boasted two large plate glass windows separated by a pair of wood-and-glass doors. Some way down towards the centre of the shop, a wide staircase led up to the second floor. The owner had piled furniture up the stairs, blocking them except for the narrowest of passageways. A notice over the stairs dangled down from the ceiling on two wires and read ‘Staff Only’. Not that there was any sign of staff.
Peter suddenly had the urge to find out where a door in the alley would come out in the shop. It was dark inside the shop and the piled up furniture blocked Peter’s view so he couldn’t see from the window. He decided to go into the shop and have a look round.
Only one of the double doors was unlocked and it took him several goes to find the right door and force it to open. The hinges were stiff and it creaked as it opened. When the door closed behind him, the traffic sounds disappeared completely leaving him in a disturbing silence. The locals must have figured out how to make soundproofed doors a long time ago.
The place had the smell of a second-hand book shop, the air being musty and stale. Unlike a bookshop, the mustiness was overlaid with beeswax and the pungent smell of polish. This struck Peter as being slightly strange as the linoleum floor looked as though it had never been cleaned while the furniture resting on was even dirtier. Peter wondered if furniture always smelled of old polish if you kept enough of it together for long enough.
A narrow walkway ran through the shop towards the back and Peter strode along it hoping to find where the bricked up door would come out. The silence in the shop was oppressive, reminding Peter of a funeral parlour and there was no sign of the short fat bald man Peter had seen the day before.
“Why aren’t you at school?” a voice asked cynically from behind him. Peter jumped and turned in a fighting crouch only to discover the fat man standing behind him a foot or so away. Peter wondered how the man could have got that close. All of Peter’s training had failed him, making a mockery of his childhood. He forced his body to relax and stood up.
“You don’t think I know, do you, Peter Craig? But Solly knows a thing or two I can tell you.” The little man rubbed his nose with his finger making the ancient sign of knowing more than he said.
“If you know, why ask?” Peter replied defensively. Neither he nor his mother knew they would be moving to the flat until two days ago, but he suspected their new landlady got the word out as soon as they arranged to rent it.
“To see if you would lie about it, of course,” the man told him cheerfully. He held out his hand out for Peter to shake, “My name is Solly Silo and I would like to welcome you both to the neighbourhood and my little furniture emporium.” Peter shook Solly’s hand and squeezed back hard when Solly tried to crush his fingers. “A strong handshake, I see,” Solly noted appraisingly, “A man should have a strong handshake ready for when he needs one.”
“I take it you know our landlady?” Peter decided to show this man he wasn’t going to be intimidated by parlour tricks.
“Maggie May? They should have taken the old witch away years ago. No, I never speak to her if I can avoid it. But look at you, six foot tall and not yet fully grown. You cut a fine figure of a man, if I say so myself. But what sort of man will you make, I wonder?” Solly stopped as if waiting for Peter to give him an answer, “Never mind… you can’t help what has happened to you. A man should not be judged by his family is what I say. Now tell me, what are you planning to do with yourself until your mother gets you into college?”
“I’m looking for a part time job…”
“Excellent, excellent. And I have just the part time job for you right here.” Solly turned his back on Peter and then spun to face him. He stared Peter straight in the eyes, “and can you start today, this very minute?”
“It depends on what you want me to…”
“I’ll pay you for three hours work in the morning and three in the afternoon. I’ll give you a twenty pound note when you finish each session. Will you accept me as your master under those conditions?”
Peter knew he was being offered excellent pay for someone his age but didn’t like Solly’s use of the word ‘master’. He decided to prevaricate rather than answer. “I’ll work for you provided the work is reasonable. I don’t mind a boss but I’m not looking for a master.”
Solly laughed loudly. “Not such a fool as you look then? Good, I don’t want a fool to help me. I want you to move furniture and clean things. Is that acceptable, young man?”
“Yes sir,” Peter answered. He was sure he could walk away easily enough if he didn’t like the work while forty pounds a day would help his mother a great deal. Peter knew there would be stoppages like national insurance taken out of what he earned, but it would still be a good wage. “When do you want me to start?”
Solly glanced at a large gold watch on his wrist before he answered. “It has gone nine o’clock, but not by much. Work for me until twelve and I will ignore your late start this time. Move the furniture over there…” Solly indicated a large pile of tables and chairs to his right and waved to a small gap between the piles to his left, “over to there, and then I will tell you what I want doing next.”
