The Survival Game

by Stavro Yianni

  John pulled up the handbrake and opened his door. ‘Let’s go!’ he ordered.

  They all jumped out of his car. John grabbed his gun from his belt and raced over to the driver’s side of the van. Inside was one of Marek’s boys, his wide eyes going round and round like marbles. He was gripped by shock, which was perfect.

  John tapped on the window with his gun. ‘Open the door! Open the fucking door!’ he shouted.

  The van driver put his hands in the air the second he saw the gun. John grabbed the handle of the van door and it popped open.

  He swung it open wide and grabbed the driver’s arm. ‘I said open the fucking door,’ he shouted.

  The driver began stammering in broken English about ‘van not his’ or some skata. John glanced over at his boys and indicated for them to get in the back. In no time, they were all inside.

  John threatened the driver with his gun. ‘You drive,’ he said. ‘You follow that car,’ he added, pointing to the other unit’s vehicle. ‘Okay?’

  The driver mumbled some more gibberish.

  John stepped up and poked his gun in the driver’s temple. ‘You drive to Neocrema factory!’

  The driver then began nodding his head feverishly, having finally got the message. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ he stammered in a frantic voice.

  ‘Good.’ John stepped back down and slammed the door shut. He turned to the blocking unit. ‘Clear the way, and then follow me,’ he shouted at them before walking back past the van towards his own car, giving the van a friendly pat on its side.

  He smiled to himself, taking in a long deep breath. Fuck me, that was intense, gamota!

  He looked up to see an old granny holding a black cat had come to her front door, wondering what was going on. John shooed ’em both away. The granny jumped back inside, scared out of her mind. John chuckled to himself, glad to get rid of that fucking cat, and got back in his own car. The blocking car straightened and pulled away, the van swiftly following. John followed up, and they were soon escorting the van through the roads like security surrounding the President’s limo. He sparked up a much needed cigarro, nodding his head to the sounds of DnB, pumped up on drugs, power, and excitement.

  All objectives had been met; Operation M.C.S Jack was a success; phase one was now complete.

  *****

  Alisha wiped the tears from her eyes. A cold, untouched skinny latte sat in front of her. What she was hearing was killing any appetite she had, even for a coffee. Ishmael agreed to meet her for lunch at Starbucks in Holloway. She got a cab down there, and relayed to him what had been happening recently. In turn Ishmael told her something that she’d refused to believe for years.

  He looked her sincerely in the eye and licked his lips. ‘It was John who first sold heroin to Yousif and on the night he died,’ he said, straight up.

  Alisha rocked back in her seat, her hands flying up to her gaping mouth. She looked away, out of the window. The revelation shocked her so badly, it sent her into a spin—a kind of fuzz in her mind that she just couldn’t totally grasp. It was too much, too quickly.

  When Ishmael’s words finally sunk in, she stared back at him. ‘And how do you know that, Ishmael?’ she managed to ask through her confusion.

  ‘I was there the night he first sold it to him. And John told me after he died it was from him he got the stuff that night. I’m sorry, Leesha. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want you to get hurt. I knew you loved him, and if I told you all this, it could ruin your marriage. I couldn’t see that happen. On the other hand, I hated so much keeping it a secret from you, but you’re my cousin, I can’t watch you suffer any more.’

  Alisha nodded her head. She understood what Ishmael was saying to her. John had shoved him into a terrible dilemma and just left him to deal with it on his own. Just about John’s style—put someone in the shit, then leave them to deal with all the emotional stuff.

  ‘And to think, all this time, I believed him,’ she said, staring blankly at her latte. ‘He always said it wasn’t him that got Yousif into that shit. He was adamant.’

  ‘He’s a good liar,’ Ishmael said. ‘That’s why I was so against you marrying him in the first place. ’Cos of what he done to your brother. My cousin.’

  ‘Oh, he’s a liar all right, Ish. That’s all he does. Lie. Everything. It’s all bullshit. Last night I got a message from him on my voicemail saying he was working all night and all day today, even though he’s worked non-stop for two days now. How can that be?’

