RIOT ACT: Charlie Fox book two

by Zoe Sharp

  When the faded front door was pulled open, it was Madeleine who stood on the other side. The tall, dark-haired girl was wearing jeans and a pale green shirt, and looked like she’d just been modelling them for Vogue. There was remarkably little surprise registering on her smooth pale face.

  “Hi,” she said. “You must be Charlie. Sean said you might call round. He’s not here at the moment, but do come on in.”

  Thirteen

  Madeleine stepped to one side and ushered me, unresisting, into the hallway.

  It was small and cluttered, with a row of china ornaments on a shelf over the radiator, and a jumble of dirty child-size trainers piled in a heap on the floor. As Madeleine shut the door behind me two kids holding plastic water pistols came galloping down the stairs and disappeared through a side door, carrying on a running battle as they went.

  Madeleine ignored them, leading me through into a tiny living room. It was made all the smaller by the presence of a huge three-piece suite with heavy wooden feet. There were three more kids arranged around the TV set, which had a games console plugged into it. The animated picture was frozen just at the moment some scaly double-headed monster with chainsaws for arms was having its head exploded in a dungeon.

  It made me remember the Superintendent’s words about the meaning of life and death to kids today. I began to think he might not be so far off the mark with his theory. If only I could be sure that Sean wasn’t involved.

  As soon as Madeleine reappeared, the kids started clamouring for her to continue their game. She favoured them with an indulgent smile. “Do you mind?” she said to me. “Only we’re right up at Level Five. They’ll never forgive me if I back out now.”

  I shook my head, still a little bewildered by my reception, and she dropped onto her stomach on the floor with the kids. Almost straight away, her thumbs were stabbing agilely at the buttons on one of the hand controllers. Four pairs of eyes were suddenly transfixed on the screen.

  I stood for a moment or two, unsure what to do other than wait, when the living room door swung open again and a small wiry woman with untidy grey hair dashed in.

  “Ah, I thought I heard the front door,” she said, “but I was just rolling out some pastry. Excuse me not shaking hands, won’t you, dear.” She held up hands that were floured to the elbows. “Now, would you like a nice cup of tea?”

  “Thank you,” I said faintly. Madeleine gave me a quick grin over her shoulder and I followed the older woman as she bustled out to the kitchen.

  That room, like the rest of the house I’d seen so far, was cluttered, but spotlessly clean. I leaned against a cupboard and watched as Mrs Meyer shot water into the kettle, clicked it on, plucked the teapot from its stand, and brought down two mugs from hooks on the wall. It took me a few moments to realise that there wasn’t any particular reason for her to be hurrying.

  “So, you know Maddie, do you?” she asked pleasantly, scooping loose tea into the pot from a tin that once contained Bassett’s Liquorice Allsorts. She flicked me a brief bright glance. It was disconcerting to be staring into Sean’s ebony eyes set deep in a lined face.

  “Erm, no, not really. I used to know Sean – a few years ago,” I said cautiously, watching as she grabbed her rolling pin and began vigorously flattening a dusty circle of pastry on the kitchen table. “I was wanting to see him about his brother.”

  “Oh, that boy,” she said, but gently, with affection. She dunked a hand into an open bag of flour and flumped more of it onto the table. “He’s caused me some troubles,” she added, smiling again, “but if Roger grows out of it like Sean, I’ll count myself blessed.”

  “You have a daughter as well, don’t you?” I asked, making conversation.

  Just for a second, her busy hands stilled, then they were off again, as though the flag was down and the clock was against her. “Yes, yes I do,” she said, distractedly. “My Ursula’s not living at home any more. Oh, now, there’s that kettle.” She turned and sloshed the boiling water into the teapot so recklessly I feared she’d scald herself, but most of the liquid went where it was aimed.

  “We’ve had a bit of a falling out,” she went on with unexpected candour when the teapot lid was safely rammed on and a rabbit-shaped cosy in place over the top.

  Another quick smile, then she lowered her voice. “Between you and me, she’s gone and got herself into trouble. Won’t tell us who the father is. Sean’s been to see her, but he said she wouldn’t tell him anything either. I was hoping Maddie might be able to get through to her. She’s good at that, bless her, but no such luck.”

  Sean’s mother seemed so keen to impart information that I couldn’t resist a little delicate pumping. “Madeleine – erm, Maddie – seems very nice,” I ventured.

  The ploy, lame as it was, worked. Mrs Meyer plonked milk into the mugs, then poured the tea through a plastic strainer, handing mine across with a smile of satisfaction creating a new set of creases on her face.

  “Yes, she is, isn’t she? Between you and me, I keep hoping she and Sean will name the day,” she said happily. “There now, I’ve surprised you. But, it’s two years they’ve been courting. That’s time enough to see if you’re suited, don’t you think? Besides, I keep telling them I want some grandchildren while I’m still young enough to cope with them.”

  “You’ll never be too old to cope with kids, Mrs M,” Madeleine said from the doorway. “Oh good, is there any more tea in that pot? I’m dying for a cuppa.”

