Crossfire

by Malorie Blackman

  ‘Jarvis, go and keep Abby company,’ he ordered.

  Without a word, Jarvis headed for the bedroom. The door closed with a barely audible click. That was Jarvis. He did everything with silent precision. He could sneak up behind you and slit your throat, and the first thing you’d hear was the sound of your own blood gushing out. Dan had taken great pleasure in recounting a couple of times when Jarvis had to do exactly that – on Dan’s orders of course.

  ‘Ken Coughlan resigned a couple of hours ago and was threatening to sue you. Just so you know.’

  I frowned. ‘Sue me? For what? For revealing what a racist scumbag he is?’

  ‘His lawyers called it prejudicial disclosure.’

  My snort of derision was instant. Hellsake! Lawyers! The spawn of vampires and vultures. ‘I’m assuming you handled it?’

  Dan smiled. ‘Of course. I threatened to broadcast the rest of the covert recording where he boasted about his affair with his producer, and his wife being too stupid to realize. Surprise, surprise! The lawsuit was withdrawn.’

  ‘Yeah, I bet it was,’ I said dryly. ‘Ken’s no fool. Losing his job is one thing. Losing half of everything he owns if his wife divorces him is something else entirely.’

  ‘Tobey, be careful. Playing that recording on Coughlan’s show has made both of us a lot of powerful enemies.’ Dan’s voice held a warning. ‘They’ll be waiting in the wings, biding their time.’

  Tell me something I didn’t know.

  ‘Pfft! Let them bring it,’ I dismissed. ‘Thanks to you and your sources, I have the dirt on a number of officials and politicians and, if they decide to come at me, I’ll make sure they know it. Ken Coughlan got off lightly.’

  Dan and I stood in silence, side by side, looking out of his window. I gazed out across the city nightscape. Tower blocks and office complexes had sprouted ever higher like weeds searching for limited light. Vast shopping centres had devoured all but the hardiest local shops. There was a time when the sheer scale of the view, the urban majesty of it, would’ve stolen my breath away.

  Not any more.

  ‘Look down there, way down on the ground, at all those people scurrying like ants to get home, to go to work, to lead their trivial lives. Like Eva says, for every ten stupid people in this world, there are another hundred stupid people.’ Dan’s lips twisted into a sneer. The utter contempt seeping from his every pore was disturbing. ‘Sometimes I stand here and feel that, with the sweep of my arm or the stomp of one foot, I could eradicate them all.’

  Dan’s words clanged like a great bell in my head. He turned to me with a sudden laugh, his expression clearing. ‘Don’t mind me. The view from this window is sometimes … intoxicating. This is a city ripe for the taking, if you have the balls to step up.’

  Where was Dan going with this?

  ‘What do you see out there, Tobey?’ he asked.

  ‘I see the best city in the world,’ I replied.

  ‘Damn right. And soon it will be all yours,’ he replied silkily. ‘This world is full of sheeple, not people, all longing to be told what to do, how to think. Sheeple who are lost without someone to follow. And you know the best part? Even when most of them know they’re being led over a cliff, they’ll still follow because it’s less effort than thinking for themselves. It’s the human condition.’

  Silence. I let Dan’s cynical words sink in, recognizing them for what they were. The thing that gave me pause was that I agreed with them. I was a man now, not an idealistic boy. The truth, no matter how excruciatingly painful, was still the truth. It’d taken me a long time to understand that.

  Unbidden, Callie Rose Hadley crept into my mind. I shook my head, mentally slamming the door in her smiling face. She had a nasty habit of doing that, creeping up on me and entering my thoughts before I could check myself. And she never came alone but dragged a whole world full of longings and regrets with her. Stop it! Time to return to the matter at hand.

  Dan moved over to the bar, pouring himself a quality single malt whisky. No cheap blended stuff for Dan.

  ‘I’ll have one of those.’ I stepped away from the window.

  We sat down opposite each other on the plush cream leather sofas placed before the floor-to-ceiling windows. Drink in hand, I contemplated Dan’s love of this penthouse. It was understandable. The view alone was enticing. The building, the location, the view made it much too easy for him to feel the master of everything he surveyed. I turned my attention back to Dan. Seventeen years ago, a lifetime ago, we used to be mates. Real buddies. What were we now? Acquaintances was too tame a word. Colleagues? Associates? Ah, I had it – collaborators. That’s what we were, collaborators. We’d hooked up to get me elected Mayor of Meadowview and we’d been together ever since. Working together for the good of us both.

  And the rest of the world be damned.

  One year ago, Dan and I had been seated in this room, in this fashion, drinks in our hands as we both agreed that I should run for Prime Minister, despite all the odds being stacked against me.

  ‘Those upper-class, private-school, elitist Cross bastards like to pretend there’s some kind of magic to succeeding in politics that only they can access. It’s not magic; it’s just a set of learned rules. Wanna know what they are?’ Dan took my silence to be assent. ‘Here’s how you succeed as a politician in five easy steps. One. When you’re campaigning, pick two or three big ideas and stick to them. Research the hell out of them, get behind them and promote the hell out of them.’

