The Survival Game

by Stavro Yianni

  He smacked his fist on the steering wheel. Why does it all have to turn to skata? Always! Every fucking time, gamota! Why does God fuck me so fucking much?

  ‘Why do you do it!’ He shouted at the sky outside. He was answered by a still, shiny moon. He took in a deep breath and then patted his hands on the air ahead of him.

  ‘Calm down. Calm down, re…’ He took a long drag on his cigarro, and expelled thick white smoke from his lungs. The clock was ticking big time and he couldn’t waste any precious seconds being angry. He had to be calm so he could think. Think hard and clearly; analyse his situation. It broke down like this—it was Wednesday tomorrow, Aziz’s deadline was Friday. He had no idea where Marek was hiding, and staking out his old man’s house was well out of the question ’cos it’ll now be crawling with astinomia.

  But, there’s still Neocrema, re…

  He nodded his head. Yeah, some malaka at that place was bound to know where Marek was. Maybe he’s in there himself from time to time, maybe all the time, who knew?

  But from the looks of things it’s protected by bods twenty-four seven, and did you see how many of those bastards turned up today? There must have been forty of the malakes! He couldn’t take them all on by himself, he’d get crushed like a bug, especially now that Marek would be pretty keen on avenging his old man’s death. Nah, he needed a crew, an army to match Marek’s. Beat ’em into submission, get the delivery back, and then wing it round to Aziz before chopping board time.

  Yeah, it was the only way forward.

  But, who, re? You’ve been on your Jack Jones for years now. You’re so out of touch, who’s gonna risk their kolo backing you? The Greeks won’t, that’s for sure, not an outcast like you…

  His brain worked it over. Then something clicked.

  That Yardie could handle himself…

  He nodded his head slowly. The one with death in his eyes and the snakes on his head.

  See the way he killed those two back there?

  He saw it all right. The prick was as cold as a cadaver laid out on a marble slab. And he was sure he’d never forget it for the rest of his days. It was so cold, so robotic, the way he killed ’em both, as if he didn’t even contemplate the fact he was about to take life. Just like they want you to be in the strato. A cold hearted merciless killer. Take life without blinking…

  And those Yardies go round in crews, re. Big fat crews of merciless, hungry killers…

  He took another long drag on his cigarro, the car steadily filling with smoke. But why was he there anyways? Why did he want Marek? He was going on about this being his town and warning Marek to get off his turf. What turf? How was Marek affecting this malaka? He must have really pissed him off. Then he began thinking about Neocrema. Vans with MEDICAL COURIER SERVICES stamped across them. Stocky bouncers on the door.

  What exactly are they doing in there, gamota? They’re brewing something, but I don’t know what…No doubt the Yardie’s in the drugs game. So what’s Marek brewing in Neocrema that’s got the Yardie’s back up so much? No, no, no, it wasn’t Marek was it? It was Valeria. She was the doctor, the chemist, the alchemist, the witch brewing her potions in her cauldron.

  Now it was beginning to make sense.

  The Poles were here brewing something and knocking it out. Some kind of drug. And it was affecting the Yardie, which in turn got him hunting for Marek and his family to snuff ’em all out. Valeria had the formula. She was the brains. Marek was the muscle. Christ, it’s a proper slick operation you’ve been dragged into here, re. This skata was deep. He puffed his cheeks, suddenly overwhelmed by it all.

  But it didn’t explain the role of the delivery. Why did Marek need it so desperately? John was very keen to find out. But, first things fucking last, he had to get a crew together.

  If I could get that Yardie on side, convince him to join me, I could get to Marek. My enemy’s enemy is my friend and all that skata… And I’ve got the info that he’s looking for—Neocrema. And John knew that place like the back of his hand from playing hide and seek in there when he was a kid. He was invaluable to the Yardie right then; he could use that to his advantage.

  He took a final drag on his cigarro and stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray. Yeah, he needed to make contact with that Yardie ASAP. And that led onto a new problem—how the hell was he gonna do that?