  “Did you win?” I asked, taking a sip of my own tea and discovering it surprisingly thick and strong, with the hard smack of tannin following on.

  “Of course,” Madeleine grinned, helping herself to a mug from the wall. She looked very much at home, not having to wait politely for service, like a guest. Or an outsider. I tried to work out why that should bother me so much.

  “I’ll never understand those space invader games if I live to be a hundred,” Mrs Meyer put in, deftly peeling up the now wafer-thin pastry and flopping it over a ready-greased pie dish.

  “They’re easy,” Madeleine shrugged. “You’d soon pick it up if you put your mind to it.” She leaned over the kitchen table as she passed and filched a cherry from the bowl waiting to fill the pie.

  “Go on, out of my kitchen, you.” Mrs Meyer batted affectionately at her hand, but didn’t look in the least offended, despite the words. “You can have some when it’s done, and not before. You’re as bad as the children.”

  Madeleine just laughed. “Come on, Charlie,” she said. “Let’s drink our tea in the back garden. It’s the only place we’ll get some peace.”

  Just then, the two kids who’d been shooting water pistols at each other now reappeared at similar speed, this time duelling with plastic lightsabers and copious verbal sound effects.

  Madeleine rolled her eyes as she grabbed a jacket and led the way out through the back door. It opened onto a small neat garden that was mainly gravel and flagging.

  There were a couple of benches set against the hedge furthest from the house, under a crab apple tree, and it was there we sat. It was surprisingly tranquil. The only concession to Copthorne’s reputation was the fact that every movable object was chained or concreted to the ground.

  Madeleine sighed heavily and slumped down, rubbing her eyes with a weary hand. “Those damned whiny kids,” she said with quiet feeling, digging in her jacket pockets. The search eventually produced a crumpled pack of Marlboro and a Zippo lighter. “Mrs M ends up “sitting for half the neighbourhood, I think. Thank God for electronic pacifiers.”

  She offered a cigarette, which I declined with a shake of my head. Madeleine stuck one between her lips and lit it with the air of someone who isn’t allowed to smoke in the house, and has been indoors too long. When the initial buzz of nicotine had hit her system she turned, more relaxed, and eyed me curiously.

  “You’re not at all like I was expecting,” she said.

  Her words made my heart jump, but I waited silently for her to continue. What ha
d Sean told her about me?

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she hurried on when I didn’t speak. “Sean hasn’t told me much, but you know how it is, you build up a picture more from what he doesn’t say.”

  Well, there was certainly a lot to be left unsaid about my relationship with Sean Meyer, but the idea that I’d been discussed in whispers in a semi-darkened bedroom somewhere made my stomach turn over.

  I ignored it and buried my nose into the mug of tea, which was still stinking hot. I felt the liquid burning my throat all the way down and was perversely glad.

  In between drags on her cigarette Madeleine took a gulp from her own mug and started again on a different tack. You couldn’t fault the girl for effort. “That was quite an exit you made the other night,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, Sean and I didn’t exactly part on the best of terms,” I said wearily. “I wasn’t particularly anxious to bump into him again.”

  “You should go easier on him.” There was just a hint of censure in her quiet tone.

  I felt my shoulders stiffen involuntarily. “Excuse me?” I managed, my own voice low with anger. “And just what do you know about it, Madeleine?”

  Even she had the grace to look a little squashed. “Hey, don’t get me wrong,” she said again, turning towards me and speaking quickly. “OK, so they threw you off your course. And I know it must have been tough on you, getting kicked out of the army just because you and he had a thing going, but at least they didn’t try and kill you.”

  That’s what you think. It was my turn to feel the world pause under me. “What do you mean?”

  She drew a final breath through the filter tip, and dropped the cigarette butt on the ground, grinding it out. “After you left they posted him again, and kept posting him. One shitty hell-hole after another. They were hoping he’d do the decent thing and get himself blown up, or shot, but Sean doesn’t play by the rules like that. He kept coming back. Fortunately, when he realised what the bastards were trying to do, he got out before they succeeded. I know you think you’ve had it rough, Charlie, but he’s had it tough, too.”

  I watched the genuine anger sketch across her perfectly put together features, and tried not to look for some devious ulterior motive. I had to ask, anyway. “Why are you telling me this?”

  She took a moment to tamp down the emotion, draining her mug of tea before replying. “Just so you’ll understand,” she said at last. “Beyond anything else, Sean admired and respected you, you know? He never expected you to fail, never mind that you’d take him down with you. That was the biggest blow for him. Finding out this girl he practically idolised had clay feet.”

  ***

  I’d been intending to wait around until Sean returned home, but after Madeleine’s soft-spoken attack I knew I had to get out of there, fast.

  How dare Sean give anyone the impression that I’d had an easy time of it. Did he think I’d somehow brought it on myself? I remembered his words at the gym and suddenly it seemed more likely that he thought I’d made it all up. Or had he just conveniently forgotten to mention that part to Madeleine.

  Besides, what Sean didn’t know was that they had indeed tried to kill me. OK, so it wasn’t quite the same as being sent on a suicide mission, but at the time it had seemed just as certain, and as terrifying.

