White Riot Page 2

  Marion screamed. And kept on screaming.

  She was still screaming when the ambulance arrived twenty minutes later.

  He sat on the side of the bed, unmoving. Beside him, his mobile trilled.

  Reluctantly he answered it.

  ‘It’s started. Falls the shadow.’

  He turned the mobile off, threw it like it was contaminated.

  The air felt even heavier, the room hotter.

  He tried to keep breathing.

  PART ONE

  ANGRY COMMUNIQUÉS

  1

  The knife danced before Jason’s eyes. He recognized it, knew its purpose. Boning and filleting. Felt a pang of knowledgeable pride, then a frown of confusion. An intake of breath, as it came towards him.

  ‘Kev …’ he said, wide-eyed, unsure what was happening, not liking it.

  ‘Shut up, you stupid twat.’

  Kev had stripped his hard, scarred body down to his underwear. At first Jason had thought his friend was turning queer. But when he picked the knife up from the table, he understood. It was nothing like that. It was so there’d be no bloodstained clothing to be CSIed.

  An old farm building, the walls wood, the floor dirty concrete. Curved knives and mean shears hung on nails, rusty and aged. Farming implements of wood and metal were propped up against the walls, cobwebbed, slowly falling to pieces. The ancient brown stains on the floor gave witness to what the place had been used for.

  A slaughterhouse.

  Kev crossed to the door, turned the key in the lock. Then back to Jason. ‘We haven’t got long. They’ll be here in a minute.’

  Jason’s heart jumped into his throat, was strangling him by beats. ‘What? Kev, I’m your mate, I’m the Butcher Boy, I’m special, they said so …’

  Kev tried to keep his features impassive, his voice level. ‘Yeah, you’re special all right.’

  Jason gave a little giggle. ‘Yeah, I am …’

  ‘Yeah. Really fuckin’ special.’

  Jason frowned. Kev was looking at him strangely, his eyes shining as much as the knife. ‘But Kev …’

  ‘Shut up.’ Kev looked at the door, back to Jason. ‘There’s no time. Listen. They brought you here ’cos they want you to do somethin’ for them.’ He pointed to the coil of rope on the floor. ‘I was supposed to get the process started.’ He sighed, like it was hurting him. ‘An’ I can’t. I can’t let you … I can’t.’

  Jason couldn’t take his eyes off the blade. He’d seen it split carcasses in the shop. Pare flesh back to the bone. He knew what it would do to him. There were only a few years between them, but Kev looked so much older handling the knife. ‘But Kev, they said it was somethin’ great, for the future. I’d be a hero …’

  ‘You’d be dead. Fuckin’ dead.’ Kev hissed the words. Jason jumped back at the force of them. ‘Yeah. That’s what they want. You dead.’

  Jason’s eyes widened. ‘But Kev …’

  The blade was thrust back in Jason’s face. ‘You wanna live?’ Jason nodded. Stupid question. ‘Then shut it. I’m tryin’ to think.’

  Jason looked at Kev, tried not to make a sound, not even breathe. Wondered how this man, the nearest thing to family he had ever had, a brother – a father, almost – was holding a knife on him and threatening to kill him. And he would do it. No doubt.

  Kev looked to the door, back at Jason. And his eyes had changed. They looked not friendly but not so scary. Jason clung to that look like a lifeline.

  ‘Gonna give you a chance,’ said Kev. He put his arms by his side, held the knife loosely. ‘You know what to do. Make it look good.’

  ‘But Kev …’

  ‘Just do it, you stupid cunt,’ hissed Kev. ‘Do it.’

  Jason, realizing he had no choice, rushed towards Kev. His big, muscled torso absorbed most of the impact and he remained standing. Kev made a grab for Jason, catching his shoulder. Even though Jason knew he wasn’t using all his strength, it still hurt.

  Jason fought back. Aimed a punch at Kev’s stomach that Kev only made a token attempt to deflect. A kick at Kev’s groin. Kev crumpled slightly but didn’t yield ground. Jason knew he would have to step up, not worry so much about hurting his friend, concentrate, fight harder to get himself free.

