Rise and Fall (24 page)

“The first one of us that finds her gets a grand. A thousand pounds, blood! That sort of cash would pay for my new sound system for my motor, innit. Whatever Louise has done to Jerell, it ain’t got shit to do with me, let the girl sort her own beef with him, she’d serve me up just the same, make no odds,” Tyler had heard Rhys say.

Tyler had realised then that if Rhys, whom he had thought of as one of his friends, could turn like that so quickly against Louise, someone who was respected more than he was by the group as a whole, then he didn’t stand a chance. These kids weren’t his family, and they certainly weren’t his friends. 

He was on his own.

For Tyler, the only good thing to come out of the search for Louise was that Jerell had been so caught up with it all, that he had left Tyler alone ever since. 

As much as Tyler really did need someone on his side right now, as much as he wanted to believe that Reagan was there for him, something stopped him from trusting him.

Driving along, Reagan wiped his sweaty face; he glanced over to Tyler, who was clutching his wallet tightly to his stomach, like it was his comforter.

“You didn’t need to bring your wallet, Ty, the grub’s on me, mate. My shout.” Reagan tried to lighten the mood.

“Thanks, Reagan,” Tyler said, grateful for the kindness Reagan was showing, despite his own doubts. 

“I always have my wallet on me.” Tyler shrugged, as if it wasn't important.

Reagan tried to concentrate on the road, as he thought where to get food. That would drag things out and give him time to get his head around what Jerell had instructed him to do.

They drove on in silence. 

At the drive-thru, Reagan ordered too much food for two people. He wasn’t hungry himself, but he sat patiently in the car, half-heartedly picking at a few of the chips, while Tyler devoured his meal and most of Reagan’s. 

“Here,” Reagan stuffed a straw into a coke and handed it to Tyler, “something to wash your food down, Ty.”

“Are you alright, Reagan?” Tyler looked up from his second Big Mac, a dollop of tomato ketchup dripping down his chin as he spoke. He took the drink. “You haven’t eaten much, and you look really weird.” Tyler had been so distracted by hunger he had only just noticed that Reagan had barely touched the food. “I thought that you wanted something to eat?” 

Tyler noticed that Reagan was sweating profusely and now Tyler thought about it, he had been acting strangely since they had got in the car.

“I think my eyes are just bigger than my belly, Ty, I really fancied some grub earlier, but I’ve totally lost my appetite, and now you mention it, I do feel a bit off colour.” Reagan did feel physically sick at the thought of what was to come.

Tyler wasn’t convinced that Reagan’s problem was solely physical. So much had happened lately, forcing him to grow up quickly. He was no longer a gullible kid. He had become suspicious of everyone and everything; nothing was as it seemed. 

“Did you have to bribe Rhys to lend you his motor?” Tyler asked the question because he knew how Rhys was about his car, and he wondered how Reagan had managed to borrow it; it was Rhys’ pride and joy, and he didn’t let anyone drive it. 

“Rhys must have been feeling generous, I guess.” Reagan regretted his answer immediately, knowing that he hadn’t sounded the least bit convincing. Tyler knew Rhys better than to think the boy would do anyone a favour. Rhys was a selfish little sod at the best of times. Jerell had told Rhys they were borrowing his car, and Reagan had actually been impressed with Rhys for initially standing up for himself and saying no to letting him drive the car. The boy was so adamant that no-one was taking it without his say so, and even when Jerell shouted at him, Rhys had stood his ground and said that he wouldn’t let them. It was only when Jerell started to manipulate him, saying how much he had done for the boy and how much he had given him, pointing at the roof he had put over his head and talking about all the money he had put in the boy’s pocket that the dynamics changed. Rhys had realised the bigger picture: even if he had insisted that they couldn’t take his motor, Jerell would have done it anyway. It’s what he did. So, to save face, and to make it look like he was coming good for Jerell, Rhys had given in. 

“Don’t go driving it like a bitch, Reagan,” Rhys had warned, before throwing him his car keys.

Chucking the food wrappers into the passenger footwell for now, Reagan switched the headlights on to counteract the encroaching darkness. As he drove, his thoughts turned to Louise. He hoped she was okay. It worried him that she hadn’t got in contact with him, but he guessed that if she was even half as scared as he imagined her to be then he would be the last person she contacted, as he lived in the same house as Jerell.

