The Graft

by Martina Cole

  It was said with kindness and that was Nick’s undoing.

  ‘I killed that boy, Siddy! I killed him and I knew what I was doing, see? I hit him as hard as I could and I kept hitting him . . .’

  ‘ ’Course you did. Anyone would have done the same.’

  Sid was talking him down again and wondered at something so mundane in their world getting to Nick Leary so badly. They crunched people for a living. He and Nick had been nose to nose themselves many times over the years. So what was the big drama about this boy? He was a thief, he was carrion, he would probably be out mugging old ladies now if Nick had not put him out of the game.

  He was on the verge of breakdown over it, though, that much was evident.

  ‘Why don’t you go home, Nick? Try and sleep, get yourself back together.’

  He stared at Sid for a while then said suddenly: ‘What brought you here tonight?’

  Sid shrugged. His black hair was shining in the light coming from the pub. His huge shoulders made him look suddenly intimidating. Nick was afraid of him for a moment. It was coke paranoia. Even though he knew that, he still felt the full shock of his own fear.

  ‘I want me money, Nick. I want the money Proctor owes me for the drugs I supplied. It’s ten grand and I ain’t swallowing me knob over it. He got it in both your names, and you know and I know you used him so if anything went tits up there would never be any comeback to you. Well, there is now.’

  Nick nodded.

  ‘In truth, I had forgotten about it. You’ll get it.’

  It was said with all the contempt he felt. Ten grand was nothing to him and Sid should have known and respected that fact.

  Sidney did.

  This was the Nick he knew, arrogant and quick to take offence. There was hope for him yet. Siddy smiled in the darkness, thrusting home his barb quickly and neatly.

  ‘I heard he was nonceing young boys, is it true?’

  Nick was alert now, all his other worries forgotten.

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ’A little bird told me. Actually it was a little bloke.’

  Nick could hear the accusation in the other man’s voice and knew Sid was feeling him out, fishing for the whole story. This was what he had been frightened of, people finding out about all that shit and then putting two and two together and making five.

  He coughed loudly. He was thinking on his feet because he knew that if this man decided to pursue his suspicions the chances were he would find out more than he’d bargained for.

  Their world was far too small for Nick to allow something like this to take hold. He had to nip it in the bud now while he still had the chance.

  ‘I found out he was trying it on with the boys we use for the clubs. It was me that done him in the lock-up. But that is between me and you, right? No one else knows about it.’

  Siddy grinned even as he heard the threat in his old friend’s voice.

  ‘But people do know about it, Nick, and they applaud what you did. Stevie couldn’t keep his trap shut, see? He told the boy’s father in confidence and you know old Mackie - he might as well have put it in the Romford fucking Recorder. No one else would want it put about that their own son had been vandalised by that piece of shite, but Mackie couldn’t keep it to himself. The man’s a cunt. Anyway, I thought I’d let you know because chances are you’ll be getting your collar felt at some point. I assume you’ve already put yourself out of the frame? You have a tame filth, don’t you? That Rudde . . . I hear you and him are practically bum chums.’

  Sid laughed at his own wit.

  Nick relaxed. Though Mackie was due a visit now, and he would get one he’d never forget.

  ‘You want a trade off, don’t you? I might have known. I get to keep me ten grand and you keep your trap shut if I get Rudde to do you a favour, isn’t that it?’

  ’Always quick on the uptake, you, Nick.’

  ‘What do you want then?’

  ‘I need a few names, that’s all.’

  ‘You like to kick a man when he’s down, don’t you, Sid?’

  Siddy grinned.

  ‘I could say the same about you and poor old Gary Proctor, mate.’

  Tyrell had brought in a bucket full of ice and placed a few cans of Red Stripe in it. On the black ash coffee table he had put out crisps and nuts. He had also rolled himself a large joint of skunk. He had a feeling he would need it once this boy told him the whole nine yards.

  They both cracked a beer and Tyrell watched as the boy sipped his and watched the TV surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘Why ain’t you at home then? Sonny said you had a big house and two other kids.’

  The question was asked in all innocence but it still made Tyrell feel bad.

  ‘Never you mind that. I want some answers. I have kept my side of the bargain, it’s time for you to keep yours.’

  The boy picked up a bowl of Doritos and started to eat them.

  ‘It’s Justin you need to talk to but he’s disappeared off the face of the earth. He used to knock about with a boy called Kerr, or so I heard anyway. Kerr works out of the Cross and also out of a rat house in East London. A bloke picks them up a couple of times a week from the station and they rent the rooms from him. This bloke brings in the customers, see, you don’t get any say.’

  Tyrell guessed rightly that this boy had been a frequent visitor there before the HIV had grabbed hold and made him look so ill.

