The Binford Mysteries: A Collection of Gritty Urban Mystery Novels (3 - BOOK BOX SET)

by Rashad Salim

  Donnell looked Tom up and down. “You okay, sir? What happened to you? It wasn’t caused by-”

  “Oh, no. This was just me being a clumsy idiot.”

  Donnell smiled. “Trip on a banana peel?”

  Tom smiled back. “Something like that. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

  Donnell laughed. “So what you doin’ here? Come to check if we’re doin’ our homework?”

  Tom smiled. “I was just passing by.”

  Donnell gave him a knowing look and smiled. “Passing by?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, don’t make this a regular thing, sir. You’re gonna scare off all the customers ...once they realise a teacher comes here too.”

  Tom laughed. “Don’t worry. I doubt I’ll be taking up pool anytime soon.”

  Donnell’s expression turned more serious. “Listen, sir. I’m really sorry about the other day. Mr Jones was a great man. He taught me a lot, growing up. Was one of the best.”

  There was a silence between them for a moment in remembrance of Chris.

  “...Yeah, he was.”

  “Cops find out who did it?”

  Tom shook his head. “Not yet, but they will.”

  Donnell nodded. He stared in the middle distance, deep in thought for a moment. “Is that why you’re here?” he asked and looked Tom in the eye.

  Tom took another sip of his drink and looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to them. “Sit down, Donnell.” He gestured for the boy to take the stool beside him.

  Donnell sat down.

  “I need to ask you something and I need you to promise you won’t repeat any of this to anyone later.”

  “I promise.”

  “Don’t even mention it to me either, okay?”

  “This conversation never happened,” Donnell said.

  “I’m looking for someone. A boy named Marcus Wright. Used to be a student at Binford until he was expelled at the beginning of the school year.”

  Donnell mulled it over.

  “You know him?” Tom asked. “He was in the year below you. Year 11 when he was expelled.”

  Donnell nodded. “I know him.”

  “How well?”

  “We ain’t mates or anything but I knew of him. Was best mates with my cousin Leonard. I don’t think him and Marcus talk no more though.”

  “How come?”

  “Leonard didn’t say much about it and I never asked. But from what I worked out, Marcus was rollin’ with the Lions Crew, attracting too much attention. And Leonard’s as square as you.”

  You’re quite the square yourself, Tom thought, but decided to keep that one to himself. “So they went their separate ways?” he asked.

  Donnell nodded.

  Tom thought about this. It was the same story Dwayne had told him about Marcus. It sounded like Marcus’ gangster status was alienating more people than Tom had first thought. Just how much of a criminal had Marcus become?

  “This Lions Crew,” Tom said, “What can you tell me about them?”

  Donnell shrugged. “Not much. They’re a bunch of wasters. Criminal apprentices. The next generation of prison inmates. Most of what they do is dealin’ and stealin’. They’re not as bad as they make out to be though.”

  “Why not?”

  Donnell stared at him for a moment. “...Binford’s got a big gang problem, like most East London towns, and Lions Crew is just one of many crews rollin’ around this town.”

  “I heard they hang out here all the time,” Tom said.

  “True. Some of them are tight with the owners of this place. I think the owner is Marcus’ uncle.”

  “Seriously?” Tom began to speculate about the implications of that.

  If the owner of the place was Marcus’ uncle, would he know where Marcus was?

  And since Marcus couldn’t be found, was it likely he was hiding out with his relative, just as Mobeen had?

  Tom was certain the owner would be able to shine some light on Marcus’ whereabouts. The only problem was Tom doubted the uncle would co-operate with him.

  “How long have you been coming here, Donnell?”

  Donnell shrugged. “Too long,” he said. “If you ain’t noticed already, there ain’t many places for us to go around here for fun. It’s okay but I’m not gonna miss it one bit when I go university.”

  Tom nodded.

  “...Actually, to be honest with you, I wouldn’t really miss Binford if I never came back.”

  Tom wondered what it must have been like to grow up in Binford. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to despise the town you grew up in. He loved Nottingham and always intended to return once he was further up the career ladder.

  “Have you ever seen Marcus in here?”

  “Yeah,” Donnell said. “As a matter of fact, he was in here last week. I come in here two or three times a week and I’ve seen him here more and more recently.”

  “What time does he usually come in?”

  “Hard to tell. I don’t remember the exact time, ya know?”

  Tom nodded. “You reckon he might come in today?”

  “Who knows? You could wait and see ...Although I don’t recommend it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Like I said before, I don’t think the other customers in here are too happy to see you here. And I don’t think I’m the only one who recognised you.”

  Tom thought about that. He didn’t want to look around right then to see who was watching him.

  He knew before he entered the venue that there was a good chance at being recognised but had to risk it anyway. He wondered if the recognition might work in his favour, rationalising that some of the authority he had as a teacher might stretch into public places like this pool hall.

  On second thoughts, he realised he had been foolish. The clientele of Pool Hall didn’t respect teachers even at school so there was little chance of respecting them out of school.

