Breaking the Circle (12 page)

Leaning forward, he took hold of Maya’s shoulders, his squashed nose and freckled cheeks almost touching her face. ‘Pity I’m not spending the night in here with you,’ he
chuckled.

Full of revulsion, Maya twisted her head away. He laughed and grabbed her arm. ‘If you never mainlined before should be no problem – nice, fresh, juicy veins.’

Maya held her arms rigid, tugging her sleeves down and squirming away from him. He made a grab for her. She ducked and struck out with a fist, catching his ear. In return she received a stinging
blow on her forehead. Kicking out, she wriggled underneath Ginger’s arm, made for the door and yanked at the handle. It was locked. She felt arms around her waist, was lifted off her feet and
thrown back onto the hard mattress.

A shout from outside was followed by heavy banging on the door. ‘What you doing in there? We have to split.’

When the door was unlocked, it swung open and Stefan stood there, looking grim. ‘Kay was right,’ he said. ‘Nobody’s seen Leila. She’s disappeared.’

Holding her throbbing forehead, Maya sat up.

‘So,’ she said, shuffling forwards and giving Stefan a challenging glare, ‘Kay didn’t betray you. Gerard was cutting the drugs to make money for himself. He was ripping
you off. She was telling you the truth.’

‘Shut her up, will you?’ Stefan said, gesturing at Ginger.

‘My pleasure,’ Ginger said.

He seized hold of Maya’s shoulders, but Maya squirmed away from him.

‘What about Kay? She didn’t betray you – you can’t hurt her.’

‘Jesus Christ! Get her off my back!’ Stefan shouted, waving his arms.

This time Ginger got a firm hold on Maya, pulling her arm up her back. Maya squealed as Ginger gave her a hard push, sending her reeling to the back of the mattress. She rolled over, breathless,
while Stefan went over to Gerard and prodded him with his foot. Deep in a stupor, Gerard slid sideways and keeled over.

‘Pathetic little shit,’ Stefan said.

‘What are we going to do about her?’ Ginger asked, scowling at Maya.

Stefan snorted and swore. ‘We’ll see to her in the mornin’. I don’t want her blood on our hands. When the cargo comes in, they can take her out with them.’

‘You won’t hurt Kay, will you?’ Maya shouted.

Stefan turned to look at her, his face dark with anger. He took a step towards her, his fists clenched. Maya cowered, thinking he was going to hit her, but he stopped and satisfied himself with
kicking the edge of the mattress.

When she dared to look up, he had a half twisted smile on his face.

‘What do you care about Kay?’ he asked. ‘She’s scum, a whore, a junkie.’

‘I don’t want you to hurt her.’

‘Why would I hurt her? A pretty girl like her, she can be useful.’

They left, locking the door behind them. Maya sank down on the smelly mattress. Her chest was heaving, her breath stuttering in and out in strangled gasps. She put her head in her hands and
closed her eyes. She’d escaped the needle – that was a miracle and she offered up grateful thanks to whatever spirit was watching over her – but she was still a prisoner.

Footsteps rapped down the stairs, she heard muffled voices. A door banged, car engines started up outside, exploding into life then fading away. After that, there was silence. Had they all
gone?

Gerard was totally still. His face was ashen. Maya leaned down to check if he was breathing. His eyelids slid open; he chuckled and, lifting his head slightly, muttered, ‘All right,
princess?’ Then he took a few deep, rasping breaths and shivered so violently his teeth rattled.

Maya didn’t know if his reaction was normal or not – she remembered reading a leaflet in PSHE at school –
Regular heroin users experience an initial feeling of euphoria
followed by relaxed drowsiness.

He’d certainly been happy and relaxed, but the shivering didn’t seem right. There was nothing she could do to help him, though. She had to think about her own situation.
Stefan’s last words had left her full of fear. ‘Cargo comin’ in, they can take her out with them.’ That’s all she was to him, baggage to be got rid of. She had to
escape.

An angry kick at the door was met with absolute resistance – it hardly vibrated. She scanned round the frame but failed to see the tiniest crack. The room offered no hope of an escape
route, either. There was no furniture, nothing to use to smash the door with. The ceiling was high and angled, a single beam running across the top; the one window was heavily-boarded and there
were no roof lights or any roof space to climb into. A single bare light bulb dangled from a crooked piece of flex and on the opposite wall hung a stained sink.