  He had to think of a way. Quickly. He rested his elbow on the steering wheel and gently tapped the side of his head with his fingers. The moon stared back at him like a big giant spotlight. There was someone he could ask for help in this situation. But it was someone he really didn’t want to make contact with. Someone from the past.

  Just do it!

  Hmm, he’d have to. There was no other clear choice.

  He got out of the car, and after spending so long in a cramped smoky space, the fresh air outside hit him like a cold shower. He went back to his portable home, his chemical toilet, his hormonal wife, and fold-away bed, where he spent the remainder of the night staring at the darkness, thinking, unable to get the image of a pair of dead fish eyes out of his mind.

  *****

  Valeria Kolovski arrived at the South Mimms service station just as the rain started up again.

  She got there via the morgue, where she’d had to identify the bodies of both Papa and Adrian. If anyone were to ever ask, she’d say with certainty it was the worst thing she’d had to do in her entire life. To be asked to identify one close relative would be horrible enough, but two at once? It was like having both your nails and teeth pulled out simultaneously.

  Stefan pulled up in the service station car park and switched off the engine. He turned to Valeria and offered her a friendly smile. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  Valeria wiped her wet, red eyes on the back of her hand and nodded in return. ‘I’m okay, Stefan,’ she replied. She looked out of the window to spot the short, bald man standing next to a small hedge at the far end of the car park. He was wearing a trench coat, an open umbrella in his grip, protecting his head from the rain. From where she sat, he looked like some kind of horrible little child molester. ‘I’ll have to be,’ she added as she stared at him with contempt. He was the reason she was here. An emergency meeting had been arranged after the day’s events. Marek had already filled her in before they contacted her, telling her everything he knew. The Arab—the one they robbed in the alleyway—had returned, just as she’d warned him he would. But even she never imagined he’d bring murder with him. If she’d known that, she would’ve worked harder to discourage Marek from robbing him. But Marek was desperate and desperate men do not listen to reason. They act without considering consequences, and most of the time, someone was hurt. Badly.

  And that was exactly the case here.

  ‘Is that them?’ Stefan asked her, noticing the man Valeria was staring at.

  ‘Yes,’ Valeria replied, not diverting her stare from the man under the umbrella.

  ‘Do you want me to go with you?’ Stefan asked.

  Valeria looked back at him and smiled. She felt much better knowing she had good people around her to protect her. Marek’s second family were all good people. All of them.

  ‘It’s okay, Stefan,’ she replied. ‘I’m more than used to dealing with these types of people now.’

  Stefan smiled ruefully. ‘It will be a good day when you don’t have to any more.’

  Valeria turned her attention back to the man under the umbrella, just as another car pulled up beside him—a Mercedes with tinted windows. Valeria watched on as another man in a trench coat stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened up an umbrella. He shut the driver’s door behind him before slowly approaching the original man. When he reached him, they began to talk, occasionally glancing to the left and right.

  ‘Unfortunately, Stefan, I don’t think that day will ever arrive,’ she said to the window. She sighed. It was genuinely how she felt about these matters. But at the same time, she knew she had to be strong. To push onwards. ‘I’ll be back soon
,’ she said before opening the door.

  ‘Okay,’ Stefan replied, but the lashing rain drowned his voice out.

  Valeria was instantly drenched, and a thought suddenly struck her—these two men she was about to speak to would be glad of the heavy rain because it helped to hide them even better.

  She dashed over to where they stood. When she was close by, they turned her way, stopped, and stared. When she reached them, they huddled in towards her so that she could get beneath their umbrellas.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said courteously, wiping the rain from her forehead. And she suddenly realised another benefit of the rain—it helped mask her tears. She sniffed and delicately wiped her nose with her hand before staring at them. Both men stared back at her with solemn eyes. Looking at their faces made Valeria realise just how much she hated these people and what they represented. They weren’t concerned for her feelings, for Papa, they just pretended to be. As long as she did what they wanted, as long as she was of use, they’d keep up the pretence of caring.

