Boy Kills Man

by Matt Whyman

  ‘Everything is going to be OK,’ I promised her, wishing she could be the one who said all this to me. ‘I’ll look after you from now on. You won’t have to work any more. That’s finished now, behind you. We’ll move away from here. We can take off just like Papa. I’ll earn enough to get us out of this city, over the mountains maybe.’

  ‘What if he comes back?’ My mother pulled away to look at me, but I had seen enough.

  ‘Jairo is a dead man,’ I assured her. ‘You won’t see him again.’

  18

  From the back of the cab next morning, I told Manu that I wouldn’t need a jab this time. I saw his weird eyes shift into the rear-view mirror, and find me there.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ he asked, frowning now. ‘Suddenly you’re in charge of the situation?’

  ‘Something like that.’ I turned my attention to the window, caught a glimpse of the Rio Medellín, shimmering behind two blocks. The river cut through the heart of the city, but Manu kept turning this way and that, and I soon lost sight of it. I didn’t know where we were heading, but that was nothing new. I was just grateful that Manu had shown up at all. After the raid on the compound, part of me wondered whether I would ever see him again. That morning I had hung around the barrio, hoping to catch sight of him. I also kept an eye out for my uncle, dreaming of the moment when I put a hole the size of a coin between his eyes. He had left my mother with nothing, knocked all her dreams out of her. Despite years of practice using me as his punch bag, it seemed Jairo didn’t care that his violence would be there for all to see. Part of me believed this was because he knew we would catch up with each other eventually. It was like El Fantasma said: you had to let go of all hope if you wanted to get on in this life. I may have only started to believe this for myself when I ran into Beatriz and her new man the evening before, but it was gospel to me now.

  Sometimes Manu would chatter like only a cab driver could, and today was no exception. He had tuned in to hear the news, said yesterday’s raid would throw up some stories very soon.

  ‘No matter what side of the law you’re on, you don’t cross with the boss. It’s just the way things are.’

  I mumbled in agreement, but wasn’t really listening. I had left Mamá resting in bed with some fruit juice fresh from the market, and told her that I couldn’t stay at home today. She had wept some more and touched my face, but said she understood. I had stayed up late, the night before, sitting at her bedside just watching her sleep. I was sure that Jairo wouldn’t be back. What worried me was the thought that every rise and fall of her chest under the blanket might be her last. It made me feel more tired than ever before as Manu drove me to work. I knew a jab would focus me but just couldn’t take any more. I was sick of how lifeless it left me feeling, and figured I was old enough now to handle the hit straight. I could pull the trigger with my eyes closed, if I wanted, and hoped perhaps he knew that already. As Manu continued to comment on the news, I was content just to plug into my personal stereo and let Kurt sing me to sleep. It was good to be back in the taxi, feeling safe and sound for a while.

  I woke up with a jolt. The CD had finished, but I still tugged out my phones like it had been feeding me nightmares. Manu had just switched off the engine, though he was still listening to the radio: one of those old country vallenato songs that only sounded good at weddings and wakes. I turned to my window, half listening to Manu hum along with the accordion, and gasped at what I saw. I had never seen Medellín like this before, and realised we were up in the mountains. It looked like some kind of urban landslide down there: a city that had slipped off the slopes and into the vast valley below. A little mist wreathed the tangle of buildings and the boulevards, while the scrapers in the business centre looked like shards of sky. The whole place was so much bigger than I ever imagined, and so dense, but what really knocked me back was that it looked completely natural: just a part of the world we were in. The rooftops may have been the colour of rust, but there were palms crammed into all the streets and squares, with vines and creepers everywhere. I wound down the window, heard crickets in the long grass. We were parked up on a dirt track, just before a hairpin bend. I had missed quite a journey, I realised, nothing too steep but long and winding. I asked Manu what we were doing here. He just shrugged and shook his head.

  ‘We’re on time,’ he told me. ‘That’s all I know.’

  ‘Can I get out?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Manu joined me on the verge, and for a moment we stood there without speaking. The breeze on my face felt warm but clean, as if it had sailed right over the city. I spotted the stadium and the hospital, all the places I had been. If I listened carefully, I could make out car horns, a dog bark, then a dumper truck at work in the rubbish fields down from here, but none of it could shatter the sense of calm and peace. This was better than church, and I sensed my driver was just as impressed.

  ‘Everyone in Medellín should see what it looks like from here,’ I said. ‘I never realised it could be so beautiful.’

