Twenty-three. Callie 4 page

'Michelle, please don't blame Tobey. He was just being kind and keeping me company.'

'Oh, Miss Dowd. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was you.' Michelle did everything but curtsey.

'I do hope Tobey won't get into trouble because of me,' said Rebecca.

'Of course not,' Michelle hastened to reassure her. 'Tobey, take all the time you need.' She turned and headed for the door to go back downstairs.

'No, that's OK, Michelle. I'll get back to work,' I called out quickly. I wasn't ready to lose my job quite yet. I turned to Rebecca. 'It was nice to meet you, Becks.'

Michelle had already left the roof and was on her way back down to the Club. I guess it didn't pay to upset the Dowds, any of them.

'It's a shame we were interrupted. I was enjoying our chat,' said Rebecca.

Something in her voice made me stop. 'You make it sound like not a lot of people talk to you,' I said, surprised.

'They don't,' Rebecca replied. 'They talk at me or through me or around me. Very few people talk to me, and even less listen to what I have to say.'

'I like to listen,' I told her.

'I noticed that,' said Rebecca. 'Your girlfriend must be mad to dump you.'

I didn't bother to correct her.

'I'd better get back. I just hope I have the stamina to last until the party finishes.' I smiled to lighten my words, but more than meant them.

'Don't worry,' said Rebecca. 'I reckon this party only has another hour's life left in it – at most. Then you can go home.'

I sighed. 'Well, it'll take me nearly three hours to walk home from here, so that'll be something to look forward to.'

'Three hours? Why? Where d'you live?'

'Meadowview. But I didn't realize until I checked this afternoon that there are no night buses that run to where I live at this time on a Monday morning.'

'Oh, I see.'

'Anyway, enjoy the rest of your party, Becks.'

'I'll try,' Rebecca replied. 'It was nice talking to you.'

'You too,' I said. And I went back downstairs.

When I finally left the club it was nearly three in the morning. I'd be home long after dawn and all I wanted to do was crash into my bed now. My feet were killing me. What would they be like after a three-hour walk? Damn!

I'd even asked Michelle about kipping in the changing rooms until the buses started running again, but she shot that idea down in flames.

'You can't,' she told me. 'It's against health and safety regulations, plus you'd set off the alarms, plus Mr Dowd would never allow it.'

The fuss she made, I regretted ever asking her.

'Shouldn't've asked,' Angelo whispered to me. 'Should've just done it.'

Well, it was too late now.

After saying my goodbyes to the other waiters, I set off. The idea of sleeping in some doorway until my body, and especially my feet, recovered grew more and more appealing. I'd only been walking for a couple of minutes, though, when an executive saloon car pulled up beside me. The back window slid down.

'Hi, Tobey.' Rebecca leaned out to talk to me. 'Would you like a lift?'

I glanced past her to the Cross driver, who kept his eyes facing forward. I looked up and down the sleek lines of the luxury vehicle. A lift in this car? Hell, yes!

'Thanks, Rebecca.' I grinned. 'I'd love one.'

Rebecca Dowd was taking me home. What a strange night.

Thirty-three

Mum nagged and nagged until I gave in and let her make me some mid-morning breakfast.

'I know your job pays well,' she said, 'but I'm not happy about the hours you have to work. You're a growing boy. You need regular sleep and proper meals.'

'Mum, you're fussing,' I sighed. 'And the job is only until school starts again. Until then I'll survive. And anyway, I'm not back at work until tomorrow night.'

Though to tell the truth, I was still so tired, all I wanted to do was get myself something to eat, then fall back into bed. Jessica was at work and Mum had one of her rare days off. When Mum wasn't working at the local hospital, she did agency nursing to make extra money. Jessica's college fees and all the extras I needed for school meant that she spent every spare hour working. One day that'd all change. I'd be the one looking after her and buying her all the things she deserved.

'I want you to give up your job a week before school starts. OK?' said Mum. 'You'll need to get back into the habit of sleeping at night and waking up at a reasonable hour each morning.'

'Yes, Mum,' I said.

It wasn't worth arguing. Besides, Mum needed to take her own advice more than I did. She was losing weight and was looking and acting distinctly brittle. Whilst Mum went off to make me something to eat, I had a quick shower.

