Hymn From A Village (10 page)

“Jesus.” Brandon pulled his hand away as if he were about to be bitten. “It’s the bearded fucking woman.”

Billy ripped off the veils from the others. Two more beards. “Shit.”

“It’s a bloody trap,” Ian said backing away.

“Cool it, man,” Billy said. “They’re the ones in the snares.”

Brandon felt anything but cool. He’d been lusting after men. It didn’t feel right. Nobody should play tricks like that. He put his feet on the chest of the biggest and pushed him over. Grabbing the scissors from Ian, he stabbed it into the man’s thigh.

“Crazy bastard,” the man shouted, writhing in his upturned chair in spite of the bindings. It was the first sound he’d made since they’d taken him from the street.

There wasn’t much blood until Billy pulled the scissors out. After that the trickle was steady.

“You girls need a facial, know what I mean?” If they hadn’t, it didn’t take long for them to find out.

Brandon took the blowtorch. Went straight for the face. The smell of singeing hair, accompanied by Brandon’s laughter and the victim’s screams, filled the room.

Arash pulled up a couple of doors down. Reversed into the space outside number 42. Caught the front wing on a scaffolding pole sticking out from the back of the flatbed he was trying to avoid.

“I’m a dickhead. A total knob.” Arash jumped out of the car to inspect the damage. “Mum’s going to kill me.” He licked his fingers and gave the scratches a rub. They didn’t go away.

In the passenger seat Naz wound down the window and took the headphones from his ears. “Park the bloody car and let’s get to work.” He looked behind him to his brothers, their necks bent, heads pushing dents up into the roof.

Arash slapped the truck. Pulled back his hand and got ready to punch it. Decided he’d be better off saving himself for later. Got back behind the wheel, edged forward and started again.

The car ended up two feet from the kerb. It would do.

The boys in the back contorted themselves to get out when Naz pulled up the front seat then uncurled to their full height once on the pavement. They looked down at the car and nodded.

“I’ll get better after my lessons,” Arash told them.

“When you’re old enough,” Naz said. He unzipped his holdall, checked the contents and closed it up again. “Now move.”

––––––––

I
t was the first time Brandon had actually used the torch. They usually folded at the sight of it. Gave in to whatever they wanted.

What they wanted was always the same. Sex and the promise that they’d show their faces when in public from then on. That or stay indoors.

It had been working. The head of the Preston Chapter had been pleased with their work. Fewer Muslims in traditional dress. Fewer Muslim women on the street full stop.

Brandon and Billy were in line for a promotion. Ian, well he might make it if he held tight to their tailcoats, but Brandon didn’t really care what happened to him. He was soft. Took all of the pleasures but had to be carried.

“I’m definitely not screwing them now,” Billy laughed. “Shame they wasted all that eye make-up.”

“Don’t know if these guys’ll get laid ever again,” Brandon said. He looked down on the three men lying on the floor, still trussed to their chairs. The screaming had stopped. Instead all three of them cried softly. Maybe the tears were nature’s way of cooling the burns, Brandon thought. “In fact we’re going to have to make sure of it.”

“What do you mean?” Ian asked.

“Sometimes you’re slower than a bloody tractor,” Billy said.

“Aye. They came to sort us out I reckon. We have to send a message.”

“Can’t you just write it down?”

“Gotta get rid of them for good.” Brandon turned down the flame and put the torch over on the mantelpiece.

“Needs to be done,” Billy said.

“Hear that boys? Your Krishna’s not going to be any good to you now.”

“Paper, scissors, stone?” Billy asked.

The three men formed a circle and clenched their fists.

Naz went up to the door followed by his younger brothers Zulfi and Ali.

The three of them were destined for greatness, Arash was sure of it. They were the kind of people that nothing ever touched. It was rare for them to get involved in battles these days. Most of their time was spent studying or down at one of their gyms. If they didn’t make it at boxing it would be basketball. Had their sights on a scholarship in the States. Anything had to be better than a life on the Broadgate.