Tyler looked out of the window at the cars whizzing by. Everyone seemed to be rushing: in a hurry to get home, he expected. His vision blurred from the glare of the other cars’ lights. His head felt too heavy for his body. He leaned against the window and rested, the glass cool against his cheek. With his stomach full, and the past few days catching up with him, Tyler drifted off to sleep. 

Reagan glanced across at the kid slumped against the door. The poor boy trusted him; he had no idea what Jerell had sent him to do. 

As he turned his attention back to the road, Reagan wondered what he had become. This was one of Jerell’s tests; if Reagan didn’t sort out Tyler, Jerell wouldn’t have anything to hold over his head; ultimately, Reagan wouldn’t be safe. He understood that. He was out of his depth, but he knew that if he wasn’t the one to get rid of Tyler, Jerell would do it himself, and without a shadow of a doubt, what he did would be far more brutal than Reagan was capable of imagining.

Reagan parked on Wandsworth Road, beside the entrance to Larkhall Park. From this day on, this familiar place was going to be somewhere that he would avoid like the plague. 

Reagan sat back in the driver’s seat, appreciating the silence. Next to him, Tyler slept. Reagan pulled the sleeves of his jumper over his hands to shield them from the cold. Even with the heater turned up full whack, it was freezing. He looked out of the window, noting that the rush-hour traffic was dying down; most of the evening’s commuters were already at home. 

He watched as a tall, lanky man, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, strolled towards him. The man had a bounce to his step and a smile on his face. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Reagan would put money on it that the bloke was going home after a ‘hard’ day pen-pushing at the office. He expected that the bloke lived in one of the over-priced town houses around the corner. He probably had a beautiful wife waiting for him. Reagan could see it now, there would be a proper home-cooked dinner on the table, and he probably had a couple of little sprogs that were all tucked up asleep in their beds. The bloke didn’t know he was born; he had no idea how lucky he was to be walking in his shoes, with the life he lived. He was oblivious to the world that Reagan came from, he thought jealously, as the man strolled merrily past the car, swinging his briefcase as he went.

It pissed Reagan off that money had so much influence. Too little or too much determined just how far you could go in life. Without money you were practically invisible. Around here there were clusters of shitty council estates, grey towers of concrete that conveniently stacked up the dregs of society on top of each other all in one place. Yet only minutes away from these slums, which he had come from, there were million-pound houses where people like that bloke lived the dream, and a dream was all it would ever be for the likes of Reagan. 

Glancing at his watch, he saw it was almost seven. 

Reagan watched Tyler sleeping. His worries seemed to have disappeared from his face, the boy’s constant frown smoothed away. 

Reagan didn’t want to get out of the car, but he knew that he couldn’t delay what needed to be done any longer.

“Ty, wake up.” Reagan nudged Tyler’s arm to rouse the boy.

“What’s up?” Tyler asked as he gathered his bearings and realised that he was still inside the car, with Reagan. He must have been knackered, he thought to himself sleepily; if Reagan hadn’t woken him he could have slept for a week. 

“Where are we?” Tyler asked curiously, trying to work out, through the darkness, which street they were in.

“We’re at Larkhall, Ty. I thought we could go for a little walk,” Reagan said, and then clocking Tyler’s concerned expression, he added: “I thought you might need to talk, you know...” 

When he had woken, Tyler hadn’t recognised the place, normally he went into the park from the other entrance on his BMX, and he had never had any reason to come as far up as this way. Tyler knew the park like the back of his hand. They were called the Larkhall Boys because of the amount of time they all spent there doing the drops for Jerell and Reagan. It was their territory. They did loads of drops at Myatt Fields and Brockwell Park too, but Larkhall was their manor. 

Turning up here wasn’t unusual in itself, but ‘going for a walk’ in Larkhall with Reagan ‘to chat’, wasn’t something that Tyler felt comfortable with, especially as it was freezing cold. But then, when he thought about it, Tyler decided that maybe it was a good thing. Even Reagan suggesting that they talk about stuff meant a lot to Tyler. He needed to get everything off his chest, and maybe Reagan would help him to sort his head out, he really couldn’t cope with holding everything inside himself anymore.

