“I know everything,” TM said, this time with more control and not as loud. “Who do you think made Brutus disappear?”
“Sorry, TM. I thought he run off after I gave him that slapping.”
“Why didn’t you come to me when you discovered he’d been ripping me off?”
So, TM really did know everything. How was that possible?
Barcode sat up straighter, ignoring the pain the seat was giving his butt. “Sorry, TM. Didn’t want you thinking I couldn’t handle my crew.”
Again, the dark head on the screen dipped. “I thought that might be the case, which is why I gave you a pass on acting against Brutus without asking my permission first. It’s also the reason you’re on probation rather than fertilising the local allotments.”
TM’s laugh and Demarcus Williams’ snorting grunts didn’t do nothing to untie Barcodes knotted innards.
“To be perfectly honest,” TM said after his manic laughter died, “I was thinking of offering you a promotion for acting on your own initiative. There will always be a place in my organisation for people with resourcefulness and intellect. Unfortunately, your lack of judgement with the white woman yesterday has rather brought into question your long-term position in the Tribe.”
Fuck, what could he do to turn this shit around?
“How can I earn back your trust, TM? I’ll do anything.”
“First you have to prove yourself. Would you like to demonstrate your loyalty to the Tribe?”
Barcode ducked his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’d like it, TM. I’d like it lots.”
“Thought you might say that. Keen, are you?”
Barcode ignored Demarcus Williams’ second derisive snort. One day, he and the bastard would face off, and that day wasn’t so far away.
“Yes, TM. I’m keen.”
“Once again, you talk a good game, but can you walk the walk?”
“Try me. What you want me to do?”
“When was the last time you ran into the Parkside Crew?”
Fuck, did he know that, too? How could he? He couldn’t know. No one knew who murked Beanie Boy apart from Barcode. He’d been careful, told no one. Hadn’t even boasted about it to his crew.
“The Parksiders?”
“Yes, those disrespectful gentlemen who keep trying to muscle in on my turf. When did you last do anything to hurt them? Standing orders are to discourage them from setting foot in Walthamstow. What have you done to support that lately?”
Could he risk fessing up?
If TM knew already and he denied it, Barcode would find himself in an even deeper pile of shit. Other side of the coin, if he claimed credit for murking Beanie Boy without proof, TM could accuse him of lying. Bragging didn’t mean nothing without proof. Which way to go for the best?
Shit. Go for it, man. Show him your stones.
He sat up straight in his seat, coughed to clear his throat. “You watch the news this lunchtime, TM?”
“Always.”
“You know that hit-and-run over by West Green? Took out three Parksiders.”
“What about it?”
Barcode dug a thumb into his chest. “That was me. I done that!”
“Bullshit,” Demarcus Williams snapped. “You don’t have the smarts to get away with something like that.”
Barcode spun in his chair and faced the ugly fucker down. “It was me, I tell you! Stole a car, drove over to West Green, bided my time before I pounced.”
“You can prove that statement, I suppose?”
“Well, I didn’t take no pictures or show my face to no security cameras, but I can give you all the details and tell you where I stole the car and where I dropped it off after the doing.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “Got it all up here. Good memory, me.”
“Okay, Mr Codell. Give Mr Williams the specifics. I’ll ask one of my contacts in the local constabulary to confirm your claims. In the meantime, I’ll take your word on the matter. But”—the mussed up shape on the screen moved again, a shadowy hand came up at the side, index finger wagging—“if you’re telling falsehoods, it won’t go well for you. I don’t take kindly to liars. Especially people who try lying in order to ingratiate their way into my good graces!”
Barcode had to work hard to understand what TM was saying. He spoke so posh, with all them stupid long words.
“It’s the truth, TM,” Barcode said, with total confidence. “On my mother’s life. I swear it.”
Barcode sighed and lowered his eyes in what he hoped was a display of honesty.
The figure on the screen moved again and the hand disappeared.