As she stood scanning the room, a thump on the floor made her spin round and she saw that Gerard had rolled so that he was lying on his back, one arm flung out, his mouth open. A sheen of sweat
covered his face and he was taking short, shallow breaths. He was reacting just like Serena – she had to get help for him.

Crawling over to him, she pulled his leather jacket from underneath him. He didn’t protest, so she delved into the pockets. Her fingers touched his flick knife, then some coins, but not
the thing she was looking for. She shuffled closer and patted his jeans pockets. Nothing. What had he done with it? Her hands groped underneath his neck, she lifted the mattress, but there was no
sign of his mobile phone. Ginger must have taken it just before he left.

There was no hope of calling help for Gerard or herself, but she had to do something. Her gaze settled on the high window. Thick boards were nailed to the outside of the window so the glass
would have to be smashed before she could get her hands through to try and lever off the boards.

Visualising a plan of the warehouse, she guessed that the window was at the front, facing onto the towpath. Even if she could break it open, from what she remembered it was a hell of a long drop
down. And she didn’t know if all the men had gone. Had anybody been left behind to act as a guard?

With regret, she looked down at her trainers – no hard heels for breaking glass. Casting her eyes round for a weapon, her eyes settled on Gerard’s boots – they were heavy and
studded. If she could get one of them off and stick her arm inside it, then she could hammer at the glass and be protected from cuts. If somebody heard her and came running, well, at least
she’d tried.

Gerard’s foot had no intention of aiding her mission. His leg was heavy, the boots hard to unbuckle. At first she was afraid he’d fight her off, but she soon realised he was in no
state for that. He was almost comatose. Growing braver, she pushed and pulled until she managed to ease one boot off.

With a quick glance towards the door, she raised her arm and smashed the first pane of glass out. The noise crashed and echoed as she started punching at the boards. Any moment somebody would
come running, but she didn’t care – in her desperation she banged and thumped, scattering wood and glass. The two boards across the middle splintered easily and fell away. Brushing
aside pointed fragments, she hoisted her leg up and knelt on the windowsill. It was dark outside but there was just enough light to see below. It was a long drop, too high to risk jumping down.

Despair flooded through her. A piece of glass punctured her jeans and pierced her knee. She scrambled back into the room and saw blood oozing through the dark material. Behind her, Gerard gave a
little moan. She was on the point of going over to check on him when a light moving on the surface of the water caught her attention and, leaning out of the window, she saw a boat sailing along the
canal – a houseboat. She shoved her hand out of the window and waved frantically, but the boat didn’t falter. It went downstream, her eyes followed the lights until they’d almost
disappeared and then, in the periphery of her vision, she noticed something else.

Leaning forward, she peered sideways and saw a metal pole sticking out of the brickwork. It looked as if it had been used as a pulley at one time and near to its base hung a heavy chain. If it
had been used to haul up sacks of cargo then hopefully it would hold her weight.

The pole jutted out over the canal, so if she could manage to shimmy along the pole, she could drop into the deep water. It was a crazy plan but it just might work.

Casting a glance back into the room, she saw that Gerard was looking very pale and a sticky mess of vomit had stained the corners of his mouth. She watched his chest pumping – he was
gasping for air; it didn’t look good. Striding over, she turned him onto his side but there was nothing more she could do to help him. She had to work fast – soon it would be completely
dark. Her main priority was to smash the remaining boards and escape.

With all her strength, she hammered at what remained of the window frame and it gave way, falling with sheaves of glass, wood and plaster to the towpath below. Wasting no time, she knelt on the
windowsill, put her head out and judged the distance to the pole. It should be possible to swing her body sideways and grab. The worse that could happen was that she could jump and fall. The best
that could happen was that she could jump, catch hold of the pole or chain, climb on top of the pole and edge out over the canal. Did she fancy a swim? Not really, but it would be better than
breaking her neck. Of course, she could also sit back down and wait till morning, when she was going to be transported to God knew where and disposed of. Her options were not great.

