A Numbers Game (Mal & Jackie Book 1)

by RJ Dark

The door opened.

  ‘I did knock, but the door was open,’ said Jackie.

  Frank stared at him, then blinked like a cat that had found a particularly warm place to sit.

  ‘Where is Peter?’

  ‘Asleep,’ said Jackie.

  ‘Where is Roman?’

  ‘He’s asleep too. You should really make sure your men are getting enough rest before you give them guard duty.’

  Frank nodded.

  ‘Why are you burning down my shops, Jackie Singh Khattar?’

  ‘Why are you torturing my friend?’

  ‘Because you are burning down my shops.’

  ‘But I am not burning down your shops.’

  ‘And why would I believe you?’

  ‘Because if I was coming after you for something, boss,’ he said, ‘I’d come after you, not piss about with a few fires.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Frank. ‘I have people like Harry here to stop anyone getting foolish ideas like “coming after me”.’

  ‘No you don’t,’ said Jackie, and he sauntered into the Portakabin.

  ‘What?’ Frank stood.

  ‘I mean, no doubt you do have people to protect you, but not him.’ He pointed at Harry. ‘Or sleepy Peter and Roman out there. They were amateur hour. Now Harry’ – he pointed at the man holding the guillotine blade poised above my little finger and took another step into the Portakabin – ‘he’s a frightener. You bring him in for people like Mal here. Harry’s a big lad, violent no doubt, probably enjoys it from the look of him. But his suit doesn’t cover that he’s running to fat. I bet he’s slow too.’

  ‘Not slow,’ said Harry, and he raised the blade of the guillotine a little.

  I sweated a lot.

  ‘If that blade falls and hurts Mal,’ said Jackie quietly, not taking his gaze from Frank. ‘I will kill you both.’

  Harry’s eyes widened and I think he had to physically stop himself from letting go of the blade and charging at Jackie.

  ‘I had heard you were good,’ Frank let go of my hand and stood. Then he waved at Harry. ‘Let Mr Jones go for a moment,’ he said. Harry let my hand go. I moved it, quickly.

  ‘Talk is meaningless,’ said Jackie. he rolled his shoulders, loosening up. ‘How about I show you how good I am?’ He seemed to fill with energy; it boiled off him and I found it hard to believe that Frank couldn’t feel it, the danger. Maybe he did, maybe he was just used to being around violent people. Dangerous men were probably two-a-penny in Frank’s world.

  ‘Show me?’ said Frank.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jackie. He walked up to Harry, arms hanging loosely at his sides. ‘Me and your big fellow. Let’s go at it.’

  ‘In here?’ said Frank, a smile on his face.

  ‘If you want,’ said Jackie. ‘But outside is probably fairer. A big man like Harry needs a bit of room.’ He stared up at Harry and pointed at the guillotine on the desk. ‘You can bring your toy, if it makes you feel better.’

  Harry looked at Frank, and Frank gave him a small nod.

  ‘There is a yard out back, with a wall around it to keep the prying eyes away from my business,’ said Frank. Harry twisted a peg on the guillotine and removed the heavy blade. He held it in one hand as if it weighed no more than a kitchen knife.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Jackie,’ I said.

  He turned to me, grinned. ‘I know I don’t have to, Mal. I want to.’

  ‘You still don’t have to.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, soft lad,’ he said.

  ‘But he’s got a …’

  ‘I know what he’s got,’ said Jackie. ‘Now, come on, Frankie, open the back door,’ he said, and smiled at me as if he wasn’t about to fight for his life.

  Frank stood and walked to the door. I followed, and as I passed Harry, he shifted his grip on the guillotine blade. I flinched, hating myself for it. Frank smiled at me, just so I knew he’d seen my weakness, and he led us through a little kitchen that led into a yard. It wasn’t big; if three men stood with their arms stretched out, they would touch the walls on both sides. It was a lot longer than it was wide, maybe about fifteen metres, and at the end was a gate that led out into, well, wherever we were. Sodium lights threw a sickly yellow glow that leached into the yard, giving the gloom a jaundiced edge. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realised that the walls were metal shipping containers. I wouldn’t want to fight anyone here; my mind was already filling with images of Jackie being trapped in a corner and hacked into pieces with a guillotine blade by a psychotic stationer. Jackie came out the door behind me and put his hands on the tops of my arms, gently moving me to one side.

