by Phil Earle
What I did know was that the prospect scared me, and that whatever he did, I’d driven him to it, one hundred per cent.
Sonny
The whack from Jammy wasn’t the only one I took. Cam was as hysterical as he was. Not that I blamed her.
All this came down to me, to my complete inability to control my mouth when it mattered. Of course Cam had had it covered when she was talking to him, and if Jammy had wanted more? Well, I should’ve trusted her, shouldn’t I?
She told me so in much blunter words as she lamped me around the head. I took the blows; wasn’t like I didn’t deserve them.
‘I’m sorry,’ I yelled over the sound of my ears ringing. ‘I am. I’m an idiot.’
‘There’s only so many times you can say it and it still mean something. After a while it just becomes noise.’
I thought about what I might have cost her. What if Jamm did go off and cause havoc? Would that change things? The possibility of my brother or hers being honoured? How much would that have meant to me if Tomm had come home instead of Jamm? What sort of lifeline would that have offered Mum as well?
And there I was, sending Jammy off in such a state that none of it even mattered any more. All that mattered now was finding him.
There was way too much of what he’d said, what he’d done, that scared me. I’d never have dreamed that he might ever feel desperate enough to hurt himself. But after what I’d just seen with the car window? With that one punch everything changed. Including things with Cam.
She paced in front of me, no idea how to put things right. How could she, when I’d managed to risk the one good thing that might have come out of Tomm’s death?
‘It’ll be all right, you know.’ I sounded way too breezy. ‘I can sort this out. I will.’
‘You can, can you? You can bring Tomm back? Get rid of the massive hole in his chest and get it beating again? Well if you could hurry up and do that, Sonny, we’d be grateful. Mum’s not stopped crying since the knock at the door, Dad’s only coming home to take lumps out of us, plus I’ve got to try and look after your bruised ego, when all I want … is my brother back.’ There were no tears, but the pain was clear to see. It poured from every part of her, filling the air with static, reminding me of the damage I’d done.
‘I wish I could bring him back for you, Cam. I do. I’d swap places with him in a heartbeat. I don’t mean to screw things up like I do, it’s just …’
‘You know what, Sonny? This isn’t about you. For once, it isn’t. This is about Jamm. I don’t care what you saw, or what you think you saw. He’s your brother and he’s the closest I have to one now too. Anything else, me and you, it’s irrelevant.’
The wailing of the cars matched the pain in my head. This was unravelling too chaotically for me to keep up.
I wanted to lie down on the gravel until every bit of the storm had blown over. But I couldn’t, and fortunately the arrival of Wiggs and Den gave me something else to focus on.
They may only have just heard the alarms shrieking, but I could see the noise was shredding their eardrums already.
‘This something to do with you?’ Den asked.
I shook my head. ‘Jamm.’
‘Jamm did this?’ Wiggy stuck his nose through the hole in the car window, probably looking for anything worth pinching. ‘What did you say to him?’
Cam answered as she yanked Wiggs away from temptation; last thing we needed was to be nabbed for burglary.
‘Your mate here decided now was the time to tell Jamm about us.’ Her look hit me just above the eyes; it hurt more than the punches did.
‘What, you mean … you two are … a couple? You’re kidding!’ Sarcasm didn’t suit Wiggy. Just as well Den whacked it straight out of him with a slap to the back of the head.
‘We should keep walking,’ he added. ‘Get right away. Security are bound to fancy us for this.’
So we bustled off, filling the other two in on the last few minutes, lingering on the state of Jamm as he left.
‘It’s not like him. Not just the window, either. The way he spoke. There was something really final about it, like he had something to prove. Something he had to show us.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’
‘Well, you are his brother.’
I didn’t know how to answer that. I mean, I was, but I didn’t act like one. What kind of person sees something terrifying in his brother for days and does nothing about it?
Thoughts of what Jammy might do spiralled in my head, looping so badly that I knew I had to find him quickly. Before I had anything else to regret.