Without waiting for an answer, Solly walked away into the bowels of his shop. Peter looked at the stack of furniture Solly wanted moved. The pile was higher than his head, but a job was a job and he shrugged to himself. He found a chair and stood on it to lift the dining chairs down. He put the chairs to one side while he dragged the polished rosewood table that had been underneath the chairs over to where Solly indicated the new pile should start.
The table was far
too heavy for him to lift and it screeched as he pulled it over the old linoleum floor leaving thick black marks on its battered surface. Peter looked at the marks in horror, but there was nothing he could do about it. At least Solly might pay him for the morning’s work if he finished the task, so he decided to carry on.
By noon, Peter was exhausted but the pile now stood exactly where he had been told to move it. Peter wiped his brow and stretched his back which was starting to ache. While he was stretching, Solly appeared behind him without a sound.
“Excellent! An excellent job, young man. And here is your payment. No need for us to involve the taxman is there?” Solly waved a crisp twenty pound note in Peter’s face and Peter took it gratefully. “I expect you back here at two o’clock precisely, and then I want you to sweep the floor you have just cleared and then put the furniture back exactly where you found it. I expect that will keep you busy until five.”
Solly walked off as if there was absolutely nothing to talk about and vanished before Peter could think of anything to say. Peter looked down at the twenty pound note in his hand with something approaching astonishment. He put it carefully in his back pocket with the five pound note his mother had given him earlier. He looked at his watch to check the time and left the store to find something to eat.
He didn’t want to be late back on his first day on the job so he decided the fish and chip shop below the flat would be a good place to eat. The shop had an area for people to sit down and eat. It was a typical fish and chip shop having glass fronted heated displays forming a serving counter and cutting the shop in two.
Behind the counter on the far wall stood big fryers along with glass-fronted heated racks storing cooked savaloys, pies, fried chicken and the like. There was a serving area to the left and people queued along the side, where their eyes were drawn to the golden battered cod, haddock and plaice stacked behind glass. Peter was fascinated by the sight of the fat churning in the fryers as the water in the potatoes boiled away in the deep pools of hot fat.
In the customer half of the shop there were three round tables with plastic chairs set around them. There were condiments of salt, vinegar and ketchup on each table. The tables looked clean, but worn, their white surfaces chipped away at the edges leaving brown plastic visible.
When Peter walked in there was nobody in the shop apart from the old Chinese woman serving behind the counter. He asked her for a portion of fish and chips to eat in and she served his meal on a china plate. He had expected to eat his meal in a polystyrene tray and felt pleasantly surprised.
He thanked the lady as she passed him a knife and fork. She smiled and said, “You good boy, Peter,” before vanishing through a bead screened doorway. Peter’s mouth fell open, stunned by her words and he wondered if everybody in this city knew his name.
Chapter Three
Trouble
Peter sat down at the table in the farthest corner away from the door with his back to a wall. The chips were excellent, not like the pre-processed French fries served in American fast food outlets. These were proper chunky British chips, sliced from freshly peeled King Edward potatoes and fried at high temperature so their outer surfaces were crisp while their centres were soft and steaming. The fish was good too, a generous fillet of cod coated in batter, thick and crunchy on the outside with the boneless filleted fish inside white and flaky.
Peter was so busy enjoying his lunch that he didn��t notice the three young people who came in after him. It was only when they took seats on the table next to his that he bothered to look up. They were three teens, his age or maybe a year older. Two boys and a girl in dark blue jeans and hoodies with their hoods pulled up over their heads. Peter wondered if they were going to leave them up while they ate when they pulled them away from their faces. They had bought a plate of chips between them, which they ate with their fingers.
When they started talking and laughing, Peter’s first thought was that they must be foreign, as he didn’t immediately understand what they were saying. He then realised a combination of strong local accents and slang had confused him; they were actually locals. The Establishment School he went to hadn’t allowed the children to speak anything but formal English. All the kids at school were children of The Village. They never mixed with ordinary kids. Peter realised he was incredibly out of step with the world he lived in.
As he got used to their voices, he worked out the most outspoken boy, who appeared to be the leader of the group, was called Gaz. Gaz had bought something for a girl he was going out with, a girl called Sal. Peter wasn’t convinced their relationship was real because the others, Kay and Col, giggled every time Gaz made some boast about their relationship. Gaz glared at them when they laughed.