  Madeleine tried to get me to stay, seemed upset at my poor reaction. How did she expect me to respond to something like that, for God’s sake?

  I walked out of the estate under the same subtle surveillance that I’d entered it, and crossed the derelict area marking the boundaries without looking up, past the rows of abandoned, boarded up houses that marked the centre of No Man’s Land.

  It was only when I’d gone a street or two into Lavender Gardens that my instincts coughed loudly enough to finally attract my attention.

  By that time, of course, it was far too late to do much about it.

  There was a gang of six Asian boys surrounding me, early teens by the look of them. Four in front, and two already circling behind. They moved suddenly out of gaps and appeared round pieces of broken fencing, approaching me with determination and purpose. I recognised only one of them, the boy with the dyed blond hair.

  I took a good look around me, and realised with mounting unease that I was well trapped in a secluded alley with tumble-down garaging down one side. It was almost identical to the sort of place where Roger had been beaten up by Garton-Jones’s men. Somehow, I doubted Sean and Madeleine would come galloping to my rescue this time.

  For a while nobody moved, and I took my time assessing the situation, but my escape routes were blocked. Outwardly, I did my best to stay calm, even as I was inwardly cursing my own stupidity.

  Automatically, I focused on the blond-haired leader. Close to, he was a few years younger than I’d thought. He’d managed to scrape enough facial fluff together to cultivate a bit of an artistic beard and moustache combo, and was probably the eldest of the bunch. That said, he was still only just old enough to legally buy cigarettes, and they’d probably make him show ID to do that.

  “What you doin’ here, white girl?” he asked, so softly his voice was almost a hiss. I caught the trace of a lisp under his words as he made a feature of a speech impediment he couldn’t hide.

  “I’m just passing through,” I said as calmly as I could.

  “You come from Copthorne,” one of the others put in, sneering, and spat at my feet.

  I glanced down to where the splatter of phlegm had landed. “I’m not from Copthorne,” I said, looking away. “I’m living here. Kirby Street.”

  The blond stepped forwards, trying to face me off. “Oh we know where you live,” he breathed, “but we know you’ve just been over on Copthorne. Seeing your fascist mates.”

  “You shouldn’t pigeonhole someone because of the colour of their skin,” I pointed out mildly.

  That provoked angry movement from a couple of the others. The leader stilled them with an impatient gesture. “You think we won’t lay a finger on a white girl,” he said, lip curled. “Well, some of us aren’t fussy. But then, you know all about that, don’t you?”

  He gave me a shove, hands against my chest. I allowed my body to roll with it, half expecting the next sharp push that came to my back. They formed a loose circle round me and I allowed them to jostle me backwards and forwards, like a party game. Trying to take them all on was stupid. I was far better to just keep calm and hope they didn’t have the nerve to really put the boot in.

  Still, it was difficult to stay relaxed in the face of such provocation.

  The next time I was shoved at the blond-haired boy, I stumbled deliberately, falling against his bony chest to the jeers of the others. He gave a wolfish grin and put his arms round my waist, grabbing roughly at my backside with his left hand. Most of my good intentions dissipated right about then.

  If you’re going to do it, make it quick, I reminded myself. It was something I’d always drummed into my self-defence students. Once you’d decided to act, put your heart and soul into it. No holding back.

  Just when I’d tensed myself to act, the decision on precisely what I was going to do was suddenly and unexpectedly taken away from me.

  A forearm as thick as a child’s thigh wrapped itself round the blond boy’s neck from somewhere behind him, and he was yanked backwards. I didn’t get a chance to identify the big man attached to the rest of the arm before I too was grabbed.

  The rest of the gang scattered in enough different directions to foil effective pursuit. There only seemed to be one other man, in any case. I didn’t recognise any of them until the black bomber jackets and short cropped haircuts finally registered.

  My old mate Mr Drummond had the Asian boy by the back of his collar and had screwed one arm up behind his back with brutal efficiency, slamming him face first into the nearest piece of fencing.

  I twisted my head and saw it was Harlow who had hold of me. I tensed, expecting similar treatment, but he contented himself with a pit bull grip
on the back of my jacket.

  Garton-Jones’s faithful sidekick, West came into my field of vision. His jaw was set rigid and there were veins standing out on his temples. I waited, half hoping he’d have an embolism, but this wasn’t destined to be my lucky day.

  “Well, well,” he said to the boy after a moment or two, his voice almost a snarl. “Want to tell me what the fuck’s going on here, then, sonny?”

  The Asian boy gave him a sullen glare and said nothing. His gang had completely disappeared. So much for loyalty among thieves.

  “What about you?” He swung in my direction, lips stretching into a mirthless grin as he got a clear look at my face. “Well now, Miss Fox isn’t it?”

  “Mr West,” I greeted him, voice flat. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  He moved in, stuck his face into mine in a gesture he could only have learned from his boss. He had breath like warm camel dung. “Well, you’d better get used to it. It was a nice try you made to get rid of us, lady, but we’re back now, and this time we’re here for good.”