by Lenny Brando
He scowled as he paid the driver. For a moment, he thought about not giving a tip, then he changed his mind and spoke to the driver. “Do us a favour, mate? Here’s an extra couple of quid. Give us a blank receipt?”
The driver counted the money Cole had given him and tore off a blank receipt. Cole grabbed it. “Cheers. Can I borrow your pen?”
“Bloody hell, mate. Here.” The cabbie shook his head and handed Cole a pen. “Hurry up. And don’t be stupid about it neither. Like making it for a ton.”
“Do I look stupid eh?” Cole wrote out a receipt for £26.50. “Gonna be on TV. That ain't stupid, eh?”
The driver held out his hand and nodded. “Yeah. I can see you got it, mate. Star quality all over. You’ll go far.”
Cole smiled. “Thanks.” Before he could add another comment, the cab sped off. As Cole walked towards the Xtra News van, he could see Laura talking to the crew. She looked up at him as he neared. Definitely would and all, Cole thought. She kind of reminded him of Alice, too. He blinked away the fantasy vision of Alice tied to the bed.
“Lewis,” Laura said. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem. Here's the receipt for the taxi.”
She took it from him and passed it on to one her guys. “Okay. Several pointers.”
“Like the fee?”
“We’ll get to that. First...”
“£426.50 plus a tip for the cab of £3. Call it £430.” He held out his hand. “Cash I believe you said?”
Laura pursed her lips, then called out to the guys by the van. “Simon. Would you pay Lewis please? £430.”
A guy in his late thirties, with receding hair and goatee tinged with premature grey came over. He glanced at Laura and frowned. “Jeez, Laura. You said £400.”
“It’s kosher, mate,” Cole said. “Agreed expenses.”
Simon counted out the money and Cole slipped it into his pocket. He liked the feel of the crisp new notes in his hand. Straight out of the machine and unused. That kind of note smelled good too.
“This is Ricky, our cameraman. That’s Nafeez, he’s doing sound and Simon does other stuff.” She looked over at him and forced a smile. “Like driving the van.”
“Okay. What questions will you ask?”
“I’ll do an introduction. We’ll have the mosque in the background, and we’ll take it as it comes. Conversational style. It’s not live, so don't worry. We’ll edit it after.”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “The van driver is also the technical specialist for audio and comms. Note the distinction between that and the technical specialist does the van driving.”
Cole scratched his head. “Not my problem, mate. All the same to me.”
Simon stomped off, climbed into the van and slammed the door. Cole laughed. “He got his period or what?”
“Forget him,” Laura said. She leaned in closer to Cole. “He’s a real jerk.”
“Whatever. What sort of questions?”
“Casual questions. You don't have to worry. We’ll edit later. Now power off your phone.”
Cole powered off his phone as Laura beckoned to Ricky. “You ready?” she asked.
“All set,” Ricky said. “Lewis, stand back a little.”
Laura ran her hands through her hair. “How am I looking, Ricky?”
“Good, Laura. Very good. Just fix your collar and we’re rolling.”
Cole raised his hands. “Hey, Rick, mate? How about me? Everything okay?”
Ricky gave a thumbs up and a red light on the camera blinked, then steadied. Cole had no idea whether the thumbs up was for him or Laura, so he too, ran his hands through his hair.
“You got the mosque in shot, Ricky?” asked Laura.
The camera’s red light blinked off and Ricky looked up. “Mosque? What mosque?” He put his hand to his forehead as if shading his eyes and looked about. “Oh. You mean that big building behind you with the minarets, the police activity and crime scene tape? The mosque beside the London Muslim Centre that’s whole point of the location interview? The one I had perfectly framed to your right? Or is your mosque somewhere else?”
“Up yours, Ricky.”
“Yeah. Sure. Believe it or not, Laura, I know what I’m doing.”
Laura ignored him and turned to Cole. “Remember, Lewis. Look at me, not the camera.”
Cole nodded and swallowed. His mouth was dry, and he thought he should have drunk something before he started. Bit late now though. Stopping would seem like weakness. Or not enough Xanax. Or was it too much? He had to fight hard to prevent a grin forming. A grin that could end up as a fit of giggles. He told himself that would not look good on TV. Then he realised Laura was addressing the camera, and he had missed her first few sentences.
“...the mosque in the background behind me. With me now is Lewis Cole, whose twin brother Darren was seriously injured in the recent South Kensington attack, and tragically passed away this morning. Lewis, thank you very much for being with us at this terrible time. I’m sure it must be difficult for you.”
Cole nodded. “Thanks. Yes, it was very difficult this morning. They turned off the machine and he died in my arms.” Cole wiped his eye and gritted his teeth in case he laughed. The world around him began to spin, and he had to steady himself on his feet. He realised he may have gone a Xanax too far.
“Tell me, Lewis, do you believe today’s attack at the mosque was an act of revenge on London’s Muslim community?”
Cole cleared his throat. “I think so, yeah. I spoke to some people down this way recently and they were angry, you know? A lot of them...”
“What sort of people?”
“Local people, Laura. You know. Hard working English people. Some believe their culture, their English culture, is under attack. They think a lot of Muslims support the terrorists.”
