The Hunted

by KERRY BARNES

  ‘No? Well, you’ll have time in here, if ya want to.’

  He looked Ricky up and down. ‘I reckon you could build yaself into quite a lump, boy. What are ya? Eighteen?’

  Ricky nodded.

  Willie set up the pool balls and chalked the cues. ‘Do you wanna break?’

  Ricky shook his head; he’d never played pool before, although he’d watched it on his mother’s television. So, carefully, he observed how Willie was going to use the cue, knowing he would have to do the same.

  Willie placed it between his forefinger and thumb, and in one fluid movement, he hit the white ball that bounced the coloured balls. Two yellows went down the pockets. ‘My shot again. I’m on yellows, you’re on reds.’

  He tried to pot a yellow close to the pocket but missed. Ricky then knew what he had to do and lined himself up just as Willie had done. The red ball expertly went into the far-right corner.

  ‘Good shot!’ laughed Willie. ‘I bet you’re a hustler, eh?’

  Ricky gave him a cheeky grin and lined up the next shot. This was the most fun he’d probably ever had, and his anxiety about being in prison lifted.

  He became so engrossed in this new fun game that he was oblivious to the other inmates surrounding them. A small group of black men were gathered around one of the tables, keeping a close eye on Ricky and Willie. Willie clocked them right away, and his eyes scanned the area for potential trouble. Henry was over by the other pool table with a couple of toothless gypsies.

  As Ricky potted another red and lined himself up for his next shot, Willie chalked his own cue and clocked the unease between the gypsies and the black men. The latter were Dez’s men, crafty and malicious inmates, who thought they ran the prison because they had control of the drugs, and ergo the power. The druggies were putty in their hands and would do anything Dez said, just to have their regular source of heroin.

  Willie detested Dez, and the feeling was mutual. As far as possible, they kept away from each other, but Willie wasn’t stupid, and if he had an afternoon nap, he would wedge his door shut with the rubber from an old trainer, to guard against the risk of being stabbed in his bed. He looked at Henry and tried to lip-read, but he wasn’t completely au fait with the gypsy lingo. But their body language said a lot – they were on edge.

  Unexpectedly, Tatum came bounding over, his whole demeanour leaving himself wide open. Being loud and animated did you no favours in prison; it was regarded as an opening to be challenged.

  ‘Good shot, Richard!’ he said, as he slapped Ricky hard on the back.

  Willie noticed how Tatum’s intervention had a devastating effect on the youngster’s spirit. His shoulders slumped, and he observed the fear in the lad’s eyes. It was so sad to see, and it pricked Willie’s nerves.

  ‘Oi, mate, d’ya mind? We’re playing a game.’

  Tatum held out his hand. ‘All right, mush. Me name’s Tatum. I’m his stepdad.’

  ‘Oh yeah? More like a fucking monkey’s uncle. I know who you are. We met earlier!’

  Tatum lowered his hands; slipping them inside his tracksuit bottoms, he backed away. ‘All right, mush. I was just being friendly.’

  Willie looked back at Ricky. The downcast eyes and trembling hands told Willie that the lad knew Tatum and was terrified of him.

  ‘I don’t fucking do friendly!’ spat Willie.

  Ricky remained still and listened to the sudden silence, too afraid to look up. He knew how violent Tatum was; after all, he’d often been on the end of a quick punch to the ribs. A livener, Tatum called it. He’d witnessed Tatum bash a city slicker with a bat, nearly crushing the man’s skull, during a robbery that had gone very wrong. Fortunately, they’d all managed to get away with that one. He was only ten at the time, but it was so shocking. He couldn’t get the image out of his head of the poor man, dressed in a grey suit and holding his briefcase for protection, squirming around on the pavement. Tatum beat the screaming man with the bat so viciously that the blood from his head splattered everywhere, and a clump of hair matted with blood became stuck to the weapon. That violent act had terrified Ricky. From then on, he would do whatever Tatum said.

  ‘No need to be like that, mate. I’m a stepdad to him,’ said Tatum, as he turned and tapped Ricky on the arm. ‘Ain’t that right, boy?’

  Still unable to look up, Ricky slowly nodded.

  ‘See, mush! Anyway, Mouse, when you’re done, I want yer to meet me cousins.’

  Willie flicked his eyes from Ricky back to Tatum. He could easily sense that the boy was almost shitting himself and it angered him. This young lad was being wound right up, and all because of Tatum, the cocky twat, who had no clout. As for family, it didn’t wash with Willie: no young lad should be scared of their father or stepfather. His own little boy wasn’t scared of anybody, and that’s the way it should be.