  Ishmael sighed. ‘And there’s another reason why I’m coming clean with you now, Alisha. ’Cos I don’t wanna see you get hurt any more, and so that you can see exactly what type of man this is we’re talking about…’

  Alisha gave him a confused look. ‘What are you on about, Ish?’

  Ishmael took a look round, then leaned in closer to Alisha. ‘Listen, he came over to the shop to see me the other day…’

  Alisha looked at him, puzzled. ‘John? What for?’

  Ishmael sighed. ‘You remember when I used to hang around with those boys from Ladbroke Grove?’

  Alisha’s face screwed up like she’d just smelt something rotten. ‘Yeah, I remember.’

  ‘Well, John was looking for someone. A Yardie.’

  ‘What?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yeah. And trust me, this guy ain’t someone you mess with either…’

  ‘What did he want him for?’

  ‘I don’t know. He just asked me if I could get in touch with my old contacts to find him. He said it was for you he wanted to find him.’

  ‘Me? What the hell is he on about?’

  ‘Look, Alisha. This Yardie is basically the crack overlord in London, yeah, and I think John is doing some kinda business with him. I dunno what, but it can’t be good. I just don’t want you involved with anything like this. I want you to be safe.’

  ‘That explains a lot then,’ Alisha stated, nodding her head.

  ‘How d’ya mean?’ Ishmael asked.

  ‘He’s been acting so funny lately, Ish. Staying away for days, getting really angry and aggressive.’

  Ishmael’s brow furrowed. ‘Aggressive? Did he hit you?’

  Alisha waved her hands on the air. ‘No, no, no. But, I thought he was gonna at one point… I think he’s using again, in fact I’m almost certain. He came in earlier today, all aggressive, charged up. What do you think he’s doing?’

  ‘Well, if he’s staying up all night and acting like that, he could be on speed or coke or something. It could even be crack. If he’s knocking round with Yardies now, then it’s more than likely.’

  ‘So, he’s dealing again.’

  Ishmael shrugged. ‘It looks that way.’

  ‘And you’re right. That explains why he’s back on the shit. If he’s hanging around other dealers all the time, then he’ll be around drugs all the time, and I know John, sooner or later he’ll find it impossible to resist.’ She huffed. ‘And I thought it was all because of that Aziz.’

  Ishmael looked confused again. ‘Who’s Aziz?’

  ‘Oh, some Turk he was working for. Is working for. Uhh, I don’t know any more.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘God, I feel so fucking stupid.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Leesha. It’s him. He’s the one who’s trouble.’

  Alisha looked up at her cousin with teary eyes. ‘But I’m carrying his baby, Ish.’

  Ishmael rolled his eyes to the side, and sighed again. ‘This is sooo messed up. God, I wish I’d told you this sooner…’

  ‘I wish you had too, Ish. I would’ve killed him.’

  Ishmael chuckled humourlessly.

  Then something else arose in Alisha’s mind. ‘Ish. Listen. I’ve got a confession…’

  Ishmael squinted. ‘Go on…’

  Alisha took in a deep breath, glanced outside, then looked Ishmael in the eye. ‘I got myself pregnant on purpose,’ she said, flat out.

  Ishmael glanced down. ‘Oh…Why?’

  ‘John again! He lost
our home gambling.’

  Ishmael thumped the table lightly and looked out of the window. ‘That prick!’ he said angrily.

  ‘I took matters into my own hands,’ Alisha continued, ‘because I knew I couldn’t rely on him. I thought a baby would score me a few points with the council to get us a new flat. I was going to tell him, but his delivery job turned up. It seemed to get him going in the right direction, so I left it, let things play out…’

  ‘Where are you living now?’ Ishmael asked.

  Alisha flipped her hand on the air. ‘I’ll tell you later…’

  Ishmael shook his head briskly. ‘Why haven’t you told me about this?’

  ‘I was embarrassed,’ Alisha replied.

  Ishmael sighed.

