Breakdown (8 page)

I

wake to the sound of tin lids banging and the smell. The sound sends a shiver into me. What's gonna happen now? I've got this really bad feeling I'm about to find out what Careem's ‘something else' is
.

Whatever it is, I tell myself, I'll get away. And if I don't, he'll pay for it.

I'm all curled up inside Nan's coat and I want to stay there. Desperately I push my nose deep into its folds, try to smell her, try not to think of last night. The coat smells of old rags and wood smoke. The river has washed Nan right away.

‘Oh Nan,' I whisper.

A hand shakes me. A voice wakes me. Someone pulls back the edge of my coat.

‘Hey, Miss, they're back,' whispers Lenny.

And I can tell from his voice it's not good.

‘We need to get down to the racetrack,' he says.

I roll over and stand up. I brush my hair back. I wipe my face with the sleeve of the coat. So hungry, so dirty.

‘Water?' I ask Lenny. I'm thirsty. I don't trust the water but I need to drink. And I'm going to wash. I don't want to look like them.

It's morning, though there's no sun yet.
Think about escaping
.
Remember?
Lenny fetches me a glass bottle full of water. I let it stand for as long as I can so the sediment settles. I stretch the hem of my T-shirt over the bottle mouth and drink. I only drink the first third of the bottle. Even that tastes stale. I use some to wash my hands. I pour the rest into my cupped palms and wash my face. Lenny watches wide-eyed.

‘You're so pretty, Miss.'

I comb my hair with my fingers.

‘You're prettier than all those things in the book world.'

‘C'mon,' I say.

In the pale light we set out for the stadium. We don't get any further than the first aisle before Tarquin appears.

‘I'll take over now.' He ruffles Lenny's hair. His smile is wide, his lips full.

When he draws level with me I hiss, ‘
I need to get out.
'

He laughs and shakes his head.

‘
You need to get Lenny out too,
' I add. ‘
Get him to some other place.
'

‘Once you're here, there ain't no other place.'

‘Says who?'

He shakes his head. ‘We all belong to Careem.'

I'm the one who laughs then.

‘I wouldn't laugh,' says Tarquin.

By the time we get to the stadium track, the fire has been rekindled. Through the pale light, people drag fuel over and pile it by the flames. Boards and planks and sawn timber and old window frames and furniture and seating. They stack them in ragged piles. They break the boards up. They fold them, stamp on them, twist the sheets back on themselves until the ply splinters and gives.

Alongside the fire, on the ground, is a row of metal bowls. And women. They're hardly more than girls, though they look old. One of them has a tiny sickly baby tied to her front. They're setting up little stalls, like something's going to get traded. They fill the bowls with water from a few huge jerry cans. They light fires between three stones and heat up the bowls. There's a silence about them, a heaviness that scares the hell out of me.

The gangers come in banging the pan lids again. And Tarquin darts over to join them. A deafening stream, they march into the centre of the arena like some returning army. They kick up turf and beat the pan lids like drums. Everyone falls quiet.

And then comes Careem. He's still got that long black coat on. He walks in at his own pace, looking about him, noticing everything. All swagger. A little girl scuttles into his path – a woman grabs her up, smiles a scared ‘Sorry'.

I remember his words again. His unspoken threat.

‘And make sure I'm happy when I see the shoes.'

A trembling starts up under my ribcage. Let him be happy about the shoes. I can't make out if he's happy or not.

‘It's not about keeping others happy,' Nan would say. ‘It's about showing them you're dangerous. Trust in fear. Not smiles, Melissa. It'll keep you safer.'

She's right. And I
am
dangerous. And in ways he won't expect. I breathe in and try to relax.

Everyone stops what they're doing and clears a path for him. As he strides past they bow their heads. He gives nothing away. Just puts on his own little show.

Fleetingly I wonder how Tarquin did get the shoes. Did he do it alone? What did he do to the traders? I don't care about them, anyway. I learned a long time ago – you got to put yourself first.

Careem makes his way casually down to the centre of the arena. He's got the strut down to perfection. He winks at a few girls, favourites maybe, wags a finger at someone, who goes bone-white. He holds his hand up to stop encroachers. They immediately back off. He accepts a gift from a gang member without a nod or thanks.

He makes out like he isn't looking at anything. But he is. You can see he's as sharp as they come. Sizing everything up. And nobody seems to notice he's doing it. Nobody except the two guys closest to him. Nailey and Kaylem, maybe.

And Tarquin.