  ‘Let Harry pass, Mal – he’s big lad.’

  ‘Jackie, I …’

  ‘It’s fine, Mal,’ he said.

  Jackie walked down the yard until he was about halfway, then he turned, rolled his shoulders, put his hands behind his neck and stretched, bending to one side and then the other while he waited for Harry to approach.

  ‘Are we just going to get into it,’ said Jackie, ‘or is someone going to say start?’

  Frank came to stand by me. ‘I will say start, make it more like a boxing bout, eh?’ He turned to me. ‘Mr Jones, are you a betting man?’

  ‘Not really.’ I don’t think I could have sounded gloomier if I had tried.

  ‘What odds?’ said Jackie.

  ‘You are the smaller man, and without a weapon,’ said Frank. ‘I give you ten to one.’

  ‘Then Mal will put a tonne on me,’ said Jackie.

  ‘Jackie, I’m skint.’ I blurted the words out before realising that saying that made it sound like I didn’t believe he could win.

  Jackie grinned. ‘Stop worrying,’ he said. ‘If we’re doing this, then there’s no reason we shouldn’t make a bit of cash at the same time.’

  ‘Are you ready?’ said Frank. Jackie nodded and stared at Harry as he moved to stand opposite him. Harry’s hand loosened then tightened around his heavy blade. ‘Well, you may as well get to it then.’

  Harry moved first. He’d been holding the guillotine blade so the sharp edge faced behind him and he twisted his wrist, bringing the blade up across his body in a move that would have cut deep into Jackie’s thigh and ended the fight right there if Jackie had not moved, but he jumped backward, like a shocked cat, the minute Frank said ‘then’. The blade whistled through thin air, its weight making Harry step forward to counter it.

  ‘He’s quicker than I thought, Mal,’ shouted Jackie.

  Harry stepped forward and brought his blade down toward Jackie’s shoulder.

  Jackie ducked beneath it, sidestepping to the left. ‘Not quick enough though, eh?’ He darted in, delivering two quick punches to Harry’s left kidney then dancing backward.

  Harry didn’t seem to have felt the punches. He spread his arms out, together with the reach of the weapon he nearly filled the entire width of the yard. He walked toward Jackie, who in turn was slowly backing up.

  ‘Sound tactic, Harry,’ Jackie said, ‘backing me into a corner, then I’ve nowhere to go.’

  Harry didn’t speak, only continued advancing on Jackie.

  ‘Your friend,’ said Frank, leaning over, arms folded as if we discussed a horse, ‘he talks too much.’

  I shrugged. ‘He always has done.’

  ‘Bit boring though, Harry,’ said Jackie. ‘This slow dance.’ He darted in, Harry made a grab at him with his free hand but Jackie was already moving out of his reach, his dummy move having done its work. Harry’s hand met thin air. Jackie came forward again, at a run and bent almost double at the waist. Harry expected another attack at his kidneys and tried to cover, but Jackie ran straight past. As he did, he dug out with his elbow, landing a sharp blow to Harry’s thigh just as Harry was reacting and putting his weight on that leg to swing his blade around. The hit fouled Harry’s swing. He grunted and staggered. At the same time, Jackie came back to standing, his arms outstretched, and he jogged in a small circle around Harry until he was facing
us again. ‘The master is at work,’ he shouted.

  Behind him Harry turned. Lifted his heavy blade and ran forward.

  ‘Jackie!’

  Did he grin in that moment? I was never sure. And as the blade came down, he let himself fall into a forward roll. Twisting as he fell, coming up facing Harry, whose heavy blade had buried itself in the mortar between two of the big slabs that covered the ground. The impact must have stung Harry’s hand, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he struggled to pull it loose.

