by Thomas Emson
Give me the code.”
“Okay,” said Crane, “here’s the code: you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead. Ha! You’re all going to die, you know that. Nonothing you can do about it. You, Sassie, this lot, the kids, everyone – die and – and nothing you – you can do.”
“We’re getting into Religion, with or without your help,” said Lawton.
Crane sneered, showing the blood in his mouth. He said, “You’re not. You can’t. Police won’t help, will they? Won’t listen. Bet you’ve tried, bet you’ve begged.” He started laughing, blood and spit dribbling down his chin.
“I know who set up this security system, Crane,” said Lawton.
“Do you? Give yourself a medal, tosser,” said Crane.
“Guy called Cal Milo. Doorman here.”
“So what?” said Crane.
“Is he in on this? Is he one of you?” said Lawton.
“Doorman?” said Crane. “Are you joking? Doorman? No, Lawton, we only allow people with brains, you see – brains and education. We don’t let morons join us. Morons will be food for our gods and our monsters.”
Lawton nodded. “Thanks, Crane.”
Crane curled his lip, not understanding why he was being thanked.
Lawton didn’t bother telling him. But he knew, now, that Milo wasn’t part of this. And he could safely ask the brickshithouse of a bouncer for the code. The worst that could happen was that Milo would smack him and tell him to fuck off.
Crane tried to struggle against Lawton, but Lawton wasn’t letting go.
“Where are my children, Mr. Crane? Are they in there?” said Murray, her voice quiet and calm at Lawton’s shoulder.
Crane, his voice high-pitched, said, “Your children are going to die, bitch. Die like you lot. Die like pigs. Their blood spilling down into a trench from their dead little bodies, their throats sliced open.”
Murray lunged over Lawton’s shoulders, clawing at Crane’s face, Crane yelping as her nails raked his cheeks. Murray screamed at Crane, Lawton squaring his shoulders, making a barrier between her and Crane.
Lawton said, “Mark – Fraser, get her – get her – ”
And McCall pulled Murray away, telling her to calm down, that it was okay.
Crane, his face a mess now, started laughing.
Lawton put a stop to that: he punched Crane in the mouth, knocking him out.
Chapter 87
I KNOW A MAN WHO CAN.
THE lift, smelling of piss and littered with used condoms and empty beer cans, didn’t work. Lawton took the stairs, three at a time. Graffiti smeared the walls. Broken glass crunched under his feet. Syringes with rusting needles were scattered around.
Lawton got to the third floor. The sun blinded him when he stepped out of the stairwell. He took a moment, then stared along the walkway.
A crust of teenagers, four or five of them in hoodies and baseball caps, loitered up ahead.
Lawton strode forward, glancing down towards the car park that lay in front of the building. A couple of kids, ten or eleven, kicked a football back and forth against Crane’s 4x4. Lawton had dropped the others, including Crane, off at Murray’s house. A fifteen-minute drive to the grim estate not far from Waterloo station, where Cal Milo lived, had taken forty minutes because of congestion.
He thought about things during the drive. And after parking the vehicle he rang Lithgow. He told Lithgow what he was planning and what Lithgow should do if things went tits up. He told Lithgow he trusted him, and Lithgow said he didn’t know if he was good enough to help. Lawton said, Yes you are, not sure if Lithgow was up to it or not.
The estate was formed of three four-storey flats built around a patch of grass littered with pizza boxes, empty bottles and cans, and the charred skeleton of a burned-out car. A row of shops and takeaways, some of which were boarded up, stood on the opposite side on the grass.
Lawton approached the group of teens blocking his way.
One of them, sixteen and lanky, stepped forwards, strutting. The teen said, “Where you goin’, bitch?”
Lawton didn’t falter. He snatched the teen by the collar and tossed him against the wall and carried on walking. He heard the boy sob behind him, but he didn’t care. Some of the kid’s mates shouted after Lawton, so Lawton turned and took a step towards them. They legged it, leaving the youth Lawton threw against the wall huddled there, weeping and cradling his arm.