  “Marcus know you’re lookin’ for him?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Tom wondered if some of the other customers had tipped off Marcus about his presence in the pool hall, warning him to stay away. But there was little chance of that happening, he thought, since no one knew of his suspicions regarding Marcus except for DS Barker.

  “This have anythin’ to do with Mr Jones’ murder?” Donnell asked.

  Tom looked at him and considered whether he should tell him or not. In the end he realised there was no point in denying it. His hesitation had already answered Donnell’s question.

  Tom nodded.

  “I thought so.”

  “Why?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t stick your head in here for minor shit.”

  Tom couldn’t help but smile at how perceptive the boy was.

  “What did Mr Jones ever do to Marcus though? What’s his beef?”

  “Marcus didn’t have a problem with him. He had a problem with me.”

  Donnell frowned.

  “But... Mr Jones was stabbed.”

  Tom recalled how it had happened and clenched his jaw. “Exactly.”

  The sound of a bottle smashing on the other side of the pool hall broke Tom’s concentration.

  “Fuck’s sake,” the barman said.

  The bottle’s destruction was followed by some angry words from a group of college age boys standing around one of the pool tables. Tom and Donnell looked over in their direction. It looked like a fight was about to begin between two black boys, who were being egged on by their respective friends behind them.

  Two big, burly bouncers approached the group of boys and intervened. The bouncers told the two groups of boys to back away from each other.

  The music playing in the venue was silenced abruptly. A door slammed open from behind the counter and Tom looked to see who had opened the door.

  A black man, in his early forties, stepped out.

  He wore a tight black T shirt and had a muscular physique. He wasn’t a large man – no taller than 5’10 and Tom gu
essed he was under thirteen stones.

  All the boys stopped their bickering and turned their attention to the man who had emerged.

  “Shit,” Donnell said.

  Tom glanced at him.

  “They fucked up now.”

  26

  The man seemed to be in charge of the place. If that was the case then this was Marcus’ uncle, unless there were several owners.

  Tom wanted to ask Donnell about the man’s identity but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the man. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and stared at the owner.

  The man walked over to the boys and the crowd parted to give him way.

  Tom got up from his stool and walked around to get a better view. He still had his drink in his hand and watched to see what would happen now.

  The man confronted the two boys who were about to fight and stared at them. They looked like they were holding their breath and didn’t say a word. They were frozen and it was clear they were afraid of the man. All of their bravado and aggression had vanished, replaced by anxiety and fear.

  The man surveyed the damage.

  Tom could see the shards of broken glass on the floor beside the pool table.

  The man stared at the pool table and Tom realised it had beer spilled on it. The man looked at the table and then at each of the boys.

  One of the boys, the bigger of the two, gulped and couldn’t stop from blinking in rapid succession.

  The man said nothing.

  He switched his gaze back and forth from the boys to the table top a couple of times.

  “What are the rules about drinking near the tables?” the man asked both of the boys. His voice was calm and steady.

  The boys stared back at him until the smaller of the two said, “No bottles on the pool tables.”

  The man nodded, looking to the side, as if he were thinking by himself.

  “Alright, come here both of you.”

  The boys didn’t move until the bouncers nudged them from behind, pushing the boys forward until they flanked the man.

  Tom watched nervously, anticipating the outcome of the situation with dread.

  The man looked to the boy on his right and then to the boy on his left.

  “What are the rules about fighting?”

  “No fighting,” the boys murmured.

  The man nodded.

  “Okay, put your hands on the table,” the man said and gestured for the boys to do as he said.

  The boys remained frozen.

  Nobody moved or said a word in the entire venue.

  “Curly?” the bigger boy said timidly to the man.

  “PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS ON THE TABLE! NOW!”

  Curly shouted the words so loud and in such anger it startled both boys.

  Even Tom almost dropped his bottle in shock. He shuddered at the possible consequences of the man’s command.

  The boys trembled at his instructions. They were so shaken they had become slack and when Curly seized a hand each from both boys, neither had the will or the strength to struggle.

  Curly placed a single hand of each boy on the pool table edge.

  The bigger boy started crying. “Please, Curly! It was an accident! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  The sight of such a tough looking boy crying shocked Tom to the core. He’d never seen anything like it at the school or sixth form. The boys were always so tough around teachers.

  “You wanted to kick off, didn’t you?” he asked the whimpering boy.

  Curly then turned to the other boy who stared back at him wild eyed, clearly consumed with terror. “You come to my house and disrespect my furniture?”

  He still held their respective hands down.

  “The first one to take his fucking hand off the table takes a pool cue up the arse right now. You got that?” he asked, turning left and right to look at them both.

  The boys looked at each other, still trembling and both in tears now.

  “Wanted to hurt each other, right?” Curly asked them. “Wanted to fuck each other up, RIGHT?”

  Tom stared frozen on the spot, clenching the bottle in his hand so hard his arm was hurting. Something horrific was about to happen next and not exactly knowing what it would be only added to Tom’s horror. He didn’t dare speak up or intervene. He was too terrified for any of that. He was paralysed with as much fear as each of the two boys at Curly’s mercy.

