Fifteen Bones Page 8

  “What do you think?”

  The fox cried again. I jumped. Robin didn’t.

  She opened her duffel bag. Inside were night-vision goggles and a camera. She handed me the goggles.

  I put the goggles to my eyes. I saw the slouched outline of a pack of kids huddled in the far corner of the park. A hulking, faintly beast-like figure lumbered towards them and disappeared behind an oak tree. The stick figures approached the tree one by one, squat-walking to keep their jeans on, dragging their feet like they’d stepped in dog poo. From where we were they looked like question marks. They fiddled in pockets so low that they had to crane their backs to reach within them. They looked terrified.

  “It’s money.” She took the goggles from me. “Pay-off.”

  The big man clipped one of the kids across the head and he scurried back to the pack.

  “They’re paying him,” Robin said. “Giving him his cut.”

  The man lumbered on, up the hill and out of the park. The boys remained in a huddle.

  “Go and see what they’re selling,” Robin whispered. She put a ball of notes into my hand.

  “Me?”

  “I can’t, can I? They know my arse.”

  The sulking stick figures retreated back to their corner, doing their dog-turd walk. My eyes swam across the darkness. “But, what if I get … killed?”

  “No one’s gunna bother killing you.”

  That was a new one. No one was going to bother hiring me or marrying me, but now no one would even bother to murder me.

  I looked at Robin, her soft face visible now my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. “What do I ask for?”

  “Drugs, obviously.”

  “Just, ‘Can I have some drugs, please?’”

  “No, you virgin.” Her eyes lit up. “Ask for a piece.”

  “A piece of what?”

  “Of Chocolate Orange.” She kissed her teeth. “You’re from Other London. Your clean hair bullshit. You got buttons in your eyes, blud. A piece is a gun. God.”

  “It’s a bad world where people have buttons in their eyes, so if—”

  “Just move your arse, muggle, go on.”

  “So if I was a muggle I’d also have no butt—”

  “Lost.”

  “What am I doing?” I said out loud. My face had taken on a strange numb sensation, as if this was happening to someone else.

  “I need to see if they’re selling guns,” she said.

  We watched the distant movement in the park and I waited for her to speak again.

  “This lot are small fry. Trust.”

  “Oh, my life.”

  I skulked towards the imps, holding my breath, clutching the crumpled tenners. Every step plunged me into quicksand, my stomach lurching, my lungs on fire. I approached the animalistic gathering. I realized they were all wearing grey hoodies. “Good evening,” I said to the nearest boy. “I’d like some, I mean … got … any … uh…”

  “The hell are you?” he barked. “Go and talk to Stee. ’Ere, Stee, you useless tart, talk to this skinny little slag.”

  A weasel-shaped boy scurried over from the pack. “Skunk? E? H?”

  I envisioned him with a screeching, scratching skunk, squirting stink all over my face before it scratched my eyes out. “Nah,” I laughed. “I need a … some pieces.”

  “Some what?”

  “Some pieces for this thing I’ve got to…”

  “Pieces of what?”

  “I…” I was careful not to look in Robin’s direction, but it was taking all of my tiny concentration. “I want your special … thing.”

  “What are you, some sort of queer?”

  “I want a thing that you point and it goes off…”

  “Talk. Fast.”

  “A piece!” I said triumphantly. “A piece. That’s what I want.”

  “Piece? Of what?”

  “Eight,” I blurted. “Pieces of eight! Arrrr! I’m a pirate.” I clicked my tongue.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Me? No one.”

  “Tell you what, No One. How about you ask for a piece one more time, and I get all these boys here to come over and kick you until you are dead. How about that?”

  The other kids were looking our way and I could feel, in the darkness, that they were moving towards us.

  “No, you’re all right,” I said. “I don’t fancy that.” The pack were close enough now for me to see their faces. I did a double take.

  Darscall and his minions.

  I tried to turn before they saw me, but I couldn’t take my terrified eyes off them.

  “You what?”

  “No, thanks. Thanks a lot.” I shuffled backwards. “Thanks a lot, have a nice…” I exhaled.

  The boy watched me back away.

  The rest of the pack inched forward, ready for a signal from the leader. I turned and walked as slowly as my poor bones would let me. I heard him pad after me, and then the soft padding rumbled into a wave of hi-tops slapping the pavement. I ran the winding road, momentarily surprised at how fast I could go. I had forgotten how it felt to fly through the air, those first moments when you’re running so fast but your heart doesn’t put on the brakes and burn your muscles to tell you to stop. I took a short cut through a gap between two houses that no human should be able to fit into, and slipped inside. Trapped in the shadows, I panicked with claustrophobia, but the gang ran past. I waited until I saw them amble, confused and breathless, back to the park.

  I slid from the gap. For a short second I was stuck and panicked so much I felt my heart expand, but then I was free and I ran the long road that circled the park until I was sure I hadn’t been followed.

  “Well?” Robin said when I returned.

  “I’m no expert,” I whispered, “but I think I failed that one.”

  “Nob,” Robin said, her eyes on the pack of question-mark kids.

  “I recognized some of them from school.”

