Breakdown (12 page)

Nailey and another ganger shove us out of the arena.

Tarquin turns on me. ‘You witch,' he shouts, his voice cracked, venomous. ‘You wait. See what I'll do to you.'

My eyes fly wide. My throat closes up.
Tarquin?
I can't take it in.

I thought he was on my side.

I thought I'd won him over.

As I pass near, he lunges out. My heart stops. The ganger hauling us stops short, knocks him back.

Nailey comes forward, grabs Lenny and cruelly twists his arm. ‘You don't do nothing to her,' he snaps at Tarquin. ‘I'll break Len's arm right now if you try – if she gets one mark on her, you're dead.'

Lenny stares like a sleepwalker. His face shocked, drained of colour.

‘She bewitched us,' screams Tarquin. ‘We was all right till she came.'

Lenny seems jolted into action. ‘It ain't her!' he screams, twisting his head up. ‘It ain't her, neither.'

‘Lock 'em up and report back to Boss,' yells Nailey. The second ganger pushes Tarquin and me into the cell. Once we're well away from the door he steps back, leaves. Nailey lets go of Lenny and shoves him in too.

‘You wasn't never all right.' Nailey sneers. ‘You always thought you was better'n us. See where it's got ya now.' He slams the door shut, slides the bolt into place.

And there we are, Lenny and me and Tarquin, locked in, looking at Nailey through holes busted in the door. And Lenny's crying and I'm just sitting there and Tarquin's seething and cursing. And Nailey's saying: ‘I'm gonna be watching, and if you touch her, if you switch on her, even one little finger, Careem's gonna slit your gizzard and watch the dogs guzzle it.'

And I don't know what hurts me most: going to the General, or Lenny being handed to thugs.

Or Tarquin's sudden hatred.

After a while we hear pans. Through the holes in the door we see Nailey get up. ‘I'll be back,' he warns. He shakes a finger at Tarquin. ‘And you've been told.'

We hear his tread receding down the corridor.

Instantly Tarquin's on his feet. He bounds across at me. I shrink back. Lenny jumps up too.

‘
It's OK
,' hisses Tarquin. ‘
I didn't mean any of those things.
Listen. We've not got long.'

I look up, confused.

‘There's only one way out and that's through that door.' He gestures at the door. Welded metal. Rusty. Locked.

‘And there's no way they're going to open it and give me the chance to take them out for any cheap trick.'

I position myself as far away from him as possible. Isn't this the same person who was trying to take
me
out a minute ago?

‘I'm a ganger. I know how they work. The only way I can get them to open that door is if they think I'm gonna hurt you.'

I blink.

‘And even then it won't be easy. They'll need to believe I will and still believe they can stop me.'

Had he thought this through, right from the stadium?

‘Lenny, I didn't mean it, OK?'

‘And
are
you going to hurt me?' I ask. I don't know what to think.

I look at his face through the darkness of the room. Try to read his mind. Lenny looks at both of us. Eyes wide. Tiny face streaked with tears. He doesn't know what to think either.

‘Quick,' says Tarquin. ‘Nailey ain't gonna be away long. As soon as he's grabbed his share of the food, he'll be back. He'll stand outside that door an' keep watch. Only chance to get it open is to make him believe that if he don't, Careem'll do him too.'

‘But how do we do that?' I say. I see he's right. If I get hurt, Careem may kill Tarquin, but he'll also lose the deal with the General, and he put Nailey on duty. So Nailey'll get it too.

‘Hit me then,' I say. ‘If that's what it takes, hit as hard as you like. You know how this works. Just make sure we get out.'

Lenny runs to me, pulls on my hand. ‘No, Miss,' he sobs.

I squeeze his little hand. ‘Lenny,' I say. ‘Sometimes we have to do things. You just stand over there and don't look.' I brace myself for the punch. ‘Come on,' I say, ‘I get it. We don't have long. Let him see me bruised and bleeding.'

‘Not like that,' hisses Tarquin. ‘We gotta time him, so he'll think he can get in and stop me and save his own neck. Len, you stand there where he'll think he can grab you. Twist your arm like before.'

Tremblingly Lenny obeys.

‘And I'll hit you first, where he'll think it won't show.' Gently Tarquin touches the crown of my head. ‘Then your nose. Not too hard – enough to make it bleed. Sight of blood will fetch him.'

Tarquin steps up close, balls his fist, draws his arm back, screws his face up, concentrates as if punching me will hurt him too.

And we wait, poised in some strange tableau, hearts racing, until we hear footsteps.

‘Now,' says Tarquin. ‘Start screaming.'

