East of Hounslow: A funny, clever and addictive spy thriller, shortlisted for a CWA Dagger 2018. Khurrum Rahman

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СКАЧАТЬ these were big guys‚ with big boots and big fists‚ stomping and pounding into his flesh. Grey Hoody was standing over me smirking. My eyes had not yet cleared after that knuckle duster blow‚ and all I could see were two yellow eyes and the devil’s smile. In his hand he held my metal bar‚ and just as he positioned himself to strike me the screech of tyres and the high beam of headlights deafened and blinded me further. Three cars haphazardly halted‚ doors flung open and feet hit the ground. All I saw were chequered ghutrah scarves bound tightly across faces. The cavalry had arrived.

      The game had just evened itself out.

9

      After Khan’s back-up arrived‚ the scene became a blur. I couldn’t tell you who was winning‚ who was losing‚ whose blood was lining the tarmac or whose tooth had just flown past my head. There were punches and kicks and bars and blows and knives and fucking Khan‚ who looked as happy as a child at Disneyland. Someone was laying face down on the ground. He wasn’t moving and it frightened the hell out of me. That feeling intensified when I realised it was the same guy I had viciously and repeatedly swiped with the bar. A short while ago I’d wanted to hurt him with everything I had. Now‚ worried that I could have fucking killed him‚ I just wanted to help.

      I shook him by his shoulder gently and then again‚ a little firmer. Still no movement.

      How much jail time am I looking at? Am I going to get raped in prison? Am I going to rape in prison? Mum is going to be so disappointed in me. I blinked away my thoughts as I saw movement. Relief washed over me as he stirred and lifted his head and took in the surroundings. I followed his train of thought as he concluded that he was better off staying put and playing dead.

      Relieved‚ I left him to it. I jogged over to Parvez‚ who was slumped along the back wall. I helped him to his feet and he winced as if his body had just recalled the kicking that the two girls had inflicted. I made a mental note to take the piss out of him about that at some point. He put his arm around my shoulders as we gingerly moved across the car park and down three flights of stairs. I pushed open the door and looked at the empty parking bay where‚ once upon a time‚ my car had been parked.

      My beautiful BMW. The beautiful black leather bucket seats that I had set just so. The crystal clear six-by-nine Blaupunkt speakers. The Pioneer stereo that I’d just had fitted‚ and all my burnt MP3 CDs‚ for which I had spent hours painstakingly selecting just the right songs.

      Gone.

      My trusty rucksack containing the remainder of Silas’ gear.

      Gone.

      Seven grand of Silas’ money.

      Gone.

10

      I was sat at the back on the top deck of an almost empty one-eleven bus on my way to see Silas. I spent the journey nursing a cut above my right ear with a used tissue‚ trying to piece together the blur of stupidity that had just taken place. I cleared the condensation on the window with my sleeve and looked outside. I was three more stops from Silas‚ my supplier and employer and all round fucking psychopath.

      There is only one way to describe Silas. And that’s in detail.

      At first glance you would not know how to pigeonhole Silas. He dressed preppy‚ which suited his slight frame‚ but lived gangster. Thin-framed‚ black‚ half-moon reading glasses usually hung down from around his pigeon neck on a thin gold chain. Silas had a penchant for V-neck sweaters in vibrant colours‚ always worn over a crisp white shirt with his initials embroidered on the collar. His short dark hair was always neatly side-parted‚ and you would never notice a difference in growth. His trousers were relaxed and patterned‚ the type that wouldn’t look out of place hitting balls on the green. On his feet you would find delicate suede slip-ons with tassels. He lived in a house. A very big house. In the suburbs. Double fronted with enough space in his drive to comfortably park five cars‚ which was just as well as he owned five cars. He lived alone. Just him and his cook and his security and his hairdresser. There were always girls hanging around too. He clearly had a type. Tall‚ Amazonian‚ muscular looking girls‚ tottering around in impossibly high heels and little more. Rumour had it that Silas had his own private strip club in the basement. It was the closest thing I’d seen to the Playboy mansion. But Hugh Hefner he was not. Silas looked expensive and Silas smelt expensive and he drove and he lived expensive. He was polite and well-spoken and he controlled‚ what? Maybe sixty per cent of any narcotic sold in West London. It all went through him. Weed‚ Skunk‚ Coke‚ H‚ Uppers‚ Downers‚ Lefties‚ Righties‚ Viagra‚ Valium and any other mind-bending‚ thought-invoking‚ impotence-zapping substance that you could think of. Also‚ and this was just whispers‚ but I’d heard that he had a small arsenal tucked away somewhere. And when I say small‚ I mean huge. Enough to make Rambo blush.

      I peered out of the bus window as the Odeon on the high street slipped past me. The so-called revenge attacks didn’t seem to have hit Kingston. There were clubbers and night-goers and general happiness in full effect.

      I was relieved to be away from Khan and Parvez and into relative peace. Fucking jokers with their fucking half-arsed plan. And who suffered? Me‚ that’s who. And if I didn’t have my story straight then there was a whole lot more of suffering coming my way. If Silas so much as had an inkling that I was blagging‚ then I guess I would soon be able to confirm whether he did indeed have a huge arsenal‚ as it would be pointing at my fucking head. So bullshit to one side‚ I decided to come clean.

      The bus stopped. It had to‚ it was the last stop. End of its journey‚ and quite possibly the end of mine.

11

      Big‚ burly and black is how I would describe Staples‚ the sentry that stood guard outside Silas’ place. He’d earned his nickname for his penchant for using a stapler in a somewhat unorthodox manner – eyes‚ mouth‚ ears‚ nostrils and any other orifice that needed stapling shut. He was a tough motherfucker. Tough enough to scare away any would be chancers‚ and tough enough not to think a jacket necessary‚ even though‚ through his tight T-shirt‚ his nipples told a different story.

      ‘Staples‚’ I said‚ smiling brightly. ‘I’m getting cold just looking at you.’ He smirked at me and we carried out a complicated handshake.

      ‘You’re late‚ Jay‚’ Staples said. ‘Gaffer been waiting for you for time.’

      I checked the time on my phone. Past midnight‚ just. I looked up at Staples and tried to gauge Silas’ mood through him.

      ‘Car trouble‚ man‚’ I said‚ and shrugged nonchalantly.

      ‘The fuck happened to your face?’ I touched the side of my head and felt blood seeping from it and instantly felt light-headed. ‘I hope you haven’t been dripping claret all over the fucking drive‚ Jay.’ I took out the already bloody tissue from my pocket and held it to my head. ‘That’s disgusting‚ Jay. Hang on.’ He took out a bulky walkie-talkie from his back pocket and spoke into it. ‘Serenity. Get your beautiful behind into the hallway and bring your first-aid kit.’ Staples moved his bulk away from the door and let me into the hallway. ‘Wait here. Serenity will see to you… And Jay?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Smarten the fuck up next time. You’re СКАЧАТЬ