I see Tarquin following just behind. I watch him too. His eyes are everywhere but his face doesn't give anything away. In the rear a group of ten or fifteen gangers are lugging loot into the arena.

Careem sits down on a huge armchair under an awning. The gangers wait with their load, near the fire. People crowd forward. I stagger as they shove me aside. Must be about a hundred of them, maybe more, all pushing forward. Must take a lot to feed them.

Careem raises a forefinger, brings it down. The gangers tip everything at his feet: three dead dogs land with a thump. A full shopping trolley tips over. Potatoes, mushrooms, jars of homemade goods, something like a sack of flour spills into the mud. A cart covered with a plastic sheet, an old suitcase with a broken zip – clothes maybe. The girls press forward. One woman steps up, takes charge.

Above the clamour I hear her shrill voice as she points to people. ‘You count the potatoes. You get that sack up. You clean this one.' She toes one of the dead dogs.

I've never seen anyone skin a creature so quick. They pounce on it and get its head and paws off before you can look away. They dice it up and share it out and quarrel about the tail.

‘Now that one.' She points at the second dog. ‘Then dress the last one for the chiefs.'

While some of them start on the second dog, others go through the contents of the shopping trolley. Dividing it up with razor-sharp precision. Careem still makes like he isn't watching, but he is. He's watching all right. So are Kaylem and Nailey.

Everyone knows Kaylem and Nailey are watching. Nobody likes them. You can tell. Specially Kaylem. Everybody gives him a wide berth. I hold my breath. I haven't seen the shoes. I don't know what to think. But I know Tarquin got some. Where are they?

‘Listen up,' says Careem. He doesn't shout. He doesn't have to. Everyone is suddenly listening.

‘There's only three dogs today because of her.' He points at me in a bored way.

There are murmurs of disappointment. A shuffling noise, angry muttering. Some of them shout: ‘Chuck her to the dogs  …  that's what Careem should do. Throw her to the dogs  …  How's three going to feed anyone?  …  After the crew have had their fill?'

Careem laughs. ‘You're a bloodthirsty lot,' he says. ‘But don't worry, she'll pay. She's for the Governor General.'

The mob falls silent. My blood freezes.

The Governor General.

Nan warned me about the General. Kept me hidden. Showed me how to wind a scarf around my head, hide my face. ‘Those poor girls,' she said. ‘The General is evil. He ravages the beautiful. Like Aristaeus in the Greek myths, he desires what is not his. Aristaeus was the keeper of the bees, but he deserted his hives to chase another man's wife. The Gods punished him and the bees died. The General also desires what is not his – young girls – and because of him the bees won't come back.'

There's a murmur of approval and shouts of: ‘Too good for her', ‘Get a good price' and ‘
Careem!
'

Careem waves a lazy hand. Some of them are still grumbling. Two youngers stagger forward hauling in a swag of something. I eye it anxiously, hoping it's the shoes. They drag it right up near the fire. Careem motions them to stop, then ignores them and their burden.

Instead he waves Kaylem forward. He points at the bloody carcass of the third dog.

There it lies skinned, yet still intact. Its eyes glassy and staring. Kaylem picks it up, slits it from gizzard to pap and scoops its entrails and organs out. He cuts something off from between the dog's back legs, holds it up with a lewd gesture, thrusts it up and down. Then laughs. He spits the dead animal right from anus to jaw and slings it between two iron poles over the fire.

Kaylem doesn't look at Careem, but when he's done with the dog, he jerks his head. A smile lingers in his eyes and then he sniffs his fingers.

‘You turn it,' Kaylem orders a younger ganger.

The boy wraps his scarf around his hand, drags the end of his jacket over it, grabs hold of the iron pole and starts turning the dog over the fire.

‘The girl,' Careem says.

‘That's you,' whispers Lenny, giving me a little shove. ‘Don't argue with him. Please don't, Miss. Do what he says then he won't hurt you.'

I stumble forward. Kaylem and Nailey punch me to the ground near the swag. I slip, land on slime, kneel near the offal. I can't take my eyes off it. The smell. The ground is slick with it.

‘Wanna see what she's paid already?' says Careem.

The crowd draw in tighter. Shouts of approval run through them. ‘Yeah,' says one voice above the other, ‘and it better be good.'

‘Oh, it's good all right,' says Careem.

And with another nod he indicates that Kaylem and Nailey can show the people what they swapped their dinner for.

Nailey steps forward, rips the end of the swag open. Out tumble the shoes.

