Rise and Fall (17 page)

“The boy is screwed, you know? He ain’t got no life that he can look forward to. He gunna end up festering in this grimy flat for the rest of his days, another down and out. And you know why that is?” Jerell demanded.

She thought about it, praying for the right answer, not wanting to anger him even more. “He’s lazy?” she ventured, the first thing that came to mind. Seeing Jerell smile, she felt relieved.

“He’s lazy.” Jerell laughed. She realised he was mocking her: she had got it wrong. 

“No. It’s not because he’s lazy.” Jerell stood up. “Guess again.”

Tyler’s mum felt she was going to wet herself. She had never seen a man look so angry: he looked demonic.

“I don’t know,” she whimpered. She guessed that whatever she said next wasn’t going to help, he was furious, and she didn’t have a clue why. 

“He ain’t got a chance in life because he’s been lumbered with a lazy cunt of a mother like you.” Jerell was seething at the bare-faced cheek of the woman. She wasn’t bringing her kid up properly, she was dragging him up. She seemed oblivious to what a shit job she was doing of it, as well, she clearly didn’t realise that she was even doing anything wrong by the boy. She was the reason the boy didn’t stand a chance.

“I’m going today, and I’m taking Tyler with me. You’re going to let the boy leave.” Jerell had uses for Tyler, which he had no intention of sharing with the boy’s mother, and she wasn’t going to stand in his way. Jerell hadn’t touched Tyler while he had been staying at the flat and, with the countless times that they had been alone together, it had been a hard task. If Tyler came with him to the new house, and his lazy bitch of a mother didn’t interfere, he could do what he liked and no-one would be able to stop him.

“How much will you give me?” Tyler’s mum’s mind was instantly on the money she could fleece from this man who seemed so intent on taking Tyler with him. She may as well get something for herself out of it, as Jerell seemed to think he could do whatever he liked. It wouldn’t be long until Tyler fucked off, anyway, her other kids had left her as soon as they had the opportunity, and with him gone too it would be one less thing to worry about.

“How much?” Jerell was, briefly, confused. Then he realised what she meant. He hadn’t thought her capable of sinking any lower, but this was something else. “I have lived in your house for over two weeks. You haven’t cooked one single meal, done one bit of washing. Your house is a dump and your kid looks like a two-bit tramp.” Jerell grabbed her chin, forcing her up from the chair; once again the pain from her foot shot through her, as she put the pressure of her weight onto it, having no choice but to stand.

“And now you have the fucking audacity to ask me for money for him. You’re willing to sell your own child? You fucking disgust me,” Jerell continued. 

She realised that she had once again read the situation wrong. But she had laid her cards on the table; she wanted to gain something from him taking Tyler, and she no longer cared what Jerell thought. He had been happy enough to give her money to stay at her flat for the past two weeks, so he was clearly good for it. She was beyond putting on an act for the man now; he knew exactly what she was. If he was going to beat the shit out of her, then so be it but if he wanted to take Tyler, he could make it worth her while.

She looked at him defiantly. She wasn’t letting the boy go for nothing. 

“How much you want?” he asked her, wondering what price the woman would put on her child’s head.

“I want three grand.” As soon as the words had passed her lips, she thought she should have asked for four.

Jerell had seen a lot in his life, but scumbags like this woman never failed to surprise him. She was willing to sell her boy for three grand. He owned watches that were worth more. He thought of his own mother leaving him when he was an innocent, tiny baby. He had no memory of her, but he had often wondered whether things would have been different if she had stayed: whether he would have been different. Women, except for his grandma, had made him angry ever since. 

“Three grand and he can go,” Tyler’s mum said; those were her terms, and he could take them or leave them.

She didn’t get an answer. 

Instead, Jerell started to rain heavy blows onto her, taking out all his hate and anger on her like she was a punch bag. She curled into a ball, her arms over her head, her body was on fire with the pain. The blows kept coming, harder and faster. Until her body went limp. 

She lay there, seemingly lifeless, as Jerell Morgan pictured his own mother’s face, which he had only seen in the photos his grandma had kept, as he lost all control.

“Told ya this place was the dog’s bollocks, didn’t I?” Reagan said proudly, as Rhys parked on the driveway outside the large detached house. 

