Animal Kingdom (10 page)

Smurf knew that he was trying to justify what they'd done, but she wasn't buying it, even as he blundered on.

‘Me and Baz have. That's who. And what does Craig give you? He's making a fortune. How much does he give you?'

‘Craig bought me my flat,' Smurf answered firmly, waiting for the guilt and anger to pass so they could start talking sensibly.

‘Nuh, nuh,' Pope said, shaking his head, wary of what she might do if he gave her the chance. ‘You don't own it. He just lets you live there. But we actually
give
you things, so who do you think you owe something to?'

Smurf had had enough, and, leaning forwards, she spat in a low voice, ‘What is it you think you've done for Baz?'

Pope went to water straightaway and started squirming. She was worse than the cops, the way she could twist your nuts.

‘You think Baz gives two hoots for what you've done?' Smurf fumed. She knew they'd done it; of course she knew. She didn't even have to ask. There was nothing you could keep from her.

Darren had been drooping in the corner, trying to ignore the conversation, but looked up as the waitress brought the tea.

‘Thanks, love,' Smurf said, as nice and polite as can be, like a good little old lady. ‘Can we have the bill, please?'

As the girl turned away, Smurf glared back at Pope. ‘He's dead,' she snapped, sounding like she was closing the chapter of a book. And then, all of a sudden, she turned—she could turn in an instant, a consummate performer—sweet as honey. ‘I know you care. But don't you go thinking you care in a special way like nobody else does.'

She was the brains, and they were just the naughty boys waiting to get a smack.

‘Craig's here,' Darren said, leaping up to get away.

Softening, Smurf licked her thumb and wiped some food off Pope's cheek. ‘Hey, maybe you should start taking your pills again,' she said softly.

Pope looked away.
She
didn't have to take them.
She
didn't have to wake up in a fog and tramp around in treacle all day. He didn't need his pills. Fucking doctors. All they want to do is make your life shit.

Craig burst in looking like the banshees were after him and sat down opposite Smurf, followed by Darren. ‘What the fuck?' he cried, desperate and bewildered. ‘Hey? How come they were there so quick?'

They might not have been able to work it out, but Smurf knew. Anyone with a brain
knew
. She spelled it out for them. ‘They know who Baz's friends are.'

‘Fuck,' Craig repeated, looking like he'd lost it or been on something all night, which he probably had.

‘Keep your voice down,' Smurf said sharply.

Trying to calm him, Darren leaned across, saying, ‘Mate, if they knew something, we'd still be in there.'

‘What did you do?' Smurf finally demanded, wanting to hear it straight from them, but Pope just looked away, so Smurf pushed it further. ‘You killed them, didn't you?'

Darren whimpered at the memory.

‘You killed those two young constables.'

‘We never did nothing,' Pope spat back.

‘I know what you did,' Smurf answered and, turning her gaze on Darren, she snarled, ‘And you just went along with him, the way you always do, didn't you?'

‘I didn't mean to,' Darren answered, looking at the table.

‘Shut up,' Pope spat.

‘What about you?' Smurf demanded of Craig. ‘I would have thought you'd have more sense.'

‘They killed Baz,' Craig shot back.

‘Who?' Smurf demanded, not wanting to let him get away with it. ‘Those two young coppers you've gone and murdered? Is that who? Who killed Baz?'

‘What's it matter?' Craig answered. ‘They're all the same.'

‘They're all the same,' Smurf repeated in a mocking, vicious voice, not quite able to believe anyone could be that stupid, not even her sons.

They were all breathing hard, their hearts thumping. Pope had pushed them into something none of them properly understood yet.

‘It doesn't matter what we did,' Darren said to break the silence. ‘They'll never pin it on us.'

‘Why?' Smurf asked. ‘Because you're all so bloody smart?'

But in a sense he was right. It
didn't
matter what they did; they were still her kids. There was a lot to do, a lot to think through. Swallowing her misgivings, she looked at Craig. ‘They'll want to talk to you as well,' she said. ‘You need to call Ezra and take yourself in tomorrow.'

