What Came Before He Shot Her

  Joel watched all this as he hurriedly advanced. By the time he reached the van, the man had gone inside one of the houses. What he’d been shouting at remained outside, however. Joel took it in and knew what he was looking at: Some ten or twelve houses farther along, a group of boys circled like a pack of hounds around a figure who was huddled on the pavement, quite small against the wall of a property, like a hedgehog protecting its vital parts.

  Joel took off running and shouted as he ran, “Fuck you, Wyatt! Leave him alone!”

  But Neal Wyatt had no intention of leaving Toby alone, intent as he was upon keeping several promises. This time he had his full crew of henchmen to lend a hand in the proceedings and, by the time Joel reached them, Neal had already done his worst: Toby was weeping, he’d wet himself, and his treasured lava lamp lay stamped to bits on the pavement, all plastic and glass and liquid, with its flex lying like a splattered snake among the debris.

  Joel’s vision went red, then black, then clear. He chose the most foolhardy of the alternatives open to him, and he threw himself at Neal Wyatt. But he got no further than a single blow, which barely connected anyway, when one of Neal’s crew grabbed him by the arms and another drove a fist into his stomach. Neal himself shouted, “Fucker’s mine,” and everything happened quickly after that. Joel felt a rain of blows. He tasted blood as his lip split open. The breath left him with an oof as he sank to the pavement. There, heavy boots and trainers connected with his ribs.

  Finally, someone shouted, “Shit! Clear it!” and the boys began to run in every direction. Neal was the last to leave. He took a moment to bend to Joel, twist his hand in Joel’s hair, and say into his face with the rank breath of someone whose teeth are going bad, “It’ll be his arm next time, wanker.” Then he, too, was gone. What replaced him was what the boys had apparently seen cruising down from the Harrow Road.

  The panda car pulled to a stop and a constable got out while his partner remained in the running vehicle. From where he lay on the pavement, Joel watched the policeman’s polished shoes approaching.

  Trouble here? he wanted to know. S’going on? Live round here? Hurt? Cut? Shot? What?

  The radio in the car squawked. Joel looked up from the polished shoes upon which he’d continued to gaze, and he saw the blank face watching him, a white man whose lips twisted in a movement of distaste as his opaque blue eyes moved from Joel to Toby and took in the urine that had spread in a widening stain on the child’s trousers. Toby’s eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that his face was nothing more than a mass of creases.

  Joel reached for his brother. He said, “S’okay, mon. Le’s go home. You okay, Tobe? Here. Look. They’re gone. Cops’s shown up. You okay, Tobe?”

  The driver of the panda car barked out, “Bernard, what’s the brief? Anyone hurt?”

  Bernard said that it was business as usual and what the hell else did they expect since this lot were going to kill each other eventually and sooner was better than later.

  “D’they want a ride? Get ’em in the car. We c’n take ’em home.”

  Hell no, Bernard told him. One of them’s pissed his panties and no way was that smell going to foul up their car.

  The driver cursed. He stamped so hard on the parking brake of the vehicle that the sound was like chains dragging on concrete. He got out of the car and joined Bernard on the pavement, where he looked down on Joel and Toby. Joel had, by this time, got himself into a kneeling position and was trying to ease Toby out of his protective curl. The driver said, “Get the hell into the car,” and it took a moment before Joel realised that he was talking not to him and his brother but to his partner. Bernard responded with, “See for yourself, you love it so much,” as he complied.

  The driver then squatted next to Joel. He said, “Let me see your face, lad. Want to tell me who did this?”

  Both of them knew what naming and shaming meant in a boy’s life, so both of them knew Joel would not point a finger at anyone. He said, “Don’t know. I jus’ found ’em ’rassin my brother.”

  The constable said to Toby, “D’you know who they were?”

  But Joel knew they would get nothing from Toby. His brother was as good as done for on this day. Joel just needed to get him home.

  He said, “We’re okay. Tobe doesn’t know ’em, either. Just some bloods not likin the look of us, is all.”