However, after trudging around the park in silence for about ten minutes, Tyler was having second thoughts. It was dark, and there were hardly any people about. A couple of kids had ridden past on their BMXs but Reagan and Tyler hadn’t recognised them, and a few people had been walking their dogs, but other than that it was eerily quiet. Reagan hadn’t said a word, which Tyler was starting to think was strange. 

Tyler could tell that Reagan was uneasy about something; he was walking fast, and his body was tense. Tyler started to question whether maybe he was in trouble; maybe he had pissed Reagan off. But he couldn’t remember doing or saying anything that might have annoyed Reagan, and besides, he had been fine when they were in the car a few minutes earlier. Tyler wondered if Reagan was just waiting for him to start off the conversation in his own time, maybe he thought that he was struggling to find the words. 

“I’m not gay, you know,” Tyler said, as he trudged a foot or so behind, Reagan desperately trying to match his quick pace. Tyler would hate it if people thought that he was gay. 

“I know you ain’t gay, you plank,” Reagan said. He tried to laugh off Tyler’s statement. He tried to block out the fact that he had felt the same emotions that Tyler was feeling, all those years ago when he had been confused about his own abuser.

“He makes me do stuff.” Tyler’s voice was quiet.

Reagan felt his back straighten with tension. He couldn’t deal with this; he hadn’t expected Tyler to want to talk about what had happened; it sent Reagan’s mind all over the place. 

Tyler took Reagan’s silence as his cue to continue. “He scares me, Reagan, when he does these things. He makes me do stuff to him and he says that if I don’t do what he tells me, he’ll really hurt me.” Tyler paused, thinking about the threats that Jerell had made. “He told me about some boy, some young kid back in Jamaica. He said that he’d blabbed his mouth off to his mum about what Jerell had tried to do to him. When Jerell got hold of the kid again, before he came over to England, he told me that he had shoved a broken bottle up inside the kid’s arse and cut up all his insides. Jerell said that the boy’s body will never be found; he’d got away with it. He said he’d do the same to me if I talked, Reagan, said I had to let him do what he wanted.” Tyler was crying now, an unwelcome, steady flow of hot tears trickling down his cheeks. He wanted Reagan to listen; to understand; to take him seriously. Angry with himself for crying, he wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his jumper, but he felt relieved that he had finally told his secret out loud.

Tyler noticed that Reagan’s walk had slowed; he was clearly listening. They had reached a quiet, secluded area of the woods, enclosed by trees. There was no-one else around. 

Reagan was wondering if Jerell’s story was true; he was capable of doing something so horrific, Reagan had witnessed first-hand how cold and callous the man could be. The sight of the severed Polish man’s head, which Jerell had hacked off in front of Reagan and a few of the other boys in the old dusty warehouse, had been the first time that Reagan had seen anyone murdered. It had been brutal and had remained an unwelcome vision in Reagan’s mind that he knew he would never be able to shake off. How he was going to be able to do what Jerell expected now, he had no idea.

Reagan was a few steps ahead of Tyler; he stopped and stood still, facing the other way. He didn’t have much time to strike; the more Tyler spoke, the less Reagan felt that he could go through with the undertaking. His head was telling him to do as Jerell had instructed him before he completely lost his nerve, but his heart was saying that he should be helping the boy. Reagan thought how brave Tyler had been to speak out about what Jerell had done. Even now as an adult, talking about his own abuse was something that Reagan was unable to do.

“You can’t even look at me, can you, Reagan?” Tyler asked, ashamed that he had been so honest. Maybe Reagan hadn’t known about what Jerell was doing afterall.

Reagan was still facing away from him; he was standing like a statue, his back dead straight. He hadn’t said a word. Tyler couldn’t blame him; he must be sickened by what he had just heard. Tyler sat on a mound of grass, nervously picking strands with his fingers, as he waited for Reagan to say something.

Reagan reached under his jumper. The gun Jerell had given him was tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Earlier on, thoughts of doing a runner with Tyler, in Rhys’ car, had crossed his mind, but Reagan knew that there was no point trying to escape, Jerell would eventually catch up with him. Tears sliding down his face, his hands shaking, Reagan slowly turned and faced the boy. This is what it had come to, he thought sadly. He had worked hard to impress Jerell and had quickly climbed to the top of his game: the money, the power, it had all been his. And this was the cost. The rise and fall; you always pay the price in the end.