Immediately we hear Nailey coming, Tarquin bursts into insults again. Vindictive. Vicious.

I scream. The footsteps quicken. My heart pounds. Lenny sobs.

‘
HELP!
' I scream. ‘
HELP ME!
'

The footsteps come running. And Nailey's shouting, rattling the door, pressing his face to a hole.

And this is it.

I brace myself.

But no punch comes. No flat-handed slap. No tight fist. No gush of nosebleed.

Tarquin moves close, bends over me, screams insults and between his teeth sobs: ‘
I can't do it.
' And instead of hitting me, he staggers back as if I've pushed him and bangs his own head against the wall.

Sodding hell! What's wrong with him?

Nailey yells. Threatens. Lenny sobs. I look at Tarquin. He really can't do it.

Holy shit. Think of something, Melissa.

I look around.
A fistful of gravel, scraped down my face? Fall to the floor, grab some?

It won't do anything. When I brush it away nothing will bleed. No rush of red.

Think. Think. You're losing the advantage.

But there's nothing.

Time's running out.
Nailey's withdrawing his face from the hole. Now! Or our chance'll be gone.

I spring forward. Tarquin's shown me the way. I throw myself at him. Scream savagely as if all the witch in me has burst loose. I scratch him viciously across his face. He raises his arm to defend. I spin away from it, as if he's punched me. I crack my head against the wall. Bone on concrete. ‘
BASTARD
,'
I scream.

I reel back. My mind spins. I taste blood, hope to hell I've done enough damage. I let out a volley of screeching. Nailey's back, cursing. I'm about to throw myself against the wall again. Strong hands hold me.

‘Melissa.' Tarquin's voice, pleading, guttural. But I struggle against his hands. Like a wild cat, I am all teeth and nails and spite.

Tarquin holds me steady.

‘
Do something!
' I hiss. I start screaming again. Ear-splitting. At the top of my voice. Struggling in his grip. ‘
I'll kill you! I'll kill you!
'

I shake him off me. I throw myself around the cell. I bang into the door. I kick it. Throw myself at the floor, at the walls. Tarquin can't stop me. Twice I break his hold, scratch at him, tear at his hair. And scream at the top of my voice, ‘I'LL KILL YOU!'

At first Tarquin's too confused to do anything – except hold on to me. Then at the top of his voice, ‘WITCH!' he yells. His voice breaking.

Lenny starts too, high-pitched, hysterical. I can't tell whether his screams are real or not. I think they're real. They make me afraid. Lend power to mine. I scream and scream until my lungs burn.

There's no doubt something terrible is going on inside the cell. Maybe it's the tone of my voice. The shrill shrieking. Lenny's cries, ear-piercing, heart-breaking. Nailey slings back the bolt, kicks the door open. He draws his iron bar up, is about to bring it down on Tarquin's head when, faster than lightning, Tarquin strikes.

One punch to the side of Nailey's face. It looks nothing. But Nailey staggers, slips sideways. It seems as if he suddenly ages. His knees crumple. His head snaps back. He sags, goes down, banging on the wall as he falls.

Tarquin steps in close. Lifts Nailey's head, jabs another punch into his temple. What he couldn't do to me he does tenfold to Nailey. ‘C'mon,' he says. ‘Out.'

I rush to Lenny, hold his shoulders, take his hand. ‘C'mon.'

Lenny tries to wind his little fingers about mine. Then lets go, confused.

‘It's OK;
I'm OK
.'

We leave.

Tarquin drags the metal door shut behind us, slides the bolt into place. ‘He won't wake up for hours,' he says. ‘Let's get out, hide, think.'

We run down a long corridor, take some steps up, some steps down, round a corner until there's nowhere else for us to go, except out onto the terraces. Out into the open arena where the racetrack loops below.

‘Under the bleachers,' whispers Tarquin. ‘Crouch low. Get to the store hollows, where they keep swag. This way.'

He leads. We slink behind a row of seating. We find one of the cavities where they used to pack the chairs away, in those old days, that long ago, when seating mechanisms worked, when fans cheered athletes to glorious triumphs.

We creep into a hollow and squat. Blood drips from my nose. Blood congeals on Tarquin's scratches. Lenny shakes and shakes, in silence. And Tarquin, his eyes too dark to fathom, stares at me through the shadows.

‘Melissa,' he whispers. ‘Melissa.' He takes my face in his hands, turns it and inspects the damage. Then very gently he cleans the dirt from my cheek. With shaking fingers, wipes the blood.

And after it's all done, he holds my scratched and bleeding hands tight in his own.