  “Let’s get him into the car, then. We’ll take you home.”

  This was the last thing Joel wanted: drawing attention to themselves by arriving in Edenham Way in a panda car. He said, “We’ll be okay now. We just got to walk over to Elkstone Road.” He got to his feet and hauled Toby to his.

  Toby’s head flopped forward to his chest like a rag doll’s. “They broke it,” he cried. “They grabbed it and it fell and they stamped it up and down.”

  “What’s he on about, then?” the constable asked.

  “Jus’ something he was carrying home.” Joel indicated the remains of the lava lamp. He said to Toby, “S’okay, bred. We’ll get ’nother,” although the truth of the matter was that Joel had no idea how, where, or when he’d ever be able to get another sixteen pounds to replace what his little brother had lost. He kicked the remains of the lava lamp to the kerb and deposited them in the gutter.

  Inside the panda car, the radio squawked another time. Bernard spoke into it and then to his partner, “Hugh, we’re wanted.”

  Hugh said to Joel, “You set off home, if you don’t want a ride. Here, use this on your mouth as you go.” He handed over his handkerchief, which he pressed onto Joel’s lip until Joel himself held it properly. He said, “Go on, lad. We’ll keep you in sight to the end of the street,” and he returned to the car and climbed inside.

  Joel took Toby by the hand and began to pull him in the direction of Great Western Road, which was where the street they were walking along terminated. As good as his word, Hugh kept the panda car crawling along just behind them, leaving them only when they came to the corner and headed towards the bridge over the Grand Union Canal. Then they were on their own once more, descending the steps and crossing Meanwhile Gardens.

  Joel urged Toby along as fast as he could, which wasn’t as fast as he would have liked. Toby babbled about the destruction of his lava lamp, but Joel had far greater worries to keep him occupied. He knew that Neal Wyatt would bide his time until he got the chance to make good his threat. He meant to go after Toby, and he wouldn’t rest until he dealt with Joel by dealing with Joel’s little brother.

  IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE for Joel to pretend that he’d taken a fall riding a skateboard this time. Even if his aunt had not known he’d been looking for Toby, even if consequently she might have been led into believing both of the boys had been in Meanwhile Gardens all along, the condition of Joel’s face and the bruises across his body did not suggest a simple tumble. While Joel managed to get Toby cleaned up prior to Kendra’s arrival home from the charity shop, he couldn’t do much about himself. He washed off the blood, but the cuts on his face were still there, and his right eye was swelling and would soon go black. Then there was the matter of the lava lamp, about which Toby was inconsolable, so when Kendra walked in, it was only moments before she learned the truth.

  She whisked both boys to Casualty. Toby didn’t need attending to, but she insisted that he be looked over as well although Joel was her real concern. She was furious that this had happened to her nephews and insistent upon knowing who had set upon them.

  Toby didn’t know their names and Joel wouldn’t say their names. Kendra could tell that Joel knew them, however, and the fact that he wouldn’t tell her infuriated her more. The conclusion she reached was that these were the same nasty little pieces of business who’d been after Joel the day he’d stormed through the charity shop and burst out of the back door into the alley. She’d heard one of them call their obvious leader Neal. It would, she decided, be no difficult task to ask around, find out his surname, and sort him out.

  The only problem with this plan was the so
rting-out part of it. Kendra remembered the boy, and he seemed a hateful creature. A talking-to wasn’t going to make any difference to him. He was the kind of yob who only understood the threat of bodily harm.

  This called for Dix. Kendra knew she had no choice in the matter. She was going to have to be humble and throw herself upon his essential good nature in order to ask for his help, but she became willing to do that once she saw that Toby was afraid to leave the house and Joel was watching his back at all times, like a millionaire strolling through Peckham.

  The question for her was where to approach Dix so that her approach would not be open to misinterpretation. She couldn’t go to the Falcon where, she assumed correctly, he had taken up residence once again with the two other power lifters. She couldn’t ring him and ask him to come to Edenham Estate lest he think she wanted him to move back in. A chance encounter in the street somewhere seemed the best, but she couldn’t rely upon that. This seemed to leave the gym, where he did his lifting.

