The Cleaner (23 page)

Wilson ignored him and stabbed a finger against the window. “Things like that don’t give me much confidence, son. I turn a blind eye to you because I don’t have time to start worrying about lads from outside the postcode causing trouble. There are plenty of others who can keep a lid on things if you can’t.”

“That you making a threat?”

“No, that’s me telling you that it’s going to cost you ten from now on if you want to stay in business.”

“Fuck, man, don’t gimme that shit. You’re doubling the fee?”

“There a problem with that?”

Bizness gripped the steering wheel hard. “Nah,” he said. “Ten’s fine.”

“There are other benefits to working with me,” Wilson said.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Advanced warnings. You’ve got more trouble coming your way. Your boy, Pops?”

“What about him?”

“He came into the nick last night. Says he’s willing to give evidence against you.”

“Against me?”

“So he says.”

“For what?”

“Beating up that kid in Chimes.”

“Man, that was nothing.”

“Tell that to the kid’s parents. He’s still in hospital.”

“Pops don’t got shit.”

“He’s saying he was there.”

“And he’s gonna talk?”

“That’s what I heard.”

Bizness glowered through the tinted windscreen, watching as the passing cars slowed so that their drivers could gawp at the smoking wreck of the crackhouse. The problem with the man who did that and now this? Timing was bad. Timing was awful. Bizness nodded grimly. Fair enough, he thought. Timing was awful, but sometimes that’s the way it was, the hand you got dealt. They were two small problems and they could both be sorted. He started to work out angles, tactics.

“You’ve got to keep on top of things, son,” Wilson said. “Do I have a reason to be concerned?”

“No,” he said, gritting his teeth. “No reason. It’ll all get sorted.”

40.

PINKY REACHED the door to Bizness’s studio and pressed the intercom.

“Yeah?”

“I’m here to see Bizness.”

“He ain’t in. Go away.”

“Don’t talk chat, bruv. I saw him come in.”

“Piss off, younger.”

“Nah, it’s about what happened at HMV yesterday. I got some information.”

“You can tell me.”

“Don’t think so,” he said. “I’ll tell him myself or I won’t bother.”

There was a click as the intercom was switched off. Pinky paused, holding his breath. The intercom crackled into life again. “Alright. Come up.”

The lock buzzed and the door clicked open.

Pinky climbed the stairs, the framed BRAPPPP! pictures on the walls on either side of him. He was nervous. Bizness had a reputation, a bad one, everyone knew that, and part of that reputation was that he could be unpredictable. All the stories Pinky had heard about him were at the front of his mind. He wasn’t stupid, he knew plenty of them were made up for the sake of his image, but there were others he knew were true, and it was those that he was thinking about now.

He stepped through into the large room at the top of the stairs. Bizness was on the sofa, his feet propped up against the edge of the coffee table. A flatscreen television was fixed to the wall and tuned in to Sky News. Pinky had heard all about the riots that had started in Tottenham last night. He had been excited by it, at the idea of looting all those shops. Now it seemed like the trouble had spread to Enfield and Brixton. Footage from a helicopter showed a police car on fire.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Pinky.”

“Alright, Pinky, you better have a good reason for coming up here. I’m a busy man, lot on my plate. I ain’t got no time for signing no autographs.”

“I’m not here for that,” he said.

“Then you better tell me what you are here for.”

“I got some information,” he said. “That old man who got into it with you at the record signing––I saw it on YouTube.”

“What?”

Pinky took out his phone. He had already cued up the video and now he hit play. The video rolled; someone in the shop had filmed the conversation between Bizness and the old man. The camera was close enough to see the expressions on their faces, the implacability of the man and Bizness’s growing anger. Their argument reached its crescendo and Bizness lost his balance, stumbling backwards and tripping. The sound of laughter came as he sprawled amid the spilled posters and CDs.

“Who the fuck uploaded that?” he spat, grabbing the phone from out of Pinky’s hand. There were several pages of comments, most of them jokes at Bizness’s expense, and Pinky hoped that he would not read them. He did not; he played the video again and then tossed the phone back, his eyes flaring with anger.

“It’s about the man,” Pinky said.