  Kev came at him, swinging the knife. Jason jumped out of the way. Kev swung again. Jason grabbed Kev’s outstretched arm, forced the knife back towards Kev’s body. Kev grimaced; Jason detected a smile in there somewhere.

  Jason pushed hard. Kev put up token resistance. Jason kept pushing, hard as he could. It was like arm wrestling with an uncle when he was a young boy, the uncle making a show of it, letting him win ultimately. Kev seemed to be guiding the knife to where he wanted it, then, with Jason still applying pressure, let go.

  The knife slid into Kev’s side, just below his ribcage.

  ‘Fuck …’ Kev gasped in surprise. It seemed to have hurt him more than he thought it would. He slumped to the floor as the blood started to fountain out of the wound.

  ‘Go, now …’

  Jason looked down at his prone friend, shocked and stunned by what he had done. He looked at Kev’s near-naked body, eyes taking in the tattoos that told the story of the man’s life.

  The Union flag. The flag of St George. No Surrender. A vicious, snarling thing that could have been half pitbull, half rabid bulldog.

  And the home-made ones: 100% White. Ain’t No Black In The Union Jack. SKINZ4EVA. Home-made or prison issue. Dark ink making the white skin whiter.

  Jason was still proud to call Kev his friend.

  ‘What you waitin’ for? Run, you fuckin’ puff.’

  Jason remembered where he was, dropped the knife. Heard the door of the main house open. They would be there any minute.

  He looked down at Kev once again, wanted to say something.

  ‘Look, Kev …’

  ‘Just fuckin’ go … And don’t stop, don’t let them get you. They’ll kill you …’

  Jason turned the key, grabbed the door handle, took two deep breaths, opened it.

  And ran.

  Silence at first. The only sounds his feet, his ragged breathing. He risked a glance behind. Heard angry shouts, cries. They had found Kev. Realized what had happened. Were giving chase.

  He put his head down and went.

  The terrain was hard. He ran blindly, his trainers giving him speed, the hard and uneven ground impeding his progress. No idea where he was or which direction would offer safety. He just ran.

  It was a moor of some sort. Away out in the country somewhere. Rough, sharp plants pricked and nicked his skin like little razors. Stung his arms like tiny bees when he stumbled against them. He ignored it all. Thought of nothing but escape. As a kid he was a good runner. But that was years ago. Smoking, drinking, drugs … they were more important. Thought all the rucks and fights and fucks would keep him fit. They hadn’t.

  Tripping and falling, he ran. The coarse, jagged, uneven ground caught him off guard, sent pain arcing round his body. His chest felt like it had been tipped full of hot stones and every breath he took just fanned the flames. His arms pumped furiously; he ignored the pins and needles in his fingers, the aches across his shoulders.

  He didn’t look back. Didn’t dare.

  Fuelled by terror, by fear, he kept on going.

  His eyes were adjusting to the dark. He began to make out shapes and mounds, places ahead. Tried to plan a path for himself, avoiding too many potholes.

  A hill loomed up before him, a solid mass blotting out the stars. He launched himself at it, climbing hard, trying not to lose what momentum he had gained. He crested the ridge virtually on all fours and stood at the top, gasping, his legs steady as water.

  He looked behind him. His pursuers were still there, but quite a way behind. A slight hope rose within him. He had the advantage. He could do it, get away. Hide out. Or get help.

  He looked ahead again.

  And couldn’t believe his eyes.

  At the bottom of the hill
was a small forest and, next to that, cottages. Two, no three of them. Lights on, curtains drawn. And all that stood between him and them was a run down the hill.

  He took a deep breath and, adrenalin and hope giving his body a fresh surge of energy, ran down the hill as fast as he could. Like his life depended on it.

  Halfway down, a thought hit. He knew he was in Northumberland, but beyond that he had no idea. What if the people in the cottages owned the land he was on? Or they were friends or relatives? Or sympathizers? He would be running right back to the people he was escaping from.

  And he knew what would happen then.

  Changing direction mid-stride he ran towards the wood.

  Jason heard sounds behind him, ran all the harder. Made the covering of the trees, risked a glance behind him. The hunters had reached the crest of the ridge, were looking around, assessing their options. He watched as they split up, some going towards the houses, some to the trees. He turned and dived into the woods.