‘We need to split up. Cover ground. I’ve no idea where he went, but he’ll have to head back to the Ghost eventually. Den – you and Wiggs start at Parkway, then the bypass. Me and Cam’ll head to Carr Lane and double back that way. If you see anything, text me.’
I reached for Cam’s hand, out of habit rather than hope, but quickly got shot down.
‘Why don’t I go with Wiggs?’ she added, looking me full-on as she said it. ‘You go with Den.’
If I needed a sign of where we were, there it was: two sentences that drew a line under everything. But there wasn’t time to stand there and plead with her. Why dig my grave any deeper? With a simple nod, Den and I peeled left, the piercing screams of car alarms finally fading as we hit Carr Lane.
‘It’ll be all right, you know. All this.’ I wasn’t sure if Den was telling me or reassuring himself.
‘You didn’t see him.’
‘No, but I’ve known him all my life.’
I smiled at him weakly. I wanted to believe him but couldn’t. ‘So have I, that’s what’s scaring me. We have to find him, mate.’
He clapped my back roughly and we strode on, eyes in every direction for any sign of him.
It didn’t take long to pick up Jammy’s path, and once we did we definitely couldn’t lose it. At first the clues were small: a trail of upturned litter bins scattered across the road. Cars veered to avoid them but no one stopped. It only took me a minute to fetch them back on to the kerb. I couldn’t have a crash on my conscience too.
Next was more car damage – dented bodies, wing mirrors amputated or hanging off. It was only when we saw a Honda with its front and back screens caved in that we realized it was escalating. Jammy wasn’t calming down, he was getting worse.
‘What is he going to smash next?’
We didn’t have to wait long. A hundred metres later, as the arcade started, so did the devastation. It wasn’t like they were posh shops, more a row of beat-up units that specialized in corny names: a hair salon called ‘Curl Up and Dye’, the ‘Town Fryer’ chip shop. That wasn’t all they had in common, though: all six of them were missing their front windows. Even the chippy that was still open. The owner was prowling around outside wielding a spatula and speaking to a policeman, who looked in fear of his own life. As if you could be killed by a fish slice.
‘Did you get a look at him?’
‘Only his boot as it went through the glass.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘What do you want me to say? He looked like they all do. He had a blue hoodie on. Big lad, strong. Not the sort you follow out into the street to confront. That’s your job.’
The copper looked sheepish. He had practically nothing to go on. But we did. It told us everything we needed to know. The blue hoodie confirmed it. No way it was a coincidence.
We walked down the row, eyeing each of the shops as we passed. Nothing seemed to be missing from the window displays until we reached the decorators’ merchant at the very end. Peering through the shattered glass, I could see an elaborate pyramid of paint cans, each one a different vibrant colour, except the top couple of tiers were missing.
It didn’t take much for my head to make the leap and I pointed it out to Den.
‘What would he want with tins of paint?’
‘I don’t think he’s going to decorate our flat, put it that way.’
Try
ing to keep my head from racing, I bashed out a text to Cam.
He’s getting worse. More wrecked cars, windows smashed n looted. Get back to ghost ASAP
A reply buzzed back quickly, short on small talk.
WILL DO
Den and I paced on, looking for anything that was newly and badly decorated; at first everything went quiet. A good four hundred metres passed without the sound of a car alarm or the sight of shattered glass. It wasn’t until we hit the centre of town that Jamm’s trail hit us in the face again.
The local paper, the Gazette, was a rag. Everyone knew that. Seemed like it was only kept afloat with ads placed by locals with money to burn. Its offices stood in front of us, a nasty 60s concrete mess that looked like a seedy relative to the towers on the Ghost. And there, smeared across the front windows in bright scarlet paint, was the beginning of Jammy’s message to them.
To anyone else it would’ve made no sense, but I could see the start of an ‘r’ before the letters suddenly ended, and I knew instantly what it was going to say: ‘No Hero.’
