The Front (10 page)

       
‘What?’ Mal growled nastily. ‘What you telling me?’

       
Ged just about managed to hold his temper down. ‘Tell her she doesn’t have to go,’ he said quietly.

       
‘She’s going,’ said Mal. ‘And she’ll be fine!’

       
‘What about you?’ Ged turned to Sam for support. ‘Do you think she’ll be fine?’

       
‘I’m not getting involved,’ said Sam, picking up a newspaper from the floor beside his chair and using it to cover his face. ‘Just sort it out between you. Leave me out of it.’

       
‘So you’re not bothered if she leads the police back here?’ demanded Ged.

       
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Suzie piped up nervously from the open door.

       
‘Course she wouldn’t,’ said Mal. ‘ ’Cos, like I’ve told you, she’s not that stupid.’

       
Ged turned on him furiously. ‘Oh? And why is that? ’Cos she knows what she’ll get if she messes up? Is that it? Yeah . . . you’re such a big man, aren’t you, Mal? Beating the shit out of the kid, then sending her out to do your dirty work. You’re nothing but a spineless little bastard!’ Balling his hands into fists, he loomed over Mal. ‘Man – one of these days  . . .!’

       
‘One of these days what?’ Mal retorted, knowing full well he was pushing his luck but unable to stop himself.

       
As the tension crackled like static in the air, Sam’s headache resurfaced with a vengeance. He felt nauseous and his nerves were screaming. Finally, he could stand it no longer.

       
‘For God’s sake!’ he yelled, the uncharacteristic force in his voice stunning the others into silence. Slamming the paper down he jumped up from his seat. ‘I’ll go – and don’t you dare laugh at me, Mal, ’cos Ged’s right. You shouldn’t be sending Suzie!’

       
‘Don’t be stupid!’ Ged snapped at him. ‘You’re already in hiding. Fat lot of good it’ll do us if you get spotted. We’ll be even deeper in the shit than we are already.’

       
Just then, Wendy appeared in the doorway and demanded to know what all the noise was about.

       
‘Sam just volunteered to put his life on the line,’ Ged blurted out – glad to his heart that she’d come in just then, because if anyone could talk sense into Sam she could.

       
‘Well?’ Wendy turned on her husband. ‘What stupid scheme is it now?’

       
Wilting beneath her withering glare, Sam muttered, ‘Someone’s got to go and see to Lee. And I’m sick of these two arguing about it, so I’m going.’

       
‘Oh, no, you’re not!’ Wendy slammed the three bottles of brandy she was carrying down onto the coffee table and pushed him back down on the chair. ‘Listen here, matey!’ she spat, thrusting her livid face into his. ‘I got that house to get you off these streets and keep you alive – and now you think I’m gonna let you walk about out there, you bloody clown? If that crew sees you they’ll waste you, you know that!’

       
‘But, Wendy . . .’ Sam protested weakly.

       
‘Don’t “but, Wendy” me, you bloody moron!’ she screamed.

As the argument escalated, Suzie took the opportunity to escape and, for the second time that night, found herself heading along City Road – hoping against hope that she’d find it still dark, still undisturbed by the flashing lights and pandemonium of police vehicles she dreaded would be there by now.

       
It was still deserted.

       
Breathing a sigh of relief, she slipped into the shadows of the fence encircling the Home and peered across to the dark yard. She had to go over there to find Lee. He was either dead or dying, and she had to find out which.

       
And to do that, she’d have to touch him!

       
The very thought filled her with dread. She’d never even
seen
a dead person before, never mind touched one. What if she fainted? Oh God!

       
But no – she couldn’t let Mal down. She had to be strong, pull herself together and get on with it.

       
Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself away from the fence and hurried across to the open gates. But once there, her resolve began to disintegrate. It was so dark and eerie. She couldn’t see a thing except the outline of Pasha’s jeep, and the sight of it still sitting there long after he should have been gone made her heart sink. Steeling herself, she stepped through the gate.