  Once inside he looked around, blinking. The dark outside nothing compared to the dark within. He rubbed his eyes, tried to get them to acclimatize quickly, assessed his options. They would be coming in soon. They didn’t have torches, so they would be as blind as he was. He had to use that to his advantage. If he stayed where he was they would find him. If he hid on the ground they would find him. He looked upwards.

  Almost giggled.

  His eyes getting used to the darkness, he found a suitable tree with plenty of thick branches and covering foliage and began to climb.

  Jason knew he wasn’t the smartest kid around. Never had been. Although his memory went back only to the time his mother’s old boyfriend had smacked him around so hard he had to be taken to the hospital with a fractured skull, so who knew? Maybe he had been smart before that.

  Meeting Kev had been a smart thing. A good thing. The best that had ever happened to him at the time. Living rough, selling whatever he could for money. Bit of weed, coke, heroin, stuff he’d nicked, his body. Anything. Just drifting, going with the flow. Getting through life one day at a time.

  He thought Kev was a punter at first. Sold him some weed first, then heroin. Didn’t look the type but you could never tell. Then kept coming back, even when he didn’t want to buy. Started talking. Asking him about his family, where he was from. With his muscles and tats he didn’t look like no social worker, but Jason couldn’t be too careful. Wary, he told him some true stuff and some lies, mixed it a bit. Confused himself by the end of it.

  Kev started looking out for him, looking after him. Kept the local gangs off his back, the proper gangsta dealers, even found him somewhere to live. A room in a house with three others.

  Three just like him. Homeless, rootless. Wanderers and strays. They all congregated at a local pub. The Gibraltar. Jason tagged along with them. Wasn’t much to look at from the outside, even less from inside. Bare walls and floors. Only decoration the flags and photos round the place. And there was Kev and his mates slap bang in the middle. Regulars in the place, ruling it. Wary at first because they looked so mean, like the kind of men who would use him then not pay him or try to hurt him afterwards. But this lot weren’t like that. So Jason, little by cautious little, began to go with the flow.

  Eventually he came to almost trust the men. Dared to allow himself to feel at home, even.

  Then Kev had another surprise. A job. Working in the butcher shop with him. Jason had never had a job before, didn’t know what to do. But said yes, thought it would be a laugh. So there he was. The Butcher Boy, sharpening his knives.

  Jason kept some of himself back, ready to run at the first sign of things turning bad, of the bill needing to be paid. Because all of this didn’t come free. There had to be a price somewhere. But it never arrived. Instead came a strange feeling. One he didn’t have the emotions to respond to. A sense of belonging.

  Then came the meetings. At first he thought that was the price, like the Christians making you say you believe in God and Jesus before they would feed you or give you a bed for the night. But it wasn’t like that. They just told him their truth until it became his.

  And then he really did feel he had found somewhere he belonged.

  And now this.

  They came hunting. Pulling branches off trees, fashioning them into clubs, thrashing away at the ground, the low-lying ferns and plants, hitting out blindly and fiercely, wanting to hurt, to maim.

  They didn’t find him.

  Up above, not daring to move or barely breathe, Jason crouched, the branches snagging his clothes, ripping his skin. He watched, listened. Heard their angry voices issuing orders to each other, as if by shouting loud enough and strongly enough they would make him appear.

  He didn’t.

  Eventually they wearied. Reluctantly accepting defeat, they retreated from the woods. Taking a few last smashes at bushes and tree trunks as they went.

  Jason still didn’t dare to move. He had seen a film once where this guy on the run was hiding and the bad guys looking for him said they couldn’t find him and left. So the good guy went out when he thought the coast was clear. And the bad guys had tricked him and were waiting for him and caught him. And killed him. So he would stay where he was. Because they might have seen that film too.

  Jason sighed, as loudly as he dared, letting the tension, the terror out. He needed a plan. Some way to stay alive.

  At first he could think of nothing. Then began to wonder how an ordinary Tuesday could turn out like this. Panic built inside him. He would have to sit in the tree for ever, getting older, wasting away with nothing to eat and drink and no way to even go to the toilet. Maybe he would be pecked at by birds, big birds. Maybe they had them round here, he didn’t know. Or some kind of wild animal that could jump up trees.