Craig looked horrified. ‘I'm not going in there. Are you fuckin' nuts?'

‘If you don't,' she answered, recovering her composure, ‘they'll think you've got something to hide.'

‘I fucking do!' Craig cried. Cool, calm and collected he wasn't. ‘I'm not going in there.'

‘They'll come looking for you if you don't, sweetheart,' Smurf said, sounding like Mum again. ‘Calm down.'

‘Fuck,' Craig squawked, sounding like he was dazed and stumbling a bit too close to the edge.

‘Where's J?' Pope suddenly asked, glancing about and noticing he wasn't there.

Looking quickly at him, Smurf demanded, ‘Why? What's he got to do with this?'

‘Nothin',' Pope repeated. No-one had anything to do with anything.

‘Where
is
J?' Craig echoed, looking accusingly at Darren. ‘Is he still in there?'

‘I dunno,' Darren answered. ‘How the fuck am I supposed to know?'

‘What's he know? What's he saying?' Craig asked quickly, his paranoia erupting into full psychotic meltdown.

‘What
does
he know?' Smurf echoed.

‘He doesn't know shit,' Pope answered, trying to put the lid on it.

‘Then what's he still in there for?' Craig demanded.

‘All right, calm down,' Smurf said.

But she was worried herself. J was a nice boy, but that's what he was—a boy. He wasn't like the others; he was soft. There was no telling what the cops might be able to wheedle out of him. If they applied some pressure, got up to their usual tricks, he'd be out of his depth and wouldn't know what to do. She wasn't really worried about him or his welfare. He was her daughter's son, for sure, but they had drifted apart over the years. She loved him, of course, and she'd do everything she could for him, but he wasn't the one in the firing line. Her boys were. It was trouble; it was trouble for sure.

‘Where's J?' Pope repeated.

And looking at him, Smurf wondered how it had come to this.

‘How the fuck should I know?' Darren spat back angrily. ‘Like I'm supposed to know where he is.'

After they let him go, the last thing J wanted to do was go back to the house. It wasn't that he thought he'd done anything wrong, because he was sure he hadn't, but he had a lot to think about, and that place was nowhere to think at the best of times.

He'd stolen the car. He'd stolen the car and acted as their alibi; he'd covered for them. While they were killing two coppers.

And now he'd lied to the police about it.

J didn't know what to think. It wasn't that he was in trouble with the police; that wasn't it. He was always in trouble with someone. It was what they'd done, the immensity of what they'd done. Killed two people. And not just two grizzled old coppers who could've fought back—that would have been bad enough. By now he knew they were two young constables, not much older than himself. Two young men at the beginning of their lives and careers, with the kinds of concerns young men have—family, girlfriends, ordinary simple things—executed. That's what they did to them: they executed them, when all they'd been doing was try to help someone whose car had been stolen.

J kept coming back, trying to comprehend it, and then reeling away at the thought of what they'd done.

He had to go somewhere. He couldn't just wander the streets, and the only other place he knew was Nicky's. He knew how Nicky's mother felt about him, but he needed to go somewhere safe, so that's where he went. You couldn't say Alicia was pleased to see him, but Gus was a little more sympathetic—maybe he'd been in trouble when he was a kid.

Was J in trouble? Yes, he was. Big trouble. When they found out about the car, he'd be in the shit big-time. J didn't know much about sentencing, but he knew that if they wanted to be tough they could be; why would they want to be soft on him, a Cody who knew more than he was letting on? There was enough there to get him locked up for a year at least, if they felt like it, but that didn't really feel like trouble. That was just a threat, something they could use against him. That's not what people mean when they say
trouble
.

Trouble is when the shit's really flying and you might wind up dead. That's real trouble, and this didn't feel anything like that, not yet. Not unless the cops decided to take things into their own hands the way they had with Baz.