  ‘I’m glad you could meet us at such short notice,’ said the second man to arrive, his voice accompanied by the sound of the rain splattering against his umbrella. ‘Especially after the day you’ve had.’

  Valeria looked down and nodded her head in response.

  ‘And apologies for the time and choice of surroundings,’ the man then said. ‘But you know by now how these things are.’

  Valeria shrugged. Yes, this was the real world of the politician; deception, shadows and secrecy, she knew that all too well.

  ‘It’s all right, Alistair,’ she replied. ‘After the day I’ve had, standing in a cold and rainy car park in the middle of nowhere at one am is very easy.’

  Alistair McKinney smiled wryly. ‘I suppose it is… We’re very sorry to hear about your father and cousin. Seems you’ve made a few enemies. But we expected that…’

  Valeria nodded in agreement. They had made enemies, that was for sure. She suddenly found herself thinking of Marek. So, who made the enemy, Valeria? a voice inside her asked. You or your brother?

  ‘Bartosz has already made contact,’ McKinney informed her, ‘and he says this incident has nothing to do with him.’

  ‘That’s nice of him,’ Valeria replied dryly. The very mention of that name made her skin crawl. Bartosz was exactly what Alistair McKinney was—a slimy politician. And she hated all politicians.

  ‘Well, was he good enough to tell you who may have done this?’ she asked.

  McKinney glanced from her to the other man, and she realised that she hated gliniarze just as much as politicians. Maybe even more. They were dogs. Dogs on the leash of the MPs.

  ‘I believe Ray already has something on this,’ McKinney replied.

  Valeria looked from him down at Raymond Barnes. ‘Sir Lionel Clifford couldn’t make it tonight?’ she asked with a tinge of contempt to her voice.

  ‘Er, I’m afraid not,’ Barnes replied in a lispy, bureaucratic tone. ‘He’s extremely busy right now…’

  Typical gliniarze, Valeria thought bitterly to herself. Send in the lapdog to do his dirty work.

  Barnes removed a folded plastic file from the inner pocket of his coat. ‘We managed to lift a partial fingerprint from a photo of your brother back at your father’s house,’ Barnes informed her, getting straight to business. He gave the file a brief glance before handing it over to Valeria.

  A sudden confusion overcame her. A partial fingerprint? An identification? It can’t be… She eagerly scanned the front document of the file through the opaque cover. She found herself staring at a mugshot of a man in his twenties. There were dark rings under his eyes and his eyebrows met in the middle. Butterflies swished through her stomach. It was the Arab. The one they robbed in the alleyway a few nights before. Even though he looked younger in the photo, it was definitely him.

  ‘His name’s John Evangelou,’ Barnes informed her. ‘Ring any bells?’

  Yes, he rings plenty, Ray. Robberies in alleyways, bells a bit like that. And then it quickly became clear in her mind just how rotten this situation could potentially turn. If they found the Arab, he’d tell them about Marek’s presence in the UK. Then if they found Marek, they’d hand him over to Bartosz in an instant, and he’d spend the rest of his life behind bars.

  ‘Valeria?’

  Valeria turned her mouth downwards and shook her head. ‘No. I have never seen him before. Do you know why he would do this?’

  ‘Well, he was in prison a while ago for dealing drugs; cannabis, that kind of thing,’ Barnes informed her. ‘We think he’s up to his old ways again and wants you out of the picture. He was always small time, so right now he most probably works for someone, a Mr. Big, who supplies product for him to sell on street corners…’ Barnes then gave her a little smirk before continuing. ‘Obviously, your product is better than whatever his is. He was most likely sent to your father’s house hoping to find you there. Or at the very least, he was trying to send a warning out to you.’

  Wrong, you idiot! Valeria thought to herself with a mixture of disgust and anxiety. He was after my brother. It was my brother who brought him to Papa’s front door. Not me! But anyway…

  ‘Have you—have you found him?’ she then tentatively asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Barnes replied, and glanced downwards.