  With his eyes narrowed, Willie watched Tatum walk back to Henry, who wasn’t looking best pleased himself. The man suddenly grabbed Tatum by the collar and pulled him close, his face twisted in an angry snarl, as he whispered something in Tatum’s ear. Tatum looked back at Willie and suddenly put his head down, realizing he was being warned.

  ‘Your shot, kiddo!’ said Willie.

  That word rang bells in Ricky’s head; kiddo was a name that was like a warm blanket wrapped around him. He looked up and gave Willie a half-smile.

  Willie knew then that the lad needed his help. He’d been bullied. Willie hated bullies.

  After two more rounds of pool, Willie noticed another group of black guys who had appeared and were glaring over. The original four had increased to eight. Sitting at a table and surrounded by these foot soldiers was Dez. He had a clear view of Ricky.

  Ricky, who was preparing his next shot, felt the atmosphere change. He looked up and followed Willie’s eyeline. With quivering hands and his heart beating furiously, he held his breath. Willie was alone with just a snooker cue, and there like a pride of lions ready to attack him was Dez and his crew. Everything went very quiet as Willie and Dez held each other’s stare. Ricky looked over at Tatum and Henry who were also watching the standoff.

  ‘Got a problem, Dez?’ shouted Willie, with a menacing growl in his voice.

  The laugh that came from Dez’s mouth was mocking. ‘Yeah, as a matter of fact, prick, I do. That table is reserved for me from three o’clock onwards!’

  Willie tapped his cue on the floor. ‘Unless you’re Her Majesty the Queen, then no one gets to reserve this table.’ His voice changed from a dark tone to a sudden laugh that made Ricky jump. ‘But then, again, ya fucking fudge packer, I reckon you are a fucking queen!’

  At this point, some of the inmates hurried away. The gypsies remained, and the men surrounding Dez got to their feet, standing with their shoulders back and their legs apart, ready for a ruck. Willie wasn’t fazed at all. But Dez’s wide, angry eyes shot to Ricky. ‘Size ten, yeah?’

  Ricky had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Willie did. He held the cue like a bat. ‘You dirty stinking wanker.’

  Unexpectedly, Willie swung around and glared at Tatum. Taking five long, fast strides, he grabbed Tatum by his hair and dragged him over to the pool table. ‘Ya want the boy as ya bitch, you have to go through this runt first. He’s his ol’ man. Ya know the rules.’

  Tatum was trying to pull Willie’s hands from his hair. ‘Get off me!’ he squealed.

  Willie, however, didn’t listen to Tatum – his eyes now back on Dez. ‘The boy’s fucking eighteen years. He ain’t twenty-one. He’s a boy, ya bastard!’

  Dez laughed again. ‘He’s on the men’s wing, so that makes him a fucking man!’

  Willie let go of Tatum, who by now was in well over his head. His cocky stance and animated moves had disappeared, and he stood there looking sheepish. But Willie wasn’t done with him yet.

  ‘You, ya tit, asked for the kid to be on your wing ’cos he’s family. Ain’t that right?’

  Tatum felt his face redden. He’d thought that by having Ricky on
the wing with him he would have a gofer, or, if he felt inclined, he could sell him off to someone else – that someone being Dez. What he didn’t bank on was any interference from a lump of a man by the name of Willie Ritz.

  ‘Well, yeah. I wanted to take care of the boy, yer know. I wanted to see ’im all right.’

  With one quick movement, Willie snatched Tatum by the back of his head and slammed his face onto the edge of the pool table, leaving the man stunned and nursing a bloody nose. Staggering back, with a look of horror, he mumbled, ‘What the fuck was that for?’

  ‘’Cos, you’re a cunt!’

  Immediately, a screeching of chairs and mumbling of voices caught Ricky’s attention. The men surrounding Dez were looking behind Ricky and Willie. Then, Ricky heard the deep husky voice of a man shouting, ‘Oi, Ritzie! Got a spot of bother ’ave ya, mate?’

  The voice was followed by another – a softer and more controlled one, from behind Ricky. ‘’Ere, son, give us the cue.’

  Ricky glanced up to see a clean, smart-looking man who was shorter than Willie, with devilish eyes. He was roughly in his mid-forties, and despite his shorter size and stature, he wore the kind of confident expression that a Mafia don would wear. And then another man was suddenly by Willie’s side, a stocky man with huge muscles, who put Ricky in mind of Popeye, or the Michelin Man. Bald and mean-looking, he resembled a pit bull, ready to go for the kill.