Lawton turned away and walked on.
Many of the flats were boarded up or caged. Cracks webbed the windows. Piss stained the doors. Shouts filled the air, but Lawton ignored them.
He came to the door he was looking for and knocked.
The door opened and Lawton looked up into the face of the man and said, “Hello, Cal.”
Cal Milo furrowed his brow, then raised his eyebrows in recognition.
He let Lawton into the flat. A woman breast-fed a baby in a living room cluttered with toys. A toddler waddled among the toys, tripping over them, tossing them around.
Milo led Lawton into the kitchen and shut the door. Lawton smelled washing-up liquid. The sink was full of plates swimming in foam.
“Washing up,” said Milo, like he had to explain himself – as if a big tough man like him was embarrassed he had to do household chores.
“Yeah, I can see,” said Lawton.
They small-talked while Milo made coffee.
They sat at a Formica table and Milo fidgeted with a Star Wars figure of Darth Vadar.
“His arm came off,” he said. “Ty snapped it. Ty’s the two-year-old who’s making a nuisance of himself in there.”
“How many you got?”
“Two. Ty and the baby. Baby’s three months, now. Big blow losing the gig at Religion, mate. Gave me a regular wage. Now the wife’s got to do three nights a week at the chippie across the road, tide us over. And that chippie’s fucking Baghdad central, mate. Not nice.”
“Sorry about that, Cal.”
“What about you? Fixed up any more work?”
“Nothing yet,” said Lawton.
Neither man said anything. Milo tried to fix Darth Vadar’s arm.
Lawton drank his coffee.
Then Milo said, “You been keeping an eye on all this murder, then?”
“I have a bit, yeah.”
“There’s all kind of weird stuff going round. Rumours about vampires, zombies, all kinds. They say it started with those people who died at Religion. The pills they took made them monsters.”
“Yeah, we think so.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“A few of us. Trying to fight this.”
“There – done,” said Milo, standing Vadar up on the table. “Mine, you know. Had a whole set when I was a kid. Kept them spick and span. Then along comes Ty and snaps off an arm, a leg, a head – kids, eh.”
“You fixed the security system at Religion.”
Milo nodded. “Yeah, I did. Holt said he’d give me a good deal, so I sorted it through my brother’s firm.”
“What’s the code for the door?”
“The code?”
“Yeah, the keypad. The code.”
Milo shrugged. “Which door? Every door’s got its own system. We set them up individually, like Holt asked.”
Lawton told him which door and Milo rubbed his chin.
“I’d have to check, Jake,” he said.
“That’d be great.”
“Why d’you ask?”
“Because we need to get in. Because that’s where the monsters are, Cal. Because unless we get in today, I think we’re all going to die.”
Milo stared at him for a moment. “Is this bullshit?”
Lawton shook his head.
Milo played with Darth Vadar again, moving the toy’s arms about.
And then he said, “Any chance of a rumble?”
“Big time.”
“I’ll get my coat.”
“We’re taking a detour down to Peckham.”
Chapter 88
BETRAYED.
MURRAY, watching the sun redden and slip towards the horizon, rested her head on Richard’s shoulder while he stroked her arm. “It’s going to be nice tomorrow,” she said.
He said nothing.
She said, “Perhaps we’ll take them over to France. Remember when we used to do that?”
She felt him shudder and she closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. He kissed her hair and went to the window to draw the blinds.
He came back to her and she reached out her arms and he came into them. They held each other and then she sat on the bed. After a moment, he sat next to her and she put her head on his shoulder again, and felt his arm wrap around her.
“I’m going to ease off the work,” she said. “Perhaps you and I, perhaps we could write a book together. About, I don’t know, about us – about all this. When we’re a family again.”
“We are a family,” he said.
“Yes – yes, I meant when the boys – the boys are – ” but she faltered, and started to cry, and he started to cry too, and they shook against each other, their desperation coming in waves, crashing against them, making them rock, making them unstable, threatening to uproot them and toss them apart.
