by Jade West
“Shit, Vick.”
“You were away, and Mam didn’t have none to spare. Thought about going to Tyler, but couldn’t risk it, not with the non-molestation order. Social services would be all over it.”
“Where did you go?” My heart dropped through my stomach. “Please fucking tell me it wasn’t the Stoney boys?”
She covered her face with her hands. “They were the only ones who’d lend.”
“How much?” I rolled another cigarette, I fucking needed it.
“Seven hundred.”
“Seven hundred?! Are you out of your pissing mind?”
“I was desperate!” she hissed. “I owed Ben Brown nearly five.”
“How much now?”
“Twelve hundred last time I checked. You know what their interest is like. They want three of it by next Monday. I’m scared, Cal. Really scared. You heard what they did to Tina Ryan.”
I pulled her hands away from her face. Tears. I hate tears, they make me feel weird inside.
“If they hurt me who’s going to take care of Slay? Mam can’t have him, not full-time.”
“We’ll sort it.”
“How?” she cried, edging closer. “Not even you can take them on, Callum, they’ll cut you up.”
“We’ll have to find the money.” My foot started to twitch, adrenaline rising. No way I’d do that many small deliveries by next Monday, I hadn’t even hooked back up with the circuit.
“I thought about turning some tricks... I know a couple of guys who’d have me.”
I grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking some sense into her. She didn’t fight me, just juddered in my grip. “Don’t you fucking dare, you stupid cow. Think of Slater.” I looked down at Casey, so quiet at my feet. So much for an easier life. “I’ve gotta go, Vick, get my head together.”
Her hand was on my elbow, pulling me closer. “Sure you won’t stay? I could do with the company.”
I stood in answer, handing her a roll-up.
“Fine,” she smiled, sadly. “I’ll get your stuff.”
***
Sophie
I watched Eric Fletcher stomp across the office, knowing by his trajectory he was heading straight for my desk. He scowled over at me, flustered and grubby, cleaning foam splattered over his maintenance overalls.
“One pissing night, that’s all it took.”
“Sorry?” I quizzed, pushing my mobile out of sight.
“Callum bastard Jackson. One night before he sprayed holy shit out the place. Don’t know which fucktard let him out on early release, but I’ve a mind to have a word with them.”
“Graffiti?”
“A shit ton of it. Must have been at it all pissing night.”
“Definitely his?”
He shook his head, as though I was a bloody idiot. “CeeJay, same as always. Bold as pissing brass that one.”
“Where this time?”
“Down by Al’s chip shop and another on one of the skate ramps. Oh, and a big old spectacle down the garage block by tower one of East Veil. Took pictures for the file. See if you can get community support on it, hopefully they’ll lock him back up.”
He handed me a digital camera and I flicked through the images on the previewer. The one by the chip shop was dark. Jagged bars hiding a hunched figure, his hands on his head, twisted in a way that reminded me of ‘The Scream’. It wasn’t like the other graffiti I’d seen around East Veil. Most of that was a load of names, garish and amateur. This was something else. I zoomed in on the signature in the bottom corner. CeeJay.
“Told you,” Eric said. “It’s Jackson alright.”
I flicked along to the next.
A crime scene body outline had been sprayed onto the skate ramp. Cartoon-like but gruesome. East Veil kills. Again, there was the CeeJay.
“Quite good, isn’t he?” I remarked, carelessly.
“Good? It’s a bloody eyesore.”
“No security cameras?”
“He knows them. Didn’t catch a thing, even if they did, he wears a hood. Can’t prove shit. Seen the spectacle at the garages? Can’t make bloody sense of it, myself. Pissing vandal.”
I flicked forward a few more, pulse racing at the memory of that place. My blood ran cold as I interpreted the images, guilt and embarrassment and something indeterminable crawling through me. The picture was of Casey. It had to be. A big black dog, in zigzag lines, frozen in mid-leap, tail curling into the sky. Red and purple script, the full height of the garage doors. Thank you.