  ‘When he got all aggressive with me earlier,’ Alisha said, ‘he asked me if I got pregnant on purpose…’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I lied to him and said ‘no.’ So, I guess I’m just as bad as he is…’

  Ishmael began shaking his head. ‘No, no, no. No way, Leesha. Don’t ever compare yourself to him.’

  Alisha stared at Ishmael with tearful eyes.

  ‘He’s a piece of shit,’ Ishmael asserted, ‘you’re made of gold. Like you said, you did what you felt you had to given the circumstances. What excuse has he got?’

  Alisha sighed. ‘I had to do something. I thought it might make him stop all this shit. You know, mature him, make him responsible.’

  ‘Hasn’t really worked out has it…?’

  ‘No, it hasn’t…’ Alisha put her head in her hands for a few seconds. ‘I gotta find him, Ish,’ she then declared. ‘Gotta find out exactly what’s going on and tell him to clear off, I don’t wanna know any more.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Yeah. I just can’t cope, Ish. My baby can’t cope.’

  Ishmael shrugged. ‘Well, we can find him. And you can leave him. But what about the baby?’

  ‘He’s only the physical father,’ Alisha reasoned. ‘I don’t want my baby being around a man like that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get near him or her once they’re born.’

  Ishmael rubbed his chin and then nodded. ‘Okay. You can stay at mine till we sort this mess out.’

  Alisha smiled. ‘Thanks, Ish.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do. This is all partly my fault too.’

  ‘Don’t say that. You’re a good man. John’s not. You sorted your shit out. He still hasn’t. How many more chances can I give him?’

  Ishmael nodded. ‘He’s had more than enough,’ he said, echoing the sentiment.

  A second of silence ensued. Alisha broke it. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and find this shit head then…’

  With that, they left Starbucks to go and look for John Evangelou.

  *****

  John pulled up behind the jacked M.C.S van. They rendezvoused back at the cache where Dread I and the others were waiting. John stepped out of his car, smiling smugly at Dread I, who came over and put out his hand. John grabbed it and shook it with gusto. He was doing his job prospects no harm at all by coming up with the goods time after time. If he could make it through the day, he might even be able to negotiate for bonuses. Mmm, a Lexus would do nicely, re boy…

  That’s if I take the malaka’s offer, he thought as he stared into Dread I’s dead fish eyes. That’s for another time ’cos right now, it’s all about phase two of the operation—Neocrema Storm.

  Phase one was a resounding success. They had the van, which was the key to unlock the front garage door. They already decided beforehand that John’s unit was gonna ride in the back, get inside the factory, and then storm the main floor from the front. All that was needed was to plot the other aspects of the attack.

  Sagat came over and joined John and Dread I to do just that.

  ‘There’ll definitely be plenty of bods inside all tooled up, ready and waiting for this kind of attack,’ John said to them both, explaining things like he was a football manager and their team were about to go into extra time.

  ‘We’ll have to sandwich ’em and attack ’em from the front and back. If we don’t, they could keep us penned in the parking bay, giving ’em time to call for backups. Now…’ John pulled out the fifty pound note he’d sketched the floorplan of Neocrema on, and laid it down flat on the ground. All three of them squatted down around it and started planning like they were playing some kind of sick game of Risk. But this was no board game. The bullets were real and you only had one life.

  John pointed to the parking bay. ‘This is where the unit inside the van will attack from. They’ve got bods on the door and I’m guessing they circle the perimeter of the factory floor. Remember, they’re cooking up drugs in this place, so they won’t only be protecting the place from the likes of us, but also keeping an eye on the workers in case they get tempted to have a hit for themselves.’

  Sagat grinned sardonically. ‘Ya know dat,’ he said.

  ‘Now,’ John continued, ‘the switch operating the front garage door is inside…here. I know where it is, so I’ll release it. The next unit will then be clear to enter from the front. Who’s that gonna be?’

  ‘I’ll tek the front,’ Sagat said, nodding his head slowly.