  ‘Most people never get out,’ he replied. ‘You’re one of the lucky ones.’

  What he said made me think of the reason we had travelled out so far. Any passing traffic would have trouble steering round the taxi, even a mule or a motorbike, so I guessed we were here for some kind of ambush. When I heard the sound of an engine struggling, I was almost sorry to think I’d be on my way home soon.

  ‘Are you sure about that jab?’ asked Manu.

  ‘I made up my mind already,’ I told him. I looked down the track, adjusting my holster as I turned, and saw a silver jeep crawl into view.

  ‘Could I have a smoke instead?’ I asked, as he prepared to light one himself. Manu looked at me from the comer of his good eye, the cigarette tip still cupped.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Why not? Take this one.’

  He sparked it up for me. I took a long, deep drag, thinking beyond what was expected of me now. It was just the hit I needed.

  I had expected the 4×4 to pull up to the bumper, but it stopped some way down. I watched the driver’s door spring open, and a figure jumped down who looked familiar to me. It wasn’t until he opened the door behind him that I realised it was one of the guards from the compound. By then, two unmistakable white sneakers had dropped to the ground. I glanced at Manu, but he kept his eyes fixed on the boss.

  ‘Shorty, I got something for you.’ El Fantasma stopped to greet me half way. I noticed that he wasn’t smoking a joint for once, but his manner seemed as easy as ever. He reached inside his jacket, and handed me an envelope. ‘It’s the season ticket I promised. Don’t open it now. Let’s take care of business first.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, trying to hide my surprise, and folded the envelope into the back of my jeans. I still had our tickets for the first match of the season in there: a prize that meant nothing to me now.

  ‘You earned it,’ he said, clapping me on the shoulder. ‘And I never break my promise.’ He stopped there for a moment and took in the view as I had. A blanket of pine trees fringed the rubbish fields, but I could work out where they began by all the turkey vultures. There they were, turning circles in the air with spread wings barely moving. I never thought birds like that could look so graceful, but then I had never seen them from above. I thought about Alberto, as I always did nowadays. Maybe he hadn’t made it over the mountains, just like he dreamed, but the ridge was still a long way up and I believed he would’ve settled for this. It was impossible not to admire Medellín from here, and I could tell it touched El Fantasma too by the way he filled his lungs with air. I was just about to ask him what he wanted me for today when he came back around, said: ‘I heard about your mother.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I want you to know I’ll take care of her from now on. How is she?’

  I told him she’d pull through, amazed that one man could know so much in a city so big and be so generous.

  ‘I’d love for her to see this,’ I said, and faced the city again. />
  Glancing back at the boss, I had thought he would be enjoying it, too. Instead, I found his eyes were on me still.

  ‘I apologise for the rush to leave yesterday. My friends at the precinct have let me down a little lately, but I can overcome that. I just have to restructure, make some transfers so we’re playing to the best of our abilities.’ As he spoke, I noticed the guard walk around to the other side of the jeep. ‘Doesn’t matter how badly I want to keep a player, Shorty, it all comes down to money.’ El Fantasma moved aside now, turning just as a second figure emerged from the back of the vehicle. It was the last person I had expected to see, but I wasn’t sorry he was here. I took a final drag on my cigarette and crushed it underfoot. ‘Given the circumstances,’ the boss continued, ‘I couldn’t refuse the first offer that came to me.’

  Uncle Jairo took some time to join us. The slope wasn’t steep, but it left him short of breath.

  ‘What am I paying for here?’ he wheezed, avoiding my eyes as he drew level with El Fantasma. ‘I was expecting more than a friendly chat.’

  ‘You’ll get your money’s worth.’ The boss seemed offended by his manner. ‘I was just explaining to your nephew how everyone has their price.’

  ‘Lucky I came into some cash, really.’ Jairo must have known I was wise to the fact that he was paying for this from Mamá’s stolen purse. First he wiped a drop of spittle from the corner of his mouth, and suddenly he was grinning at me like this was a reunion. ‘Take Galán, your store keeper buddy. I tell him I got a score I need to settle, some dude not being straight with me. It costs me enough to hurt, but sure enough he directs me straight to your man.’

  My boss offered me this look, like my uncle had given him a headache all the way here, but he wasn’t alone in wanting to head off now. I was ready, had been so since my best friend disappeared, but this was the wake-up I needed.