“Do you?”
“What?”
“Believe the local Islamic community supports terror?”
Cole scratched his ear. “No. No. Not at all, Laura. They’re ordinary decent people, kinda like us.”
“Kind of?”
“Well they look different, innit?”
“Do you think today’s attack was the work of some angry locals?”
“Lots are angry. Dunno if they’d go that far. You know what? Maybe it was one of their own. They’re always butchering each other, innit?”
“The reports we’re getting from the police is that two local right-wing extremists were responsible. Police have made one arrest and are actively searching for another. They described the man arrested as in his 20s, shaven headed and with distinctive tattoos on his neck and head. We’re told he had an eye tattooed on his forehead. What does that say to you?”
Cole blinked and swallowed again. Xanax or no Xanax, a nasty image sprang to his mind. A picture of someone staring at the ceiling of Scully’s flat. That someone being a stupefied prat called Mince. But a hard core stoner like that didn’t seem the type to drive a van into a load of people. Then Cole thought of Scully and what he’d said about getting some Captagon for himself. Paranoia shook Cole as he jumped to conclusions over the assumptions the police would make.
Scaring Alice in her bed and tickling her bacon with no harm done would be low on police priorities. Cole was certain many guys would justify his actions for her part in the South Kensington attack. However, if the police linked him to Scully and the Captagon, and then added Alice’s involvement, they would soon tot everything up. Terrorism was a whole different ball game. The idiot police would assume he was a far-right terrorist. And fuck that. Cole was an innocent man. Not only that, he was a hero. One of the good guys. He shivered at the misunderstanding and stared at the microphone thrust into his face.
Laura raised her eyebrows. “Well, Lewis? What does that say to you?”
Cole had forgotten what she’d asked. What the fuck had Mince and Scully done? Would anyone link it back to him and Alice? He took a breath. Take back control, Coley. Take control. He took another deep breath and wished he h
ad some water. “You know what, Alice? I’m sorry. Could you, eh, repeat the question please?”
“I’m Laura. Not Alice...” Laura’s smile changed, and she cocked her head. “Who is Alice?”
Cole shifted from one foot to the other. “Um... Alice is the girl they arrested in connection with the South Kensington attack...” He paused as an idea formed in his mind. “I was wrong about her, and I’m sorry. I guess I owe her an apology.”
Laura raised her eyebrows higher still and looked down her nose at him. “That’s very magnanimous of you.”
“Well...” Cole scratched his head. The Captagon and the Xanax had gone to war in his brain. “Yeah. I owe her one.”
Laura signalled to Ricky and he put down the camera. “Would you apologise to Alice Madsen on air?”
“Thought I just did.” Cole’s shirt clung to him, and he pulled at it to let air in.
“No. I mean the two of you on camera together. A sort of healing. I’m doing a follow up piece on South Ken. Would you be interested?”
“Sure. I’d like that. How is she doing anyway?”
“Someone broke into her house and sexually assaulted her.”
Cole put his hand to his mouth. “That’s terrible. Makes me feel bad. I mean, like, I sorta blamed her and all. Said she was involved. I hope it wasn't my fault. Yeah. Definitely makes me want to apologise to her face to face.”
Laura smiled. “That would be good. Let’s finish up with a few more questions about Whitechapel, then we’ll look at the next step, okay?”
“Sure. Fire away.”
“Tonight’s news is the Mosque and those responsible. The far-right guys, okay? Remember I told you what the police said?”
Cole nodded and wiped his forehead with his hand. “Am I okay? Awful hot…”
Laura looked him over. “You're good, Lewis.” She turned to the camera guy. “Ricky?” He raised the camera and motioned with his hand for her to keep going. She turned back to Cole. “You ready?”
“I suppose.”
She put the mike back to her lips and for a moment Cole imagined she would take it in her mouth. Don’t choke on this, bitch. She smiled at him and Cole’s Captagon smiled back at her. Yeah. Bet you’d love it and all. You filthy slut.
“We’re told he had an eye tattooed on his forehead. What does that say to you?”
Cole frowned as he wrestled with the question. Mince and Scully. Well, Mince definitely. That eye was something else. “Um... not very clever, is it? I mean a distinctive tattoo like that?” He nodded. “Yeah. You could be on to something. Far-right extremists.”
“And what would their motivation be?”
“For doing the mosque? Revenge I guess. Like I said earlier, some locals round here ain't too happy with that lot. This is London. The East End. Proper London. Those women in their burkas don't belong here. Neither do them blokes in their white sacks that look like dresses. It’s an Osama look-alike contest round here sometimes. They say they should piss off back to Mecca. That’s what they say.” Cole paused. “Oh, sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Do you want...?”
She shook her head. “Do you think Muslims should return to Mecca?”
“No. No.”
“Do you think the government should allow ISIS brides back into Britain?”
“No way. They’re terrorists.”
“Do you hold the local community responsible for the deaths in South Kensington?”
“Thought that Arab was foreign?”
“Yes. But he lived around here. He was part of this community. He could have gone to that mosque. Does that give the far-right extremists a motivation to attack the mosque?”