But there was one important thing she had to do before any attempt to escape. Climbing back into the room, she snatched up the blue holdall containing the drugs, leaned out of the window and
threw it as far as she could. It landed with a splash and the contaminated drugs were swallowed by the canal.

With a feeling of triumph, she hoisted herself up to stand in the window. It was a narrow space but almost as tall as herself. Arms outstretched, she held onto both sides of the brickwork and
felt a cool breeze on her face.

Turning her head sideways, she estimated the leap – the pole, about a metre and a half away, was angled upwards from the wall. She’d only get one chance – she’d have to
use the brick wall for leverage, propel herself sideways and try to grab the pole. She took a deep breath, gave a slight shudder. The words, ‘Don’t look down’ flashed in front of
her eyes. It was like her first bungee jump, standing on the lip of a bridge over the canyon, the wind in her hair. No, wrong, it wasn’t like that at all, because then she’d had a
safety device. This was heart-stoppingly scary. Another breath, a deep swallow – push off and fly.

She missed the pole by centimetres; her stomach fell out of her mouth. Plummeting downwards, something rough grazed her cheek, her fingers grasped wildly, clutching at the rusty chain. Legs
dangling in mid-air, she hung on. It was still too far to jump down, she’d escape with broken limbs at best. The only possible solution was to shimmy up the chain to the pole and then edge
out over the water.

It took a lot of courage to take one hand off the chain, but she had to do it. Slowly, hand over hand, she started to climb. Behind her, the brick wall rumbled, the pole juddered and she was
jolted downwards. The earth came up to meet her, she gasped, closed her yes and braced herself for the fall, but a moment later, things settled and she was still hanging on. Praying the bolts would
hold, she began to climb again as quickly as she could, until she was just beneath the pole. With a mighty effort, she kicked and swung her body up to hook one foot over the pole. For terrifying
seconds she was immobile, suspended ten metres above the towpath, her energy almost gone. She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth and hauled herself up to sit astride the pole.

In the distance, she heard a car engine, tyres rolled along the towpath, headlamps flashed. A vehicle came to a stop directly below her. The sound of keys in a lock, the scraping of a door,
footsteps tramping up the stairs, reached her.

She imagined the scenario. On Stefan’s orders, one of the gang had returned. When he opened the door to the room, he’d find her gone. Any moment he’d see the smashed window,
look out and spot her. She was a sitting target.

Her brain was telling her to move, but she couldn’t. The thought of a bullet ripping into her back made her freeze in panic. But the explosion didn’t happen. Instead she heard
footsteps thumping back down the stairs. Stefan’s watchman hadn’t spotted her.

Move, you idiot, you have a chance! she told herself.

Gripping tightly with her hands and feet, she edged forward to the end of the pole. She was almost at the end hanging over the water when somebody shouted and a powerful torch beam flashed over
the dark water and opposite bank.

‘Where are ya?’ a voice shouted. She was sure it was Ginger.

The beam swung wildly, lighting up patches of rough grass and slimy waterweed. It flashed along the towpath. She heard the man cursing, panting as he ran, then he came back and the beam of the
torch swung to the other side. As long as he didn’t look up, as long as she could keep her balance, she was safe. But then the pole creaked, the torch beam swung upwards, illuminating her
legs. The man shouted. Her balance disturbed, she started to tilt sideways and then she fell.

The water hit her like a wall of ice – stinging, freezing. Gurgling, bubbling sounds filled her ears as she plummeted down; the water was thick and dark. Something grazed her leg, long
strands of weed wrapped around her. She kicked hard for the surface, but her clothes were like weights dragging her down. It took a mammoth effort to swim up and raise her head above the water
level. Choking and coughing, she spat out foul-tasting water and tried frantically to gulp air. It was imperative to get to the side and climb out, but a crack of gunshot sent her ducking down
again.

Underwater, she plunged down, holding her breath until she thought she’d burst. Bullets peppered the water above her. There was nothing she could do to save herself – either
she’d drown or be shot in the head.

Swim, swim, a voice was telling her, swim to the side, there’s a chance, a slim chance he won’t find you, if you surface under the platform.