A mobile phone ringtone, playing the song that went, “the candy man can”, made Murray jump. It came from downstairs, either Lithgow’s or McCall’s. Or maybe Crane’s. She wiped her face saying, “What’s that? Who’s is it?”
“Stupid bloody ringtone,” said Richard. “Why do people need such stupid bloody ringtones?”
Murray coughed out a laugh, and she kissed her husband. She got up, went to the door. “Let’s go downstairs,” she said.
She opened the door.
Lithgow’s voice downstairs went, “Hello?”
Murray stood at the top of the stairs, blew her nose on a handkerchief.
Lithgow saying, “Dad – ”
Murray’s nerves tightening, her insides melting.
Lithgow going, “ – yeah, yeah, we’re okay, we’re at – ”
Murray trying to scream, “No,” but no word coming out, just a breath.
And then Lithgow saying where they were.
Chapter 89
RABBIT.
LAWTON walked into the pub, and it was Wild West stuff – everyone turned to look at him.
A fruit machine pinged and croaked in the corner, the guy playing it stopping for a second to glare at Lawton. Two youths played pool.
One of them eyed Lawton, his head canted to one side. He slapped the pool cue on the palm of his hand, like a teacher would slap a ruler.
Lawton smelled tobacco and dog, and then the dog – the look of a pit bull about it – barked and bounded from behind the bar. Lawton stood up straight and drew back his shoulders, towering over the dog.
The pit hunkered down and barked up at him. Lawton stepped past the dog and it capered about, as if demanding Lawton’s attention.
Lawton went to the bar. The landlord, sleeves rolled up to show a forearm-full of tattoos, polished a pint glass with a stained cloth.
“Shut up, Frank,” he told the dog, and the dog shut up. And then, glowering at Lawton, he said, “Yeah?”
Lawton leaned on the bar and scanned the pumps. He ordered an orange juice. When the landlord plonked it on the bar in front of him, Lawton said, “Did Rabbit come home from the war?”
The landlord stared. “Why? What’s he done?”
Lawton smiled. “He did come back, then.”
“I asked you what he’s done.”
“Nothing. Is he here?”
“Depends who wants him.”
“Tell him Sergeant Jake Lawton’s here.”
The landlord narrowed his eyes. “Copper?” he said.
“No,” said Lawton, “comrade. You’re his uncle?”
“Might be.” The landlord backed away, still watching Lawton. He said, “Sandra, keep an eye on the bar,” and a blonde filing her nails jutted her chin at the man.
Lawton drank his juice. The landlord disappeared through a door at the back of the bar, and his feet clumped up the stairs. Lawton kept his eyes fixed on the door.
Muffled voices came from behind the door. Feet raced down the stairs.
Rabbit shot out of the door, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping.
Lawton straightened and smiled at him.
Rabbit ran out from behind the bar and came up to Lawton, grabbing his hand in both of his and shaking until he almost pulled Lawton’s shoulder from the socket.
And Lawton said, “Rabbit – Rabbit, calm down.”
“Sarge, sarge, sarge – oh, man, oh, man – I thought you was fucked after that shit – I thought they’d put you in jail and throw away the key – ”
“Thanks, Rabbit.”
They sat at a corner table, Lawton with his orange juice, Rabbit with water.
Rabbit said, “You know I had a bit of trouble with the booze, so when I left the Army eighteen months ago, I quit.”
“Me too,” said Lawton. “How does it feel?”
“Like shit, that’s how it feels. You?”
“Yeah. This stuff ’s not the same. Doesn’t burn your throat and sear your insides – doesn’t shake you up, does it.”
“Might as well drink piss,” said Rabbit.
Lawton said, “What’ve you been doing with yourself?”
“Came down to London after I got out. A year after you left, sarge. My uncle’s given me a job and a place to live here. I do some bar work, a bit of kicking heads when it needs doing – that’s all. You?”
Lawton told him.
