Tamsyn Murray-My So-Called Haunting (18 page)

‘Why?’ Dontay fired back at me. ‘You said they never listened to Jeremy when he tried to talk to them. What makes you think they’ll listen to you?’

‘That’s because I told him not to give them Nelson’s name, so he wouldn’t get into trouble,’ I said. ‘And look where that got us. We have to trust them. I
can’t do this on my own.’

‘No coppers,’ Dontay replied in a flat voice. ‘Involving them only makes people shoot first and ask questions later. Anyway, you’ve got me.’

But he won’t be much help if bullets start flying around
, a voice whispered in my brain. I thought hard and reached into my blazer. ‘Let me at least text Celestine. Or
Jeremy,’ I said, flipping the handset open. ‘Maybe they can talk to someone at Scotland Yard and —’

Dontay stopped in his tracks and knocked the phone out of my hand. ‘No! They’ll try to stop you going.’

Rubbing my stinging fingers, I knelt down and started to pick up the scattered pieces of my phone. ‘So what exactly do you want me to do? Because Nelson isn’t going to listen to a
word I say, remember?’

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his close-cropped hair. ‘There’s some stuff I haven’t told you. When I realised how tight Nelson was with the gang, I started
following some of the other gang members, listening in on their chats with Shank.’

The tingle in my fingers was subsiding, but anxiety was making me clumsy. I fumbled with the shards of plastic, trying to clip them together. Then I saw that I was fighting a losing battle. The
clips were broken. ‘And?’

‘I know what the plan is. There’s this guy called Tyrone in the Marsh Street Massive who’s been disrespecting Shank big time. He’s been saying how Shank isn’t a
proper gang leader and that the London Fields Posse will never be the top gang in Hackney.’

My hands drifted to my sides, my damaged phone momentarily forgotten. ‘I bet that hasn’t gone down well with Shank.’

He sneered derisively. ‘Yeah, you got that right. So Shank wants to shut Tyrone up. And he’s going to use my brother to do it.’

I stared at him. ‘You mean Nelson has to – hurt Tyrone?’

Dontay’s nod was grim. ‘Last night, he told Nelson that the bullet which killed me came from Tyrone’s gun.’ He swallowed and looked away. ‘Shank said he heard
Tyrone laughing about how I’d cried for my mum when I died. And then Shank told Nelson to go to the scrap metal merchants down by the railway arches and collect a package. He said Tyrone
would be down the snooker hall this afternoon and Nelson could see how much he cried when he bled to death.’

A shudder ran through me at the thought of Dontay in pain and afraid. He was ashamed of crying, I realised, but he had nothing to be embarrassed about. If it had been me who’d been shot,
I’d have screamed until my breath was gone. ‘Do you think he’ll go through with it?’

He shrugged brokenly. ‘He picked up the package this morning.’

I didn’t need Dontay to confirm what had been inside. ‘So Nelson has a gun,’ I said in a flat voice, the blood turning glacial in my veins. ‘Can’t we go to your
parents?’

‘And say what? My mum would freak out and my dad would storm over there and get himself shot.’

‘So what are we going to do?’

His face was a mask of determined misery. ‘We have to stop him, Skye. Either he’s going to shoot Tyrone or he’s going to get himself killed. One way or another, his life will
be over. I can’t let that happen.’

I glanced at my watch. It was half past eleven. We only had a few hours to get across London and stop Nelson becoming another street-crime statistic. Whether we’d make it was
anyone’s guess.

If you’ve ever tried to get from Highgate to Hackney, you’ll know it’s a nightmare. It’s not far if you’ve got wings, but they were in short
supply, and travelling by public transport in the London traffic seemed to take forever. It was a thousand times worse because I didn’t have my earpierce and so couldn’t talk openly to
Dontay while we were on the bus or the train. I was also conscious of the suspicious looks my school uniform was getting – I might as well have had a flashing neon
truant
sign over my
head. By the time we made it to Homerton station, Dontay seemed ready to burst with pent-up frustration, and I knew exactly how he felt. If we stood any chance of stopping Nelson from doing the
unimaginable we needed to catch him before he reached the snooker hall and then find a way to get through to him. But neither of us had the first clue where to start and it was already nearly one
o’clock.