Bizness’s eyes narrowed and the animation washed from his face. Pinky realised he would have to tread carefully. “Go on, then––don’t just sit there, tell me what you know.”

“There’s a boy on the Estate, you’ve been asking him to do stuff for you––JaJa?”

“Yeah. What about him?”

“I was outside his Mum’s flat the day before yesterday. It was in the morning. Early––we’d been up late, selling shit to the cats, we was just about to call it a night. Anyway, right, I saw Elijah coming out, looking all upset and shit and then, right after him, out comes that man. It was definitely him, no doubt. He was half-undressed, had his shirt off.”

“What you saying? It’s Elijah’s Dad?”

“Nah, his Dad’s in prison.”

“So who is it?”

“Dunno. His Mum’s a skanky ho––some bloke she picked up, I reckon.”

Bizness zoned out as he tried to remember what the man had said to him. “He told me to stay away from the boy,” he recalled.

“Him and Pops’ bitch,” Mouse offered.

“You know anything else?” Bizness asked.

“Nah, that’s it. I thought it could be useful so I came over.”

“It is useful, younger. I appreciate that, you making the effort. You done good.”

“There was another reason for coming,” he said. It had gone as well as he could have expected and now here it was, the opportunity he had been hoping for.

“Go on,” Bizness said sceptically.

“I been thinking,” Pinky said, “I know you asked JaJa to do some things for you.” He left the “things” vague but he knew all about the incident at the launch party. “Between you and me, boy ain’t up to much. He’s just a little kid, gets scared about things.”

“You ain’t that much older yourself, younger.”

“Nah, true enough, but me and him ain’t got nothing in common. There ain’t nothing you could ask me to do for you that I wouldn’t get done. You know what I’m saying? You want to ask around, people will tell you. I’m reliable. I don’t mess no-one about. When I say I’m going to do something, I do it. You don’t need to worry about it, it gets sorted, you know what I’m saying?”

“That so?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Thing is, I’m looking for a change. I’m ambitious, man, and I’m getting bored hanging around in the same old crew. I want to do mad shit but Pops don’t have his heart in it no more, we just hang around these ends doing the same tired old shit day after day. The way I see it, I could do that kind of stuff with you.”

Bizness looked over at Mouse and grinned. “The balls on this one, eh? Reminds me of what I used to be like.”

“All you need to do is give me a chance––I promise I won’t let you down.”

“You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

Pinky shook his head.

“Aight, I’ll tell you what, younger, there is something you could do for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled ten pound note. “First of all, though, I’m hungry––go down to Maccy D’s and get me a Ready Meal, aight? Here.” He handed him the note as the other boys started to laugh.

Pinky felt the colour running into his cheeks. He pretended he wasn’t bothered. “Alright,” he said.

“Big Mac and a Coke. And be quick. I ain’t eaten all day.”

41.

POPS CAME out of the takeaway with a bucket of fried chicken. The boys were waiting outside, arranged around a bench opposite the parade of shops. Little Mark was cleaning his new Nikes with a piece of tissue; Kidz, Chips and Pinky were hooting at a couple of pretty girls outside the launderette; and JaJa was sitting facing half away from them, a scowl on his face. They were drinking a six-pack of beer that Little Mark had stuffed down the front of his jacket in the mini-market when they went in for chocolate earlier. Pops put the bucket down on the seat and took off the lid. He helped himself to a breast and bit into it. It was crisp, with just the right amount of grease to it. The others helped themselves.

“I’m hungry,” Little Mark said.

“You’re fat,” Chips retorted.

“Piss off,” he said, but his eyes shone. Little Mark didn’t care if they teased him about his weight. He knew he was fat; he couldn’t deny it, and he didn’t care. He liked being the centre of attention.

“I’m bored,” Chips said.

Kidz looked up. “What we gonna do then?”

“Dunno.”

“Go see a film?”

“Nah. Nothing on. All shit.”

“What then?”

Chips raised his voice. “See if those fine girls fancy hanging out?”

The girls heard him, snorted with derision, and disappeared into the launderette.

“Something else, then.”

“Dunno.”