After my wash, I put my pyjamas back on. Heading downstairs, I went into the living room. I switched on the TV and flicked from channel to channel, searching for something to watch. Mum walked in and handed me a plate with a fried egg toasted sandwich on it. She frowned at me.

'You do intend to have a shower sometime today, don't you?'

'I've already had one,' I replied smugly.

'And you put your pyjamas back on?' Mum's eyebrows were doing a disapproving dance.

'Yep!'

'How can you have a shower and put your jammies straight back on?' asked Mum.

'Like this, Mum,' I said, indicating my clothes. 'And what's more, I'm going back to bed after this.'

'All right for some,' Mum sniffed.

I took a bite out of my sandwich whilst using my other hand to change the TV channel again. I flicked onto a news bulletin and was about to keep flicking when Mum snatched the remote away from me.

'Leave it there,' she said quickly.

She sat down next to me to watch the news, sipping at the coffee she held in her other hand. I tucked into my food.

'. . . Earlier this morning the Liberation Militia set off a car bomb outside the Department of Industry and Commerce in Silver Square, only two kilometres from the Houses of Parliament. A warning was phoned through one hour before the bomb was due to explode. The emergency services had to evacuate all the surrounding buildings in the area. The car bomb was detonated in a controlled explosion by the army. No one was injured. We can now talk to the Minister for Commerce, Pearl Emmanuel, who is in our Westminster studio. Tell me, Minister, what do you think—?'

Mum pressed the button to switch off the TV.

'What on earth is wrong with those people?' She frowned.

'What d'you mean?' I asked, my half-eaten sandwich slowing on its way to my mouth. I looked at the blank screen. Why'd she turn it off ? Even the news was better than nothing.

'The Liberation Militia,' said Mum, almost angry. 'The Equal Rights bill is about to be passed. Why don't they give the government a chance?'

'Maybe they want to make sure this government doesn't go back on its word?' I ventured. After all, it had happened before with the last lot.

'Of course they won't break their promises,' said Mum. 'This government would have to be stupid or suicidal to withdraw the Equal Rights bill now. The Liberation Militia are about to get what they're supposedly fighting for. So why're they still blowing up stuff ?'

'Maybe they're trying to remind the government that they're still around and watching them?' I said, before taking another bite of my sandwich.

'If the L.M. aren't careful, they'll turn people against the bill. They're not helping our cause, not any more,' said Mum.

I took another bite of my sandwich.

'You know what this is?' she went on, eyes narrowed. 'It's the last gasp of a terrorist group who're about to become obsolete.'

'Maybe they have a job lot of explosives and need to use them up before the bill is passed,' I said flippantly.

Mum glared at me. 'It's not funny, Tobey.'

'I know,' I sighed. 'But it's not like the old days when they used to blow shit up with no warning whatsoever.'

'They shouldn't be blowing up anything at all. And stop swearing.'

'How is "whatsoever" swearing?'

'Ha bloody ha!' said Mum. She handed me the mug of coffee before getting to her feet. 'That's for you.'

I peered down inside the empty cup. 'You've drunk it all.'

'I know.' Mum grinned at me before ambling out the room.

'Ha bloody ha, Mum,' I called after her.

'Stop swearing!'

I washed my empty plate and Mum's empty mug before heading back to bed. I'd barely pulled up the duvet when my mobile started to ring. I checked to make sure it wasn't the phone McAuley had given me. It wasn't. It was my own personal phone. I decided to change the ring tone on McAuley's phone so that when it rang I'd instantly know who was calling me.

'Hello?'

'It's me. I've been thinking about your proposal.'

Not even a hello. It didn't matter, I recognized Owen Dowd's voice at once. I sat up, waiting to hear his decision.

'The way I see it, I've got nothing to lose.'

'That's absolutely right, Mr Dowd,' I agreed. 'You don't.'

'And you seriously believe that you can deliver?'

'I know I can.'

'OK, I'll play. For now.'

'You won't regret it,' I said, my relief intense.

'No, but you might if you're playing some kind of game,' Owen warned. 'When you get me the information you promised, I'll take that as proof that you meant what you said last night.'