‘Maybe we should head straight to the snooker hall,’ I said. ‘We know he’ll turn up there eventually.’

Dontay nodded and looked me up and down. ‘We should get you off the street. There’s a greasy spoon opposite you can watch from. You won’t stand out so much then.’

We walked silently from the station to the high street, each of us deep in our own heads. From the moment I’d agreed to help Dontay find Nelson, I’d put myself in danger and I knew
Celestine would go mental if she knew. I didn’t see what else I could do, though. If I refused to help then I’d be condemning not only Nelson but Dontay as well, because how could
Dontay move on if his brother was dead?

The snooker hall was sandwiched between a pound shop and a cheap-looking hairdresser’s. The name O’Sullivan’s was picked out on a faded green canopy above the grimy doorway and
I guessed the hall itself must be on the first floor. Just as Dontay had said, there was a café directly opposite and we headed inside. It wasn’t the classiest place I’d ever
been, but it was warm and there was an empty table in the window. I’d barely had time to settle into the hard plastic seat and sip my industrial-strength tea before Dontay raised his arm and
pointed across the street.

‘That’s Tyrone. He’s the one smoking.’

There were three men standing outside the snooker hall. They were older than Dontay – I guessed they must be around twenty. Tyrone was in the middle, a baseball cap pulled low over his
eyes. The other two seemed to be having some kind of argument, but Tyrone wasn’t paying attention. His gaze flicked up and down the street as he dragged on his cigarette. Then he flicked the
butt on to the pavement and jerked his head towards the entrance. The three of them tapped fists and Tyrone disappeared inside, leaving his mates to walk off down the street.

My insides cramped with anxiety. If what Dontay had told me was true, these were dangerous men. What could I possibly hope to achieve on my own?

‘There’s still time to go to the police,’ I whispered.

Dontay shook his head in scorn. ‘They’ll arrest Nelson straight off, and no decent football club will touch him if he’s got a criminal record before they even sign
him.’

He stood even less chance if he was wounded or dead, I wanted to point out, but I kept the thought to myself. Instead, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and met his gaze. ‘I’m
scared, Dontay.’

His shoulders slumped and his expression became pleading. ‘Listen, all you got to do is talk him out of going in there. Then you can call whoever you want.’

I opened my mouth to argue, then saw the workmen at the table next to me casting sneaky glances my way and closed it again. The last thing I needed was to attract more suspicion. I’d have
to put my trust in Dontay and try to forget what had happened the last time I’d trusted someone.

Slouched down in my seat, I made my tea last as long as I could, but it was soon down to the dregs and there was no sign of Nelson. I reached into my pocket and counted up the coins there; I had
enough for one more cup. After that I’d have to find somewhere else for my surveillance. In other circumstances I might have felt a tiny thrill at playing James Bond, but there was too much
at stake – people’s lives for one thing, and quite possibly my own.

I got to my feet to go to the counter and order more tea but Dontay stopped me. ‘He’s here.’

I peered out of the window. Nelson was walking slowly along the other side of the road, head down and eyes fixed on the pavement. Snatching my bag from under the table, I threaded my way to the
door and stepped out into the cold.

‘Nelson!’ I yelled, hoping my voice would carry over the traffic. ‘Wa it!’

He looked around when he heard his name but didn’t stop. Dontay was across the road in a flash; he didn’t have cars and motorbikes to worry about. Fretfully, I waited for a bus to
trundle past before picking my way to the other side. Nelson had almost reached the entrance to O’Sullivan’s. I hitched up my bag and ran towards him.

‘Nelson, I need to talk to you,’ I called, my voice wobbling as my feet pounded the pavement. ‘It’s really important!’

He flicked a dismissive hand at me and kept walking. ‘Save it, yeah? I ain’t listening.’

I threw a despairing glance at Dontay. Now what?