Pops looked at Elijah. He glared back at him sullenly. His eyes were piercing and, for a moment, he wondered if there could have been anyway that he could have found out about his visit to the station. No, he thought after a moment of worried consideration. No, there couldn’t be. He had been careful. They would all know, eventually, but not yet.

Little Mark spoke through a mouthful of chicken. “We could go and look at that crackhouse––you seen that shit?”

“That place Bizness had?”

“So they say,” Chips said.

“In Dalston?” Kidz asked. Chips nodded. “What happened?”

“Burned to the ground,” Little Mark replied, fragments of fried chicken spilling out of the corner of his mouth. “Some guy turns up, beats the shit out of the two boys who were there to look after the place, pours petrol around the place and sets it off.” He spread his fingers wide. “Whoosh.”

“Who was it?”

“Fuck knows. Some cat, probably, didn’t have any money for his fix and went mental or something.”

“Whoever that cat is, man, I would not want to be him when Bizness gets hold of him.”

“That shit’s going to be epic.”

“
Medieval
.”

“He should film it, stick it on YouTube. That’s viral, innit.”

“Stop it happening again.”

“Nah,” Little Mark decided. “Can’t be bothered. Dalston’s too far and I’m still hungry.”

“You always hungry, fatman.”

“It wasn’t no cat who did it,” Chips said. “You hear what happened at the BRAPPPP! signing? Some old guy, like in his forties or some shit like that, he turns up in the queue and basically calls Bizness out.”

“You see it?”

“Someone put it on YouTube. The old man goes toe-to-toe with him, stone cold, they have words and he does this ninja death grip on his hand. Bizness ends up on his arse in front of everyone. What I heard, they reckon the guy who did that is the same guy who burned down the crackhouse.”

“He’s a dead man,” Kidz said.

“You ain’t wrong.”

Elijah gave out an exasperated sigh.

“You hear about it, JaJa?” Chips said.

“Yeah.”

“What you reckon?”

“I reckon none of you know what you’re talking about.”

Pops watched the five of them, the easy banter that passed between them. Only JaJa was quiet, the rest joshing and ribbing each other without affectation or agenda. They were what they were: young boys, caught in the awkward hinterland between being children and men. He felt a moment of mawkishness. He had grown up with them. They were his boys, yet his days as one of them were limited now. When they learned that he was going to give evidence against Bizness they would shun him as surely as if he had thumbed his nose at them personally. He would be a grass and there would be beef between them, serious hype, and things could never be the same after that.

“Pops, man,” Kidz said as he started on his second breast, grease smeared around his mouth. “What we gonna do?”

His train of thought depressed him. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice blank. “Do what you want.”

“We could steam a bus?”

“Up to you, innit.”

“What are you doing?”

“Stuff.”

Little Mark looked at his BlackBerry. “Get this,” he said. “Just got a message from my boy in Hackney. You know all that rioting and shit in Tottenham?”

“And Brixton.”

“Yeah, now it’s spreading all over. There’s a big crowd getting together on the High Street. Hundred kids already and no sign of boydem anywhere. It’s kicking off.”

“Fuck we waiting here for?” Chips said. “That’s what we doing tonight, right? Let’s breeze.”

They all rose.

“You coming, Pops?” Little Mark asked.

“Nah, bruv. I got things to do.”

Pinky stopped and looked at him quizzically. “Where you heading?”

“Homerton.”

“Going through the park?”

Pops said he was.

“I’ll come with you.”

“You’re not going with the others?”

“Nah, bruv. I’m not into rioting and shit. Waste of time.”

Pops shrugged. He would have preferred to walk to college on his own but he wasn’t ashamed of it any more. Who cared if they knew? And Pinky, more than the rest of them, needed to see that there were other alternatives to the street. Perhaps it would help give him a nudge to do something else. And if it didn’t, if he thought worse of him, well, Pops didn’t care about that any longer.

“Aight,” he said to the others. “Laters.”

They bumped fists and Pops had another moment of sentimental affection for them all. He quickly recalled some of the things they had done together. Long, hot summer nights, smoking weed in the park, watching the world go by. He smiled at the memories. Another world. It was all finished and gone now.

With Pinky loping along beside him, he set off towards the park.