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

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СКАЧАТЬ days. I had to see Idris… and I guess I should probably see that annoying twerp Parvez. Say my farewells. Goodbye lads‚ I am off to pastures new. Hot and exotic. I’ll send you a postcard. Goodbye‚ Silas‚ I’ll definitely send you a postcard. Maybe a picture of me on a sunbed browning myself with a Margarita in hand. Oh yeah‚ the ultimate fuck you.

      I tuned back into the conversation feeling elated.

      ‘You’ll never know how proud I am when I’m with you… But it’s time to think about myself. I know you’ll be alright‚ Jay…’ She wiped her tears. I hadn’t even realised that she had been crying. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ll leave everything documented for you‚ service providers and any important phone numbers.’

       What? Where is she going with this?

      ‘I’m confident‚ in fact I’m certain‚ that you can run things around here.’

      That’s when it hit me. Late to the party as always.

      ‘Am I not coming with you‚ Mum?’ I said‚ my voice only just above a whisper.

      ‘Oh‚ Jay‚’ Mum said‚

      She stood up and walked around the table and held my head tightly to her chest. I sat frozen‚ listening to her heartbeat and it took all my effort not to cry. I closed my eyes tightly and inhaled deeply her scent‚ the realisation hitting me that from here on‚ my problems were mine alone. I got myself into this mess. I had to get myself out.

      If Mum believed that I was ready to be a man then‚ fuck it‚ I was ready to be a man. I detached myself from her and emerged with a smile that told her exactly that.

14

      Hounslow High Street hustled and bristled with every type of religion‚ culture and colour. Ten different languages could be heard in a two-minute walk. All walks of life from the prim to the pauper. Students‚ couples‚ doddery old dears‚ shoppers looking for their Pound Shop fix mingling with the shoplifters‚ chancers‚ dealers and thugs that kept Hounslow police station one of the busiest nicks in West London. In keeping with the rest of Hounslow‚ the police station was a nondescript‚ brown‚ square building‚ dull and dated. Scaffolding had covered the side of it for as long as anyone could remember‚ and the enquiries desk had been moved to a shoddy Portakabin plonked directly outside‚ with an ever present queue.

      As per usual‚ Idris Zaidi walked past the Portakabin at the start of his shift with a disappointed shake of the head‚ and as per usual Idris Zaidi promised himself he would work on his transfer out of Hounslow. A transfer to neighbouring and upmarket Chiswick would be nice. A better class of criminal. It was that fantasy that was ringing around his head as he carelessly brushed into the oncoming Chief Superintendent Penelope Wakefield.

      ‘Ma’am‚’ Idris said. ‘My apologies.’

      Wakefield mumbled something incoherent until she realised who it was and her eyes widened.

      ‘Zaidi. My office in ten.’

      ‘Yes‚ ma’am‚’ Idris replied‚ and stood straight to attention‚ noticing the man who was accompanying the Chief. He was dressed in a shoddy old ill-fitting pea coat‚ with a woolly hat pulled down low. Idris acknowledged him with a tight smile. The man stared back at Idris with such intensity it felt as if he was trying to see into his soul.

      *

      Idris stood in front of the large‚ pine desk. Files and documents were stacked neatly in the corner. The half-eaten remnants of a breakfast bar and a sealed fruit yoghurt sat in a small Tupperware box. A computer whirred breathlessly‚ as if exhausted by the punishment it had to endure. The Chief’s eyes were on him. Idris glanced down at the empty chair next to him‚ waiting to be asked to occupy it. Her phone had the audacity to ring and‚ without taking her eyes off him‚ she answered it before the first ring had faded. She greeted the caller with a stern ‘Not now!’ and the phone was back safely in its cradle. It would be a very long time before that caller tried to ring again.

      Idris was not about to play a game of who blinks first.

      ‘Ma’am?’

      Wakefield inhaled through her nose and then expelled air through her mouth. ‘We have shown a great deal of faith in you‚ Zaidi.’

      ‘Yes‚ ma’am.’

      ‘You got a first in Law from Queen Mary University.’ It wasn’t a question‚ so he didn’t answer. ‘We saw the potential in you from very early on and we admitted you in the Fast Track Promotion and Development Programme‚ a decision which was not roundly popular amongst your peers‚ especially those senior to you. The Fast Track Programme duration is three years‚’ she squinted at him ‘You completed it in two.’

      ‘Yes‚ ma’am.’ What else was there to say? Idris wondered why his CV was being regurgitated at him.

      ‘You were out of uniform‚ sub-heading and then heading teams in a remarkably short space of time. Your record speaks for itself.’

      ‘Yes‚ ma’am. Thank you‚ ma’am.’ Idris felt like he’d said too much even though he had hardly said anything.

      ‘With your Law degree you chose to uphold the law rather than stand in a court and pick holes in it.’

      Idris chose to say nothing.

      ‘So‚ my question to you is this: Why did you choose to become a police officer?’

      Idris cleared his throat. He knew the answer to this. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked this very question. In fact‚ he remembered smashing this very question when he’d first been interviewed for the Met.

      ‘I was attracted to the diversity of the role. Every new day brings a new challenge‚ which I thrive on both mentally and physically. The opportunity to help people make better choices and the opportunity to save lives. Being able to lead a—’

      ‘Stop. Start again. This time you tell me. I don’t want hear extracts from a handbook.’

      Idris swallowed‚ his throat was dry‚ his palms sweaty. His pupils floated to the far right of his eyes as he tried to recall the real reason that made him apply for a life in the force when he had other‚ easier and certainly more lucrative options.

      ‘My father‚ actually‚’ Idris said‚ smiling at the memory. ‘Yes‚ my father. He would say to me time and time again: Son‚ there is too much violence and evil in this world which we cannot control. But we can control what is happening on our doorstep. It’s funny but I’ve never told anybody that before.’ Idris looked at the Chief for some sign of softness or emotion. There was none. Wakefield’s eyes were steady and steely.

      ‘We grew up in a bad neighbourhood. My dad wanted to be part of the force but all he could manage was a job as a security guard. A job which he took very seriously. Sometimes to a fault.’ Idris shrugged. ‘And I wanted to emulate that attitude‚ that mentality. One day I’m going to have kids and I want them to grow up in a safe environment‚ which I know is probably just a pipe dream. But I have to try‚ and it’s not just for my children‚ it’s for everyone who cannot protect themselves. СКАЧАТЬ