Tyler stared out of the window, his mouth open. “Wow,” he murmured. The house looked like it belonged on a Hollywood film set. Reagan had told him that it was amazing, but he had played it down.

Seeing the boy’s expression, Reagan felt smug. Judging by the boys’ reactions, he had come up trumps and he hoped that Jerell would be as impressed with it as they both were. 

“This ain’t nothing, boys; just wait till you get inside.” Reagan smiled.

He had forgotten how big the place was. He had only seen it once, with Louise; they had been lucky, as it had just come on to the market for leasing and they had been the first people to have been offered a viewing. Reagan had only been inside for a few minutes when, completely taken by the place, he had told the estate agent they had to have it. 

They were only a few minutes away from the old estate, but the grey depressing concrete flats they had left behind couldn’t have compared more starkly to the lush houses that were around here. This neighbourhood was stunning. 

Turning down the loud garage music blaring out from the speakers, and getting out of the car, following Reagan, Rhys couldn’t help feeling like they stuck out like sore thumbs. 

Rhys loved his car. It had been a wreck when he had bought it. It was almost fifteen years old, a couple of years younger than him, and there was more mileage on the clock than if Lewis Hamilton had owned it, but it was Rhys’ baby.

He had worked hard, doing whatever Reagan and Jerell had asked him to do; there had been no job too big or too small. He saved almost every penny that he earned, and as soon as he had enough money he took his car to have its bodywork sprayed neon-yellow. It may be an old banger underneath the paintwork, but Rhys had made it his mission to soup-up the little car, and it was his pride and joy. He was so proud that, at seventeen years of age, he actually had his own motor and had passed his driving test and had done it all off his own back. His old man did nothing but put him down, and Rhys’ sole reason for wanting to pass his test had been so that he could show his dad that he wasn’t ‘thick as shit’ like he was constantly made out to be. Rhys hadn’t even been given a smile when he had come home from that day, showing the certificate off proudly. He didn’t let his dad’s dirty look, or lack of praise, bring him down though; he just set about working to buy himself a car.

It was rare on the estate that someone his age had the opportunity to take their driving test and get a car, no one owned shit, and Rhys had impressed the boys that he knocked about with; as far as he was concerned that trumped whatever his dad did or didn’t think about him passing his test. 

Seeing his bright-yellow car sitting here now, though, Rhys compared it unfavourably to all the other classy motors that were dotted about the close, its bright colour looked a bit brash in comparison. The cars around here were high end; the sort of wheels he and the boys went out nicking for Jerell.

As Rhys helped Reagan to unload the car, he could see curtains twitching in the neighbouring houses. He could see a couple of old gits across the road standing at the end of their driveways staring in his direction and shaking their heads disapprovingly, blatantly slagging him off, he thought, copping the hump. Who did they think they were? Unable to contain himself, he took great pleasure in telling the snooping bastards in no uncertain terms to fuck off. 

Tyler laughed, as Rhys lost his cool with the old men over the road. They looked flustered as he hurled a mouthful of abuse, and they both scarpered within minutes, probably to avoid the situation getting more out of hand. When Rhys got riled up, his face went bright red, and he had spittle round the corners of his mouth. He made Tyler think of an angry Rottweiler. Rhys had major anger issues; he carried a chip on his shoulder about stuff. There was little you could say to him that wouldn’t piss him off. He wasn’t all bad, there were times when you could have a laugh and a joke with him, but sometimes you only had to look at him in the wrong way, or say the wrong word, and he would be gunning for you.

Although Rhys was holding a box, he kicked Tyler on the shin with a sharp punt, causing the boy to let out a yelp that instantly stopped his chuckling. 

“Shut it you!” Rhys warned, fucked off that not only had the neighbours been gawping at them, but now Tyler thought that him losing his temper was amusing too, he hated people looking down their noses at him, or even worse laughing at him, he had enough of that from his old man.