  “Who?”

  “Ritchie Darscall. He’s the one who took my phone.”

  “He took your phone? Shit, Jake. Watch your arse. Dizzy Darscall’s a nasty piece of work.”

  “Dizzy Darscall?” I almost laughed. “He’s just a Darscall, he’s Dizzy Darscall.”

  “I wake up every day is a nightmare, in the mirror my face is a big scare,” Robin sang.

  “I gel my hair to make it look like an afro, but it’s weak and it’s blond and it won’t go.”

  Robin laughed. “Some people think I’m Darscall, but I just think I’m …”

  She stopped. A few of the kids had sloped off to a grey house perched on the end of the quiet road next to the park. The cold set in my bones.

  “Where are they going?”

  “The Trap House, where they cut drugs and keep those poor girls.”

  “Keep” was a sinister word. “Will you tell me why you have a camera with you?” I asked.

  “I wanted out, so they’re jumping me out. And I’ll show them being jumped out.”

  “What’s jumped out?”

  “Oh, Christ. Too late.”

  Robin ducked her head and took the camera out of her bag.

  In the distance a boy walked into the park holding another boy by the elbow. The question-mark kids packed around him. Robin shot me a look that said “keep your mouth shut”. The question-mark kids closed in, cooking him, ready for something to explode. There was only one way this would go. They needed energy from their victim: he would run or fight, and either way they would devour him.

  “Have you got a burner?” Robin whispered.

  “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

  “A burner’s a phone, you monk.” She took out her own phone and dialled 999. “Police, please,” she whispered in a Liverpool accent. “Hello, I’m just walking me do
g past Wimbledon Park and it looks like a gang has this lad and they’re going to attack him. He—” She hung up. The boy had been consumed by shadows. I could just about make out his shoulders moving up and down in panic. I prayed he wouldn’t run. Animals need the chase. If he ran they would pounce on him.

  He ran.

  He made it a few steps before he was thrown to the ground. They set on him, their legs flying as they kicked and jumped him. I thought of getting beaten up on Bertie Bridge down Battersea. There had been three of them and I couldn’t walk properly for a week after it. This kid had seven or eight. I put my hands to my head. Robin’s hand gripped the dirt. The gang stopped, exhausted. They whooped, howled. The boy was a rag doll on the ground. “God forgive me,” Robin whispered as she pressed the button on her camera. It took rapid photos but also made a whirring noise. The pack lagged off. I could barely see them, but I felt someone watching us. I grappled for the night-vision goggles. “Cover your face,” I whispered. Robin drew her scarf beneath her eyes.

  The boy broke into a fast walk. The others followed like a swarm. “Robin,” I whispered, shoving the goggles into her rucksack. “Run.”

  “What?”

  They sped up and headed towards us.

  “RUN!”

  I leapt up. I turned to help her but she hared off ahead of me. I brought my speed up until I couldn’t feel my legs. I heard them stampeding behind us, grunting and baying.

  “What colour are they?” Robin yelled as she belted up the hill.

  “What?” I was sick with exhaustion.

  “Colour. What colour are they?” she yelled.

  I glanced at the grimacing hoodies gaining on us. “Grey,” I panted.

  “Not their clothes! Their skin!”

  “White,” I managed.

  “Good,” Robin said. “Split. I’ll take the long way.”

  “Why?” I called. My heart lurched as she sped away. I thought of her getting caught, mauled and destroyed by a rabid gang. My mind took over my useless legs and propelled them forward. You can’t see darkness when you’re racing through it.

  When I reached our house I saw a jagged figure sitting in the apple tree. My fingers absently folded into prayer. “Robin?” I called to her.

  “Jake?” She jumped from the branches.

  “Robin,” I said, “are you all right?”

  She shrugged and walked towards me, as if the jump hadn’t affected her knees at all. Her camera was in her hand.

  I swallowed my heavy breath only for it to burn my lungs and explode back out of my mouth as a wet cough.

  Sirens circled the air.

  “Why were you glad they were white? Are white guys not as dangerous?”

  “Yeah, they are,” Robin said. “They just can’t run.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  We both laughed. The wind whipped up the foils from the grass and pushed them across the long road.

  “Don’t ever join a gang,” Robin said. “Not ever.”

  “No one’s asking me.”

  “No, they wouldn’t.” Robin gave a sly smile, which she quickly dropped. We both knew that was the problem. “They flatter you and in, like, weeks you’re just a prisoner.”

  I scratched the back of my neck. “What’s happened?”

  “I told them I wanted out and they said I ain’t getting out. And that was it. Just like that. The next day these sidemen, who I didn’t even know, got arrested, and they all think it was because of me. Like, this one shit-stirring monk puts it on Facebook and suddenly every BBM, Snapchat, post, everything is saying I snaked to the police and I’m ghosting. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  I didn’t.

  “They think I’m a snitch and that is a serious threat. So they’ve said I’ve got to show up on Friday and tell them who it is.”

  “How could they make you go?”

  “They have ways.”

  “How do they know where you are?”

  Robin laughed.

  “Who is it? The snake, I mean.”