  So that was where she went, as soon as she was able to manage it. She made her way to Caird Street, where the Jubilee Sports Centre stretched in a low-slung brick mass just south of the Mozart Estate. She was taking her chances with regard to Dix’s being there, but as it was around lunchtime and as he put in a good six hours at his workout each day, it seemed reasonable to conclude he’d be power lifting.

  He was. In a snowy vest and navy shorts, he was bench pressing what looked to Kendra to be a mind-boggling amount of weight. He was being spotted by a fellow lifter taking a casual approach to his job by discussing low reps versus singles with another lifter who was standing nearby with an upended water bottle, pouring its contents into his mouth.

  These two men saw Kendra before Dix. Aside from the fact that she was a woman entering a largely male world, in her pencil skirt, her ivory blouse, and her heels, she was hardly dressed for the place. Beyond that, she did not have the look of a female bodybuilder or of anyone wishing to become a female bodybuilder. Dix’s near companions ceased their conversation when it became clear that she was approaching them.

  Kendra waited until Dix had completed his reps and his spotter had guided the barbell back into position on the stand. The spotter said to him quietly, “Dis yours, mon?,” which directed his attention to Kendra. Dix reached for a white towel and used it as he rose from the bench.

  They faced each other. Kendra would have had to be blind not to see that Dix looked good. She would have had to be insensate not to feel the same stirring for him that she’d felt when they were together. More, she would have had to be demented not to remember how they were together when they’d been together. All of this caused her to hesitate before she spoke.

  So he spoke first, saying, “Ken. Lookin good. How you been?”

  She said, “C’n I have a word?”

  He glanced at the other two men. One shrugged and the other flipped his hand as if to say, Whatever.

  Kendra added hastily, “Or later, if you’re in the middle of something.”

  He clearly was in the middle of something, but he said, “’S okay. I’m good.” He came to join her. “Happening?” he asked. “Kids okay?”

  “C’n we go…? Not leave here or anything, but is there some place…?” She felt shy with him, on the wrong foot. This had to do with the reason for her visit; nonetheless, she wished she felt more in control of the situation.

  He nodded towards the door through which she’d come, where a vending machine sold bottled water and energy drinks. Four small tables with chairs ran along a window opposite the machine. This was where Dix took her.

  She looked at the machine. She was parched. It was a warm day, and her nerves were in the process of drying out her mouth. She opened her bag and fished out some coins.

  He said, “I c’n get you—”

  She used his own, previous words. “I’m good. I don’t expect you’re carryin any money in those shorts,” and then she felt hot again because it seemed to her that what she’d said was rife with connotations.

  He chose to ignore them. He said, “Dat would be the truth.”

  “You want something?”

  He shook his head. He waited till she had her water. They both sat and faced each other. He said again, “Lookin good, Ken.”

  She said, “Ta. Yourself. But that’s no surprise.”

  He looked confused by this. He felt judged, her remark reminding him of obsession and of everything that had been off-kilter in their relationship.

  Kendra saw this and hastened to add, “I mean, you always work hard. So it’s no surprise to me you look good. Any more competitions coming up?”

  He thought about this before saying, “Dat’s not why you’re here, innit.”

  She swallowed. “True.”

  She had no real idea how to make her request of him, so she plunged in without prefatory remarks. She told him what had happened to Joel and Toby—she’d put two and two together on the earlier “fall” from a skateboard as well—and once she’d concluded with the Casualty department and Joel’s refusal to name their tormentor, she named him herself and asked for Dix’s help in the matter.

  “Ugly little mixed-race kid with his face half frozen. He’s called Neal. Ask round and you should be able to find him without much trouble. He runs with a crew in the Harrow Road. All I’m asking is that you have a word with him, Dix. A serious word. Let him see Joel and Toby have a friend who’s willing to do something if they get hurt.”

  Dix didn’t reply. He reached for the bottle from which Kendra had been drinking her water and he took a swig of it. He held onto it afterwards, rolling it between his palms.