True, his mother was dead and there was no-one there he could count on, but it wasn't like he'd ever really been able to count on her. He was seventeen years old, almost a man. Someday soon he'd be looking after himself; he was practically doing that now, making his own breakfast and things. There were lots of things he didn't know about, didn't understand—how to get a job, that sort of thing—but he figured when the time came there'd be people who'd tell him, if only just to make sure he did it.

He was smart, or smart enough. He could drive a car. And he was strong, he knew that. He'd had to put up with a lot of shit in his life, and somehow he'd always pulled through. Things hadn't always been easy. But they'd never been as hard as they were now.

Nicky wasn't home yet, but somehow that made it easier. Gus was watching TV with Nicky's little brother and Alicia was cooking.

‘So how was your day today?' she asked J, like it was the most normal thing to ask. And, in this family, it was.

His day? What was he going to say?
I got interrogated by the police for a cop murder my three uncles committed last night in a car I stole for them.

‘It was okay,' he said, adding a polite ‘How was yours?'

‘It was good,' she said, and it sounded real, like it was really true, and she wasn't worried she was about to be killed or tortured or have her whole life turned inside out by a bunch of maniacs.

‘Do you want to stay for dinner?' Gus asked.

That was the nicest thing anyone had said to him for a while.

Setting the table was just about the best thing he could imagine doing. This was what normal people did. They watched TV with the kids and cooked dinner and set the table. It wasn't crappy takeaway that was going to make you fat and give you a heart attack in twenty years. No-one was yelling; the only drama was on the TV: it felt good.

He watched Alicia bustling around the kitchen for a while, and Gus and the kid. He wondered what it would be like to have a father. He'd thought about it sometimes, when he was younger—had asked his mother, but she'd been evasive, like she was about a lot of things. And not for any reason that he could work out; just because that's what she was like, even with him. What was the big secret?
Your father is the King of England
, some shit like that.

He guessed now that he'd been an accident. She'd never said that, and always said he was the best thing that ever happened to her, but it didn't feel like he was the result of the greatest love story ever told. If you believed that sort of thing. J didn't. Not really. That only happened on telly. Not here.

‘Dinner's ready,' Nicky's mum said at last.

Nicky still wasn't home, but J was feeling okay sitting with her family.

‘How was your friend's … funeral?' Alicia offered, curious but respectful.

‘It was okay,' J answered, putting his knife and fork down. He didn't really want to talk about it, but she'd asked. ‘Sad and everything,' he added.

‘Yes, we saw it on the news,' she said.

He supposed that meant she saw everything, about him, his family, the types of people Nicky was hanging out with. He knew that was what she was worried about, that she just wanted the best for her daughter; the funny thing was, so did he. He wanted the best for Nicky, he really did, and maybe the best for her was to drop him, like her mother wanted. Nicky had never said that, and neither had Alicia— not to him directly—but it made sense. If Nicky had been
his
daughter, he wouldn't have wanted her hanging around with a person like him either.

He hated his life, everything about it. He hated his mother and grandmother, hated his uncles, hated the shit they were into.

Why did they make it so hard just
to be
? He couldn't see what was so wrong with what Alicia's mum and Gus had. What was so boring and stupid about it? It took a lot of effort to keep things like this, with all the shit and madness in the world trying to tear it apart.
They
were the heroes, not losers like Pope. Not even the good guys like Baz.

‘Hey, buddy,' Nicky said as she slid the door open and kissed her little brother. She was still wearing her school uniform, and glanced around the table, catching his eye in passing.

‘Where have you been, Nicole?' Alicia asked, tense annoyance already flickering in her voice. And it was like the magic spell had been broken, and the bare bones of the family feud re-emerged.

‘Detention,' Nicky said, sitting on J's lap and starting to pick at his plate just to annoy her mother. ‘I told you.'

‘No, you didn't,' Alicia snapped back.

‘Yeah, I did,' Nicky answered. ‘You had to sign that form.'

‘I signed the form,' Gus confessed.

‘Oh, yeah. Well then, get angry at him for not telling you,' Nicky said.

J didn't really know why Nicky didn't see how good she had it. Maybe that's just the way it is. We never know what we've got till it gets blown away.