'Fair enough, Mr Dowd.'

'And if anything goes wrong . . .'

'I'm on my own. I know.'

Pause.

'Don't, under any circumstances, try to contact me. D'you understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I'll be in touch.'

He hung up. No hello. No goodbye. I didn't expect anything else.

I pressed the button to disconnect the call and let my mobile drop onto my bed. The previous evening hadn't gone quite as I'd planned, but that was OK. On the way back to my house, Rebecca and I hadn't stopped chatting. She was very easy to talk to, very easy to like. Too easy. I had to keep reminding myself that she was a Dowd. All the way home, I wondered if maybe I was reading too much into her offer of a lift. When we pulled up outside my house, we chatted for ages. I was the one who had to make my apologies, otherwise we would've been talking until the dawn broke over the car bonnet. And I'm sure that when I told her I had better head indoors, I hadn't imagined the disappointment on her face.

Rebecca's birthday party couldn't have come at a better time. What an unexpected bonus. I got to meet her brother faster than I would've done otherwise. I took it as a sign that out there, somewhere, someone was on my side.

Thirty-four

Just before noon on Tuesday, the phone McAuley had given me started to ring. The unfamiliar ring tone threw me for a moment until I remembered. It took a few seconds to track down the phone, which was in the pocket of my denim jacket, hanging on the nail I'd hammered into the back of my bedroom door.

'Hello?'

'Good morning, Tobey. How are you?' asked McAuley. I was instantly on my guard.

'I'm fine, thank you, Mr McAuley.'

'Sleeping OK?'

Pause. Now what did that mean? Some damage limitation was required.

'Sleeping just fine, sir. I've got some news actually. I wanted to phone you sooner, but I didn't know how to contact you as you didn't leave a number on this phone and I didn't want to turn up at your address unannounced.'

'It's a wise man who learns from the mistakes of others,' said McAuley, spouting the cliché like he'd only just made it up. How pathetic was that? 'What news d'you have for me?'

'I managed to get a job at TFTM.'

Silence.

'Mr McAuley?' I was the first to break the strained quiet between us.

'Why did you do that when you work for me?' McAuley asked softly.

'I thought it might be useful to you to have someone working in a place owned by the Dowds. I didn't mention it beforehand because I wasn't sure I'd get the job.'

Silence. Again.

'Just say the word, Mr McAuley, and I'll give up my job there straight away,' I said earnestly. 'I just thought it might be useful to you.'

'And it might be, Tobey. It just might be,' said McAuley. 'What exactly will you be doing at TFTM?'

'I've been employed as a waiter in the restaurant. I'm not up in the Club unfortunately, but that's what I'm aiming at.'

No need to tell him I'd already started working there. Let's put it this way – what he didn't know wouldn't hurt me.

'I see. I want you to report back to me regularly,' said McAuley.

'I don't have your phone number, sir.'

'I'll phone you,' said McAuley.

'Yes, sir.' I made sure to keep my sigh of relief inaudible. He'd bought it.

'And Tobey?'

'Yes, sir?'

'I do the thinking around here, not you. Understand?'

'Understood, sir.'

'Are you working there tonight?'

'Yes, sir. My hours are from six p.m. till one, Tuesdays to Saturdays.'

'Good,' said McAuley. 'Because I have a job for you before then. A delivery . . . no, actually, make that two deliveries, that need to be made before this evening. Can you do that?'

What kind of deliveries?

Ask no questions, hear no lies.

But no more body parts. Please.

'Yes, sir. Where and when?'

'Byron will meet you at the Wasteland in thirty minutes. He'll give you all the details.'

'Yes, sir.' But McAuley had already hung up. He didn't need to wait to hear that I would do as I was told. Besides, I would never have hung up on McAuley first. Little things like that meant a lot to him. The smaller the person, the smaller the things that mattered.

With a sigh I got dressed. So much for my lazy morning in bed. My lazy morning the day before had gone down a treat and I was so looking forward to another one. Ah, well.