“Okay, assuming you’re telling the truth, you’ll have no trouble carrying out a little errand I have planned for you for tomorrow night.”
Barcode turned again, the seat of his trousers squeaked on the hard char. It sounded like a fart, but it wasn’t embarrassing. Not much.
Demarcus Williams stared back at him, the expression on his bearded face hostile and mocking.
“Do this one little thing for me, Mr Codell, and I’ll forget all about yesterday’s incident with the white woman. Furthermore, I’ll double the size of your turf and your crew. What do you say?”
“Yes, I’ll do it.”
“Even though you don’t know what I’m asking?”
“I’m happy to do anything you wants, TM. Anything at all.”
Demarcus Williams growled. He leaned forwards and rested his huge forearms on his thighs.
“Do you have anything to say, Mr Williams?”
“Yes, I do, but I hesitate to interrupt you, TM.”
“Fire away, Mr Williams. You know I’m always highly interested in receiving your valuable input.”
Why did TM have to speak like one of them newsreaders off the TV? So posh Barcode found it hard to understand what the fucker was getting at. Some of what came out of the scrambled figure’s mouth sounded real sarcastic. Mostly, Barcode just nodded, took it all in, and worked it out from memory later, when he wasn’t so rushed. This particular conversation would be one of those that needed revisiting. Good job his memory was up to the task. Barcode didn’t like being taken for a fool.
Demarcus Williams smirked at Barcode before talking.
“In my opinion, this dipshit”—he jabbed a finger at Barcode—“just lied to your face. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust him to run out and buy me a cup of coffee. Fucker doesn’t have the nerve or the brains for what you have in mind. Why not let me and a couple of the men do the deed?”
Barcode clenched his fists and clamped his teeth together hard.
Fucking asshole. I’ll show you.
It wouldn’t be that long a wait.
“Mr Williams, I thank you for your considered opinion. You make a good case for the prosecution. What have you to say in your defence, Mr Codell?”
Fuck, the man on the screen was making out they was in a courtroom now. This shit was getting even deeper.
“Whatever you need, TM, I can do it,” Barcode said, leaning towards the screen, pleading. “Just try me. Barcode won’t never let you down.”
“That remains to be seen.” The shadow’s head tilted to one side again and the screen fell silent for what seemed like hours before TM spoke again. “Mr Williams, after due consideration and despite your eloquence, I am going to give Mr Codell the opportunity to prove his worth to me and to the Tribe.”
Barcode smiled at Demarcus Williams, who dipped his head towards the screen.
“If you say so, TM,” the big fucker said, still eyeing Barcode with contempt.
“I do indeed, Mr Williams.”
Barcode returned Demarcus Williams’ stare.
Soon, very soon, TM’s right-hand man was going to regret speaking trash about Barcode in public. Big as he was, the asshole wasn’t unbreakable. Beanie Boy found out how well the human body stood up against a moving car, even a little shit-box like a Fiat 500. How would Demarcus Williams handle a BMW 5 Series driven up his ass?
After a five-second st
are down, Demarcus Williams sniffed and flapped his hand. “Sorry for the interruption, TM.”
“Not to worry, Mr Williams. As I said, I do value your counsel. Now, let us proceed with the matter in hand. Mr Codell, I imagine you know the location of the Parkside’s original clubhouse? I don’t mean the one they’re using these days.”
What was this now?
“Yes, TM. It’s … halfway down Lowland Road, West Green. Backs onto the park, right?”
Demarcus Williams lifted an eyebrow and nodded. What was that, respec’? If so, it wasn’t before fuckin’ time.
“Very good, Mr Codell. You see, Mr Williams? Our young friend isn’t at all as ignorant as you suggested.”
“Seems that way, TM.”
Barcode didn’t rise to the bait, but mostly kept his eyes on the screen.
“Some valuable information has come into my possession. It would appear that one of my suppliers is offering the Parksiders preferential terms on their latest collection. I don’t like it. Don’t like it one little bit. It’s not at all conducive to the wellbeing of my overall business strategy. Whereas I’m all for capitalism and a massive supporter of free enterprise, I don’t like being undersold. Do you follow me, Mr Codell?”