  ‘He’s a piece of shit, that bloke. Right rough, you know, and you can never tell what’s going to be going down there, if you’ll excuse the pun.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  The boy lay back to make himself more comfortable.

  ‘What can I say? You could get lumbered with two or three at the same time there, but at least the money’s good.’

  He could see the shock and the horror on Tyrell’s face and said hastily, ‘Sonny never went there. At least, not that I know of anyway.’

  He knew it was what Tyrell wanted to hear. So did Tyrell, who knew the boy was lying.

  ‘Who was the bloke who picked them up? Do you know his name?’

  ‘It was just Mr P. But he was a hard old fucker. We was all scared of him, he was one of them straight-acting heavy blokes. He would make us all do what he wanted but didn’t give us any money or anything. It was as if he was getting us the work so we had to give him whatever he wanted for free.’

  ‘Where exactly did he pick you all up from, and what days and times? Also write down the names of anyone you remember who might know anything about my Sonny and his other dealings. Anything, no matter how small. It could be important, right?’

  Tyrell wanted to see this man for himself. He knew when he did it would probably open up a whole new heartbreak for him. But he had come this far, he might as well see it through to the bitter end.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tyrell had covered the boy up with a quilt. He watched him sleep for a while, wondering at a child of that age who had two parents yet no one to call his own. How did people give birth to a child and then completely forget about them? It was beyond his comprehension.

  This boy had a good sense of humour and street smarts that belied his years. Considering all that had happened to him Tyrell marvelled that he still had that small spark of decency inside him.

  Willy had cared about Sonny Boy in a way no one else would understand. He had tried to sanitise the story he had told to save Tyrell’s feelings and Sonny Boy’s reputation. It had been terrible to listen to, let alone think about now Tyrell was alone and Willy Lomax was sleeping. It was shocking and it was frightening.

  Real life was not what everyone thought it was. At least Tyrell knew that now if nothing else. Creeping from the room, he left the boy to whatever dreams or nightmares he commanded while sleeping.

  He blamed himself for this, but he also blamed Jude. She must have known what was going on. No, he corrected himself, she did know what was going on. Even after all that had happened he sti
ll wanted to believe the best of her. It was hard admitting that it was his own mother who had sent Sonny to his fate.

  Why had he not seen her for what she was like everyone else had? Why had he given her the benefit of the doubt all the time? Why didn’t he go round there now and break her fucking neck once and for all?

  He knew one thing. Next time he saw a street child he would not be so quick to dismiss them. This had been a learning curve in more ways than one.

  He looked at what Willy had written down for him. The boy had nice handwriting and that had surprised Tyrell, but apparently he had not done badly at school when he had bothered to go. Since the onset of his HIV he had taken to reading when he could not work because of the intense tiredness he experienced.

  What a different life he could have lived with different parents, a different home, a different set of values.

  Willy had gone to his backpack and shown Tyrell his reading torch, displaying it proudly like it was some kind of precious gift, which he supposed to the boy was probably the case. Willy owned it and Willy, God love him, did not own much. It was a large yellow workman’s torch, possibly stolen but the batteries must have been expensive for the boy on his kind of money.

  Tyrell’s own boys used torches to play with, to scare one another by turning them on under their chins and making faces at each other in the dark. They would never see these torches as an integral part of their lives, depend on them for light and comfort while they slept out in doorways. Willy had said the torch enabled him to reach into other worlds, such as J.K. Rowling’s and Terry Pratchett’s. He liked to lose himself in fantasies where people always solved their problems, made sure that right was done and evil cast aside.

  If only life was that simple.

  The child in Willy was still uppermost even though people had done their best to trample on his innocence, snatch it from him.

  How could Sonny have been a part of all this too and his own father not even realise?

  So many men were fathers, had brought kids into the world, yet so few seemed to be a proper daddy, the man who was always there for his kids, no matter what. Tyrell had believed for a long time that he had been there for all three of his boys, but he hadn’t.

  Not really.

  If he had been a more complete man he would not have had to bury his eldest and then find out that he had been a part of society most people walked away from. Tyrell included.

  His mother had always said, ‘We are all guilty of something even if it is only laziness or ignorance.’ He had never understood what she meant till now.

  He knew one thing, though, he was going to see this through to the bitter end and he would get the truth of it from Jude, no matter what it took. If he had to batter her brains out on the floor then he would.

  She would have the full SP. She always did. It was how people like her survived.

  Gino was listening to Jude avidly, taking in all she was saying. He knew she was trying to help him on his way and he appreciated it. Her voice was hoarse from too many cigarettes and too much booze. He had arrived with a bottle of cheap vodka, and the cheaper the better as far as she was concerned. She didn’t want smoothness or flavour, her only interest in alcohol was to get as far out of her box as she could. Mixed with the brown it usually mellowed her out, but not tonight.