‘Tell him you know about the gun.’ Dontay’s eyes were focused on his brother. ‘Tell him you’ll go to the police.’

Heart pounding, I dug my fingernails into my palms. ‘You’ve got a gun,’ I blurted. ‘The police would be interested to know that.’

Nelson stopped with one hand on the door handle of the snooker hall. He turned slowly and stared at me. ‘Who told you about that?’

I swallowed and raised my chin. ‘The way I heard it, Shank has you doing his dirty work. Do you think that’s what your brother would have wanted?’

Nelson stepped closer. ‘You said that last time. Who do you think you are, deciding what he wanted?’

‘I told you, I was a friend of Dontay’s. He wouldn’t want you to do anything stupid.’

Instantly, I knew I’d said the wrong thing. Nelson’s expression became sneering. ‘I think it ain’t nothing to do with you. So why don’t you go home, before someone
does something stupid to you.’

Before I could respond, he yanked the door of the club open and barged through. It swung closed behind him.

‘Follow him,’ Dontay commanded, agitation colouring his voice. ‘You have to stop him.’

I peered through the grime-covered entrance. ‘How? I’m not old enough to get in.’

‘They shouldn’t let Nelson in either, but they will,’ Dontay said and walked though the door.

Alone on the street, I stared after him and went through my options. Either I could find the nearest policeman and spill the whole story to him, or I could follow Dontay inside and try one more
time to talk Nelson out of doing something he’d regret for the rest of his life, however long that was. Going to the police was the easiest option, but would they react in time? If only my
phone wasn’t broken. I pictured Nelson walking up the stairs right now, drawing his gun as he went. Would he threaten Tyrone first or would he just shoot? What if Tyrone was armed as well, or
one of his mates? The gun-fight would be over before the police even knew about it, let alone stop it. I blinked back tears, chewing my lip anxiously. Deep down I knew I didn’t really have a
choice; I was going inside. I had to do everything I could to stop the madness that was about to unfold. The last time I’d squared up to bullies, Nico had saved me. I doubted anyone would
come to my rescue this time.

The interior of the snooker hall was dark, in spite of the cheap fluorescent lights flickering above our heads. I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. As I’d
guessed, entry to the snooker hall itself was up a staircase behind a cash desk and a solid-looking turnstile. An overweight, bald man in a grubby shirt sat behind the glass screen, watching me
suspiciously. There was no sign of Dontay.

Deciding I’d brazen it out, I folded my arms over my blazer pocket with its conspicuous Heath Park badge and walked towards the desk. ‘I’m a mate of Nelson’s. All right
if I go up?’

The man jerked a thumb at a notice on the wall behind him. ‘Can’t you read? No ID, no entry.’

I scowled. ‘I bet you didn’t ask Nelson for ID.’

An unpleasant smirk crossed the man’s face. ‘He don’t need it. You do.’

It reminded me of the ID Nico had made for me at the Roundhouse. I pushed the memory away and scanned the stairs beyond the turnstile. Even if I’d had Megan’s high-jump skills
I’d have had no chance of clearing the barrier. Seeming to read my mind, the man tapped a baseball bat on the desk in front of him. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Tears of defeat prickled my eyes and I turned away. I had no alternative now but to go to the police. Then Dontay appeared on the stairs and walked through the turnstile.

‘I’ve been looking around. There’s a fire escape around the back. Head to the alleyway, the door’s open a bit.’

The rear of O’Sullivan’s was even more sordid than the front. Rubbish was strewn along the dingy alley and dilapidated boxes were piled up against the walls. I picked my way along
it, trying to work out which doorway would lead to the snooker hall. Something skittered near my feet. I shuddered and tried not to wonder what it had been. I’d heard that Londoners were
never more than two metres from a rat – I didn’t want to think about how much closer I’d just been.

In front, a door edged open and Dontay’s head peered through it, lit by a faint glow. ‘Hurry up.’

Slipping through the gap, I found myself blinking in the gloomy half-light again. ‘I can’t see a thing.’