Jammy’s response to what they’d called him.
The other thing that was clear to me was that Jamm might not have finished the word, but that wasn’t because he’d bottled it. The only thing that would have stopped him was being interrupted.
He’d told us he was going to prove something and I didn’t believe this was his end goal. He had other things he wanted to do. Bigger things. And as the possibilities built up in my head, they scared me half to death. We might have been closing in on him, but we weren’t doing it quickly enough. Not by a long shot.
Sonny
We should’ve moved on quickly. I’d been in enough compromising situations over the years to know not to linger when stuff was going down, but tonight seemed to be the night for messing things up royally.
So as we stood and gazed up at Jamm’s handiwork, we didn’t hear the law creeping up behind us. Not even when they were practically stood on our trainers.
‘Doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it, lads?’ We span round to see two of them, Tweedledumb and Dumber, pleased as punch, reckoning they’d caught us right in the act. Nothing worse than a smug copper, well, apart from a persistent one.
‘It doesn’t, does it?’ No way I was going to kiss up to them. ‘Sad reflection on our education system, gents.’ I made eyes at Den and we sidled right, only to be pulled straight back.
‘Nothing to do with you, then?’
We shoved on our best outraged faces, but managed to look like bigger toe-rags than usual.
‘Do we look that thick to you?’ Den asked.
‘I’m not sure you want us to answer that,’ the bigger one said. He had a cleft in his chin so deep you could park your bike in it. It was the funniest thing about him.
‘Look, Sherlock,’ I butted in, ‘you might think you’re some crash-hot super-sleuth. And you clearly think you’re intellectually superior to us. But –’ and I paused for effect, feeling in control for the first time that night – ‘you’re wrong. The wrongest you’ve probably ever been. Well, since you decided to join the force anyway.’
I saw them bristle and stick their chests out. I loved messing with coppers. They were so easy to wind up.
‘I can prove you’re way off the mark.’
Den looked at me, his eyes asking, You can?
They laughed, identical barks that must have been standard police issue. ‘Go on, then.’
I was well into my stride and took my time, knowing every second I wasted was another second for Jamm to get further away, wherever he was heading.
I beamed. ‘First of all, where’s the paint? The stuff we haven’t used yet?’
They laughed again. ‘That’s it? That’s your defence? There’s no paint can here, so it can’t be you? Brilliant. Outstanding. You must tell that to the desk sergeant when he books you in for the night.’
I waved my hands and gave them my best fake laugh. ‘I’m being silly, aren’t I? Come on, then, slap the cuffs on. Just be careful of the paint that’s covering our hands, won’t you?’
Den looked at his own fingers, grubby but free of paint. He looked ready to explode with confusion.
‘What are you on about?’ Copper One asked. ‘There’s no paint on you. Have you two been sniffing a can of deodorant?’
‘Nope. I’m just proving, sir, that it isn’t us who’s responsible for this appalling vandalism. Couldn’t have been.’
Copper Two was losing his patience. ‘All right, that’s enough. You can tell us all this at the station.’
I danced to his left, away from his grasp. ‘That’s just it, though, we can’t. All the evidence is here. Look. Look at the windows.’
They looked but said nothing.
‘No, really look. Closely. Look at the letters. What do you reckon they’ve used to paint them with?’
‘A brush, you idiot. Now come with us.’
‘But that’s just it, they haven’t. Look again. Unless you know of a brush that has fingerprints, no way it was done with anything but a hand.’
They looked at each other then peered closely at the glass.
‘See it?’ I asked, knowing full well there were smeary, smudged handprints mixed in with the paint. There might have been a clean fingerprint or two if they’d looked closely enough, but they’d have to search hard to find them. Longer than either of them would ever be prepared to dedicate. I could see they were losing interest already.