  She knew she had to grab Gino as soon as possible, get him under her influence before he started to try and think for himself. That was the last thing she needed. At least with Sonny there’d been the blood tie to keep him under her thumb.

  His death had been a real inconvenience and no one seemed to see that except her. It was all right for Tyrell and everyone else, they had their lives settled. Or they thought they did. Not one of them gave a monkey’s for her and her needs.

  As she watched Gino trying to make everything all right, she smiled. Picking up the mobile the police had not got near, she once more dialled the number.

  This time the phone was answered.

  It was her turn to switch off now. The unexpected was always worse than the expected. No one knew that better than Jude.

  Pink Floyd were belting out ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’, and Nick was listening to them. He was alone, in his Range Rover, with a wrap of coke and a bottle of Scotch, wondering how his life had come to this.

  He started up the motor. It was chilly now and he had watched his own house for too long. Tammy didn’t know about this. When he went on the missing list, even after he had seen his Frankie, he often parked up and watched the house. His mobile had been going all night but he had ignored it. In fact he was sick of the sound of Dam Busters.

  It had been funny once, hilarious even, now it depressed him.

  He drove on to his property. The lights were all on. As usual it looked like Battersea power station. He switched off his phone and watched as the dogs all came up to greet him, their stumpy tails wagging. Getting out of the car, he stumbled and cursed himself silently for driving while so full of drink and drugs.

  The front door opened and Tammy stood there in all her glory, a scowl on her face and her mouth already going into overdrive. He wondered then why he had not bought the attack dogs he had been offered. It would have been like a dream come true to see them rip his wife limb from limb. But it was like anything in life: the more you desired it, the further away it seemed to be.

  He walked into his home and his fate.

  He had made a decision at least. He was going to sort all this out once and for all. It was what he had been dreading, but it needed to be done. Maybe then at last he could get on with his life and put what had happened behind him where it belonged.

  Willy woke up to the smell of eggs and bacon. Stretching himself lazily on the couch, he saw that the BBC breakfast news was on low and a cup of steaming tea had been placed on the coffee table for him.

  It took him a few minutes to remember where he was.

  Sitting up, his blond hair spiked on his head and his eyes still full of sleep, he saw the smiling face of Tyrell and envied his dead friend for his closeness to this man.

  ’All right, son?’

  Willy smiled amiably.

  ‘Never better. That breakfast smells fucking handsome.’

  Tyrell went back into the kitchen. The last thing he’d wanted was a cooked breakfast but he knew the boy would want one, more to the point need one, so he had slipped out and bought the supplies ready for his waking up.

  Now, though, the smell was getting to him too and he was actually looking forward to eating. He had originally planned to take Willy to a café but after the experience of the night before had decided against it. He felt embarrassed to be seen with the boy. Even though he knew that was wrong, he was man enough to admit it to himself.

  But he would have to venture out with him eventually whatever he felt because he was going to take him to the Cross and ask him to try and find Justin. He would also enlist the help of the Clarkes in finding this Mr P because he would need all the help he could get there.

  Once more Tyrell asked himself if he really wanted to know all that had happened in his son’s life, and once more the answer was yes. He owed it to his dead boy not to turn his back on a single unpalatable fact, the way he had done while Sonny Boy was alive.

  Billy Clarke had not seen Nick Leary for a long time, and was relishing the prospect of seeing him again. He had always liked Nick for some reason. He knew that he was a bit of a stiff in as much as he had made his money over other people’s bodies, but to Billy that was part of their way of life. He was aware that someone would try and do it to him one day and consequently was always ready and waiting for them to try.

  He would give them a run for their money, and he had a feeling that Nick Leary was waiting for the exact same thing and was as well provided for such an eventuality. It was the nature of their game, their lives. You took off those who had what you wanted, then you protected what you saw as yours.

  But Nick had always had a certain coldness about him that had
worried Billy and many other people of his acquaintance. It was an innate distance in him that told you he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted - and from what Billy heard it had got him an eight-bedroomed farmhouse with indoor pool and stables. What it had not got him, however, was peace of mind or happiness, but then they were luxuries people like them could never afford.

  As he made his way into Essex Billy marvelled at how much it had changed over the years since he had been a regular visitor. Those days were well in the past, thank God, but he had had some memorable fights as well as fucks in Southend before he had married and settled down to the usual two point four kids. He knew those days were well behind him. It was good to look back with nostalgia, though, and as he and Nick went back such a long time it should be a pleasant visit.