Not surprisingly, the Wasteland didn't contain too many people and less than a handful of children. If I'd had kids, I wouldn't be taking any chances either, not after what had happened. I looked around, but there was no sign of McAuley's lieutenant. I wasn't exactly sure where I was supposed to meet Byron so I headed for the deserted football pitch, the first time I'd been there since . . . since. Just looking at it made my heart jump erratically. My eyes were drawn to the ground, the exact spot where Callie lay after she'd been shot. There was nothing to indicate she'd ever been there, not even the flowers that'd been brought to this place by friends and strangers alike after that day. Either a cleaning crew or the one day of rain we'd had since the shooting had washed away every trace of her blood. That was all it took – a shower of rain, the slam of a door, the thrust of a knife or a gunshot – and just like that, a person could be gone with nothing but the memories of others to show that they'd ever existed. Life was too fragile.

'Come with me, Tobey.'

Byron's voice in my ear made me jump. I hadn't even heard him approach. Already he was heading away from the football pitch and towards the road. He walked towards a black saloon car with tinted windows. Was this another set-up? Was the black car Byron's? Byron turned his head, impatience written all over his face. I followed him.

'Sit in the front,' he told me once we reached his vehicle.

I hesitated only momentarily, and I certainly didn't argue. Byron headed around his car to get behind the wheel. The moment he was inside, he pressed a button to lock all the doors. The loud clunk made me flinch.

Tobey, take a deep breath and get it together.

I was altogether too jumpy. It made me look guilty of something. Byron turned in his seat to face me.

'Mr McAuley wants you to deliver a parcel and a letter. Can you do that?'

I nodded.

Byron produced a white envelope from his inside jacket pocket. He held it out for me to take. There was no address or name on the front, no markings of any kind.

'Who's this for?' I frowned.

'Vanessa Dowd.'

Vanessa . . . Was he joking? From the expression on his face, unfortunately not. Vanessa Dowd never came to TFTM. How on earth was I supposed to get the letter to her? I didn't know her home address and there was no way anyone at TFTM would just give that to me.

Was this some kind of trick to catch me out?

Godsake! I was being too paranoid. But being around people like McAuley and the Dowds could easily do that to you. I swallowed hard before taking the envelope and putting it in my inside jacket pocket.

'How am I supposed to get this to Vanessa Dowd?'

'You'll have to figure that out for yourself,' said Byron, totally unconcerned.

'Well, what's her address?' I asked.

Bryon shrugged. 'McAuley doesn't know. You'll have to figure that one out too. But my boss has every confidence in you. He knows you're a smart guy.'

There was no answer to that – and no mistaking the sneer in Byron's voice either.

'Oh, before I forget,' he said, handing me another envelope, much fatter than the last one.

'Who is this one for?'

'You,' said Byron. 'Payment for doing as you're told.'

I hesitated for a moment or two before taking the envelope and stuffing it into another pocket.

'Aren't you going to open it?'

'Later,' I replied. 'Could you thank Mr McAuley for me?'

Byron nodded, his eyes appraising me.

'What about this parcel I'm supposed to deliver?' I said.

'It's for Adam Eisner, Flat Eighteen, same address as before,' said Byron.

'What address would that be?' I asked without missing a beat.

Amusement lit Byron's green eyes. 'D'you really think my boss doesn't know that you delivered two of Dan's packages a while ago? One to Adam and one to . . . someone else.'

'Who told him that?'

Was it Dan or Adam Eisner himself? It seemed impossible to keep secrets from McAuley.

'You need to stop asking so many questions,' said Byron. 'It isn't healthy.'

A chill chased up my spine. Message received and understood. I looked around the car. The back seats were empty and Byron wasn't making any strenuous moves to hand me anything.

'Where's this parcel for Mr Eisner? Am I allowed to ask that at least?'

'It's in the boot. Get out and I'll pop the boot for you,' said Byron.

I did as directed, walking round to the back of the car. I had a good look around before I stepped up to it. The boot opened with a loud clunk, then rose to the sound of constant beeping. A package wrapped in brown paper and about the size of a car manual lay on the left. A supermarket carrier bag filled with food sat next to it. I lifted up the parcel. The moment I was clear, the boot descended. I looked through the back window. Byron was watching me via the interior mirror, no hint of a smile on his face. He drove off just as the boot clicked shut.