Thank you.
Shit.
I could feel my cheeks burning.
Eric tutted. “Takes the fucking piss, doesn’t it? That’s going to take hours to clean up, budget’s already tight for this quarter.”
“Has anyone else seen these?”
“Not yet. Brought them straight to you. Hope you can take the little wanker down.”
I smiled, a hollow mask. “I’ll do my best.”
I uploaded the first two scenes to the East Veil archives.
The third never made it.
***
I took a working lunch, catching up on my notes from my meeting with Hannah Jackson the day before. Her usual troutish bluster had been absent, leaving a chain-smoking husk of a woman in its stead.
He’ll get me, she’d said, he’ll break his way in here and he’ll get me.
She’d said nothing of the dog, not one word. Only that her son was a monster, and had been since birth. As if children are ever born evil. Children are sculpted by their parents, I’d seen it a thousand times over on those estates. I’d battled with a whole host of questions in my time with her, all of them fizzing on the tip of my tongue. Questions about Callum, about the dog, about his prison time... I’d asked none, of course, bar those necessary to do my job.
I need security, alarms, extra locks. I need window bars on this place, and one of those fireproof boxes to catch the mail. You’d better get them for me, or I’ll go to the papers!
I assured her I’d do my best. I was doing that a lot lately.
And you’re sure he’s a danger to you, Mrs Jackson?
He’ll fucking kill me if he gets chance! I’ll be dead! He’s got a temper, that lad. A temper like you’ve never seen!
But I had seen it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Hell, I needed a distraction.
I checked my Edgeplay login. Five new messages. A couple of idiots with one-liner chat-ups, some guy from Manchester, and someone I’d met once before. I flushed at the memory. A hotel room in Kensington and too much wine. He’d been good, but rough, and I’d been careless. I’d been reckless, in fact. Stupid. He’d given me a damn good fucking but left me bruised for days, requiring a trip down Accident and Emergency after an overly zealous fisting attempt. I clenched my legs at the thought. Fucking ouch.
He’d been good, though. His dirty voice, his edgy sadism... like Masque without the finesse... without the restraint, too.
Maybe...
My handset buzzed in my hand. Text message from Raven. Impeccable timing.
How’s the hunt for Mr Dangerous? xx
I smiled as I replied.
One or two contenders. xx
She didn’t leave it long.
Edgeplay? x
I screen shot his profile, attached it to my reply.
He’s top of the list at the moment. x
Buzz.
Are you fucking mental? Craving some medical intervention? x
I’d been questioning that myself.
Pickings are slim. I’m contemplating my options. x
I spied Christine approaching, leaving me just enough time to read the last of Raven’s messages.
Be careful, Missy. Don’t you dare fucking go alone! x
“Not disturbing you, am I?” Christine sneered. “I’ll hang around while you finish up on Facebook if you like.”
“I wasn’t on Facebook,” I snapped. “I’m on lunch, anyway.”
S
he pointed to the clock, two minutes past lunchtime. Pedantic bitch. I figured she’d come along for another moan at my lack of attendance at her meeting, but no.
“I just intercepted the strangest call, about you, Miss Harding.”
“A call? From who?”
“Janine Scott.”
I felt my colour drain. “Janine Scott?”
“These tenants try their luck, don’t they? They must think we were born yesterday.”
“What did she want?” I hoped my poker face was a good one.
“She had the most incredible story. It must have taken her hours to concoct the stupid thing. She claims you took a trip to her flat yesterday, and stole her dog.”
“Stole her dog?”
“Quite. That’s not the best of it,” she smirked. “She only claims that you’re in league with Callum Jackson. Apparently you stole her dog and gave it to him.”
“Callum Jackson?”
“Yes!” she laughed. I’d hardly ever heard Christine laugh. I found it quite unsettling. “She was quite put out when I told her the scenario was entirely impossible.”
I smiled. “I can imagine.”