  Dez looked uneasy and so did his followers. But he wasn’t going to back down. Ricky was bemused because Willie and his friends were clearly outnumbered. But he could sense the clout that these three older men had, and yet, oddly, he wasn’t afraid of them; in fact, he felt totally unafraid. And, if he’d had the courage, he would have stood by their side like a gladiator.

  ‘I thought one scar on your fucking ugly boat was enough!’ hollered the short muscly man.

  Dez sized up each one. He sniggered and nodded. ‘And you, Stafford, ain’t the man for the job, are ya? It’ll take a bigger fucker than you to take me down!’

  Staffie looked at Lou and laughed. ‘Lou, shall we tell him?’

  Lou laughed along. ‘Nah …’ He nudged Willie’s arm. ‘What d’ya reckon, Willie? Shall we tell him?’

  Dez was fuming. As far as he was concerned, he called the shots; he ran the drugs, the hooch, and the phonecards. Men came and kissed his feet, if he asked them to. Yet Willie, Staffie, and Lou were laughing at him – and worse, he had no idea why. Most inmates wouldn’t have dared, but there was something about these guys, something dangerous. Usually keeping themselves to themselves, they worked out in the gym or played cards and generally kept a low profile. Dez was only too aware of their reputation and their power, though, especially when they united to form the dynamic trio.

  Willie threw his head back and laughed as if he was hysterical, a sure sign he was either mad or on drugs. But Staffie and Lou knew that when Willie was in one of his insane moods, he was unstoppable, and, more often than not, they had to pick up the pieces.

  ‘Nah, lads, let the fudge packer find out for himself.’

  With intense anger, Dez jumped up, knocking a chair aside, and his jaw tightened. ‘You’re a dead man, Willie Ritz!’ he spat, as he pushed his men aside.

  ‘Well, I’m ’ere, ya prick, so, come on, take me out.’

  But Dez was now storming up the staircase, as Willie called after him, ‘Nah, you ain’t got the bollocks. You’re a sneaky motherfucker who only stabs people on the sly. Oh, and by the way, the boy’s a size nine and he’s wearing my trainers.’

  The other men disbursed, leaving Tatum still nursing his bloody nose. Lou was shaking his head and Staffie was frowning. ‘What the fuck was all that about?’

  Willie nodded to Ricky. ‘Me new little mate ’ere. Dez tried to buy him with trainers and that little shit of a man, his so-called father, sold him.’

  Tatum edged his way back. ‘No, yer got it wrong. Dez offered him protection. He said he’d look after him.’

  Willie lunged forward, wanting to smash Tatum again, before Lou stopped him. ‘No, Willie. Scum like that’ll go screaming to the governor and you’ll end up down the block,’ came Lou’s voice of reason. ‘Leave him. Come on. Let’s go.’

  Before they had a chance to remove themselves, Officer Blair’s voice echoed along the lower wing. ‘Ritz, back to your cell!’ His boots on the concrete floor sounded like a marching soldier. He was quickly joined by two other officers. Willie remained like a stone statue, still gripping his cue and glaring at Tatum.

  Blair then grabbed Willie’s arm. ‘I said, go back to your cell!’ He turned to Staffie and then Lou. ‘And you two go as well!’

  As if he had just snapped out of a trance, Willie blinked. Sneering at Tatum and shaking off Blair, he headed for the metal staircase.

  Ricky’s whole body vibrated with fear, too frightened to stay for fear of repercussions from Tatum. He quickly followed Willie up the staircase and along the wing. Willie stormed ahead, beside himself with fury, and as soon as he entered his cell, he slammed the door shut. Ricky stopped dead in his tracks, feeling awkward. He couldn’t go into Willie’s cell and he was nervous to go back down the staircase. He looked at the caged light, the next one on from Willie’s cell, and poked his head gingerly inside. There, on the desk, was his plastic bag. This was his room. He shot inside and shut the door, leaning against it. The only way he could think of to jam it closed was to use his toothbrush. He retrieved it from the shelf, and then he rammed it under the door and yanked at the door handle to see if it had done the job. It fitted perfectly. At once, his shoulders relaxed, and as he sat on his bed, he managed to calm his pounding heart.

  A few moments later, he heard a knock at the door. His body went rigid with fright. He held his breath. Another knock followed and still he wouldn’t budge. He watched with his eyes on stalks as the door was forcefully pushed, but, thankfully, the toothbrush held it shut.

