'Godsake, Dan. What's with all the armour?'
'They're for protection.'
'Protection from which invading army?'
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There had to be at least twenty blades in that box, maybe more. Probably more.
'Dan, are you off your nut?'
'I have to arm myself. The streets aren't safe,' he told me.
'Yeah, 'cause tossers like you can't set foot outside your house without tooling up,' I replied. 'Godsake! Why d'you need so many knives? You've only got two hands.'
'Carry one of these and no one will mess with you. D'you want one or not?' asked Dan, peeved at my lack of appreciation for his hardware.
'One what?'
'A knife? I have knives for every occasion.' Dan launched into a pseudo sales pitch. He picked up a knife at random. 'For example, this fine specimen is phosphatetreated and comes with a polymer sheath which is available in olive, camouflage and black.'
'Hell, no.'
'Tobey, I promise you, with one of these in your pocket, you'll—'
My response was heartfelt. 'No frickin' way.'
'Suit yourself.' Dan eyed me speculatively as he closed the box. 'I've got a couple of items even more effective than these knives . . .'
'Dan, don't even go there,' I warned. 'I'm not interested.'
'Suit yourself.'
'Thank you. I will,' I replied. I ran a shaky hand over my sweaty forehead. Stop the world, I want to get off. 'I need to get out of here. Just give me the relevant names and addresses before I see sense and change my mind,' I said.
Walk away.Walk away now, I told myself.
The answer? Not without my money. I was already thinking of it as my money.
*
The first stop was a forty-minute train ride out of Meadowview. The instructions Dan gave me seemed straightforward enough. Once I got off the train, I pulled up my hood, kept my head down and started walking. I thought it'd take me ten minutes max to get to my destination. Twenty-five minutes later I was only just turning into the right road. Each house in this area was detached and about a quarter of a kilometre from its neighbour – at least, that's what it felt like as I walked along. The front gardens were massive so I couldn't even begin to imagine how big the back gardens must've been. I stopped two or three houses away from my destination and looked up and down the wide, tree-lined street. Two women passed on the opposite side of the road, deep in conversation, but apart from that the road was deserted. My hood still in place, I cautiously looked up at the surrounding trees and at the tops of the lamp-posts in the vicinity. No CCTV cameras. Another glance up and down the road. I appeared to be alone.
Appeared to be . . .
Stop being paranoid, Tobey.
I headed for the designated house, trying to look a little less guilty and a little more like I had every reason to be there. My stomach was tumbling and copious beads of sweat were making my T-shirt stick uncomfortably to my back. The late evening hadn't begun to cool down yet. If anything the air had become more muggy, so that each breath was like inhaling after lifting a saucepan lid. I hated the summer.
This house was definitely upmarket. At least, it looked that way as I approached. But as I turned into the driveway, the weeds and moss sprouting up from between the paving stones were more evident. Somewhere overhead a crow cawed. I looked down at the parcel I was supposed to deliver. I guess drugs knew no boundaries and weren't confined to a single postcode or area or country come to that. One of the world's great levellers – along with love. And hate. And fear. I took another look around. It wasn't often that I made it out to the plush suburbs. Correction. I never made it out here. I tried to wrap my head around why anyone who lived here would need to haze their mind with drugs? I guess misery knew no boundaries either.
I rang the doorbell. I didn't hear any chiming inside. I pressed on it again. Silence. So I knocked as well, just in case the bell wasn't working. A baby started bawling its head off inside. Trying to ignore my racing heartbeat, I knocked on the door again, a lot harder this time. The door opened almost at once. The smell of nappies and toast hit me at once. A harassed Cross woman, in her mid-thirties, I think, answered the door. She wore white trousers and a yellow, sleeveless blouse. Her black hair was dishevelled, her onyx eyes wary.
'Yes?' she asked.
From the back of the house, the baby's crying was getting louder. She ignored it, her gaze darting nervously past me up and down the street.
'Are you Louise Resnick?'
'Who wants to know?'
'I have a package for Louise Resnick.'
'It's a little late to be delivering post, isn't it?'
I shrugged.
'Give it here then.' The woman held out her hand.
'I was instructed to only give it to the proper recipient.'
'Huh?'
'I can't give it to anyone but Louise Resnick.'
The unseen screaming baby turned up the bawling volume by quite a few decibels.
'Charlene' – the woman turned her head to scream back into the house – 'could you please do your job and stop Troy crying.' She turned back to me, her expression fraught, her eyes cold. 'I'm Louise Resnick, so pass it here,' she said impatiently.
The package stayed in my carrier bag.
'Oh, for heaven's sake,' said the woman. She picked up her designer handbag from beside the door. Annoyed, she retrieved her driver's licence and flashed it so close to my face that I had to pull my head back like a turtle. 'Happy now?' she asked.
I dug out the smaller package from my carrier bag as the woman replaced her licence and dropped the handbag onto the hardwood floor.
'Who's it from?' Louise asked suspiciously. She ran a shaky hand through her locks, making them even more untidy.
'I don't know,' I replied truthfully. 'I'm just delivering it.'