  ‘Okay. You’ll have to take out the two bods on the door, but they shouldn’t be too much trouble,’ John informed him. ‘The trouble will start once we attack ’em from the front and they naturally move to the back of the factory floor for cover. We wanna get in and out quick, doing ’em untold damage in the process, and find the twins before they have a chance to call for back up, or Old Bill. Also, we’ve gotta get in and out before anyone nearby gets wind of what’s going down and they call the cops. By the time we get the front garage door open and Sagat’s unit is inside to join us, my unit might’ve taken a few down, but I reckon there’ll still be a lot of ’em inside, believe me I’ve seen ’em face-to-face…’

  ‘How many?’ Sagat asked.

  ‘Up to fifty. Definitely around thirty who can handle weapons at least. So, we’ll have a gunfight all right.’

  ‘So what the plan?’ Sagat asked.

  ‘There’s a fire exit at the back…’ John pointed at the doorway he’d drawn at the opposite end of the factory from the parking bay. ‘If another unit enters from here, we’ll sandwich ’em, attacking ’em from all angles, there’ll be nowhere for ’em to hide. The only problem is that the back door will be locked from the inside and it ain’t coming down from the outside, it’s too thick. So we need to get it open it from the inside.’ He sighed. ‘We need someone to get past ’em unnoticed once we push ’em back, and open up the fire exit.’

  ‘Who gonna do that without getting heself popped?’ Sagat asked.

  John shrugged and looked at Dread I. Dread I stared back with his dead eyes, contemplating. After a second or two, he stood up and looked around him with eagerness. The alleyway was full of their boys, awaiting orders. They were anxious, their feet itchy, wanting action. Dread I sized ’em up one at a time. But he kept coming up dry.

  Then, finally, he spotted one that was perfect. ‘Kid,’ he shouted.

  Kid stepped forwards, all four feet five of him. He had the moodiest expression John had ever seen on a ten year old planted on his mug.

  ‘Com ’ere!’ Dread I ordered.

  Kid bowled over to the men and squatted down in their circle, undaunted, unfazed. His face was cold, neutral, as if he’d never felt a single emotion in his short life. His eyes were glazed from drugs, but held an awareness that was well beyond his physical time.

  ‘We gotta lickle job for ya,’ Dread I told him.

  Kid just nodded his head slowly and silently like an experienced hitman just handed his next target. John was sure the little malaka didn’t even know what fear was. It was like he was made of stone, gamota.

  John nodded his head. Nodded it in recognition that this ‘kid’ would fit the bill for this task perfectly.

  He had no doubt about it. No doubt at all.r />
  *****

  Ishmael parked up outside a small row of shops. He had a look around. ‘This the place?’ he asked Alisha.

  Alisha glanced up at the sign above one of the shops. ‘Yeah, this is it—Hornsey Food & Wine.’

  Ishmael got out, went over to Alisha’s side and opened the door for her. He helped her out of the car, and then stood on the pavement hands on hips, staring at the shopfront. Boxes full of fruit and veg were piled up outside. The windows were cluttered with posters and stickers—a National Lottery sign, local ads written on cards, a worn out yellow poster that read ‘photocopies 5p each.’

  Ishmael walked past her towards the shop. ‘Right, come on. Let’s go in and see if he’s inside like he says he is.’

  Alisha nodded in agreement and followed. When they stepped inside, a bittersweet aroma of herbs and spices hit Alisha’s nostrils, while some music was playing in the background in a language she didn’t understand. John played her Greek music once and she thought the music she was now hearing sounded a little like that, but the words didn’t sound the same. She looked behind the counter straight away to see if John was there. He wasn’t. Instead, a stocky Middle Eastern looking man perched on a wooden stool was behind it. Ishmael walked straight up to the counter.

  The man stood up, placed his palms on the counter, and stared at him. ‘Yes, boss,’ he said.

  Ishmael turned back to face Alisha.

  She stepped forwards towards the counter. ‘Is John here?’ she asked the shopkeeper.

  A confused expression emerged on his face. ‘Who?’

  ‘John. John Evangelou. He works here.’

  The shopkeeper’s mouth turned downwards and he began shaking his head slowly. ‘No one called this works here.’

  Alisha sighed. ‘Somehow I knew you were going to say that. Do you know a man called Aziz?’