“This is majestic. Its proper nang,” Gaz informed his friends, which Peter deduced meant it was good. Gaz pulled a plastic bag from the floor and spent some time fiddling about in it. A loud buzzing filled the room and to Peter’s astonishment, Gaz stood a nine inch vibrator on the table. Not only did this bring peals of laughter from his friends, it also increased the noise ten-fold as the vibrator bounced around on the plastic surface. When the vibrator fell over, Gaz switched it off and put it away. The Chinese woman came through the bead curtain and stared suspiciously at them.
Kay looked as though she might be sick with laughter, as she seemed to be choking. “You can’t give her that. That’s so random!” Kay said when she managed to recover. She reached for a chip from the plate, still giggling.
“It’s sick.” Col told Gaz, but it didn’t sound like he disapproved in the slightest.
“What’re you staring at?” Gaz said loudly and Peter realised Gaz was talking to him. “You dissin’ me?”
“Sorry, I’m just sitting eating my lunch. No offence,” Peter said quickly. He didn’t want any trouble, or to do anything that might get him noticed.
Gaz appeared to calm down. He leaned over the table, his two friends joined him and they started whispering to each other. Peter decided the best course of action was to leave as quickly as possible. He stood up, walking around their table while staying as far away from them as possible and stepped out of the shop.
The noise of the High Street hit him like a physical blow. Peter felt a little light-headed from the adrenaline sweeping through his body. He’d seen far too many television stories about violence on the streets and had no wish to experience it first hand.
It felt good to be out in the street, though the air could hardly be described as fresh, unless petrol and diesel fuels turned you on. Peter began walking back to the furniture shop. It was less than twenty minutes since he left but it was beginning to look like a place of sanctuary in a mad world.
As he crossed Hellport Lane he was pushed violently in the back and stumbled to the ground. Establishment training took over and he turned the force of the push into a body roll, coming to his feet facing his assailant with both hands held up in the classic karate defensive position.
Gaz had pushed him. His two friends giggled, standing a few paces behind him. Kay’s giggle froze as instead of lying on the ground, Peter stood as though it was he that threatened them.
“I’m required by law to tell you I’ve been trained in defensive and offensive unarmed combat.” Any threat in Peter’s speech was ruined by the shake in his voice. “Leave me alone. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Yeah, right,” Gaz replied as he looked at the trembling boy in the Kung Fu movie pose. He made the unfortunate mistake of believing Peter was running a bluff and ran at Peter, attempting to punch him. Peter pulled Gaz’s arm forward and bent it backwards so Gaz stumbled. He flailed about trying to stop his face from smashing into the pavement.
Gaz managed to regain his balance and spun around. However, Peter held Gaz’s right thumb, which he bent backwards into a painful position. No matter how Gaz moved, Peter kept his thumb locked and Gaz’s movements caused so much pain he ended up stationary, bent over with his other arm stretched out trying to keep his balance.
The two teens stood in a frozen tableau, Gaz unable to move and Peter unable to decide what to do next.
The plastic bag with Gaz’s gift in flew out of Gaz’s hand and landed on the road. As they stood, a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud pulled to a stop, its front wheel crushing Gaz’s bag.
Col and Kay seemed to be trying to decide whether to rush at Peter or run away. He was supposed to be an easy mark but neither wanted to get hurt trying to rescue Gaz. Peter didn’t have a clue what to do. Even defending himself was illegal, given the papers he and his mother signed before they left the Establishment. He could be in trouble for restraining Gaz and the last thing he wanted was for the police to find out.
While the teenagers stood trying to figure out what to do next, a muscular Chinese man in a black business suit got out of the front passenger side of the Rolls Royce and opened its rear door. A second man arrived from the other side of the car, framing the door protectively. An elderly Chinese man in clothes looking as though he’d just finished a Fu Manchu movie, stepped delicately out of the vehicle, and stepped towards Gaz.
“My name is Han No,” he said in perfect English with a strong Chinese accent. He turned to face Peter. “You may call me Mr. No, Peter Craig. Release this irritating child. If these youths are stupid enough to cause you further trouble, my men will see to them.” Peter released Gaz in a daze. He wondered what was going on, and how everybody knew his name.
Gaz stumbled to his feet and shot a look of pure venom at Peter. “You’re dead. Dead meat.” Giving a long regretful look at the bag with the crushed vibrator in it, Gaz and his two friends ran off down the High Street, pushing a few pedestrians as they made their escape.
Mr. No turned away from Peter and began walking towards the chip shop, his men staying close to his side. One of them moved ahead of Mr. No to open the door. They ignored Peter.