       
It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust enough to make out the shape of the wheelie bin to the right of the door. Mal had said he’d been lying next to it when Pasha fell, so at least she knew where to start looking. Dreading the moment of discovery, she took a hesitant step forward, then another – sliding her feet one in front of the other in an attempt to feel her way without falling. She’d gone almost halfway when her foot connected with something soft. She froze, her toe still touching whatever it was. And then she heard a groan, so soft that she half thought she’d imagined it.

       
Her mouth filled with saliva as her heartbeat gathered momentum, going faster and faster, pounding, rushing, deafening, until she thought she was going to faint.

       
Then the thing spoke.

       
‘Help me  . . .’

       
It was Lee.

       
Dropping to her knees before she fell, Suzie fumbled for his hand. ‘Lee,’ she whimpered. ‘It’s me – Suzie. Are you all right?’

       
‘It hurts,’ he croaked. ‘Head hurts  . . .’

       
‘Oh God, Lee, God! What should I do? I don’t know what to do!’

       
But Mal would.

       
As the thought occurred to her, she pushed herself back onto her heels and shook Lee gently, sounding much more confident than she felt as she said, ‘I’m gonna phone Mal. I won’t be long. Will you be okay?’

       
Groaning, he flapped a hand feebly.

       
‘I won’t be long,’ she said again, then gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and stumbled out of the yard.

       
Running around to the phone box, she almost cried in relief to find it was working for once. Tapping out the number, she hopped from foot to foot as the ringing tone trilled down her ear.

       
Come on, Mal! Come on!

       
‘Yeah?’ Mal’s wary voice came to her at last, flooding her with relief.

       
‘M-Mal – it’s me,’ she gabbled frantically. ‘He’s alive! Lee . . . He’s still alive! And, oh God . . . You’ve got to come! Come now! He’s alive!’

       
‘Calm down, Suzie.’ Mal’s tone was sharp.

       
‘Mal, please . . .’ Suzie swiped at a tear as it trickled down her cheek. ‘I don’t know what to do!’

       
‘Suzie?’ It was Wendy.

       
‘Yeah, Wendy, it’s m-me. Please do something. Lee’s hurt.’

       
‘Where are you?’ Wendy’s calm voice helped.

       
‘In the ph-phone box at the f-front of the shops.’

       
‘Right,’ said Wendy. ‘Go back to Lee. We’ll be there in a minute.’

       
Back in the yard, Lee had propped himself up on his elbows. Suzie could hear his heavy breathing from the gates.

       
‘Oh, Lee . . . please keep still,’ she urged and, squatting behind him, she tried to make him relax and lie back on her knees. Her fingers became sticky with grease and sweat as she stroked his hair, but she didn’t notice. ‘Everything’s gonna be okay now,’ she crooned. ‘Wendy’s coming.’

       
Lee groaned.

       
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Am I hurting you?’

       
‘Wendy to the rescue,’ he croaked in reply. ‘What a woman!’

4

In his heavily fortified flat on the thirteenth floor of a high-rise overlooking Moss Side’s fire station, The Man waited for Pasha Singh with growing irritation. Lovers’ rock pumped out from four powerful speakers tilting down from each corner of the sumptuous leather-and-chrome-furnished room, flooding the air with meaty, pounding bass and swirling, crystal-clear strings.

       
Rocking his head in time to the music. The Man was outwardly calm – inwardly, though, he was seething. Only the dangerous glint in his slanted catlike eyes gave any hint of the fire blazing within.

       
Linda, his latest pick-up, lay beside him in a blissful haze of drug-induced euphoria, her white-blonde hair splayed out across her pale shoulders, her long legs curled beneath her, sending her short skirt high on her slim white thighs. With one glossy red talon, she idly scratched at his knee as her hot breath gently penetrated the crotch of his Armani trousers.

       
The Man shifted irritably. It was two-thirty in the morning and he was not in the mood for any of her sex shit. A week down the line, and already she was beginning to irritate him. She had no sense of when to leave him be.