  A low, threatening voice from the other side of the door said, ‘Bad move. Dez ain’t happy. He wants a word, and ya got ’til lights off to see him.’

  Ricky was now shaking from head to toe: this was all such a nightmare. There was Dez and his mean-looking henchmen, and Tatum with his cruel scornful look that had implied ‘Just you wait’, and now Willie had shut the door on him. He tried to rationalize things and thought maybe Willie didn’t know he had followed him up the stairs. The avalanche of worries consumed his thoughts until he heard another voice.

  ‘Oi, what the fuck d’ya think you’re doing? Get away from the kid. You make threats, and I’ll make fucking promises.’

  Ricky felt relief like never before. He had a big man backing his corner. It was madness; he’d not even done a thing wrong, he’d just kept his head down, and now, with not even a word because he couldn’t speak, he felt a war was about to ensue.

  Willie banged on the door. ‘All right, Richard?’

  Ricky leaped from his bed and pulled the toothbrush away from the door, allowing Willie to come inside.

  ‘Sorry, matey. I had to go back to me cell before I did something I might regret. Good ol’ Lou keeps me in check. He’s that voice that sits on me shoulder and says “Don’t do it.”’

  The fretful expression and hands clenched so tightly told Willie that the kid was a nervous wreck. ‘Listen to me, yeah? I think I need to explain what went on down there, ’cos you look like you ain’t got a clue.’ He walked over to the chair and sat himself down. Ricky noticed how long his legs were.

  ‘That ’orrible bastard Dez thinks he runs this nick. He was a Face at Wormwood Scrubs ’cos he had his two older brothers there with him. They’re Yardies, and, to be fair, they are hard. Anyway, he lives off his brothers’ reputation, so he has a load of arse-lickers running a business in ’ere. The scag heads do his running around for a bit o’ gear, but – and this is the issue – that wanker likes boys. The younger and prettier, the better, and never of his own colour.’ He stopped talking. Pulling out his tobacco pouch, he began making
a roll-up. Then he eyed the boy, waiting for him to take it all in. He knew he wasn’t retarded, just mute and scared. ‘Now, Dez can offer you protection, and he will do so, all the while you’re his bitch sucking his dick.’

  Ricky went suddenly pale and his eyes widened like saucers.

  ‘Yeah, I thought you’d be shocked. So, when he offered you trainers, the minute you accepted them, he would call you his bitch. It’s like a favour for a favour, but, in his case, a pair of fresh trainers means he can call that favour in every day of the poxy week.’ He licked the fag paper and glued the edges to make a perfect roll-up. Looking it over, he grinned and then placed it between his lips, lighting the end and puffing furiously. ‘I tell you what though, son. He couldn’t have done that without running it past your ol’ man, ’cos, believe it or not, there are rules inside, and you shouldn’t by rights be on this wing. Ya need to be over twenty-one, but since you came in with ya father – or stepdad, whatever he is – he has the right to have you on his wing. The cunt gave Dez permission to have you working for him, whatever that meant.’

  With a sudden reddening of his cheeks, Ricky was indignant.

  Willie took another drag and sat up straight. ‘I ain’t in the habit of sticking me nose in people’s bees wax, but I’ve got a son. Liam, he’s called, and if he were inside, I’d make sure that he was looked after. See, that fella that looked like someone’s shoved a tyre pump up his arse and blown him up to one hundred bar, that’s Staffie. He’s a good mate of mine and he’s got a boy an’ all. That other fella, the one that talks like a lawyer with narrow eyes, that’s Lou Baker, another close pal. He’s got twin boys, and so you can understand why we would look out for ya. Anyway, what I’m trying to say, without me mouth running away with me, is this. If you need our ’elp, you come and find us. And do yaself a favour. Try and stay in our vicinity. Come to the gym, eat with us, and just kinda hang around. That Dez won’t fuck with ya then.’

  He leaned back again and puffed on his roll-up. A comfortable silence put Ricky at total ease. He had taken a real liking to Willie. There was something so natural about him. It was a feeling he’d never had while living on the site with the travellers. He’d always considered himself an outsider who would never fit in. The way they talked and joked, it wasn’t him at all. The quick Romany sayings and shady dealings made him cringe. He didn’t belong and never would because he knew he came from another culture – he just didn’t know what that was. Jackie had brainwashed him so much, he couldn’t even remember his own real name. He was sure it wasn’t Richard Menaces, though.