Rise and Fall (8 page)

“Kids are born into this kind of shit these days,” Gary replied; he understood how shocked Jamie was by the kids’ youth, but that was how it was these days: the children were worse than their parents.

“But what’s a fucking psycho like Jerell doing hanging round with a group of kids?” Jamie hadn’t signed up to start a turf war with a bunch of children, and the weapons in the boot of the car were making him feel uneasy. Shooting kids had not factored into Jamie’s equation; he had been expecting tooled-up men.

“Well, I guess kids are easy to control and manipulate, and Jerell’s probably paying them a pittance and raking in all the readies for himself. From what I’ve heard, the bloke ain’t stupid,” Gary reasoned, although even he would have expected older teenagers. “Don’t let their looks deceive you, Jamie. Most of those little scroats would murder their own mothers if the price was right.” Gary nodded over to the group of hoodies hanging around the steps next to Jerell’s front door. The kids were clearly trying to portray big-man personas: smoking, spitting and, looking at the average age of them, bunking off school too. “They might look young, but this is all they know. This is one of the roughest estates going and those kids over there fucking run it. Trust me; you wouldn’t wanna walk around here late at night on your own. Don’t matter how hard you think you are, or how much you think you can handle yourself, one of you against a group of these nasty bastards and you wouldn’t stand a fucking chance, mate. These kids play dirty.” Gary smiled before adding: “Besides, you seem to be forgetting, Jamie, you were only a boy yourself when you rocked up at the garage, mate, you were as cocky as you like back then: you forgetting that in your old age, are ya?”

Jamie supposed this was true, although he had felt older than his fifteen years back then, but he expected that was how all teenagers felt. At fifteen, Jamie had been sure he knew best, when the reality was, he had known jack-shit; he made it up as he went along, and had got lucky by meeting Gary. Jamie guessed that putting up with his mother’s endless bullying and constant demands back then, and also taking on the responsibility of looking after his younger sisters and brother, had forced him to grow up quicker than most people his age. He pushed back the thoughts of his family back out of his head as quickly as they had come in; his mum probably hadn’t given him a second thought in the last ten years, so why should he consider her now? 

Jamie continued to look out of the window in disbelief. Gary was right that the kids looked rough, they were like mini-gangsters with massive chips on their shoulders. He had never seen so many kids in one place. Some of them were rapping and beat boxing, some pulling tricks on their bikes. There was a group of girls in one corner, their faces painted heavily with make-up and wearing tiny skirts.

The hours ticked by, as the men continued to watch. There was no sign of Jerell. 

Looking at the clock on the dashboard, Gary saw that it was nearly five. The day had dragged by, and even though there had been more than enough going on to keep them from getting bored, the day had ultimately been unsuccessful. They didn’t even know if Jerell was in the vicinity. The man clearly had no need to leave the flat, judging by the amount of kids he had running around for him. At five o’clock, it was starting to get dark, and they needed to get a move on. No doubt the amount of movement in and out of the flat would only increase as darkness fell; it went with the territory.

“Right then, that’s us done for now,” Gary said. “We’ll leave Gavin and Shay here to keep watching while we grab a bite to eat; we can bring them something back.” 

Les was hungry after missing breakfast but hadn’t wanted to mention it to Gary as he had felt so guilty about missing the meeting, so he brightened up at Gary’s words. He had been trying to muffle the sounds of his belly rumbling for the past half hour without success. 

“I’ll give the boys a bell and let them know.” Jamie picked up his mobile. As he waited for Gavin to answer, he added: “We can get some food in us, then we can mull over what we’re going to do when we get back. If we’re lucky enough, maybe we’ll be able to get him on his own sometime tonight if he decides to venture out of his flat, but I’d say going by how unsuccessful today’s been, we might have to go and pay him a little visit after all.” Jamie was disappointed that they hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of Jerell. They had seen boys come and go all day long, and one had even had the cheek to walk up to the window and take a proper look at their motor up close, brazenly peering in, having a right good stare. At first Jamie had thought that maybe the kid had sussed out that they were watching the flat, but Gary was convinced that the little shit was more than likely trying to see if he could have a go at breaking in. After a few seconds of the boy staring boldly through the windows, so close that his breath left patches of condensation on the glass, Jamie locked eyes with him. With only a thin pane of blackened-out glass between them, the boy had stared in, unable to see through the glass; Jamie had felt that the kid knew they were in there. The three men had sat as still as statues, afraid to breathe; finally, all of them felt relieved as the kid had eventually given up on whatever it was that he was trying to look at and gone over to the flat. Jamie had tried to figure out if it was one of the kids who had come out of the flat earlier, he looked familiar. There were so many dodgy little gits around here, all wearing oversized baseball caps and riding little BMXs, that they all looked the same to Jamie; he was probably just another little toe rag that he had seen about that day.