  Oh, God.

  He wanted to scream and almost did, stopping himself by shoving his fist inside his mouth to stifle the sounds. They might still be there, waiting. Ready to kill him. He waited until the wave passed, removed his fist, tried to calm down, think.

  His old Connexions worker was always telling him to make a list of things, look at the plus points. He had always thought that was bollocks, but he had to do something. So he tried.

  How much money did he have? Not much.

  Where was he? In Northumberland.

  Who did he know there who could help him? No one.

  Where could he go next? Nowhere.

  Short and fuckin’ sweet, that was it.

  He put his head in his hands, curled up in a ball. About to give in to despair again, but something stopped him.

  Northumberland.

  He put his head up, thought back to a few weeks ago. Started rummaging through his jacket pockets, feeling the adrenalin rush building up again.

  It had better be there, it had better be …

  A few weeks ago. Who would have thought.

  A few weeks. Felt like a lifetime ago.

  ‘Oi, you. I know you.’

  Jason had been sitting at the foot of Grey’s Monument, waiting for something to happen, somewhere to go. His day off from the butcher’s, he had a bit of a buzz on from a couple of spliffs, a couple of rocks and was working his way through a can of Stella. An average day. He was going to see Kev later, see what was going on, maybe go to a meeting. Looking forward to that. But until then, just killing time. Watching the world go by, getting a bit of sun. Eyeing up the girls, pitying the office workers. Knowing everything they said and did and how they lived their lives was wrong, knowing he was right. He had the answers.

  Or he knew someone who did.

  ‘Oi.’

  The boy turned, looked at him. From the narrowed brow it was clear he didn’t know who Jason was, couldn’t remember him. But Jason remembered the boy.

  ‘’S’me. Jason.’

  ‘Yeah?’ The boy shrugged.

  ‘Father Jack’s, remember?’

  The boy turned pale. Jason didn’t think that would have been possible, the kid being black an’ all
, but he did. He shouldn’t even have been shouting at a nigger in the street, at least not all friendly, like. Christ, he must be stoned. Or bored.

  The kid came over, looked at Jason.

  ‘Father Jack’s …’

  ‘The home.’

  The youth bridled. ‘Man, that was never no fuckin’ home.’

  The youth was big now, gangling. Must have been about fourteen at Father Jack’s then, looked about sixteen now, same age as Jason, but where Jason was still small the youth had shot up. But not just age; he carried himself well. Seemed bigger in many ways. Jason felt a hard shaft of something unpleasant strike him between the ribs. He didn’t know what. Anger? Jealousy?

  Jealousy? For a nigger? Yeah, right.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jason. ‘I remember you.’ He thought hard for a moment, eyes screwed up. ‘Jamal, innit? Yeah. You moved in an’ everythin’ went tits up. Police there an’ everythin’. We all had to leg it, find somewhere else to live. Thanks to you.’

  Jamal looked at him, shrugged like he didn’t want to get drawn into talking to Jason but continued all the same. ‘Father Jack was one evil bastard, man, a fuckin’ pervert. Deserved to be turned over, you get me? Deserves his jail time. No question. Hope he’s gettin’ everythin’ due to him in there.’

  Jason’s fogged brain was having trouble following Jamal’s argument, tried to counter. ‘Yeah, but … wasn’t a bad place. Y’know. Just had to ignore some stuff, think of the good stuff. Was kinda settled there.’

  Jamal looked at Jason, compassion in his eyes. ‘Know what you mean, man. Comin’ up rough … it’s bad.’

  Jason looked hard at Jamal. The black kid was confusing him. He seemed genuine, concerned. They weren’t supposed to be like that.

  ‘You found somewhere else?’ The compassion still there.

  Jason’s eyes slowly lit up. ‘Yeah, did. Was shit for a time. But it’s awright now. Got some new mates. A job. Proper one, like.’ He couldn’t believe those words came from his lips. He smiled. ‘Yeah. Things are cool.’

  Jason involuntarily flexed his arms as he spoke, sending the new tattoos rippling over his scrawny little muscles.