Escape was not an option. Mexico was a long fucking way away. Across the road curtains twitched and I knew what my nosy neighbours were thinking. His Mum has only been gone five minutes and look…
I coolly turned back towards my front door and looked at the key still swinging in the lock. I turned the key and opened the door.
I walked into my house and shut the door in all their fucking faces.
I think it was due. It had to be. I’d been on easy street for as long as I could remember. Even back at school I did pretty much whatever the fuck I wanted to‚ and I never ever found myself in detention or in the headmaster’s office. I don’t know why that was. I think maybe I had some charm‚ or an innocent face or whatever‚ but shit never seemed to stick to me. Teachers left me alone‚ bullies didn’t target me‚ and to an extent Mum let me be too. I just never got busted. Until now.
The four little pigs knocked on my door and I answered it‚ nonchalantly eating a Twix. They didn’t seem too chuffed at having the door shut in their faces. A uniform reached across with handcuffs. I still had one full stick of Twix remaining so I clamped it between my teeth as they secured my wrists behind me.
I was escorted out the front door and the twitching curtains had progressed to some of my neighbours standing out on their front porches‚ gawping.
I think maybe it’s the rap music or the too many viewings of Scarface‚ but I acted like a man without a care in the world. I walked confidently with my chest out‚ the Twix hanging from my mouth like a Cuban Cigar‚ my steps measured and my gait straight up gangster.
Better that than the world seeing me cry.
*
With my hands cuffed behind me‚ I was sliding all over the place on the leather seat every time we took a turning. We reached a junction and stopped at the traffic lights‚ and it took me a moment to realise that we were in the wrong lane. Hounslow police station was to the right but we were out in the left lane. I shifted around in my seat and looked out of the rear window‚ just as the patrol car left its position as sentry and manoeuvred next to us in the correct lane. I noticed my driver give the uniform the slightest of nods as the traffic lights turned green and the patrol car turned towards the police station. And we went in the opposite direction.
I waited a minute‚ thinking maybe there was another car park for unmarked police cars. When that didn’t materialise my mind went into overdrive. I couldn’t think of one rational reason why they wouldn’t have taken me to Hounslow Nick and then with a jolt I realised that when they had arrested me‚ they hadn’t read out my rights or my charges.
I started to see signs for Isleworth and then Brentford and the next thing I knew we were on the fucking motorway.
‘Where we going?’ I was frightened as to what the response might be. And they gave me the most unnerving response possible.
Silence.
I looked at the back of their heads. I could see their side profiles and they carried no-nonsense‚ business-like expressions on their faces.
They definitely weren’t the police and this was definitely not an arrest.
Was I was getting kidnapped? I know how that sounded‚ but I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Could this be Silas’ doing? He had always been one for the dramatics but I still had two days left before my deadline.
I positioned myself so I had my back towards the door and I could just about grip the handle. But then what? Even if they hadn’t locked me in‚ what was I going to do? Jump out onto the motorway with the car doing north of seventy? I glanced around the car‚ desperately searching for other options. A boot to the side of the driver’s face would cause the car to veer‚ leading to a possible distraction. But at this speed‚ on the motorway‚ with a Heavy Goods Vehicle in the next lane‚ there was every chance that I could end up in a far worse situation than I was in already.
My shoulders ached because of the unnatural position my chained hands were in. If shit kicked off and I had to defend myself‚ I would have no chance with my hands trapped behind my back. I had to try and bring them to my front. I pushed my shoulders back as far as they could go and tried to slide my hands from underneath. It was a tricky manoeuvre and I almost popped my shoulder at one point. Hollywood made everything look so easy. I was seriously out of breath and my hands were now trapped under my arse. Every muscle in my upper body screamed to give up. So I did.
The car started to slow down without any obvious reason‚ there was no traffic for as far as I could see and there wasn’t an exit for them to take. The driver indicated left and pulled over onto the hard shoulder.
That really threw me. Were they going to beat me‚ or worse‚ right there on the hard shoulder‚ with hundreds of witnesses driving past? This was bordering on the bizarre and if it wasn’t for the pain racing through my shoulder I would have had this down as some sort of cheese-induced dream.
I heard the loud growl of an engine and I turned back to see a serious-looking black motorbike pull up a few feet behind us. The rider walked towards the car. He was still wearing his helmet and in his other hand he held another. The couple opened their doors and got out of the car. They stood in a tight triangle by the side of the car. The rider handed the woman the spare helmet‚ and I saw him reach up and take his own helmet off and hand that to the man‚ as well as the keys to the bike. I couldn’t see his face but he was tall and powerfully built. I watched as the couple mounted the motorbike and rode off. The driver’s side door opened and the rider climbed in.
He turned and faced me and his dark‚ dead eyes seemed to look right through me.
*
You know when you give somebody cut eyes. That look‚ that glare. The one that says in no uncertain terms that I am not scared of you. You should be scared of me. In my world that look is second nature. It took me a while to perfect it‚ and I used it as a weapon. I could tell you about any number of occasions when I’ve got out of scrapes and misunderstandings just by shutting somebody down with that look. Eyes slightly narrowed‚ grinding teeth‚ jaw clamped tight. Measured and menacing. I had it down to a fine art.
But this guy… Forget about it.
He looked at me as if I wasn’t there. His eyelids drooped in a way that cried out for sleep. The whites of his eyes were tinged with yellow and his pupils were two black holes. His face made him look older than his body would have you believe. I couldn’t compete and I dropped eye contact almost immediately.
‘Javid Qasim.’ Not a question. He knew me.
‘Yeah‚’ I said‚ without sound. I swallowed and said it again‚ with as much confidence as I could. ‘Yeah.’
He reached into the pocket of his trampy pea coat.
‘Turn around.’
‘Fuck you.’ I hissed. False bravado making an appearance.
He pulled his hand from his pocket and I recoiled. He was holding up a small key. ‘Turn around.’ This time I did and he removed my handcuffs.
‘Thanks.’ I muttered‚ as I twisted my wrists‚ trying to get the blood circulating back into them.