  ‘I planned that,’ said Jackie to Harry. Then he glanced over his shoulder at us. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Actually, I’m kind of bored now.’ He walked up to Harry, who made a last pull at the blade, with no luck. He let go of it and came forward, hands held up like a boxer. Jackie kept his hands down, as if daring Harry to take a swing at him. Harry threw a left. Jackie swayed out the way. Harry brought his right fist round. Jackie dodged that, then he stepped inside Harry’s reach and delivered a pinpoint blow to the centre of Harry’s face. Harry brought both his hands up to his nose and I swear I heard Jackie say, ‘Amateur,’ under his breath. He moved in close, delivering punches to Harry’s kidneys that were almost too quick to see. I only heard the thud of his fists against the material of Harry’s suit. Harry tried to protect himself but by the time he’d moved a hand to shield his body, or throw a punch back, Jackie had moved, dancing around him, delivering punches to his back, then his side, then his ribs, always moving. It was surgical, cruel almost, the way he took the bigger man down.

  ‘Enough,’ said Frank.

  Jackie punched Harry in the back of the head.

  ‘I said enough.’ Frank again. Louder.

  Jackie delivered a kick to the back of Harry’s leg and Harry went down on one knee.

  ‘Enough!’ Frank roared it this time.

  Jackie grabbed Harry’s hand, bent his arm round so it made the other man gasp in pain. Then Jackie kicked him right on the knee joint and I don’t know what was louder: Harry’s scream or the crack of his knee dislocating.

  Then Jackie let go of Harry, who collapsed, passed out from the pain. He walked up to us. Sweat beading on his brow.

  ‘I don’t like being told what to do,’ said Jackie, ‘and I decide when enough is enough.’ He turned away from Frank without waiting for a reply, walked up to the blade and worked it loose from the crack between the paving slabs. Then he walked over to Harry and stamped on his wrist, grinding his foot down on it. The pain brought Harry back to consciousness with a groan. ‘Open your fucking hand,’ said Jackie. Harry stared at him, as if he didn’t understand the words. Jackie spoke again. ‘Otkroi svoyu grebnuyu ruku, skazal.’

  Whatever Jackie said in Russian did it. Harry closed his eyes and opened his hand. All his fight was gone. I heard him say, ‘Please,’ but it was so quiet as to be barely audible, and Jackie wasn’t listening. He brought the blade down. Harry screamed again, rolling over, cradling one hand in the other. Left behind on the floor was his little finger.

  ‘Now I’m done.’ Jackie dropped the guillotine blade on the floor. The ring of metal on stone echoed around the little yard. ‘And you owe Mal a grand,’ he said to Frank.

  ‘I won’t forget this,’ said Frank. No accent. No humour.

  ‘I hope not,’ said Jackie. ‘That was the whole point.’

  Frank stared at him. ‘Well, you proved what you said, eh? Harry was not good enough.’ His smile had little to no warmth. ‘Next time, Jackie Singh Khattar, maybe I’ll bring people who are good enough, eh?’

  ‘If there is a next time,’ said Jackie.

  This time Frank’s smile reached his eyes. ‘Oh, Mr Singh Khattar,’ he said, ‘for people like us, there is always a next time, yes?’ Then he went over to Harry and hauled him to his feet. ‘You two should go now,’ he said. ‘I will take my friend Harry to the hospital.’

  17

  Jackie was driving my silver Ford Ka – the old type that looked like someone had forgotten about wheel arches and added them later as an afterthought. It was a car I liked – I thought they had personality – but Jackie had never been a big fan. We weren’t talking; he was concentrating on driving, his hands tight on the steering wheel, so I could see the reddening and the scuff marks on his knuckles from where he’d landed punches on Harry.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said eventually.

  ‘For what?’ he said.

  ‘For making sure I’ve still got all my fingers.’

  He didn’t reply, just drove on, the speed of the car picking up until it felt like he was pushing the little car right to the edge of what it was capable of. When he cornered, I was pushed into the seat, the tyres barely keeping hold of the greasy road surface.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said. Then he punched the steering wheel twice with the heel of his hand. ‘Fuck!’ he shouted it this time.

  ‘Jackie, I—’

  ‘No,’ he said, then he shook his head. He glanced at me, the light from passing streetlights caught in his eyes, making him look devilish, tiny fires flaring in his pupils. ‘I’m sorry, alright? You were right. I didn’t think this would get so dangerous, but you were right. I should have told you to get out at the beginning. No. I should never have brought that woman to your door.’

  ‘You didn’t know how dangerous it was going to get.’

  ‘I should of though, Mal.’ He took in a deep breath. Let it out. ‘Fucking Stanbecks.’

  We drove on in silence.