I can't quite believe it. I can't quite believe there's that many. Those boat people must've been rolling in it. How on earth did Tarquin carry all that? But he must have – there they are just lying in front of me.

The grumbling takes on a less threatening tone. Someone even whoops. I try to get my heart to subside a little, but it doesn't listen to me. Hands reach forward.

‘Don't touch,' says Careem very silkily.

One of them makes a mistake. Either it's that or he didn't hear Careem or he doesn't care and thinks it worth it. He jumps right forward, straight at a pair of lace-up trainers, and grabs them.

Kaylem flicks up a hand. The blade arcs and sweeps down through the soft skin of the boy's throat. The kid drops. Blood sprays out across the shoes.

There's a huge intake of breath. Nobody moves.

I crouch there, my heart crashing against my ribs.

‘Now look what you done,' says Careem mildly. ‘You messed my haul.' He stands up, steps forwards and prods the dying kid with his foot. The kid's eyes roll up. He claws at his throat, jerks. A low gurgle.

Careem shakes his head, sits back down. ‘What a waste,' he says, nodding at his two guys. They step forward and pull the kid off the pile of shoes and away to one side. ‘Put him out for the dogs,' says Careem. And as an afterthought, ‘Set some of Shukri's boys to trap any that come. Put him to some use.'

Kaylem hauls the dying boy off like he's already dog bait. I kneel there. In shock. One of their own. It's just like Nan said. ‘Kill or be killed. Think. Stay alive. Do whatever you must. Or you won't stand a chance.'

‘Make a line,' shouts Nailey.

People are scared. They're scared to disobey. And they're scared to come near the shoes. ‘Hurry up,' yells Nailey. A few straggly lines start to form on the far side of the fire.

Careem turns to the guys quietly waiting round him. ‘Each of you take a pair,' he says. They don't stop to match them up much, or check sizes. They just bend down and take whatever's nearest.

‘They'll swap later,' whispers Lenny. I glance over my shoulder. He's crept up right behind me, all big eyes and scrawny neck. And suddenly I'm afraid for him. I want him to go back, stay away from those shoes. But he creeps up alongside me, puts his hand in mine. And I can see he's looking at something in the pile.

Near the centre is a little cache of kids' shoes. They're tied together by their laces. Nobody's taken them yet. I look at them and think of the kids that once wore those shoes.

The gangers are just taking the nearest ones. My heart's still hammering. I look at Lenny's feet, so raw and scarred. I look at the blood splattered over everything.

After most of the gang's chosen, Careem calls Tarquin forwards.

‘OK,' he says, ‘you got them, though they cost us in dogs. Now you choose.'

And as I'm kneeling there I see the way Careem does it. How he keeps his power over this stinking ghetto. Tarquin didn't cost them anything. What was one more ganger going to do that twenty of them couldn't? If they only got three dogs that was all they were going to get. Saving me didn't cost anyone anything. But Careem doesn't want Tarquin to get any kind of thanks for getting the shoes. So he makes out he's a dead weight, keeps him waiting till last.

And he kills the boy who tried first.

Tarquin heads straight into the pile – right towards the kids' shoes. Swiftly he reaches for them, unlaces a pair, stout boys' boots. He holds them up for Careem to approve. Lenny draws in his breath. Nobody draws a knife. Careem flickers one eye. Tarquin steps out of the pile and backs away.

‘Don't want none for yourself?' says Careem.

Tarquin shrugs. ‘Don't mind.'

‘But?' says Careem.

‘If you think I did good then let me keep the girl,' says Tarquin.

Everything suddenly goes quiet. The silence is terrible. I can even hear the slight patter of rain on the shoes.

Immediately Tarquin knows he's said the wrong thing.

‘Please,' he adds.

Nobody moves.

‘Since Ma died,' Tarquin quickly defends, ‘Lenny ain't got no one to stay with when we're out. I take him along on account of this. I need someone to leave him with. Someone who'll treat him right. So I can stay out longer. Get more swag. And he likes the girl.'

Lenny's face lights up.

But Careem's doesn't. Nailey leaps forwards.

‘No,' I scream. I can't help myself.

There's a terrific whack and a baseball bat cracks clean across Tarquin's ribs. The blow sends him toppling backwards.

‘I don't think you was listening,' says Careem. ‘I said you can have a pair of shoes.'

Lenny's hand slips out of mine. He's trembling. He's gone whiter than a ghost.

‘You put your foot out of line once more and I'll sort Lenny out for you. Forever,' says Careem very softly.