  ‘How do I pick the two or three ideas?’

  ‘Simple. Just read the room, Tobey. In this case, read the mood of your constituents. What most concerns them? Makes them angry? Makes them march? Makes them want to throw things at the TV? You need to tap into that, even if you don’t agree with the policies you’re supporting and promoting. And, if someone or an organization comes at you with hard facts and statistics, don’t back down. Just accuse them of not caring about the wants and needs of your constituents.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said.

  ‘Two,’ Dan continued. ‘Pick a fight with the media and then win it.’

  I sat back. ‘Are you kidding? How on earth do I do that?’

  ‘Accuse the media of being soft on crime, soft on immigration, soft on holding the opposition accountable, then hammer home the point whenever you have the chance. Three. Give the impression that you know all about and even share the lives of the sheeple. Cry with them. Make them think you’re one of them, when you obviously aren’t. They’ll believe what they want to believe, and what they want to believe is that you’re working for them, rather than the other way round.’

  And I thought I was cynical. ‘Jesus, Dan, that’s cold.’

  ‘But true. You need to practise your smile and moderate how you speak so you’ll appeal to more people and you won’t come across as a smarmy, entitled Nought arsehole who’s forgotten his roots.’

  I didn’t imagine the censure in Dan’s voice as he said that. My lips tightened as I regarded him. Now was not the time to call him out on how he truly felt about me. Whether I liked it or not, Dan was giving me gold. I’d be foolish to let my ego get in the way of accepting it.

  ‘Four. The Cross opposition will choose to use euphemisms wherever they can. Your job is to challenge them with real language that everyone can understand. That way the working class will resent the hell out of those who hide behind the status quo and will see you as their champion.’

  ‘For example?’

  ‘For example, your opposite number will talk about people who live with the challenge of food insecurity. That’s when you come back at them hard and fast and call it what it is – people are starving. They want to talk about the challenges of household fiscal management? Come back at them hard on cuts to welfare leading to people being unable to pay their rent or their utility bills or put food on the table. Keep it real. Don’t let the bastards patronize or get away with flowery language.’

  I was impressed – and curious. ‘How d
’you know all this stuff?’

  ‘A very special woman taught me,’ Dan replied.

  Eva again.

  I knew who he was talking about without him even saying her name. That woman had to be very special indeed. Yet, in all these years, I’d never even met her. Dan spoke about her only rarely, but always with reverence. I’d suggested enough times that we should all get together for a meal, but Dan had never acted on my hints – subtle or otherwise. I couldn’t help wondering why.

  ‘And last but not least,’ said Dan, when he knew he had my full attention again, ‘seize big moments and control them. Don’t be afraid to pass someone else’s good idea off as your own. But, if you say or do something which brings you negative clapback, then you palm it off on someone else asap. Never admit liability. It’s a sign of weakness. Get it?’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Good. Any questions?’

  Plenty. Starting with – when will I get the final bill for your services? What’s your help going to cost me – and not just in money? Questions danced in my head to the sound of warning bells.

  ‘If you’ve finished staring a hole through me,’ said Dan dryly, ‘I repeat – any questions?’

  ‘Just one. What do you get out of all this?’

  ‘You, in the palm of my hand.’ Dan smiled like a fox in a barn full of chickens. ‘Can you live with that?’

  I considered but not for long. ‘Yeah, I can manage that.’

  Could I though?

  I banished the question from my mind as we shook on the deal. Dan might think he owned me, but I was my own man, my own boss. Always had been. Always would be. But could it be that I was just deluding myself? Was I using Dan while he was still useful? Or was he using me? I found it hard to tell any more. Besides, what was wrong with both of us using each other if it was to our mutual benefit?

  ‘I’m having a dinner party soon for movers and shakers and useful moneymakers. Can I count you in?’

  ‘Would this happen before or after the election?’ I frowned.

  ‘Before of course. I need to remind a few people that I know where the bodies are buried – literally in a couple of cases.’ Dan smiled. ‘People who will be useful to both of us.’

  ‘And a dinner party is the best time and place to do that?’

  ‘Tobey, it’s the only place,’ said Dan. ‘It’ll be a scratching party.’

  ‘A what now?’

  ‘A scratching party. A quid-pro-quo event. A “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” occasion,’ he expounded. ‘I’ll have something on every person at the dinner party, and what’s more they’ll all know it. I’m owed some favours and it’s time to collect. I’d like you to be my star guest.’

  I regarded Dan, donning my poker face. His star guest, or his star puppet?

  Time would tell.

  fifty-nine. Callie

  * * *

  ‘Mum, are you OK?’ I’d been speaking for the last ten minutes and the faraway, troubled look on Mum’s face told me she hadn’t heard a word. ‘Mum?’

  ‘What, dear?’ Mum finally took in my worried look. ‘I’m sorry, Callie. I just have a lot on my mind at the moment.’