Despite not having a Scooby, Barcode nodded.
“Yeah, TM. I following you right ’nough.”
After all, he couldn’t have Demarcus Williams being proved right.
“Good, good. Very good. So, in the face of this flagrant affront to our business arrangements, we need to teach both the Parksiders and the suppliers a lesson. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Again, Barcode nodded.
“Yeah, that’s right, TM. They needs teaching a lesson.”
“However, it wouldn’t be prudent to upset the supplier with a flagrant act of aggression, would it?”
Why didn’t he just get on with it and say what he wanted?
“No, TM.”
“That’s right, Mr Codell. Such a flagrant act of aggression might be counter-productive. You see, for the Tribe to remain financially secure and indeed, thrive, we need an uninterrupted supply of product. Upsetting this particular supplier might not be the most prudent course of action. In fact, we are in the middle of some rather delicate and protracted negotiations. With this in mind, if the Tribe was seen to be acting, shall we say, precipitously …”
Although Barcode pursed his lips and nodded his understanding, he had no idea what the blurred-out fucker was banging on about. He just needed the bottom line. What the fuck did TM want him to do?
“… it might not pan out the way I want it to. So, all that being said, we can’t go mob-handed and risk revealing ourselves. Oh no, that would never do. We need to be more subtle. We need to disrupt the Parksiders’ supply chain without risking damage to the delicate negotiations, or my expansion plans. And that’s where you come in, Mr Codell.”
Barcode swallowed. Bugger was finally getting to the point. ’Bout fuckin’ time.
“What you need, TM?”
The shadow moved again. “Over to you, Mr Williams.”
Demarcus Williams shifted in his seat. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Can you read?”
What the fuck?
“What you say?”
“I asked if you can read, dickwad.”
“’Course I can read!”
Asshole.
“What you got there?”
Demarcus Williams offered the envelope, but when Barcode reached for it, the fucker snatched it away, leaving him with a handful of nothing but air.
“Mr Williams, stop playing with him. You’re being rather cruel, and extremely childish.”
“Sorry, TM. Couldn’t help myself,” Demarcus Williams said, offering the envelope once again.
When Barcode made no move to reach for the paper, Demarcus Williams had to stand and place it right into his open hand. Win to Barcode. Loss to the big fucker with the beard and the shaved head. The one who looked like someone had stuck his head on upside-down.
“Inside that envelope, you will find the time of the drop and a few other details. You already know the exact location. This information is all you need to make the interception.”
Barcode started tearing at the seal of the envelope.
“Read it later, Mr Codell. I have other things to do.”
Barcode jumped to his feet. Couldn’t leave the stinking room fast enough. Not only was Demarcus Williams big and aggressive, the fucker reeked of stale sweat. Why the fuck couldn’t he shower now and again?
Barcode held the envelope up to the screen before stuffing it into his pocket. “Won’t let you down, TM. Me and my crew will be all over this.”
“No! You don’t understand at all! This has to be handled with caution. Under no circumstances do you tell anyone about this. You need to work alone. The instructions will tell you how it must be done. And don’t forget to burn the paper after you’ve read it and memorised the information. You must not leave a trail. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yeah, yeah. Clear as glass, TM.”
Barcode nodded again, swamped by the thoughts whirling around in his head. What the fuckin’ hell had he let himself in for?
“See you make it happen, Mr Codell. I am counting on you. The whole Tribe is counting on you. Now run along. Mr Williams and I need to discuss some other business. Don’t worry about the details of this afternoon’s liaison with the Parksiders. I’ll take you at your word, for now. And you have no need to attend tonight’s meeting either. Since your private enterprise won’t take place until overnight, I’m sure you’ll want to reconnoitre the scene and consolidate your plans.”
“Right on, TM. You can trust me. I won’t let you down.”