I held it out towards her. She took a half-step back, suddenly reluctant to touch it. She looked at me, trying to read my expression. I really didn't know what was in the package and it must've shown on my face because she finally stretched out her hand to take it.
'Thanks,' she murmured.
From one of the rooms behind her, the baby was now shrieking. Louise closed the door in my face without saying another word. I shrugged and turned away, heading back towards the train station. But once I reached it, I couldn't settle. I walked up and down the platform like my shoes were on fire. I made sure to keep my head down and my hood in place, just in case. The CCTV cameras placed at regular intervals along the platform would capture my jacket, jeans and trainers – and that was it. Hanging around anywhere near that woman's house was a really bad idea. I didn't know what was in the package and I didn't want to know, but every instinct I possessed screamed at me to get away, to drop my other package and run. But I couldn't. I'd agreed to help Dan and I had to see this through.
Focus on the money, Tobey, I told myself.
The train finally arrived to take me to my next port of call. Another forty-minute journey back to Meadowview and a twenty-minute bus ride later, I hopped off. This area was very different from where Louise Resnick lived. I looked around. If I ever had to draw Hell, then this was where I'd come for inspiration. Narrow streets, high-rise estates, no hint of green or any other colour except concrete grey. I'd been walking for less than five minutes when a car pulled up alongside me, matching my walking speed. The two Nought men inside, around my age or only slightly older, looked me up and down as they kerb-crawled beside me. After a swift glance at them, I looked straight ahead and carried on walking. One hand tightened around the carrier bag, the other was empty at my side. No hands in pockets. No sudden moves. No rude gestures. I forced myself not to speed up and run away or slow down either.
On the passenger's side of the car, a man with lightbrown hair and dark-blue eyes looked me up and down, his expression suspicious and more. 'Which side of Meadowview d'you live on?' he asked.
'I don't,' I replied, still walking.
I s
kirted as close to the truth as I could get. I didn't live in Meadowview, on either side, on any side. I existed. On whose side were these two guys? Did they work for either the Dowds or McAuley? Or were they further down the pecking order than that? Did they claim ownership of a number of pages in the local map book, or just one page, or maybe just this street?
'I'm visiting a friend who lives around here,' I told them, forcing myself to look at both occupants in the car.
The man with the brown hair turned to the driver and said one word – 'Tourist.'
They drove off. The moment their car was out of sight, I stopped walking to give my heart time to stop punching my ribs. Existing was hard work. Existing wasn't much, but for the moment it was all I had.
A couple of minutes later, I reached my destination. This time it was a flat on the Chancellor Estate, a high-rise block that should've been demolished twenty years ago. Anti-social housing. I climbed up the concrete stairs, which stank of piss, vomit, disinfectant and paint, to the third floor.
Flat Eighteen was a third of the way along the walkway. I took a moment to look out over the balcony. A few people were milling about below, but no Crosses, so I was probably safe from the police. Unless they had some undercover Noughts watching me. I couldn't assume that the Noughts I saw weren't coppers. The police force was actively recruiting from 'all sections of society', as they put it in their ads. And it was working. So I had to be extra vigilant.
Careful,Tobey. You're definitely getting paranoid.
I mean, why should anyone be watching me? It's not like I'd done this before. It wasn't like I was going to be making a habit of this either.
Tobey, just deliver the package and go.
A deep breath later, I rang the doorbell. At least I didn't feel quite so close to spewing my guts out this time. The door opened after a few seconds. A man only a few years older than me opened the door. I'm tall, but he was taller. And broader. And heavier. The man wore denim jeans and a blue T-shirt beneath a black leather jacket. I wondered why he was wearing a jacket indoors, especially in this weather. Not that I was about to ask him. His designer trainers were clearly new because they were still out-of-the-box clean. His collar-length black hair was gelled back off his face and his dark-blue eyes were cold as deep, still water.
'Can I help you?'
'I'm looking for Adam Eisner.'
'That's me,' the man replied.
'Could I see some ID please?'
'Who are you?' A stillness came over the guy that instantly had me on my guard. He looked ready, willing and more than able to tip me over the balcony onto the concrete three storeys below.
'I've got a package for Adam Eisner and I've been instructed not to hand it over to anyone else.'
'And I've already told you, I'm Adam Eisner.'
'May I see some proof ?'
The man's eyes narrowed. 'What's your name?'
I didn't answer.
'Who told you to deliver this so-called package?'
I didn't answer that either. Not that I could hear much over the sound of my heart trumpeting. This didn't feel right – at all. The man started to reach into his leather jacket pocket.
'Dan sent me,' I said quickly. 'I'm just helping out Dan. He's the one who told me not to give this to anyone else but Adam Eisner.'
The man's hand slowed, then stopped before emerging from his pocket, empty.
'So what's your name, kid?' asked the man.
No way was I going to answer that one.
The man unexpectedly smiled. 'You appear to have more brains than your friend Dan. So do yourself a favour, believe that I'm Adam Eisner and hand over the package.'
I did myself a favour.