“She must think we’re an office full of halfwits. I assured her in no uncertain terms there’ll be trouble if she continues with this nonsense. Honestly, these people! Anything for sensationalism. Out for compensation, of course.” She handed me a scrawled note. “Here’s the detail. I haven’t written it up.”
“Thanks,” I smiled. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Oh, and Sophie,” she said, before wandering off. “Your mother called, asked that you call her back. Apparently you’ve been ignoring her messages?”
Yes. Yes, I had.
“I’ll deal with that, too.”
She rolled her eyes in a thoroughly patronising manner. “Seems you have a lot of things to be dealing with, Miss Harding. Best get to it. Chop-chop!”
Bitch! The note went straight in the bin, along with any intention to call my mother.
It could all wait, the whole sorry lot of it.
I had a date to arrange.
Chapter Four
Callum
“Got any more for me?” I whispered into the mobile, hiding my face from passers-by. “Need the work.”
Jack Willis took his time answering, smoking a big fat joint, no doubt. “Not till next week. Next delivery’s Tuesday.”
I sighed. “Throw me some rope, Jack. Anything bigger?”
“I thought you weren’t in the game for bigger parcels?”
Desperate times. “I could do one or two.”
I heard him rustling papers. “Maybe next week, we can talk then. Best I can do.”
Too late. Much too late. “Any chance of an advance, Jack, I wouldn’t ask...”
“You know I don’t do advances, kid. Sets a bad precedent.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
I hung up, almost out of phone credit and feeling like a first class prick.
I’d made best part of two hundred quid the last few days, running myself ragged delivering packages across the city. Two hundred quid that could feed me and Casey like kings, but no. It was all for the Stoney’s pocket. All that work and still it weren’t enough.
Vick had scraped a couple of quid together, selling old toys on eBay, but we were still over a hundred short. Finding a hundred quid over the weekend wouldn’t be easy. Not without robbing. Saturday morning, less than two days to go and out of options. We had nothing to pawn, nothing left to sell, no place left to turn.
Maybe the Stoneys would settle for two hundred, but I doubted it. They weren’t the generous type. They’d take the two and give Vick a black eye for her trouble, probably even worse for me. Couldn’t do deliveries with busted kneecaps, nor find food for Casey.
Vick had been crying every night. Sobbing on my shoulder like a little girl. Guilty, she said, but she needn’t have been. It weren’t her fault. She didn’t ask for this life, where the money’s too short to make ends meet, and we’re all on a treadmill to nowhere.
The cash burned a hole in my pocket as we walked on past the butchers. What I’d give to buy a decent fucking steak. One for me, one for Vick and one for Case. Hell, we could do with it. I was still fit, but I was losing muscle, bulking up with extra layers so people didn’t notice. They’d be on me like hyenas, some of them, if they thought they could take me.
My phone started ringing. I could hardly bear to look, hardly bear to break the bad news to Vick.
A number I didn’t recognise. I’m wary of those, but I had no more credit to listen to voicemail, and maybe it was about some work.
“Yeah?”
A pause at the other end. A bit of a cough. “Callum Jackson?”
“Who’s asking?”
“It’s Sophie Harding. I rescued your dog.”
Knock me down with a fucking feather. “I’m taking care of her.”
“No, um, that wasn’t why I called. Well, it is, but it’s not.”
“Why call then, estate manager?”
Maybe she’d seen my street art, seen the message I left for her. It felt stupid now.
“I need someone for a job. A one-off. I thought maybe you...”
I tried to hold back the relief, disappointment hurts like a bastard when you get your hopes up too high. “What the hell can someone like you want from someone like me?”
A pause. “It’s a little... personal. I need someone tonight, someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut. Just for a few hours. Are you free?”
“What for?” I said, wary.
“I’m meeting someone, at a hotel. I need a man around, to keep an eye on things.”
“Security, like? I can do security.”