  I sensed cold sweat needle the back of my neck, a first for me as I reached for my gun, but it seemed right. Free now from that tranquillising jab, I felt more alive than ever before. I found my holster and the pop-down strap, then the pistol grip. At the same time, I saw the guard beckon yet another passenger from the car, someone so small I doubted he had been able to see over the dashboard.

  ‘I have myself a new signing.’ El Fantasma jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, watching my shooting hand still. He spoke breezily, like he was simply making conversation. ‘He’s a little green, but it’s like I always say, there’s nothing more unsettling than a kid with a gun.’

  It wasn’t the presence of another boy that surprised me, nor the fact that he was so much younger: seven, maybe eight years old. It was the weapon he clutched across his chest: a sub-machine gun of some sort. The piece was so big he looked almost ridiculous. It also meant the boss was right once again.

  The guard bent down and spoke to him. The child nodded a few times, and then turned two tight blue eyes on me. We were some distance apart, but I could see that he was wired. Once again, I was glad I hadn’t taken the jab. It meant I was free to think clearly, and not just about this moment. Mostly I thought about Nacional, but I didn’t dwell on how they’d fare this season. That I had supported them with all my heart was all that mattered now. I felt the same about my mother, Alberto before me and Beatriz, too. Hope just didn’t come into it for me any more. Only love.

  ‘Be a man about this, Sonny. It’s a noble way to go.’ El Fantasma moved away from my uncle, creating a space for the boy behind him. ‘Please don’t think I overlooked your wings,’ he added. ‘I heard what you did for Alberto’s family. In my book, you’ve earned them already.’

  I sensed Manu retreat as he spoke, heard the taxi door open and close, the radio volume rise inside. Uncle Jairo didn’t look like he agreed with El Fantasma one bit, but he always did know when to keep his mouth shut. Still facing my boss and my father’s brother, I levelled my gun with both hands and clicked the hammer into place.

  ‘It’s time,’ I agreed, nodding now because this felt like the only way to go. I wasn’t sure how many bullets remained in the chamber, just so long as there was one. Killing Jairo would be too easy, I decided. I wanted him to see what I could do, because I knew that it would haunt him into the next life and beyond. The kid was looking very twitchy indeed, but he was only following my lead. Whether or not he was ready, this would make a man of him – just as it had done for Alberto and then me. I found the trigger, also a point above them all where the mountains met the sky. ‘OK,’ I breathed, and touched the muzzle to my temple. ‘Let’s finish this.’

  Acknowledgements

  Shortly before I sat down to write this book, I lost two people central to my life. Within the space of a few weeks, my mother and younger sister passed away. It was a dark time. Death became a part of me. It influenced every thought and feeling, and that included the kind of story I wanted to tell.

  In Boy Kills Man, I had no idea whether such a short rage against unfairness and injustice would ever see the light of day. My previous novels were light-hearted comedies, and yet this was something I had to write. It’s not about grief but inevitability. Quite simply, I wanted to explore how it felt to be in possession of a gun at a formative time of life. In a heartbeat, that weapon would come to heighten your awareness of the world around you and ultimately shape your destiny. In my mind, that seemed no different to living with a terminal illness. No matter what, it gets you in the end.

  Ten years on, I still don’t think of this as a bleak book. The narrator is a minor. He’s at an age where death is not on his radar. Life is everything, even in a region of the world at a time when all the odds are stacked against him. So when the means to make things happen presents itself, he seizes the opportunity.

  After six weeks of intense writing, I remember finishing the last sentence as if it were yesterday. Straight away, I had an urge to leave my desk to get some air. It was a warm, clear afternoon. I sat on a bench and stayed there for an hour. It felt good to be outside.

  Over the course of a decade, many people have humbled me with their passion for this book. I should like to thank Philippa Milnes-Smith and David Godwin, Emily Thomas and Venetia Gosling, Honor Wilson-Fletcher, Kirsty Mclachlan, Mary Byrne, Elena Sanchez (for the colour), Melvin Burgess, Emma Whyman, Sarah Odedina and all at Hot Key Books for this anniversary edition.

  About the Author

  Matt Whyman is the author of several critically acclaimed novels, including The Savages and American Savage, as well as two comic memoirs, Pig in the Middle and Walking with Sausage Dogs. He is married and lives with his family in West Sussex.

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hot Key Books

  Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT

  Copyright © Matt Whyman 2004, 2014

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-4714-0397-2

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