Minutes later, I was out of the block of flats and heading back to the Wasteland. Dan and I had agreed to meet up there after all our deliveries had been made. When I felt sure that I was far enough away from the flats, I hopped on a bus to take me back to more familiar territory. I could've been mistaken for an owl, the way my head kept constantly turning round whilst I was on the bus. Two parcels and one evening of doing this and already I was acting like I was some kind of criminal. That said something in itself. I tried to tell myself that it was just nerves, that I was worrying over nothing, but somehow that didn't help. I obviously wasn't cut out for this line of work.
You know what? Sod this. No amount of money was worth this feeling of not being able to walk down the street without constantly checking over my shoulder. This was my first, last and only job for Dan. Ever.
When I finally got to the Wasteland, Dan was already waiting for me. He was standing on the sidelines of the football pitch. And he wasn't happy.
'Where the hell have you been?'
'Walking,' I replied.
'You should've been back thirty minutes ago.'
'Well, I'm here now.'
'Did everything go OK?' asked Dan.
That rather depends on your definition of OK, I thought.
'I delivered the packages like you asked me,' I said.
'Was Mr Eisner OK with that?' Dan swayed nervously before me like a mesmerized snake.
'Eventually,' I replied. 'He refused to show me any ID and because I'm fond of breathing, I didn't insist.'
'Tobey . . .' Dan was winding up for a rant, but I got in first.
'Don't start with me, Dan. The man was two metres tall, almost as wide, resembled a pit bull and I wasn't about to argue with him. You got a problem with that?'
'But he had black hair and was wearing a black jacket, right?'
I nodded. Dan sighed with relief.
'So where's my money?' I asked.
'When I get paid, you'll get paid,' said Dan.
I scowled at him. 'That's not what you said earlier.'
'I said you'll get half of what I make, but I won't get my money until tomorrow – or Sunday at the latest.'
I stood perfectly still and counted my heartbeats until the fire raging inside me began to dampen down. Dan kept looking away from my unblinking glare, still swaying uneasily.
'Dan, don't play me,' I warned him softly.
'I'm not,' Dan denied. 'I can't conjure money out of thin air. When I get mine, then you'll get yours.'
We both knew he'd implied otherwise. This wasn't part of our deal, not even close.
'When exactly will I get my money, Dan?' I asked.
'By the end of this weekend. Look, as we're mates, I'll pay you out of my own savings. How's that? I'll go to the bank tomorrow and get you what you're owed. Every penny. Be here at four tomorrow and I'll give it to you.'
'I work on Saturdays,' I reminded him.
'So work a half-day or call in sick,' said Dan. 'It'll be worth it.'
I regarded him without saying a word. At least if I went to work, I knew I'd get paid. If I turned up at four tomorrow afternoon and Dan was nowhere in sight, what then?
'Tobey, you'll get your money,' Dan said, exasperated. 'Trust me.'
'Why? 'Cause you've got my back?'
Now it was Dan's turn to remain silent.
'I'll see you tomorrow at four,' I sighed. 'Don't be late.'
I turned round. In my head I was already at home and stretched out on my bed.
'Tobey?' Dan began.
Wearily, I faced him. 'Yeah?'
A flush of red stole up Dan's neck and across his cheeks. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was embarrassed.
'You and I are friends, right?'
'Yeah.' At least, I used to think so.
'Well, I've gotcha. OK?'
I scrutinized Dan. His embarrassment couldn't be feigned.
'OK.' I nodded.
'I've got some more deliveries to make tomorrow if you want to double your money,' said Dan hopefully.
I frowned. So much for having my back. Only as long as I could be useful to him, by the sound of it.
'I haven't seen a single penny yet,' I replied. 'Two times nothing is still nothing.'
'Trust me.'
'No thanks, Dan. To
day was enough for me. More than enough.'
'But you've seen how easy it is to make money. A couple of drop-offs here, a collection or two there. Nothing to it.'
'Nothing being the operative word. I'm not interested, Dan. Just give me the money you owe me tomorrow and we'll call it quits.'
Not wanting to prolong the argument, I headed home. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
sixteen. Callie
I couldn't hide in my bedroom for the rest of my days. Was I really going to let my uncle take over my life again? I couldn't. I wouldn't. And yet I already had. Every thought, every breath I took was now wrapped around him. I sat and brooded as the hours crept by. More than once stray tears escaped to run down my face. I brushed them aside impatiently. That wasn't going to make my problem go away. But what should I do? At last I made up my mind. I took my phone out of my jacket pocket, but my index finger still hesitated before pressing the first digit.
Did I really want to do this?
What choice did I have?
I phoned Uncle Jude's private number, the mobile phone number that he gave out to very few people. But he'd given it to me when I was his soldier. When I was his puppet.
'The number you called has not been recognized,' some woman's toneless voice informed me. 'Please check and try again.'
I tried twice more, just in case I'd inadvertently or subconsciously called the wrong number, only to receive the same message. I was still alone. Mum was out with Nathan and Nana Meggie was out with friends. I didn't want to be alone any more.
What if Uncle Jude was out there right now watching me? What was he planning? He didn't take a breath without plotting its speed and trajectory first. What did he have in store for me? Because one thing was certain: if he really was still alive, I'd be at the top of his revenge list. And Uncle Jude was a very patient man.