Starting the engine, Gary felt the uneasy feeling wash over him once more. But they had come this far now, there would be no backing out. Jamie was determined. Gary had a feeling that even if he called the whole thing off, Jamie would see it through now with or without him. 

Driving off to get food, the men were oblivious to the fact that the Jag was now the hot topic of conversation in the flat that they had just spent the whole day watching.

Reagan had the hump. Tyler always liked to cause a stir, and it wound Reagan up so much that at times he had to try his hardest to keep his cool. Tyler was a pain in the arse. He was only twelve, so a lot of the crap that he spoke was down to his immaturity but even though Reagan knew that, it didn’t make him less annoying to listen to. 

Jerell had assured Reagan that the road to success for them was to use the younger boys as mules to drop off the drugs to their dealers, as there was less chance that the police would be suspicious of them. The younger the boys the better, he insisted. There was no way that little ten year olds riding around on BMXs would look suspicious, it was hardly what you would call unusual behaviour. 

Jerell’s plan had been ingenious, and so far it was working well for them, apart from the fact that dealing with young boys meant dealing with the bullshit that came with them.

Tyler often bunked off school so that he could hang out at the flat, wanting to fit in with the other boys in the group, and he had been pleased when he had even been given the responsibility of making a few drops for Jerell and Reagan. Working for the two men had made Tyler feel, for the first time in his life, that he had a function. He listened to every instruction that he was given and followed the men’s orders to the letter. He wanted to make a good impression. 

Tyler’s only real downfall was his lies. He told so many that he had earned himself a reputation as a compulsive liar, and not only were most of the Larkhall Boys slowly losing their patience with Tyler but they were also losing their trust. Tyler had tried hard to stop the stories, but it was like he had no control over what came out of his mouth: the lies just seemed to pour out. 

Reagan wondered if Tyler had been left in front of a telly watching soaps for most of his early childhood, because not only did he sense that he craved attention but the boy seemed obsessed with far-fetched stories that seemed like EastEnders’ plots. 

“Give it a rest, man.” Reagan flashed a warning glare at Tyler, who had done nothing but jabber on with his tales since he had arrived fifteen minutes ago. 

Reagan glanced over to the table where Jerell was sitting; he seemed deep in conversation with two of the other lads, going over a few important jobs they were organising for that evening, but Reagan could sense Jerell’s tension even with his back to him, the man’s shoulders were hunched up tightly. It wouldn’t take much for Jerell to get pissed off with yet another of the boy’s make-believe dramas, and Reagan was trying his best to diffuse the situation as quickly as he could before Jerell had a chance to react to it. Everything had been running so smoothly for them all and they were so busy at the moment, their whole operation just seemed to be going from strength to strength. Reagan had made sure that he was indispensable to Jerell, and worked hard to keep all the boys in order, so that Jerell had one less thing to think about. 

The table was cluttered with take-away boxes and cans of drinks, and even though Jerell seemed to be caught up in the discussion he was having, Reagan knew that the man never missed a trick and probably had one ear on his and Tyler’s conversation. Wanting to show that he was capable of sorting out any of the little problems that arose, Reagan didn’t need this bullshit from Tyler right now. 

