Riot Act (20 page)

It was only when I’d gone a street or two into Lavender Gardens that my instincts coughed loudly enough to finally attract my attention.

By that time, of course, it was far too late to do much about it.

There was a gang of six Asian boys surrounding me, early teens by the look of them. Four in front, and two already circling behind. They moved suddenly out of gaps and appeared round pieces of broken fencing, approaching me with determination and purpose. I recognised only one of them, the boy with the dyed blond hair.

I took a good look around me, and realised with mounting unease that I was well trapped in a secluded alley with tumble-down garaging down one side. It was almost identical to the sort of place where Roger had been beaten up by Garton-Jones’s men. Somehow, I doubted Sean and Madeleine would come galloping to my rescue this time.

For a while nobody moved, and I took my time assessing the situation, but my escape routes were blocked. Outwardly, I did my best to stay calm, even as I was inwardly cursing my own stupidity.

Automatically, I focused on the blond-haired leader. Close to, he was a few years younger than I’d thought. He’d managed to scrape enough facial fluff together to cultivate a bit of an artistic beard and moustache combo, and was probably the eldest of the bunch. That said, he was still only just old enough to legally buy cigarettes, and they’d probably make him show ID to do that.

“What you doin’ here,
white girl
?” he asked, so softly his voice was almost a hiss. I caught the trace of a lisp under his words as he made a feature of a speech impediment he couldn’t hide.

“I’m just passing through,” I said as calmly as I could.

“You come from Copthorne,” one of the others put in, sneering, and spat at my feet.

I glanced down to where the splatter of phlegm had landed. “I’m not from Copthorne,” I said, looking away. “I’m living here. Kirby Street.”

The blond stepped forwards, trying to face me off. “Oh we know where you
live
,” he breathed, “but we know you’ve just been over on Copthorne. Seeing your fascist mates.”

“You shouldn’t pigeonhole someone because of the colour of their skin,” I pointed out mildly.

That provoked angry movement from a couple of the others. The leader stilled them with an impatient gesture. “You think we won’t lay a finger on a white girl,” he said, lip curled. “Well,
some
of us aren’t fussy. But then, you know all about that, don’t you?”

He gave me a shove, hands against my chest. I allowed my body to roll with it, half expecting the next sharp push that came to my back. They formed a loose circle round me and I allowed them to jostle me backwards and forwards, like a party game. Trying to take them all on was stupid. I was far better to just keep calm and hope they didn’t have the nerve to really put the boot in.

Still, it was difficult to stay relaxed in the face of such provocation.

The next time I was shoved at the blond-haired boy, I stumbled deliberately, falling against his bony chest to the jeers of the others. He gave a wolfish grin and put his arms round my waist, grabbing roughly at my backside with his left hand. Most of my good intentions dissipated right about then.

If you’re going to do it, make it quick
, I reminded myself. It was something I’d always drummed into my self-defence students. Once you’d decided to act, put your heart and soul into it. No holding back.

Just when I’d tensed myself to act, the decision on precisely what I was going to do was suddenly and unexpectedly taken away from me.

A forearm as thick as a child’s thigh wrapped itself round the blond boy’s neck from somewhere behind him, and he was yanked backwards. I didn’t get a chance to identify the big man attached to the rest of the arm before I too was grabbed.

The rest of the gang scattered in enough different directions to foil effective pursuit. There only seemed to be one other man, in any case. I didn’t recognise any of them until the black bomber jackets and short cropped haircuts finally registered.

My old mate Mr Drummond had the Asian boy by the back of his collar and had screwed one arm up behind his back with brutal efficiency, slamming him face first into the nearest piece of fencing.

I twisted my head and saw it was Harlow who had hold of me. I tensed, expecting similar treatment, but he contented himself with a pit bull grip on the back of my jacket.

Garton-Jones’s faithful sidekick, West came into my field of vision. His jaw was set rigid and there were veins standing out on his temples. I waited, half hoping he’d have an embolism, but this wasn’t destined to be my lucky day.

“Well, well,” he said to the boy after a moment or two, his voice almost a snarl. “Want to tell me what the fuck’s going on here, then, sonny?”

The Asian boy gave him a sullen glare and said nothing. His gang had completely disappeared. So much for loyalty among thieves.

“What about you?” He swung in my direction, lips stretching into a mirthless grin as he got a clear look at my face. “Well now, Miss Fox isn’t it?”

“Mr West,” I greeted him, voice flat. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

He moved in, stuck his face into mine in a gesture he could only have learned from his boss. He had breath like warm camel dung. “Well, you’d better get used to it. It was a nice try you made to get rid of us, lady, but we’re back now, and
this
time we’re here for good.”

For a moment, my mind was too blank to be diplomatic. “What do you mean, you’re here for good? The Residents’ Committee threw you lot out.”

“Yeah well,” he said, smoothing a hand over the stubble of his haircut, “after recent ‘events’ shall we say, they just couldn’t wait to
beg
us to come back.”

I stilled, suddenly cold at the rich satisfaction in his voice. Now,
there
was a twist I hadn’t given much thought to. If Garton-Jones was as obsessed with the idea of keeping his claws into Lavender Gardens as he’d seemed that night, was he mad enough to kill to achieve his aims? And what
were
they, in any case?

“By the looks of it,” West went on now, “we turned up just in time. Proper seventh cavalry, we are,” he mocked. “So, are you going to tell me just what the game is here?”

I took a brief look at the Asian boy. Only half of his face was visible. The rest of it was wedged up tight against the fence where Drummond was crushing him, but I didn’t need to see it to read the fear in every tense line of his body.

I remembered what Garton-Jones’s men had done to Roger, and found with a sickly taste in the back of my mouth that I couldn’t stomach having another beating on my conscience.