  All he could do was watch and hope they wouldn’t suffer too much.

  “Well, you get your fucking wish!” Curly spat the words at them. He snarled and only then did Tom realise Curly held a pool ball in his hand.

  Tom gasped in horror as Curly raised the pool ball in the air, held it tight, and then smashed it down on the bigger boy’s fingers and then down on the other boy’s in quick succession.

  27

  The sound of all the witnesses gasping filled the air when Curly struck the boys. Somewhere in the venue a girl screamed.

  Tom gawped at the scene before him.

  Both boys cried out in pain and collapsed to the floor howling.

  “Stop!” Tom surprised himself by finally finding his voice and regaining his senses enough to react to the horror he was witnessing.

  Curly turned and looked at Tom, ignoring the boys sobbing at his feet. He watched Tom as if he were totally oblivious to the boys’ presence.

  No one in the venue spoke.

  The boys’ respective friends finally moved and tended to the boys, helping them stagger away from Curly.

  Curly held Tom’s gaze. Tom began to wonder if he had made a mistake by intervening.

  Up until the moment Curly had appeared, Tom had been convinced he would find some clues about Marcus without experiencing any obstacles. Now he had risked all of that by drawing attention to himself.

  “Who are you?” Curly asked.

  Tom swallowed hard and rubbed his free palm down his sides to wipe the sweat that had formed. “Tom Smith,” he said and then added, “I’m a teacher at Binford School,” for good measure.

  He sensed movement around him and glanced to his right and saw the girls in the pool hall rush to the exit. The boys who had been attacked by Curly also left the venue with their friends.

  “What are you doing here, Tom Smith?” Curly asked. “We don’t get many teachers in here. Not really their crowd.”

  Tom’s mouth fell open and he was at a loss for words.

  Curly still held the ball tight.

  This was not the scenario he had imagined to find himself in before he had entered the venue.

  Donnell had approached Tom from behind and now stood near him, as did one of the venue’s bouncers, a mountain of a man that watched Tom intently.

  “Thought I’d come down and see what all hype was about,” Tom said.

  Curly smiled. “Is that right now?”

  Donnell put his hand on Tom’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Curly looked at Donnell. “You know him?”

  “Yeah, he’s my teacher,” Donnell said before adding, “he’s new,” as if that explained Tom’s presence in a place like Cool Pool.

  Curly took a few steps closer to Tom. “I don’t think I like having teachers in my bar. It’s bad for business.” He looked at Donnell and said, “Take him away. I don’t wanna see him in here again.”

  Donnell put his hand on Tom’s shoulder, urging him to do as Curly said.

  The bouncer stepped back and raised his arm towards the exit, gesturing for Tom to leave.

  The few people loitering nearby scattered away to other corners of the bar.

  “Are you Marcus’ uncle?” Tom asked.

  Curly looked at him warily. “I am. What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for him,” Tom said. “I was hoping I could speak to him.”

  “He’s not here, as you can see.”

  “Then I was hoping to speak to you.”

  The man was silent for a moment as if deep in thought. “What’s this about? Marcus doesn’t go to B
inford School anymore.”

  “I heard he doesn’t go to any school anymore.”

  “What’s that got to do with you?”

  “Everything,” Tom said and took a deep breath.

  Curly turned away from Tom and began walking back to his office. “Talk to his mum if you got any questions about his education. I’ve got a business to run.” He had almost reached his office when the bouncer told Tom it was time to leave.

  “His mother doesn’t know where the hell he is. I was hoping you did,” Tom said.

  “Well, I don’t,” Donnell said. “Now stop barking up the wrong tree. I haven’t seen Marcus in weeks.”

  Tom knew that was a lie, since according to Donnell, Marcus had been at the pool hall as recently as last week.

  “Is that because he’s in hiding after killing a teacher?”

  Curly turned around to face Tom.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your nephew killed a teacher when he tried to kill me on Monday. What do you think is gonna happen to him when the police find him?”

  Curly looked around at the few customers still left in the venue before he turned his attention back to Tom and tossed the pool ball gently at him.

  Tom caught it and looked at Curly in confusion.

  “...Let’s talk in my office,” Curly said and walked inside.

  Donnell leaned closer to Tom. The boy was subtle in shaking his head, warning Tom it was a bad idea, but the gesture spoke volumes of danger Tom was in.

  “It’s okay,” Tom whispered. He sensed the bouncer behind him had come closer, crowding his space, letting Tom know he had no choice but to do as Curly had requested.

  Tom walked over to the office, bracing himself for Curly.

  He looked down at the pool ball in his hand. There wasn’t any blood on it but the horror of what Curly had done with it still made his legs wobble as he entered the office.

  28

  “Marcus do that to you?” Curly asked, referring to the marks on Tom’s face.

  Tom shook his head. “I fell down some stairs.”

  Curly snorted. “So you say my nephew murdered a teacher and tried to kill you too?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And this happened on Monday?”