“Cool it, yeah,” Reagan called, as he opened the front door, so that he could get Rhys and Tyler inside before Rhys really pissed someone off. They had only been in the street for a few minutes and Rhys had already caused a scene. Jerell would not be happy if he found out that the boy had started a war with the neighbours before they had even managed to get their stuff moved into the place. Jerell had said that he wanted to move in without a fuss. As long as the bills were paid, and they didn’t bring any dodgy shit to the house, there was nothing that the disgruntled neighbours or the police could do. Their money was as good as anyone else’s. Jerell had instructed them that when they moved their gear in, that they were not to draw attention to themselves. Now they were here, amongst these pristine houses, Reagan thought what an almost impossible task that was going to be. There was no way they were going to fit in around here. Neighbourhood Watch had probably already called an emergency meeting on seeing them arrive in Rhys’ florescent boy-racer car.

“It’s a bit posh round here, ain’t it, you sure we’ve got the right place?” Rhys said, as they stepped inside the large arched doorway, lugging the heavy box.

Inside, the place sparkled. Everything looked immaculate; from the thick cream carpets that covered the entire downstairs, to the large modern kitchen that was so clean it could have passed itself off as being newly fitted.

“Told ya, didn’t I? Millionaires would be happy to live here. You know that programme, you know the one… what’s it called, the one on MTV? Cribs, that’s it. That’s us now, innit, living the fucking dream,” Reagan said, as he looked around at the gadget-filled kitchen, taking it all in, impressed with himself once again at his choice of house.

“Check out this bad boy, then.” Rhys couldn’t contain his excitement as he put his hand under the compartment of the huge American-style fridge and caught a large handful of ice cubes that shot out as he pressed the button. “That is proper sick, man!” He laughed, he had only seen stuff like this on TV, and now they were going to be hanging out in a pad like this, living like celebrities, as Reagan had said, it was a crazy thought. 

Reagan shook his head despairingly, as Rhys shoved Tyler’s hand under the ice dispenser, only this time he pressed ‘crushed’ and slushy ice poured out of Tyler’s hand. Rhys roared with laughter as Tyler winced at the coldness, before he shrugged his shoulders at Rhys’ joke and then good-naturedly started to eat the remaining ice. The laughter from the two boys was contagious and Reagan laughed too as he watched them, suddenly feeling swept away with all the excitement. 

The three of them wandered about the place, giving it a once over. It was like a show home. Jerell was going to be over the fucking moon when he turned up, Reagan thought happily, wanting once again to show that him that he had done a good job, and could be trusted when he was asked to do something. 

“Let’s sort all this shit out,” Reagan instructed Rhys and Tyler. It was almost midday and Reagan wanted to get everything in order before Jerell turned up, which would be any minute. He pointed at the boxes and bags that they had brought in from the car. Luckily the place was fully furnished, all they had had to bring along with them was a few bags of clothes, some bedding and a large box that was filled with all their personal stuff, such as toiletries and some CDs.

“Reagan, which bedroom are you having?” Rhys called from the top of the stairs. There were four bedrooms. Reagan knew that it was only right to leave the master bedroom at the front for Jerell, who was, after all, the boss and would expect nothing less.

“Just stick my gear in the back one, Rhys; it’s the grey one with the en-suite,” Rhys shouted, thinking that the bedroom he had picked would be perfect for when he had Louise staying for the odd night. Things had happened so quickly between them both, and Reagan had developed strong feelings for her, in such a short space of time. Having that back room would work out very well for him, as it would mean they could have their own bathroom, and more importantly their own privacy.

“Oi, Reagan,” again Rhys shouted down the stairs, “just a thought, mate, but maybe we should invest in some walkie-talkies; this place is so big it’s got its own fucking echo.”

Laughing, Reagan opened the kitchen cupboards. The landlord had left a range of stuff in the cupboards for them to use up. None of it was the sort of food that he and the boys would have chosen. One entire cupboard was full of flour, dried herbs and spices. The landlord obviously didn’t have a clue what type of people he was leasing the house to.

Reagan and Louise had gone to the estate agent's office to sign the paperwork and pay the deposit. They had had a right old laugh, dressing up all posh. Reagan had had to force himself not to laugh when Louise had put on a fake voice, it was hilarious to listen to, but all credit to her, she had pulled it off. Louise was an amazing actress, and it had been her that had helped him to seal the deal; she had batted her eyelids, giggled and flirted with the agent just as Reagan had told her, leaving the man so flustered and embarrassed that he had signed the house over in minutes, too distracted by her beauty to keep his mind on the task of checking out the paperwork.