       
Drumming his wide, gold-heavy fingers on his meaty thigh, he frowned, his glittering eyes narrowed to slits. He was angry. A deep, smouldering energy was building inside him as the minutes ticked by. Pasha should have been here two hours ago. What the fuck was he playing at?

       
He inhaled deeply through his nose, then released the breath slowly, telling himself there was bound to be a good explanation. Pasha was no fly-by-night kid. He was a businessman. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to think of ripping The Man off.

       
Jake wasn’t so willing to wait and see. Pacing the floor, his short dreads bouncing around his handsome face as he repeatedly slapped a fist into his palm, he said, ‘Let me go and look for him, boss.’

       
The Man shook his head slowly. Jake, his right-hand man, was too rash. Half Jamaican, half Irish, Jake had a racist streak bordering on the psychotic. He particularly hated Asians, and viewed Pasha Singh as all of them rolled into one. He’d have liked nothing better than to take a pop at him, but reason told The Man to wait a little longer. Pasha had been reliable up to now.

       
And there was time enough for revenge if it were warranted.

       
‘Not yet.’ The Man’s voice was husky and low. ‘I’ll give him a little more time. But, see, if him mek me wait too long . . .’ He let the sentence hang and kissed his teeth.

       
Jake grinned and settled a little, satisfied that his services would be required at some point tonight. Pasha Singh had messed up good this time.

       
A car horn sounded down below. Muted by the distance, it floated up like a remote banshee wail, barely audible beneath the music. The Man nudged Linda, clicking his fingers at her.

       
Sitting up lazily, she stretched and yawned, then uncoiled herself and wiggled across to the window. She knew what was required of her. Draping herself prettily around the place was only part of it. She was also the looker-outer, the spliff-roller, the general whatever-he-wanted-getter, and the whatever-he-desired-giver.

       
Sticking her face through the curtains she peered down towards the road. ‘It’s just that big guy,’ she slurred. Letting the curtain fall back, she drifted back to his side.

       
Jake shot her a filthy look. ‘Who the fuck’s she talking about?’ he muttered sarcastically. ‘The big guy? Ten–fifteen big guys come by this yard every claat day! Cha!’

       
Stomping across to the window, he leaned flat against the wall and eased the edge of the curtain back to look for himself. He couldn’t risk revealing himself fully, not with all the drive-bys going on at the moment – however unlikely it was that someone would score an accurate hit on a target this far up. Spotting the gleaming silver BMW he relaxed.

       
‘It’s just Max,’ he said – more than a little pleased that it wasn’t Pasha. The longer he took to arrive, the less likely it was that he would – and the more likely that Jake would get to inflict some serious damage on him.

       
Shoving Linda aside, The Man reached for the remote to turn the heart-thudding bass down to a low throbbing pulse. ‘Tell him to come up,’ he said.

       
Jake motioned to Max through the window, then took the keys from the shelf and went to let him in. It took a few minutes to open the heavily protected front door, but it was a necessary precaution. The Man was still on top for now, but things were getting heavy. Exception was being taken to the hold he had on the market. Still . . . no one was going to get through all these locks unless they blasted the wall away first. Picking up the intercom as it buzzed, he pressed the button to release the lock of the main door on the high-rise’s ground floor.

       
‘Yo, Jake,’ Max said, coming up the communal stairs a few minute later.

       
‘Max.’ Jake nodded, stepping around him to scan the stairway for unwelcome followers before rebarricading the door.

       
In the living room, Max pressed his fist to The Man’s in greeting but said nothing, waiting for the girl to be dismissed before delivering his news.

       
Waving him into a chair, The Man nudged Linda and motioned her from the room with his head. Leaning forward, he took a pre-rolled spliff from an ornate black-lacquered box on the coffee table and lit it, drawing on it deeply as he waited for her to go.

       
Reaching for her purse, she staggered to her feet and did as she’d been told without argument. Jake sidestepped her as she tottered past him on spiky stilettos, gripping the purse tightly to her breast as though it were a precious jewel.