  “I don’t know. That’s the point.” She looked through the photographs. “It must be one of these,” she said. “Without names it’s useless.”

  I looked at the pictures on her camera. The boys who hung around Darscall were peering beneath their grey hoods.

  “Can’t you just lie low? Run away?”

  “Run away? Are you five? Run away? No one can run away. He’d find me.”

  “Who?”

  “The Beast. The boss man.”

  “The Beast?”

  “Subtle, innit?” Robin shook her head. “When he was a Young he was called Dub List and it, like, changed over the years to the Beast.”

  “How would he know how to find you?”

  “Find me?” She pointed a thumb towards the glaring eye of the Toad House and the hunched man shifting angrily within. “He’s watching me right now.”

  I looked at the photograph of Dizzy Darscall and his minions, then to her worried eyes, then to the glare of the Toad House. “I could find out who they are,” I said.

  I was late to Cattle Rise but the teacher marked me in without making me sign the late register. It was a small gesture that made me feel a tiny bit better about being there. Some teachers can just look at you and know it’s a miracle you’re in school at all.

  After registration I didn’t go home or to my cupboard, I followed Darscall until I spotted the minions from the photograph. They walked slowly down the corridor and had something to bark at almost everyone who passed them.

  They entered a classroom at the instruction of a bearded teacher whose ID card read “Mr A. Millar”. All I needed was an unlocked computer and I could look at his class lists and find the names and addresses of the boys, but for that, I’d have to actually go to lessons.

  I arrived at history and found an empty desk. Everyone was looking at pictures of gulags and writing questions they wanted to ask. “Anything you don’t know, anything you don’t understand, anything you might want me to explain,” the teacher said as he paced the class.

  The class was industrious. Mr Gilbert dragged us through the work. I felt exhausted as I watched everyone crowd out at the end. I followed them to the front of the class and when no one was looking I crouched beneath the desk. The system unit whirred next to my ear.

  I waited until I heard Mr Gilbert lock the door. I had minutes before the next class came in. I clicked off his register and went into the teacher profiles. I typed “Millar” into the surnames. His class list appeared and I clicked on Period One. His register loaded. I filtered the boys and clicked through each one, their mug shots loading with infuriating delay. The light in the room changed strangely. I looked up and saw everything I was doing was being projected on to the massive whiteboard. I searched around for the control for the projector. I couldn’t find it. I was running out of time, so I’d have to risk it. I checked the porthole window and persevered until one of their lanky faces crept onto the screen. I clicked on “student profile” then “print”. My heartbeat became warm until finally I heard the printer whirr into life. I took a paper clip out of the desk tidy, bent it, twisted it in half, put one half in my back pocket, and the other half in my mouth. I kept clicking until I found the last boy. “Derrick?” I said to his face. “Who’s called Derrick?” I printed his profile, grabbed the pages, picked the lock in two clicks, went out into the empty corridor, and slammed straight into Kane.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Oh,” he said. He snatched the pages out of my hand. I fought him but he put his hand flat to my chest and easily held me off as he read the profiles.

  “What have you got these for?” He shoved me back into the empty classroom and closed the door behind us. “Who are you?” he said.

  “Who I am?” I said. “Who am I? You know who I am.”

  �
��Did someone ask you to get this? Because if someone’s forcing you I can help you. But you have to tell me.”

  “What?”

  Kane folded his arms. “Who are you?”

  I couldn’t speak. I could only look at him. I quite liked being alone with him, but I was also aware I was in quite a lot of trouble. And I hadn’t spoken for a long time now, so I just needed to say something. Anything. Any little thing! Who was I? I didn’t know. But I did know that I really, really, really needed to speak…

  “No one,” I said.

  “Nah, nah, nah, there’s arrests happening around here and people are ghosting.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Running. Scared. Someone knows too much. There’s a snake. Somewhere. So I’ll ask you again, for your own sake, who are you?”

  It was a strange question to be asked, and I had no idea how to answer it, but then I thought of my other life and I found a way out. “I was at St. Eloïse’s in Brixton. Like you said. I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

  Kane nodded slowly. “You Brixton then?”

  I nodded and Kane relaxed. The air relaxed.

  “So where you bin? Why act so suspect?”

  “I’ve been in hospital,” I said.

  “What happened?”

  I closed my eyes and saw blood with pieces in it.

  “Cancer or something?” Kane guessed. That’s what everyone guesses. Kane looked again at the profiles in his hand. “What you gunna do with those?”

  “Do I look like I could do anything about anything?”

  “You just happen to be holding profiles of two people in the CRK? Who are both simple? Who both work for Darscall? That a coincidence, is it?” Kane tore the pages up and put them in the bin. “There are people who make shit happen, and people who have shit happen to them. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  Darscall’s in the CRK too?

  Before I could open my mouth to ask, the deputy principal burst into the room. “What on earth is going on in here?”

  “We’re having an orgy,” I said.

  “I begyourpardon?”

  “Yeah, do you mind?” Kane said. “We’re busy.”

  “Get your bags and your blazers and step outside, please.” The deputy principal had been stressed for so long, his skin was starting to die and peel off his face.