Arash came from the side, his head turning from left to right checking for witnesses. He knew it was pointless. A street like that, full of curtain twitchers and old folk, and they might as well have been posting photos of themselves through every letter box.

Replacing his headphones and switching on his tunes, Naz opened up the bag and passed out the goodies. The Amir boys should be able to scare the shit out of anybody without needing weapons, but having a few to hand wasn’t going to do them any harm.

The scimitar, curved and polished, caught the light even though the sun was already setting. Zulfi took that. Ran his thumb across the blade. Felt the weight of it in his hand.

Arash was given a ball and chain. It was a token gesture and Arash knew it. He could swing it and look intimidating, but the brothers wouldn’t let him get close enough to do any damage. They just needed his mother’s car and his brains.

Ali had a bow and a handful of arrows. Placed one of them into the string ready for action. His head nodded up and down to the dub-step that was probably ruining his hearing.

It was going to be the first medieval battle since the middle ages, Arash thought. Made him feel better to have that picture in his mind.

Naz took the crossbow for himself. “Ready?”

Without being asked, Ali leant his shoulder into the door. Stood back to give it a good bash.

Putting his fingers on the handle, Naz pushed down gently. The door opened it without making a noise.

Ali turned rubbed the arm of his shell-suit as if removing dirt and turned down his tunes.

Everyone nodded and they followed Naz inside.

Ian was first out, just like always. No matter how random the game should have been, he never guessed right.

On the count of three, the finalists threw down their hands. Billy’s was open, Brandon’s clenched.

“Paper wraps stone,” Billy said and punched the air. “Yes.”

Brandon was pissed off. Maybe he was losing his touch. Not that it mattered. He’d still get his turn.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.” Billy pointed at the three men in turn. Mouthed the rest of the rhyme to himself. Settled on the one in the middle.

“Come on Billy,” Ian said. “They’re not going to say anything. Look at the one you chose. He’s pissed himself already.”

The man in the middle lay in a puddle, his body shaking like he was freezing to death.

It was the last time they were going to work with Ian, Brandon decided. He was worse than fucking useless. Didn’t have the stomach for this anymore.

“Today,” Billy said, “I shall be using the belt, followed by whatever knives I can find in the kitchen.” He stood over his intended victim and pulled back his arm.

Brandon heard a creak on the stairs, then another. Turned his head towards the door as it was kicked open. Found himself looking straight at a crossbow.

Arash stayed at the bottom of the stairs. It was like his body gave up on him. He looked at the spikes on his weapon then gave the chain a swing. Let the ball take out a chunk of plaster from the wall. No way he could do that someone’s head.

The others took the stairs three at a time. Strolled up like they were about to throw a few practise hoops.

Ali went to take the door. This time Naz let him. He kicked it in with the heel of his trainers and they were out of sight before Arash could let out his breath.

He heard the ping of the bow-string and the jolt of the crossbow, then nothing.

“Where the fuck have you been?” someone was yelling. Sounded like Zeeko. “Where the fuck have you been?”

There was a strange sound, like a gas leak.

“No way man. Please. No way.” Someone was begging. One of the white kids. Should be saving his breath.

Next he knew a human fireball was tearing down the stairs. Looked like he was wearing a suit and tie, but Arash couldn’t be sure. He resisted the urge to lift up his leg and trip him over - the way the flames were swirling round the body and those arms were gyrating, it would have been a mean trick.

Arash watched the ball of fire run out of the door, cross the road and jump clear over the wall into the river. By the time he got there to investigate there were only a couple of ducks to be seen.

From the house spilled the tinny sound of a hip-hop track, hitting the beat in perfect time with Arash’s pulse. .

“He just reversed into it like it wasn’t even there, Mum.”

Arash hadn’t worked through the whole story. He’d been too busy getting his mates to the hospital. “Nah, Mum. He was too quick.”

He didn’t see it coming but he felt his cheek sting as the slap landed.

He’d been too busy getting his mates to the hospital.   “Nah, Mum. He was too quick.”

He didn’t see it coming but he felt his cheek sting as the slap landed.

