Double Cross (21 page)

'Did you love her?'

That was something . . . the one thing I couldn't lie
about, couldn't even talk about.

'Like I said, it's over now.'

'Maybe you—'

'Tobey, what d'you think you're doing? Your break was
over ten minutes ago.' Michelle looked about ready to fire
my arse.

'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.

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.

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?