After all, Nasir had blamed me for getting Roger worked over, and then the pair of them had come looking for me with a gun. No way did I want to be seen to be siding with the Streetwise thugs. Not if I was going to stay in one piece until Pauline returned. Even if that meant letting go of my anger. Now wasn’t the time to let it out.

I twisted myself out of Harlow’s grasp, giving him a dark look as I straightened my jacket. “There
is
no game,” I said sourly. “I was just teaching the boys here a bit of self defence. They’ve all been on edge since they heard about Nasir.”

“What?” West spluttered his disbelief, incredulity lighting up his face. His gaze shifted from my face, to the boy’s, and back again. “You have to be jerkin’ my chain.”

I stood my ground, even though the explanation had sounded just as unlikely to my own ears. Still, sometimes the ones that seem the most unlikely are the most fitting. Plus that was the best I could come up with in the time allowed.

“Of course I’m not,” I snapped. “Since when did Garton-Jones introduce rules about that. It’s like being back at school.”

West moved round until he was in the boy’s line of vision. “What’s your name?”

“Jav,” the boy supplied in a voice breathless with his discomfort. “Tell him to let go – he’s breaking my arm, man!”

West nodded and, with great reluctance, Drummond slackened his grip on the boy and let him disengage his face from the rough wooden planking. There were spots of blood on Jav’s cheek where splinters had gouged their way in. He sidled stiffly out of Drummond’s reach, rubbing at his over-stretched shoulder and eyeing all of us with wary distrust.

“Well, sonny? I suppose you’re going to back her up on this cock-and-bull story. Is that how it happened?” West’s voice dripped with raw contempt.

Jav carried on staring at me for a moment longer, then peeled his gaze away, dismissive, as though I wasn’t worth the effort. “Of course not,” he said arrogantly.

My breath stopped.

West flashed me a savage look, then turned back to him. “Go on,” he said grimly.

“Of course that wasn’t how it happened,” the boy went on, growing in confidence. “
We
were teaching
her
how to defend herself. After all, she’s only a girl.”

He’d gone too far. West’s head ducked and his expression soured. He reached out and grabbed Jav by the back of his neck, digging his stubby fingers into the skin until his knuckles turned white as he dragged the boy up close. “Don’t piss me about, sonny,” he growled.

Jav swallowed, the fright jumping again in his eyes, but his nerve held. “It’s the truth,” he protested.

West’s eyes narrowed as he thrust the boy away from him. He searched our faces for the first sign of a crack. We both kept them deadpan.

“All right,” he said at last to Jav, scepticism clear. He jerked his head. “Get out of here. Go on!” he added, when the boy didn’t move. He took a quick menacing stride towards him. It was enough.

Jav ran.

When he’d disappeared, West turned back to me. “I suppose you realise that I don’t believe a single word of that shit you’ve been shovelling,”

I shrugged. “You’re the expert,” I said, offhand. “That’s your prerogative.”

He ignored the dig, such as it was. “So, what really went down back there?” he challenged. “Don’t tell me – they tried to jump you, right?”

“We were practising self defence,” I said, stubborn, setting my teeth.

He let out his breath in a long hiss. “You people make me sick,” he muttered. “You let these young thugs walk all over you and you don’t have the bottle to stand up for yourself just one time, do you?” He shook his head disbelievingly. “You just have to say the word, and we’ll take care of the problem for you. That’s why we’re here.”

“Are you really, though?” I murmured. “So, who said the word when these two beat Roger Meyer half to death, hmm?”

“We didn’t need anyone to say the word over Meyer,” West bit out. “He was caught, red-handed, remember?”

“That still doesn’t justify what you did to him.” I cast a glance at Harlow and Drummond. They returned it with every appearance of a clean conscience.

“He half-kills an old man, and now you’re feeling
sorry
for him?” West made an open-handed gesture of frustration, rolling his eyes. He groaned. “God preserve us from yet another bleeding-heart liberal.”

“No, I don’t feel sorry for him, but I don’t believe Roger was directly responsible, and I think there’s a lot more going on there than we realise.” I tried throwing that one into the mix, and was surprised by the end result.

“You mean with the Gadatra kid?” West chucked back at me straight away. He stepped in, grinning that nasty little grin of his again. “Could well be, but
he
got what he deserved, now didn’t he?”

How had the news of that one travelled so fast? I could feel my face stiffening with surprise, and fought to keep my expression even.

They made to leave, with West unable to resist a final jibe. “I thought you had a bit more about you, but looks like I was wrong,” he told me scornfully. “If you ever dig down deep enough to find the courage to point the finger at these scum, we’ll be right in there, taking care of them for you, and cheap at the price.”

He looked me up and down, slow and insulting, and his lip curled. “Yeah, and there’ll be snowballs in hell.”

I don’t remember getting back to Pauline’s. My legs were on autopilot. It wasn’t until I caught the faintest rustle in the hedge by the front door that I clicked out of it and lurched round, fast.

“Come out of there,” I snapped, “or I’ll drag you out.”

After a few moments the foliage parted to reveal a tearful Aqueel in the hollowed-out section at the bottom that seemed to be one of his favourite hiding places. He faced me with his bottom lip out defiantly, even if it wobbled.

My shoulders slumped. So that was what I was down to – frightening little kids and letting the real bullies get away.

“I’m sorry, Aqueel,” I said wearily. “I didn’t know it was you, and you made me jump.”

Aqueel raised a tremulous smile that didn’t even have enough wattage to light up the rest of his face. His eyes looked bruised, sunken into dark-smudged sockets and red-rimmed from weeping. He must have been crying non-stop ever since MacMillan’s fateful visit. Was it only this morning? It seemed like weeks ago.