‘So if we were the guilty parties, then surely, obviously, our hands would be absolutely covered in the stuff, and oh …’ I laughed again, ‘look, they aren’t. Good luck finding them, though. It’s a distinctive red, that. “Scarlet Sunset”, I think it is. Shouldn’t take you long to find it.’ And with a wave I pulled a delighted Den away with me, wiggling his fingers in their direction.
Two things could have happened then. Either they’d pull us anyway, shamed at being made to look such mugs, or they’d let us go, and though at first I heard a shuffle of feet behind us, the noise soon stopped. Only when we were fifty metres on did I dare to look back, to see them both staring at the paintwork like it was the Mona Lisa.
‘Nice one,’ Den grinned. ‘I had no idea where you were going with that.’
‘I’m not completely thick,’ I sighed, my head filling back up with thoughts of Jamm. ‘Contrary to popular belief. Just make sure you tell Cam how great I was, will you?’
‘Might be a bit late for that.’
He was right too, or maybe not, because as we walked on, my phone rang, Cam’s name lighting up the screen.
‘You all right?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice soft and friendly.
‘We’re at the bypass.’ At least I thought that was what she said. There were sirens and voices fighting to be heard. Another four hundred metres on and we’d be able to hear them too.
‘Where abouts?’
‘By Walton Street. We were heading back, but there’s been a massive crash here. Half a dozen cars stacked up. Both lanes are completely blocked. One of them’s gone through the reservation.’
She wasn’t ringing with a traffic update. She reckoned it had something to do with Jamm. My head spun; I didn’t want to ask the question, but knew I had to.
‘Is he there, Cam? He’s not, is he? Tell me he’s not in one of the cars!’
There was a pause, then she was back, yelling over another siren.
‘Not one that’s still here, no.’
‘Eh? What do you mean?’
‘There’s police everywhere, Sonny. Taking statements from drivers. Wiggs has been following them round, listening in.’
‘And?’
‘They’re all saying the same thing. That the car came out of nowhere. Started veering between lanes like he was trying to get away from someone. Either that or he’d never driven the car before. They reckon it could be a joyrider.’
‘And did they get a look at the driver?’
‘Not really. He was driving too quick. The on
ly thing they’re all saying is that he was wearing a blue jumper. Hood pulled up over his face. It’s Jamm. Has to be.’
I swore angrily, not believing he could do this, break every one of the rules that he set out for us all.
‘Sonny, you still there?’
‘I’m here.’
‘Do you think it’s him? Do you reckon it’s Jamm?’
‘I do, yeah.’
It came to me instantly. Not much of an idea, but it had to do.
‘Split up from Wiggs for five minutes and both get in front of as many different coppers as you can, but make sure you tell them the same thing. Tell them you saw the driver, tell them it was a guy in a suit. Flash, well dressed, but clearly battered, that he had a bottle in his hand. Vodka or something. Decide between you and stick to it. Tell as many as you can in ten minutes then leg it back to the Ghost. If it’s Jammy in the car he’ll be back well before we are. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
‘And Cam?’ The word ‘Sorry’ formed on my lips but by the time it came out she’d hung up and I had Den in my face.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, seeing my concern.
‘Looks like he’s properly lost it,’ I gasped, breaking into a run.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Start running,’ I shouted over my shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you as we go.’
And so we ran, the towers of the Ghost edging quickly into view, but not quickly enough.
Sonny
I’d no idea what Afghanistan looked like. Not really. Apart from what I’d seen on the telly. And I never knew if that was what it was really like, or just what made for the best TV.
All I did know, as we hit the edge of the Ghost, was that Jamm had decided to bring a bit of it back with him. To show us what it was like.
The first thing was the smoke: a dirty black plume of it that managed to stand out against the darkness of the sky.
There must have been a bang before it, a big one if the cloud was anything to go by, but I was glad we hadn’t been there for it. Not that sprinting towards it, fearing it had something to do with my brother, was anything of an improvement. Especially once the patrol cars started zipping past us.