“As you keep insisting. Now, away with you.”
Holding his breath against the foul stink, Barcode slipped past Demarcus Williams and dived out of the airless room. The door slammed closed behind him, but not in time to shut out Demarcus Williams’ rumbling laughter and TM’s electronic cackle.
What’s their fucking game?
He rushed along the corridor, retracing the earlier route. When he re-entered the Hub, he slowed and rolled through the place, making sure to take his time. Every eye in the room, not that there were many, was focused on the back of his head and he didn’t want to give off the vibe he’d been scared shitless.
Once through the main doors, he shifted gears, keen to open the envelope and read the instructions that were supposed to be inside, although he wouldn’t have been surprised to find nothing more than a blank piece of paper. He half expected to be met outside the building by Goons wielding knives and baseball bats—or worse.
Once through the front door and out in the cold evening air, he tensed, waited, and found nothing but an empty street and a light drizzle.
He pulled up his hood and headed for home, but couldn’t avoid the nagging feeling he’d just been played.
Chapter 21
Sunday 19th February – Demarcus Williams
Walthamstow, NE London
19:28.
Demarcus flexed his arms and tensed his abs, enjoying the way his biceps bulged and his six-pack rippled, instilling fear into the minions. The little people, the so-called Tribesmen, were terrified of him, and rightly so. Since he and TM—whoever the fuck the fancy-talking bastard was—had taken over the Tribe, they’d ruled the little squirts with terror. Demarcus loved instilling fear. It worked on so many levels, especially with the young, sweet ones. The ones who weren’t yet fully formed. The innocent little beauties. Boys, girls, it didn’t matter a damn to Demarcus, they all tasted just as sweet.
Demarcus took two deep breaths. He had to keep his needs in check. One slip would see him finished. TM paid well but had him on a short leash. Who knows what the fucker would do if Demarcus gave in to his urges close to home.
No, the Tribe babies were off the menu, for the time being.
One day, Demarcus would discover TM’s identity. Then he�
��d take his rightful place at the top of the totem pole. But, while the money kept rolling in and his physical and emotional needs could be met by adults—barely old enough to drive, but adults just the same—he’d take his time. He and his men would take their orders from whoever gave them and grow rich on the easy pickings.
The uppity snot, Barcode, might prove problematic over time, but for now, the fool would continue to be useful, especially if he pulled off the takedown like TM ordered. The fool would do his shit and Demarcus and the rest of the men would keep their hands clean. If Barcode fucked up and got caught—either by the pigs or the Parksiders—and the shit hit the spinning blades, they’d be free and in the clear.
Despite being nothing but a shadow, TM had smarts. No doubt about that. He knew how to plan and what moves to make. In a few short months, he’d turned a bunch of amateur street thugs into a profitable concern. Sure, Demarcus and the men helped, but TM made the plans. Branching out across county lines and using cuckoo’s nests had been genius, apart from what went down in Southend. Still, shit happened and Demarcus and the boys cleaned up the mess easy enough.
TM had it dead right. Time had come to start over. Cuckoo’s nests were too damned profitable to ignore for long. They only needed to work the background better.
Demarcus checked his watch. Just after seven-thirty. Nearly time to let in the squirts.
“Red,” he called, “open the doors. The riffraff’s been hanging outside in the cold long enough.”
The red-headed Irishman exposed his gap-toothed grin, but stayed where he was, sitting in an upholstered chair in the corner, soaking up the heat from one of the big double radiators.
“Ah now, can’t we let the fuckers suffer a wee bit longer? You gotta love seeing the little people shivering and huddling close to each other. Makes me old heart glad, so it does.”
“You, Red, are an evil man. Better pull your finger out, though. TM’s going to be online soon. We don’t want to keep him waiting, do we?”
Richard “Red” Doohan gave Demarcus “the look”, the one telling him what he really thought of TM, but he knew better than to voice his opposition inside the Hub. Or anywhere in Walthamstow, come to that.
On the Money Page 19