“But I’m telling you the truth. Someone’s on to us. They’ve been out there all day, Reagan, honest.” Tyler’s eyes bulged like saucers, as he continued to insist that a posh car with blacked-out windows was watching them. “Maybe it’s the police? Maybe they're keeping tabs on the flat, before they make their move and try and bust us later,” Tyler suggested, getting frustrated with the lack of reaction he was receiving; he had assumed that warning the men would have earned him a pat on the back at least and had not been expecting this amount of grief. Getting Reagan to believe him was proving almost impossible and Tyler knew it was mainly his own fault. He knew that he always elaborated slightly with his stories; generally just because he wanted them to be more interesting, and it did feel good having people actually want to listen to him for a change. Who didn’t tell a few white lies? He knew that most people didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth the majority of the time, but how could he make Reagan see that he wasn’t lying this time.

“The police don’t generally stake out neighbourhoods like this one in swanky motors, Tyler, they’d stick out like a sore bloody thumb around here; even the pigs aren’t that stupid,” Reagan reasoned.

“Look, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m telling the truth. When I went out this morning to do that drop down at Brockwell Park, it was sitting out there. It’s gone five o’clock now and it’s still there. It’s been out there all day. I swear on my life Reagan, I’m not lying.” Tyler paused for breath; he hoped Reagan would finally realise that he was telling the truth.

“A car has been parked up outside all day? So what? Just in case you haven’t noticed, Tyler, this is a massive block of flats we’re in, and that road out there...” Reagan waited a second so that the sarcasm would be more obvious to Tyler, who let’s face it, he thought, really wasn’t acting like the sharpest tool in the box right now. “Wait for it...  is where people park their cars.” Reagan said the last sentence in a slow patronising voice to emphasise to Tyler how ridiculous he sounded. His patience was disappearing. 

“So, some posh git has left his motor out on the street while he visits his bird or something; why does there always seem to have to be a drama with you?” Reagan added.

Feeling totally frustrated, Tyler spoke up with even more determination to get Reagan to believe him: “I thought that too, Reagan, but I just got a weird feeling, like I was being watched, so when I came back just then, I rode my bike up real close to the motor and tried to get a good old look in the windows. You can’t see anything through that glass, though. But I could feel them eyeballing me, I’m telling ya, they were in there watching me, and if they're watching me, then they’re probably watching this flat too.” 

Tyler was so persistent with his story, and seemed so certain that he was right, that Reagan started to feel the smallest inkling of doubt sneak in. What if the police were watching the flat? It wasn’t unheard of. But it would be stupid turning up in a motor that was going to sit there screaming out for attention like the one Tyler had described, surely the police would be more low-key. Jerell had a blinding motor that was worth a fortune, and he wouldn’t park it outside the flat. He kept it around the corner in a private garage that he had rented; only a mug would park a car like his out there in this estate, anything half-decent would end up with its windows smashed and its radio swiped, or even worse, it would be nicked by some little rude boy for a joyride, although they’d have to have a death wish if they even looked at Jerell’s motor.

“And I’ll tell ya something else, Reagan, it’s a well posh motor, it must have cost a mint! Look, it’s still sitting out there now if you don’t believe me.” Tyler lifted the blinds, tangling the cord in his haste to prove to Reagan that he was really telling the truth this time. 

Seeing how adamant Tyler was, and not wanting to anger Jerell if there was any chance that there was even a glimmer of truth to Tyler’s latest spiel, Reagan thought he had better check it out, just to be on the safe side. Reluctantly standing at the window, he glanced in the direction Tyler was pointing. Looking out across the darkened street he could see there were a few cars scattered in the parking bays. His eyes scanned the length of the road as he took in every detail. A group of kids were all hanging around outside a phone booth at the end of the estate. Two of the boys were fighting, wrestling each other onto the pavement; it was a playful fight, not like the normal violent scuffles he witnessed on almost a daily basis on the estate. There was clearly an element of competition involved with this one, though, as Reagan watched the two boys trying to out-do each other as the three girls standing around them smoked cigarettes and watched on in amusement, intermittently cheering for one of the boys. Further down the road were two guys sitting in a clapped-out Escort; one of the windows was rolled down; they looked like a pair of dossers smoking a bit of weed from what he could make out through the darkness. It was a familiar sight round here, people hanging out doing that. There was fuck all else for anyone to do in these parts.