neatly side-parted‚ and you would never notice a difference in growth. His trousers were relaxed and patterned‚ the type that wouldn’t look out of place hitting balls on the green. On his feet you would find delicate suede slip-ons with tassels. He lived in a house. A very big house. In the suburbs. Double fronted with enough space in his drive to comfortably park five cars‚ which was just as well as he owned five cars. He lived alone. Just him and his cook and his security and his hairdresser. There were always girls hanging around too. He clearly had a type. Tall‚ Amazonian‚ muscular looking girls‚ tottering around in impossibly high heels and little more. Rumour had it that Silas had his own private strip club in the basement. It was the closest thing I’d seen to the Playboy mansion. But Hugh Hefner he was not. Silas looked expensive and Silas smelt expensive and he drove and he lived expensive. He was polite and well-spoken and he controlled‚ what? Maybe sixty per cent of any narcotic sold in West London. It all went through him. Weed‚ Skunk‚ Coke‚ H‚ Uppers‚ Downers‚ Lefties‚ Righties‚ Viagra‚ Valium and any other mind-bending‚ thought-invoking‚ impotence-zapping substance that you could think of. Also‚ and this was just whispers‚ but I’d heard that he had a small arsenal tucked away somewhere. And when I say small‚ I mean huge. Enough to make Rambo blush.
I peered out of the bus window as the Odeon on the high street slipped past me. The so-called revenge attacks didn’t seem to have hit Kingston. There were clubbers and night-goers and general happiness in full effect.
I was relieved to be away from Khan and Parvez and into relative peace. Fucking jokers with their fucking half-arsed plan. And who suffered? Me‚ that’s who. And if I didn’t have my story straight then there was a whole lot more of suffering coming my way. If Silas so much as had an inkling that I was blagging‚ then I guess I would soon be able to confirm whether he did indeed have a huge arsenal‚ as it would be pointing at my fucking head. So bullshit to one side‚ I decided to come clean.
The bus stopped. It had to‚ it was the last stop. End of its journey‚ and quite possibly the end of mine.
Big‚ burly and black is how I would describe Staples‚ the sentry that stood guard outside Silas’ place. He’d earned his nickname for his penchant for using a stapler in a somewhat unorthodox manner – eyes‚ mouth‚ ears‚ nostrils and any other orifice that needed stapling shut. He was a tough motherfucker. Tough enough to scare away any would be chancers‚ and tough enough not to think a jacket necessary‚ even though‚ through his tight T-shirt‚ his nipples told a different story.
‘Staples‚’ I said‚ smiling brightly. ‘I’m getting cold just looking at you.’ He smirked at me and we carried out a complicated handshake.
‘You’re late‚ Jay‚’ Staples said. ‘Gaffer been waiting for you for time.’
I checked the time on my phone. Past midnight‚ just. I looked up at Staples and tried to gauge Silas’ mood through him.
‘Car trouble‚ man‚’ I said‚ and shrugged nonchalantly.
‘The fuck happened to your face?’ I touched the side of my head and felt blood seeping from it and instantly felt light-headed. ‘I hope you haven’t been dripping claret all over the fucking drive‚ Jay.’ I took out the already bloody tissue from my pocket and held it to my head. ‘That’s disgusting‚ Jay. Hang on.’ He took out a bulky walkie-talkie from his back pocket and spoke into it. ‘Serenity. Get your beautiful behind into the hallway and bring your first-aid kit.’ Staples moved his bulk away from the door and let me into the hallway. ‘Wait here. Serenity will see to you… And Jay?’
‘What?’
‘Smarten the fuck up next time. You’re bringing down the house prices.’
I was sat in the most supremely comfortable grand armchair. Somewhere in the background Sinatra was telling me that he did it his way. Two perfectly formed‚ cosmetically enhanced breasts hovered precariously‚ inches away from my face‚ with a thin silver chain and pendant that read Serenity nestled between them. The keeper of the breasts fussed around my wound as she gently and expertly applied a small bandage to it.
‘There‚’ she said‚ admiring her handiwork. ‘Try not to touch it‚ you don’t want to infect it now.’ She strutted away and my eyes tracked her until she tottered out of view.
‘Isn’t she just a peach?’
I followed the voice and realised that Silas was sitting directly opposite me in an even grander and more ostentatious armchair than mine. He was in a black robe with a gold trim‚ parted just enough that I could see his hairless bird chest. One leg was up on the chair‚ with his bare foot planted on a velvet cushion as he cleaned out his toes with the blade of a nail cutter. Once satisfied‚ he blew the top of the blade towards me and dropped his leg to the floor‚ his foot finding comfort in a blue suede loafer. He crossed his legs and his silk maroon pyjama rode up to reveal a pale white ankle.
‘Silas. Sorry‚ I didn’t notice you‚’ I said‚ and instantly regretted it.
‘I don’t blame you‚ Jay. Serenity has that effect. As beautiful as she is caring‚’ Silas said‚ fondly. If he was offended‚ he didn’t show it. My finger reached for the side of my head. ‘Don’t mess with it. Let it heal naturally. You do not want to get on Serenity’s bad side.’
I put my hand down on my lap and tried to look comfortable.
‘I met her when I was getting my appendix taken out‚’ Silas continued. ‘As I was lying on the hospital bed coming to‚ there she was‚ standing over me. Larger than life and as beautiful as the Devil could have made her.’ Silas’ gaze flitted away from me‚ lost somewhere in the distance. ‘Naturally I offered her a job and I provided her with a cute little uniform and all the kit a nurse could require. Her husband decided to demonstrate his displeasure by one night turning up here‚ unannounced. Unfortunately at the time she was going way beyond the call of duty. Staples did what Staples does best‚ and he left with his eyes and mouth stapled shut.’
Silas smiled.
I smiled back.
‘Jay‚’ he said.
‘Yes‚’ I said.
‘Where the fuck is my money?’
Here we go.
Even though I was planning to go with the truth‚ I had rehearsed it in a manner that would buy me some sympathy. A ticking off maybe but ultimately a shit happens response from him.
‘Now‚ I’m no Sherlock Holmes.’ Silas said. ‘Shit‚ Jay‚ I’m not even Watson. But I didn’t see you pull up in your car and I don’t see a bag. I’m pretty sure that you haven’t got my cash or my gear in your pockets. So I surmise… No‚ I deduce that you are empty handed. Feel free to correct me.’
I just sat there. I was speechless. I was without the power of speech. Elmsleigh Car Park‚ there was a brawl. Khan and Parvez dragged me there. No‚ no‚ start with the mosque. There was an attack at my local mosque and…
‘Speak‚ motherfucker!’ Silas said‚ shattering my reverie.
‘My car… It… It got jacked‚’ I stuttered‚ well aware of the
