Ride or Die. Khurrum Rahman

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СКАЧАТЬ and I was once his dealer, that was the extent of our relationship. But I liked him, he was funny as fuck, mostly unintentional as he muddled through life like I once did. He and Imy were close, like only stoner-buddies can be. If anyone could point me in the right direction, it’d be Shaz.

      My finger hovered over the screen. I swallowed the guilt at getting him involved and jabbed at his name. The phone rang through my car speakers, and eventually a small voice that I didn’t recognise came through.

      ‘Hello.’

      I turned the volume up a touch. It didn’t sound like Shaz at all. His token greeting had always been a jovial ‘What’s cracking, Jay?’ followed by an inexplicable laugh and a smoker’s cough.

      ‘Shaz?’ I asked, unsure.

      ‘Yeah. Alright, Jay?’ he said through a sigh.

      ‘It’s been time, man.’

      ‘It has. Look, I’m not looking to score at the moment.’

      ‘That’s cool,’ I replied. ‘I’m not looking to deal.’ I laughed unnecessarily. He didn’t, unnecessarily or otherwise. I cleared my throat. ‘I wanted to chat to you about some next thing.’

      I heard him sniff, as though he’d been crying or maybe he just had a seasonal cold.

      ‘I haven’t got long, Jay,’ he said softly.

      ‘What’d you mean?’ I said carefully, wondering if he was ill, as I tried to recall the last time I’d checked my testicles.

      ‘I’ve got a coach to catch in an hour.’

      ‘Oh,’ I said, relieved. ‘I just need, like, five minutes, ten, tops.’

      He didn’t answer, and whatever he had said up to that point didn’t seem like the Shaz that I knew. Considering the sensitivity of the situation, and the sensitivity coming off him in droves, I figured it would be better to meet him rather than chat about it over the phone. That way he wouldn’t be able to cut me off.

      ‘I can link you now, tell me where you are?’ I said.

      ‘Seriously, this is not a good time.’

      ‘Please, Shaz. It’s important,’ I said, approaching the junction to the Great West Road, my hand hovering over the indicator, the direction dependent on his reply. It came in the form of a low moan. I was frustrating him, I know, but I couldn’t let it go.

      ‘Is this about Imy?’ he asked, so fucking gently, that I had to think twice before answering.

      ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s about Imy.’

      ‘Sorry, Jay,’ Shaz said. ‘I… I can’t meet you.’

      He disconnected the call.

      Deflated, I slowed down, and without a destination I parked my car to the side. I let the engine idle as I slid down in my seat. I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. The fuck was I thinking, calling Shaz? He’d probably been at Imy’s wedding reception – scratch that, he was probably best man! He would have seen the tragic events of that night unfold in front of his very eyes. I should have let him be.

      I exhaled deeply, trying to loosen a little of that frustration. I opened my eyes and in front of me that fucking slimy green Merc was creeping towards me. Any thoughts about coincidences curled up and died when it slowed down and stopped beside me.

      His window slid smoothly down. He was a young Asian man, with a tight buzz cut and a small stud on the side of his nose. He was wearing a bright red tracksuit over his skinny frame, and he was watching me with an air of amusement on his face, as though Tom had finally caught up with Jerry. He twirled his finger, gesturing to me to drop my window.

      I acknowledged him with a slight nod, and in no mood for bullshit, I said, ‘I saw you at the car wash. What? You tailing me?’

      ‘Nah, bro. Just trying to get your attention,’ he said. ‘You walked away just as I was about to say hello.’

      ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’

      ‘I think me and you should catch up,’ he said, completely pissing over my question.

      ‘Catch up?’ I said, not a clue what he was chatting about.

      He slipped his hand in the centre console and reached for something. My heart did a backflip. This is exactly how drive-by shootings happen. To my relief his hand emerged holding up a business card between two fingers. He passed it across through my window. I took it. It was a black and glossy, embossed gold trim bordering around an embossed gold phone number and nothing else. Not even a name.

      ‘Call me,’ he said.

      I nodded and slipped away the card. ‘I better go,’ I said, making a show of putting my car in gear.

      ‘Busy man, huh?’

      ‘Just got a lot on, that’s all.’

      ‘Yeah,’ he smiled. ‘Just another day for Jay.’

      Wait. What?

      Before I could ask him how he knew my name, he’d roared away. My eyes flew to the rear-view mirror trying to pick out his number plate before he disappeared out of sight. The plates were private – OMA 22R – I repeated it out loud a few times before it escaped, and opened up the notes app and typed it in. It wasn’t exemplary detective work, but at least I now knew his fucking name, too.

      Omar.

      The name didn’t mean jack to me. He definitely wasn’t someone I knew from dealing, that circle was small and I knew every one of my customers pretty well. I didn’t recall him knocking about town either, flash little rich boy like that, I would have remembered. It’s possible that we may have crossed paths at a house party or at a session, or his older brother was in my class at school and why the fuck was I wasting so much time thinking about this shit? I had more urgent matters to get my head around and getting hold of Imy should have been my only focus. And my only link to him had told me in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t help me.

      Doing the right thing, I swear, is a bitch. Most of my life I’ve done the wrong thing and it’s served me well. Responsibility is over-hyped. The last year or two, my attitude changed pretty quickly and pretty fucking dramatically, and doing the right thing has done nothing but cause hurt.

      I dropped the indicator and turned right onto the Great West Road, when I should have turned left towards home. There was something I thought I needed to do but I wouldn’t know for sure until I got there. If I couldn’t face this, how the fuck could I ever look Imy in the eye?

      Five long minutes later I wheeled my car into the grounds of Osterley Park Hotel.

      Ground fucking zero.

      The car park was empty and I parked in the first spot I saw. I exhaled loudly and stepped out. A toxic smell hit me like a force field and I found myself breathing through my mouth. The entrance to the hotel was at the СКАЧАТЬ