Rabbit shook his head. “We fight and die for them, and they don’t give a shit about us. It’s like someone’s got to do the dirty work, but those who do it, sweep ’em under the carpet after it’s done. Country doesn’t like soldiers. Don’t think it ever did. You told me back in Iraq, you remember? We fight for our mates, that’s all. No one else. ’Cause no one else gives a shit.”
Lawton nodded. He drank. He glanced over at the bar. The landlord – Rabbit’s uncle – polished glasses. He eyed Lawton and gave a nod, Lawton nodding back.
“Anyway, London’s gone to fucking hell, hasn’t it, sarge?”
“It has,” said Lawton.
“Papers say it’s worse than Iraq. But then they wouldn’t say it’s better, would they? How many copies would that sell? And what the fuck do journos know?”
A silence fell, and Lawton scanned the pub. The pool players were back to their game and the fruit machine flashed its lights trying to tempt another punter to part with a few pounds.
Lawton said, “You remember what you told me in Basra?”
Rabbit looked him in the eye. “I do remember, sarge. I told you where to find me. I’d be here, in my uncle’s pub. Peckham way. Down from the north to the Big Smoke. I do remember.”
Lawton said, “D’you remember what else, Rabbit?”
Rabbit stared at him and they were silent for a few seconds.
Then it was Rabbit who spoke, saying, “I said, ‘This Rabbit runs with you,’ that’s what I said.” He paused, looked Lawton in the eye.
“Going to battle with you, sarge, it was like… it was like you knew you’d get out alive, you know. All the boys said so. ‘He’s got your back has the sarge; he’ll get you out if you do what he says’ – we all knew it. Called you ‘The Lawman’ – Jake ‘The Lawman’ Lawton. ’Cause you laid down the law and you stuck by it, lived by it, and if your Section did the same, they’d get out with their balls. They always did. You never lost a man. You saved my skin don’t know how many times. Fuck me, even when they’d kicked you out that day, if you hadn’t been there that RPG would’ve put this Rabbit in a hole.”
Lawton lowered his gaze, blinked. Then he looked at Rabbit again and said, “So you’re with me?”
“You don’t even need to fucking ask. It’s a fucking honour.”
Chapter 90
REVELATION.
LITHGOW said, “My dad? No way.�
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“I was in his office,” said Murray. “I saw this rag on his wall, framed.”
“Rag,” said Lithgow, “what do you mean rag?”
“Like this,” she said, going to Crane, who was sitting, McCall’s hand heavy on his shoulders. Murray grabbed Crane’s left hand, flashed his ring finger. The kitchen light splintered off the ruby set in gold. Crane laughed, yanked his hand away.
“That’s a ring,” said Lithgow. “What are you talking about?”
“Your dad had a piece of cloth, old, torn, stained, on his wall,” said Murray. “Crane’s got a piece set in his ring – ”
Crane said, “Clever bitch, aren’t you,” and McCall cuffed him round the ear.
Murray continued:
“ – and Jacqueline Burrows, she’s got a cloth, the same cloth as your father. So has Phil Birch. Ribbons tied to that bloody clipboard of his.”
Richard Murray said, “Chrissie, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that Fraser’s just given away where we are. They know we’re here.”
Lithgow said, “No way, no way,” pulling at his hair. He looked towards Crane saying, “Is this true? My dad.”
“Who’s your dad, my little doomed friend?” said Crane.
Murray said, “The barrister – ”
Crane said, “Oh, we have many barristers – ”
Murray saying, “ – Bernard Lithgow – ”
Crane started to laugh, blood in his mouth, and caked around his nose. His cheeks raw from Murray’s nails. McCall cuffed him round the ear again, telling him to stop laughing, answer the fucking question.
Crane spat at McCall, got slapped again, then said, “Yes, your daddy’s a top man. I’m a good friend with Bernard Lithgow. So you’re his offspring. The distributor. The guy who set it all up for us.”
Lithgow’s face went bleach white.
Murray felt anger grow in her chest. She glared at Lithgow and said, “You bastard, Fraser, you little shit. You’ve betrayed us, you’ve – ”
Lithgow, backing away, said, “No way, man, no way.”