There I stood at the edge of the park, two unaddressed envelopes in my jacket pockets, an unaddressed parcel in my hands and the distinct feeling that I was being followed. The prickling of my nape left me in no doubt about that. I looked around nervously.

The question was, who was watching me?

Thirty-five

I spent the next couple of hours hopping on buses and trains that took me all over Meadowview and beyond. A lot of the time, I didn't even know where I was. But when that happened, I just leaped on the nearest bus, getting off at the first place I vaguely recognized. I kept telling myself I was being ridiculous, I wasn't in some spy novel. But I decided it would be better to waste a couple of hours by being over-cautious than to be nabbed by the police whilst carrying a parcel containing I-don't-know-what inside.

I could just see it now – 'Honestly, officer, I didn't know I was carrying two semiautomatic weapons . . .'

Yeah, right!

I took two trains into town and three back out again. I scanned the faces of my fellow passengers for those that were too familiar, those that I'd seen one too many times today. Only when I was convinced that I was no longer being watched or followed did I head for Adam Eisner's flat. Even as I climbed the stairs of his estate building, I couldn't help wondering what was inside the parcel I was delivering. If anyone had asked me, I would've sworn that my fingers were tingling just from touching it. It didn't matter whether the tingling was real or merely my mind playing tricks, I could still feel it. And it didn't feel right. I rang the bell. The front door opened almost immediately. Adam Eisner stood there, his black hair combed back off his face, his dark-blue eyes shooting poison darts.

'Where the hell have you been?' he roared at me.

There was no other word for it. It was a definite roar. He pulled me into his flat, slamming the front door behind me.

'I was expecting you over an hour ago,' he said, his face mere centimetres from mine.

'I'm sorry I'm late, Mr Eisner, but when I collected your parcel, I got the feeling someone was watching me, so I travelled around until I was certain I was no longer being followed,' I explained quickly.

Eisner backed off a bit, his expression wary. 'Who would be following you?'

I shrugged. 'I have no idea. Probably no one. Like I said, it was only a feeling, but I figured it was better to be safe than banged up.'

Eisner headed for his front door and opened it. He looked up and down the corridor outside his flat, before crossing it to peer down at the ground below. He scanned all around the block for a solid minute before returning to his flat, closing the door quietly behind him.

'You should've phoned someone to tell them what you were doing,' Eisner retorted.

Phoned who exactly? None of them were exactly on my speed-dial list. I held out his parcel to him.

'Bring it into the kitchen,' Eisner ordered.

I inhaled sharply. I just wanted to get out of there. I had an envelope which was burning through my jacket pocket and scorching my flesh. And I still hadn't figured out how I was going to pass it on to Vanessa Dowd.

I followed Eisner into the kitchen. Four Nought men sat around a farmhouse-style table, all stark naked. A number of small plastic bags covered the table, most empty, some half-filled with white powder.

'Put the package on the table,' said Eisner.

I couldn't wait to get rid of it. I dropped it like the thing was white-hot – which I now realized was exactly what it was. A set of electronic scales sat in the middle of the table along with a bigger bag of a dull-white powder. What was in the bigger bag? Flour? Sugar? Powdered baby milk? One of the men was weighing out exact amounts of the merchandise before carefully pouring it into the small bags, while the others were adding the same amount again from the bigger bag. They were cutting drugs. That's why they were all sitting around naked – it cut down the number of places they could hide the stuff for themselves.

Eisner picked up a small knife and cut a slit down the brown parcel like he was a surgeon making the first incision. White powder gently spilled out on either side of the cut. My heart was beating hard and heavy. Eisner turned to smile at me.

'I see McAuley was right about you. You have a smart head on your shoulders.' Eisner picked up one of the tiny bags filled with white powder which hadn't yet been added to and held it out to me. 'Take that for your trouble.'

I shook my head. Cocaine? No way.

'Take it,' said Eisner. 'You won't find better blow anywhere in Meadowview.'

I took the bag and stuffed it into my trouser pocket.

'I have more deliveries to make.' Was that really my voice playing back at me, so low and so calm? It had to be.