  ‘I didn’t really think you stabbed Alan Stanbeck,’ I said. ‘I was only saying it to annoy you.’

  ‘Worked.’

  ‘Did you track my phone to find me?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘With the Russians. My phone rang just before you turned up, I thought …’

  He shook his head, downshifted and overtook a bus; the horns of terrified motorists coming in the opposite direction squealed in panic. He swerved back onto our side of the road.

  ‘I was sat outside your shop when they took you.’

  ‘Keeping guard?’

  ‘No, I was going to come in and give you a kicking. I was fucking angry.’

  ‘I think you still are.’

  ‘Shut up.’ Overtaking an Audi which beeped, Jackie giving it the finger via the rear-view mirror. ‘I saw ‘em take you.’ He downshifted again, and I was forced back into the Ka’s seat as he accelerated around another bus. ‘Listen. I have a flat in the city, maybe you should just vanish for a bit. I’ll deal with any fallout.’

  We drove in on silence, apart from Jackie over-revving the engine of the little car. He had at least slowed down a little now he had got his apology off his chest.

  ‘No,’ I said after a while.

  ‘No?’

  ‘Something is going on, Jackie. It’s about more than lottery tickets, and if I’m not here, then Frank will go after Janine Stanbeck, won’t he?’

  ‘So? She’s a Stanbeck, she’ll be alright and …’ his words drifted off. ‘The kid,’ he said. Then he sighed. ‘He’d go after the kid. He’s not stupid. The kid is all the leverage he would need over her.’ He drove on, joining the main road that would take us to the shops without checking anything was coming in either direction, making me cringe. ‘She should move in with Mick, that’d keep the kid safe. Or as safe as he’s ever going to be.’ He started to accelerate again. I started to sweat. Crais Curve was on the way to the shop, the infamous accident blackspot, and Jackie seemed determined to see how fast he could take it.

  ‘I thought Mick was in jail?’ I braced myself against the door. ‘Maybe you should slow down.’

  ‘Mick’ll be out in the morning – they don’t have enough to hold him.’ The curve came up, and he threw the car around it, centrifugal force dragging me from my seat, tyres squealing, and for a moment I thought we would die and all my problems would be over. The lights around me blurred, and it was all I could do not to cry out. Then we were round, on the straight, and Jackie gave me a wild grin.

  ‘Did you think we wouldn’t make it?
’

  ‘Never doubted you,’ I said.

  ‘Liar.’

  I saw the glitter of the shop fronts further down the road and Jackie accelerated, pushing the little car until it started to shake and then breaking at the last minute, sliding to a halt on the loose gravel of the lay-by and throwing me against the seat belt. The curtains of Mr Patel’s flat above his shop twitched as we got out.

  Jackie leaned on the top of the Ka and the engine ticked in the warm darkness. ‘Who rang you?’ he asked.

  I shrugged, took my phone from my pocket. My wrist ached where Frank had driven the needle in. I touched the fingerprint scanner and a text message from Beryl popped up.

  butt dial

  ‘No one,’ I said. ‘Wrong number.’

  Jackie stared at me then laughed.

  ‘If this was a film, Jackie, you know what would happen next?’ I said.

  He shrugged.

  ‘The shop would explode.’ I turned to look at the shop, holding my breath for a second before I burst out laughing. Jackie went round the back of the car, shaking his head, and took out a bag. ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘Overnight bag,’ he said. ‘If you’re not going to run, I’m not leaving you alone.’

  ‘I’m not sharing a bed with you, Jackie.’

  ‘You wish you were sharing a bed with this,’ he said, and walked ahead of me, opening the shop with a key he always swore he didn’t have. Inside, he set up a bed in the back office, which meant I wouldn’t see Beryl for the duration of his stay.

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Jackie,’ I said. Ghostly images overlaid my vision, bright white paper on my desk as the stationer set up his guillotine. Something caught in the back of my throat, a pain between tears and fear. Jackie sat at my desk and ran his hands along it.

  ‘Well, we can’t just sit here and wait,’ he said. ‘We should do something.’ He tapped his hands on the desk. ‘That building firm. Frank doesn’t want you anywhere near it – I bet that’s why he felt the need to push you away.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You know what I think you should do when someone pushes.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Always push back.’