It was the kind of slap he liked. Reminded him of who he was. Where he came from. "Thanks Mum.”

He gave her a kiss on the forehead and ran up to his room without needing to be told, a great big grin spread right across his face.

H
adn’t been snow like it since I was a kid. Fucked the place up like a nuclear bomb. Tubes, buses, trains, all off.

No way I was going to be defeated by white powder. Walked in. Three hours it took.

Five of us made it out of two-hundred, so there was bugger all to do. Cleared the entrance, worked the pavement, helped out the old folk then took an early lunch, all except Ravi who doesn’t drink.

Bar was dead. Got served straight away. Chicken curry. Couple of pints to wash it down, couple of nips to keep out the cold and one for the road.

Bob and Luke headed home. No point in getting back for the ten o’clock news if they could skip out and get home for tea.

Me and Al settled up and went to keep Ravi company.

Left the pub carefully so we wouldn’t slip.

A load of snowballs came our way like it was the blitz.

Took the hits and rolled our own. Count of three we turned and let go. Wasn’t expecting quite so many of them, but hey.

Hit the main man bang on the nose, sweet as a nut.

Should have been game over, but them guys were no fun.

Soon as our backs turned, they came again. Caught one right on the back of my head. Don’t reckon it was no snow either. Felt like a stone. Sounded like it too.

Bang out of order, it was. I was raging.

Turned and went straight for them. Course Al hadn’t noticed – just kept on across the road like it was any other day.

Came at me like it was a charge out of the trenches, a load of kids with nothing better to do when the school’s shut than harass the public.

Course I was screwed, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. Clenched my fists real tight and swung me a string of good ones, three in a row like I’d turned pro. Didn’t have time to think, just let my hands work. Landed one on the chin of the kid with the bleeding nose – he dropped to the floor like a corpse.

For a moment I thought I could take them. Like I was a well-oiled machine. A triumph for experience over youth. Except they kept coming.

Caught another with a left. It was like heaven. Then the skies came crashing.

Someone took my legs and I was down. Had him squeezed between my thighs and nutted him good, but there were too many others.

And it went black.

Next light I saw was from a bedside lamp at the Royal Free Hospital.

Couple of uniforms were waiting for a chat.

Asked what I could remember.

Played the amnesia card.

They filled me in.

Ward three they told me.

Got me a chair and wheeled me up for a look, hoping to jog something in that memory of mine.

He was all ventilators and tubes, the daft prick. Ravi Bhopar. Vegetarian, lover of life, father of six. Hardly knew the bloke except for what he said when he came down to pick up stationery.

Why’d he do it? Lying on top of me and taking a kicking like that.

They sure fucked him up.

His skin was yellow where it used to be brown. Lumps of spit crusted at the sides of his mouth. A bag at the side of the bed was filling with red piss.

Told the uniforms a little about what went down, but not enough to help them out. There’s more than one way to open a can of worms after all – there’s the easy way and there’s the personal.

***

W
eather was fucked. Cold front from Russia or something.

Only Luke and me got in on Thursday. Took me longer than Monday on account of the broken ribs, bruised buttocks and swollen testicles. Felt something twinge every step of the way, but nothing was going to stop me.

Didn’t broadcast my arrival. Went in through the back and watched from my office till I was ready.

Told Luke I had some business I had to take care of and got on the blower to Uncle A.

***

U
ncle Archie wasn’t going to be put off by a bit of bad weather. 91 years old and there he was, no worries.

Salt of the earth he is. Always got by doing a bit of this and that. Winters he made money selling roasted chestnuts to tourists, the rest of the year it was seed for the pigeons on Trafalgar Square for anyone wanting to play at Mary Poppins. Charged a damn sight more than tuppence a bag and all.

Lives in Edmonton these days on account of him not having a proper pension and living so long. He’s on the third floor of a block that make Eastern European towers look like Luxury apartments. Loses residents every year from the balconies, if balconies is what you call them – they’re more a place to collect bird shit in case you want to spread it on your plants if you ask me.