Eisner nodded and led the way out of his flat. I walked along the corridor towards the stairs, knowing that Eisner was watching every step. I headed away from his block and just kept going. Everything inside me was still, like my heart and my head and my very soul were all holding their breath.

As I turned some anonymous corner, a couple of bins came into view outside some local shops. I strode up to the nearest one and pulled the plastic bag out of my pocket, careful to keep the contents hidden in my hand. I stretched out my arm, my hand poised over the bin.

Let it go,Tobey. Before it's too late. Let it go.

But I couldn't. I just couldn't.

Thirty-six

Hello, Callie. How are you feeling today? You look a little better. Your face isn't quite so ashen. They tried to suck the life out of you, didn't they? But you're strong, Callie Rose. Stronger than even you think. So hang in there. You don't have to wake up today or tomorrow or even this week. You'll come round in your own good time.

But you will come round.

And when you wake up, I want to be the first face you see. That's why I visit you every day, even if it's only for a few minutes. When you awake you'll see me smiling at you and nothing else will matter. My guess is that you've been through so much over the last few months that it all finally caught up with you and you're just dealing with it in your own way. Your mind is . . . resting, recharging. I'm not worried about you being in this place. I'm not worried about the fact that you haven't regained consciousness yet.

I think . . . I feel you're waiting for me. So don't wake up yet. I haven't finished what I need to do. Just sleep – and wait for me.

I had to see you today, Callie. I had to take that chance. You're the only one I can talk to. My pockets are full, Callie – and they're weighing me down so much I can hardly stand upright. I've got one jacket pocket filled with money. Blood money. Another pocket contains a letter that I'm afraid to deliver. And in my trouser pocket there's . . . there's . . . something that clings to my hand like superglue and no matter how hard I try, I can't shake it off my fingers, I can't get rid of it.

I'm scared, Callie.

There! I've admitted it. Just between you and me, I'm bloody terrified. But one thing keeps me going – you.

Just you.

Only you.

I'll hang onto that and do what I have to do. Whatever it takes, eh, babe?

So how am I doing? Well, the weekend was kinda strange. I met a girl. Her name is Rebecca, Rebecca Dowd. She's Vanessa Dowd's daughter. Yes, the Vanessa Dowd. I had to work on Sunday at TFTM. It was Rebecca's eighteenth birthday party. Private function. I got triple time plus tips so I made a whole heap of money. A few more weeks of this and I'll be able to buy you the birthday present I've been promising you for ages. Anyway, Rebecca gave me a lift home and we chatted and had a good laugh all the way back to my house. I think she likes me. I surprised her and that's a good thing. I don't know what she was expecting, but I kept up with her conversation and I even managed to tell her one or two things that she didn't know. And when she found out I was going to Heathcroft High . . . ? You should've seen the looks she kept giving me after that. My mum was right – that school is like a passport.

When we arrived outside my house, we sat in her car for almost an hour, just talking. Reading between the lines, it sounds like she thinks most guys are more interested in getting to know her family's money than her. Of course I didn't ask for her phone number or for a date or anything. I think that surprised her too. I have to admit, though, Rebecca was all right. I think you'd like her. But enough of her. Besides, I'll probably never see her again.

Callie, I'll come and see you as often as I can. It's tricky because I can't let anyone know that I'm here. And I sure as hell can't let your Aunt Minerva, or worse still, your mum, find me here. Your mum is waiting for me to man up and tell the police what I know. And with every day that passes with my silence, I know she despises me more. But this is something I have to sort out for myself.

I'm going to make McAuley pay for what he did to you.

I'll get him.

Or die trying.

The trouble is, I can't do it without help – Owen Dowd's help. He's the only one with the money and the resources and the will to help me. I just wish I could get over this feeling that I'm crawling into bed with the devil to catch a demon. Crawling into bed metaphorically speaking, of course. I tell myself that it's the end result that counts, nothing else. Oh, I know what the end result needs to be, has to be. But it's the getting there that's tricky. Isn't it always? I have a vague plan and the will to succeed, but that's it. It will have to be enough. Trouble is, I feel like I'm stumbling through some improvised dance that I'm kinda making up as I go along. But that's OK, I'll survive. I hope.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 523