  Kendra said, “These boys…They’ve been vexing Joel for a while, evidently, but they didn’t know about Toby till recently. Joel’s afraid they’ll go after him again—Toby, this is—”

  “He sayin that?”

  “No. But I can tell. He hovers. He…he gives instructions to Toby. Stay inside the learning centre and don’t go out on the steps. Don’t wander down to the charity shop. Don’t visit the skate bowl unless I’m with you. That kind of thing. I know why he’s saying it. I’d talk to those boys myself—”

  “Can’t do that.”

  “I know. They wouldn’t care if a woman—”

  “Ken, that ain’t it.”

  “—was the one trying to sort them. But if it was a man, if it was a man like you, someone they could see would take them on if he had to and would give them a dose of what they give to helpless little boys, then they’d leave Joel and Toby alone.”

  Dix looked at the bottle in his hands and he kept his eyes on it as he replied. “Ken, ’f I sort dis for the boys, t’ings’ll go worse. Joel and Toby end up havin more trouble’n ever. You don’t want dat and neither do I. You know how t’ings on the street work out.”

  “Yeah, I do know,” Kendra said curtly. “People die is how things in the street work out.”

  He winced. “Not always,” he said. “And we’re not talkin ’bout a drug ring, Ken. We’re talkin about a group of boys.”

  “A group of boys going after Toby. Toby. You should see him now, how scared he is. He’s had nightmares about it and his days aren’t much better.”

  “It’ll pass. Boy like dis Neal, he’s into posturin, innit. His street creds’re not goin to grow ’f he does some job on an eight-year-old. What he’s doing right now—makin threats ’n’ all dat—you’ll see dat’s the limit of wha’ he’s goin to do an’ he’s doin it to unnerve you lot.”

  “Well, he’s damn well succeeding.”

  “Don’t have to be dat way. He’s a limp dick, innit. ’F he’s talkin ’bout seeing to Toby, it means he just dat—all talk and nuffink else.”

  Kendra looked away from him as she realised what the outcome of this conversation was going to be. She said, “You aren’t willing to help.”

  “Not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what?”

  “Kids got to learn survival round here. Kids got to learn how to ge
t along or get away.”

  “What you’re saying…That’s not a whole lot different to saying you won’t help me out.”

  “I am helpin you out. I’m tellin you how it is and how it has to be.” He took another drink of the water and he handed the bottle back. His voice was not unkind. “Ken, you got to think…” He chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. He made a study of her till she stirred uncomfortably beneath it. He finally sighed and said, “Maybe you got more ’n you can handle. You ever t’ink dat?”

  Her backbone stiffened. She said, “So I should get rid of ’em? That what you’re saying? I should ring up Miss Fabulous Bender and tell her to come fetch ’em?”

  “Dat’s not what I meant.”

  “And I’m supposed to live with myself afterwards? Maybe by telling myself they’re safe now? Away from this place an’ all its troubles?”

  “Ken. Ken. I said it wrong.”

  “Then what?”

  “I just meant maybe you got too much to handle alone.”

  “Like what?”

  “Why’re you asking dat? What d’you mean ‘Like what?’ You know what I’m talkin about. Like Toby ’n’ whatever’s wrong wiv him dat no one ever like to talk about. Like Ness an’—”

  “Ness is doing fine.”

  “Fine? Ken, she came on to me. More ’n once while I was livin wiv you. Last time, she presented herself wivout no clothes on, and I’m telling you somet’ing’s wrong wiv her.”

  “She’s oversexed, like three-quarters of the girls her age.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Dat I unnerstan. But she knew I was your man, and dat makes a diff’rence, or at least it should. But nuffink makes a difference to Ness, and you got to see that makes somet’ing wrong.”

  Kendra couldn’t go to the subject of Ness, while staying with the subject of Joel, Toby, and the street thugs seemed to give her the moral high ground. She said, “If you don’t want to help, jus’ say it. Don’t make this a judgement on me, all right?”