She sounded like she was smiling. “I thought you might be the man for the job.”
“How much you paying?” I wanted to say I owed her one, clear that debt from my tab, but I needed the money too bad.
“One fifty? Cash? Is that enough?”
“One hundred and fifty quid?! What you want me to do? Mess someone up?”
“No!” she snapped. “Of course not!” I liked her voice, all posh like. Flustered.
“I’ll do whatever you want for a hundred and fifty quid.”
I weren’t joking, either. I made a note of the address. A hotel in Kensington. Seven sharp.
And then I bought that fucking steak.
***
Callum
I skulked around the edge of Kensington Gardens. This place wasn’t for me. Posh white buildings with posh white steps and all their posh fucking plants outside. Posh people inside too, no fucking doubt about that. I smoked a roll-up and kept my eye on the street, waiting for Sophie Harding to show up. She arrived ten minutes early and hung around the front of the hotel opposite. She didn’t look like the woman I’d pinned by the garages. She was all made up, her hair all shiny and curled under her chin. More make-up on, too. Red lipstick, but not like the hookers round by East Veil. She looked good. Proper classy. Looked like she was planning on staying, judging by the suitcase she was pulling on wheels. She pulled her coat tight, looking back the way she came. Looking for me.
What the fuck did she want with someone like me?
I scuffed out my roll-up. Time to find out.
I wasn’t expecting the smile on her face. “Thanks for coming. Where’s Casey?”
“With a friend.” I nodded towards the hotel. “What we doing here?”
She pushed her hair behind her ear. Nervous, like. “I’ll go check in, meet me by the lifts.”
The place was as posh inside as out. People stared but pretended not to, holding their bags a little tighter as I passed. Sophie wasn’t long. I followed her into the lift and she pressed for the fourth floor.
“So?”
She did that hair thing again. “Not one for small talk, are you?”
“Nothing small to be talking about.”
“You shouldn’t need to do anything much. Just be there.”
&
nbsp; “Where?”
“In my suite, while I have a visitor.”
“You buying a fat load of coke or something?” I nudged her suitcase with my foot. “Or selling? Don’t seem the type, somehow.”
She rolled her eyes. “Hardly.” The lift dinged. “You know how to keep your mouth shut, right?”
“Ain’t much of a talker. Sure ain’t no grass.”
“Figured as much.” She opened the door with a credit card thing. Fucking weird. “Do you want your money now, or later?”
“Not worried. Guess you’re good for it.”
I didn’t know where to fucking put myself, everything looked too posh to touch. The room was fucking massive, with double doors that led through to another. I hadn’t ever seen a four-poster in the flesh, looked like a king’s pissing palace, this place. She sat herself down on a fancy chair. “I needed someone I could trust to keep their mouth shut. Someone who can be around... just in case.”
“In case what?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Have you, um... have you heard of BDSM?”
“Weren’t born yesterday, estate manager. I’ve been around the block a bit.”
“So, you know what it involves?”
“Whips and chains and all that kinky shit. Yeah, I know. Why?”
She smiled a bit, flicking her hair. Nervous and real fucking pretty. “Well, I’m, um. I’m... into it.”
I hadn’t seen that shit fucking coming. “You want me around while you turn into Miss Whiplash, go right ahead. Ain’t gonna faze me.”
She played with her nails. “It’s the other way around, actually. I’m a submissive.”
“Submissive? You like getting beat up?”
“Something like that...” She looked at me, and I saw something else in her. Something I’d never seen back there at the garages. A sparkle in her eyes, some clichéd crap like that. “I’m meeting someone here, in about half an hour. I just want you to stay out here, while we go in there.” She gestured to the bedroom. “If I call for you, which is very unlikely, you come in and save the damsel in distress. If not, just sit here. Watch TV or something.”
“I watch TV while some guy beats the shit out of you?”
“It will sound worse than it is,” she said. “If he really is beating the shit out of me, believe me, I’ll be calling for you.”