Cole shrugged. “I guess. Maybe they thought these guys were ISIS supporters?”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah. Absolutely.”
“On a personal note, Lewis, do you regard it as payback for your brother Darren?”
“No.” Cole rubbed his nose. The initial shock at hearing of Mince’s involvement had worn off. Now he needed to deflect any attention away from himself. He had listened to several politicians bullshitting on TV, and he figured taking a leaf from their spiel would be the best way to go. Along with his brain wave of an apology to Alice on camera, nobody would suspect him of any association with Whitechapel.
He cleared his throat. “I, er, strongly condemn today’s attack on innocent members of London’s Muslim community. While I understand emotions are running high, I would appeal for people to be calm and let our police find the culprits and bring them to justice. I do not want anyone to take revenge in my brother’s name.”
Laura raised her eyebrows at him, and the hint of smile ran across her lips. “Do you think the far-right will listen to your message?”
“I’m not sure you can reason with extremists, no matter which side of the divide they sit.”
Laura took away the mike and gave the thumbs up to the camera guy.
“Is that it?” Cole asked. “You get what you needed?”
“That was fantastic, Lewis.”
“Good.” Cole flexed his fingers. “You know what, Laura? Would it be okay if I sent flowers to Alice?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should talk to her first.”
“Why? It’s just a nice thing to do. I feel like I owe her.”
“Uh...”
“I heard she was in a hotel somewhere in Ladbroke Grove. I can send them there.”
“Huh?” Laura looked at him askance. “How do you know that?”
Cole shrugged. “Only one decent hotel there. The Metro, right?” He watched Laura carefully for her reaction.
“But who told you?”
“Social media is a wonderful thing.”
Laura shook her head. “Yeah, right. Don't do anything. She may have moved out. I’ll call you. I need to talk to Alice first.”
Cole nodded. “All right. Thanks. This be on later?”
“Yes,” Laura said. “Watch the news. You’ll star again.”
Cole left them to it and walked away. He powered on his phone and when he glanced back, he saw Laura was talking to the camera again. The sneaking suspicion he had said more than he should followed him down the street, but at least he had confirmation on the accuracy of HardBoy97’s message. Alice was either already back home or would be soon.
Ten minutes later, he stopped to light a cigarette, and his phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Birdy, mate?”
“What the fuck did you do, you prick?”
Cole dragged on the cigarette. “What are you on about?”
“Scully called me. Said you told him I was hard core. Wanted to hide in mine. I mean, what the fuck Cole? The anti-terrorist gestapo are after him. This is serious shit and I ain't having it.”
Cole tapped the ash from his cigarette and watched it disintegrate on the pavement. “What the fuck, Birdy? Scully was only looking for burners. I never said nothing about you being hard core.”
“Well, you better watch out, mate.”
“Why’s that?”
“I gave him your address.”
As Cole put his phone back in his pocket, he felt the blister on the palm of his hand throb with pain.
110
As the Xtra News van crawled through traffic on its way to base, Laura called DS Gilmore.
He didn’t sound pleased to hear from her. “What do you want now?”
“Sorry, Sergeant.” She hoped using his title would appeal to his ego. “I’m doing a piece on Alice Madsen, and while I know about her home assault, I was wondering if you had anything else I could use?”
“Laura, we’re SO15, not domestic.”
“Yes, but I thought there might be a link with South Ken.”
Gilmore sighed as if it he wanted to get shot of the conversation, and Laura gritted her teeth as she waited for him to say something. “All right,” Gilmore said. “They’re looking at males present during the South Ken attack who had friends or relatives killed
or seriously injured. Working a revenge theory.”
“I see. Would Lewis Cole be one of those they're looking at?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I interviewed him... dunno... guess he seemed okay.”
Gilmore laughed. “Sure. They all seem okay until you realise they’re not.” His laughter faded. “You got something for us?”
“Not sure. I’m going to interview him again with Alice Madsen.”
“Huh?”
“He wants to apologise to her.”
“You know this guy Cole beat the crap out of the terrorist?” Gilmore made a noise like a snort. “Cole is violent.”
“Is there another connection between Madsen and the attack I don’t know about?”
Gilmore hesitated. “This is not from me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“They found a bag of Captagon in Madsen’s after the assault. That’s the same drug the terrorist was on when he did South Ken.”
“Interesting.”
“She claims it belonged to her assailant.”
“Supposing it was hers?”
“If we could prove that, she’d be back in a cell.”
Laura stared out the window of the van. The driver in the car alongside smiled at her and she looked away. “Who’s looking after this on the domestic end?”
“DS Meera Kapoor. Want her number?”
111
When Cole slammed his flat door shut the wall vibrated with the impact. He cursed Scully and Birdy. The last thing he needed was Scully turning up on his doorstep. The interview wasn't his finest hour either. Learning Mince and Scully drove a van into a crowd of Muslims had thrown him off. Made him lose concentration. Had he lied well enough? He never blurted out his true feelings, so he avoided total disaster. Fucking journalists. The only positive was the £400 plus in his pocket.