  Valeria’s chest relaxed slightly.

  ‘The address we have on file is an old one,’ continued Barnes. ‘He has no fixed address right now. And we’re reluctant to release his face and name to the media in case it drives him even deeper underground. But I promise you we’ll find him. He can’t hide from us…’ There was a look of arrogant pride tattooed on his face that made Valeria want to slap him. She refrained, lowering her head and nodding to herself instead. Even though Evangelou could give up her brother, he murdered Papa and Adrian in cold blood, and for that he needed to be punished. Severely. So his capture had both an up side as well as a down side.

  ‘Maybe he works for Bartosz,’ Valeria then said, in an attempt to throw the dogs a red herring.

  McKinney huffed. ‘Bartosz is adamant—’

  ‘And you believe him?’ Valeria snapped.

  ‘This would be a stupid move on his part,’ McKinney stated. ‘It would just serve to strengthen our alliance with you and kill any slim chance he has of getting you back. He’s very vociferous in his innocence. Trust me, I know the game. Bartosz has nothing to do with this. His best weapon is diplomacy—although granted it’s not his greatest strength—the situation earlier today is so very undiplomatic, even he couldn’t fail to recognise it as such.’

  Valeria responded by swiftly putting the file down by her thigh, wanting the Arab out of her sight. He was more trouble than he was worth.

  McKinney straightened his back. ‘Now, we’ve already made it clear to Bartosz that you’re working for us, and that things will remain that way for the foreseeable future. You’ve proven yourself valuable and reliable. And as you’ve helped us with our problem—for which we’re grateful, I might add—your citizenship will be fast tracked from tomorrow. It should be processed in the next ten to fifteen days. Now, we can flex our political muscles to fend off Bartosz until then, but in the meantime we have another problem, namely your brother…’

  Valeria’s eyes darted up to meet McKinney’s. McKinney was staring down at her with serious eyes, a slight anger residing inside them. It was the stare of an irritated schoolteacher.

  ‘Bartosz wants Marek,’ McKinney stated. ‘But you already know that. He’s made a fool of Bartosz, and so Bartosz wants to make an example of him. He’s an escaped con, Valeria. Now, if he is here in the UK and we allow him to stay here, it looks as though we’re harbouring an escaped criminal, which weakens our stance against Bartosz, which in turn weakens our ties with you. It will give him the leverage he so desperately needs to demand you return home. And we both know you don’t want that.’

  Valeria suddenly had an image of Bartosz in her mind. The slime politicia
n who wanted to use her brain for his own thirst for power. She could see that twisted megalomaniac face, that horrible grin. She shivered.

  ‘So, if he’s here, Valeria,’ McKinney continued, ‘you have to tell us.’

  Valeria’s head snapped up. ‘Even if I knew where he was, I would not give him up to you, Bartosz, or anyone!’ she replied sternly.

  McKinney remained stone faced.

  ‘He is man on the run, Alistair,’ Valeria continued. ‘He won’t even tell me where he is, his own sister. He is most probably still in Poland, right under Bartosz’s nose.’ She laughed to herself and shook her head. ‘You know Bartosz and Marek were once like brothers?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re well aware of the story, Valeria,’ McKinney responded. ‘They were both part of the same soccer hooligan gang before Bartosz made the jump up into politics. Marek saw it as betrayal, got cheesed off, even more so when he found out Bartosz then wanted you on his side—’

  ‘And part of the story you may be unaware of, Alistair, is that Bartosz and I were once lovers…’ Valeria interjected, staring wide-eyed at both men. Their eyes rolled around in their sockets, not knowing where to look.

  ‘I left him once I realised what he wanted me to do for him,’ Valeria continued, ‘and so like hurt little boy, he got jealous, and had Marek and his friends arrested. Set up and thrown in jail.’

  ‘And we sympathise with both you and your brother,’ stated McKinney.