  ‘Care to share?’

  She regarded me, contemplating my request. Something was definitely wrong.

  ‘I’ve been invited to a dinner party on Friday and I’m trying to find a way to duck out of it,’ she said at last.

  ‘And you can’t say you’re busy or unavailable?’

  ‘The man hosting this dinner party isn’t good at taking no for an answer,’ Mum replied.

  ‘Anything I can do?’

  She smiled. ‘No, love. I’ll sort this. It’s just annoying, that’s all.’ She regarded me thoughtfully. ‘Callie Rose, you know I love you, right? Very much.’

  ‘Yeah, Mum, I know.’ I frowned.

  Where was this coming from? Something was definitely amiss—

  ‘Um-hmm?’ Troy cleared his throat.

  Mum smiled. ‘I love you too, Troy. Don’t you ever forget that.’

  ‘Not likely to with you telling me every day,’ he said.

  ‘You’d soon miss it if I didn’t,’ said Mum. She turned her attention to the home-made seafood linguine before her and resumed picking at it. I looked at Troy, who just shrugged at me and carried on eating his dinner, his attention wholly taken up by the mobile phone in his left hand.

  ‘Troy, you know Mum doesn’t like phones at the dinner table,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Look at her,’ said Troy. ‘She’s miles away. If she’s not bothered today, why should you be?’

  My brother was right. Mum was once again off in a world of her own and, if her expression was anything to go by, it wasn’t a happy place. Mum wasn’t just worried: there was something else, something more primal in her expression that it took me a few seconds to decipher. Something I hadn’t seen on Mum’s face in a long, long time.

  Fear.

  NOW

  * * *

  sixty. Troy

  * * *

  ‘I’ve made a mess of your shirt.’

  I glance down at the wet patch of material over my right shoulder and the right side of my chest. ‘You didn’t snot, did you?’

  Libby gives a hiccup of a laugh. ‘I don’t think so. I can’t guarantee it though.’

  I raise an eyebrow, but then we both smile, though Libby’s is faint and quick to evaporate.

  ‘Thanks, Troy.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For the use of your shoulder.’

  ‘Any time.’

  Silence.

  ‘Troy, I wish … I wish you’d jumped without me. I wish you’d escaped.’ Libby’s voice is barely above a whisper.

  ‘We escape together or not at all,’ I tell her.

  ‘I hope you don’t live to regret that,’ she says.

  She’s not the only one.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Not even a little bit.’

  I take Libby’s hand in mine and give it a squeeze. I can’t even begin to imagine how she must be feeling. How would I feel if I learned my mum had grabbed me off the street and scared me shitless, all so she could get money off my dad? It doesn’t bear thinking about. And what Libby had said about her mum pulling on her legs in the bath so that her face would go under the water … What kind of sick bastard does that to their own child? What kind of sick bastard does that full stop? Libby’s home life must’ve been worse than hell. I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like to live with a parent like that, or, rather, I don’t want to imagine it. All at once my mum’s endless hugs and constant fussing around me don’t seem that bad.

  ‘Troy, I want you to promise me something,’ says Libby.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If the chance comes to escape again, I want you to promise that you’ll run and not look back. You won’t wait for me or anyone.’

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘Please. Promise. That’s all I’ll ever ask you to do for me.’ Libby looks up at me, her blue eyes huge and pleading. ‘Please.’

  She really means it and she isn’t going to back down.

  ‘I promise,’ I state reluctantly.

  ‘Thank you. And I know you’re a guy of your word, so I’ll expect you to keep it.’

  ‘Libby, this is all academic,’ I point out. ‘I doubt if this lot will fall for the same trick.’

  She looks at me. ‘I may have a way to get us out of here, but it’s dangerous.’

  Hmm. I don’t like the sound of this. ‘I’m listening.’

  Then

  * * *

  THE PARTY

  sixty-one. Tobey

  * * *

  I read the email again. I’d already read it so many times I almost knew it by heart.

  Liberty …

  It was from my daughter, Liberty, forwarded on to me by Jade, my new personal assistant. My ex-lover and ex-employee Isabella and I had come to a parting of the ways. My decision, not hers. Here I was, sitting in the back of
my chauffeur-driven WMW, being taken to Dan’s dinner party where I’d need all my wits about me. What a shame my thoughts were now all over the place. I didn’t know what to think, how to feel.

  The first time I held my daughter in my arms and looked down at her, I knew her name like I knew my own. It sprang into my head and refused to budge. Liberty Alba. Unfortunately, her surname was Jackman. If there was some way I could’ve given my daughter my name without having to marry her poisonous bitch of a mother to do it, I would’ve done so in a heartbeat, but it didn’t work like that. Looking down at Liberty in that moment had been a revelation. I didn’t believe it was possible to fall in love at first sight until then. Looking into Liberty’s blue eyes, I knew otherwise.

  If only she’d had brown eyes, then she would’ve been perfect.

  I felt ashamed of that thought, but that didn’t make it any less real – or honest.