husband… Somebody’s brother… Somebody’s father.
The fight went out of Parker as quickly as it had arrived. He turned his attention back to the girl. She took a tentative step towards him‚ and another‚ moving faster with each step‚ almost running towards him. Parker holstered his piece and opened his arms knowing she needed him and he needed to hug her‚ that this was the embrace he had been craving‚ the embrace which just for a minute would make him forget where and who he was‚ and would dispel the nightmares.
He felt tears spike his eyes. The little girl ran towards him‚ and with as much force as a child could muster‚ kicked him in the shin and continued running. It was bloody agony and Parker hopped on one leg‚ trying to hold his shin‚ and then stumbled onto the ground on his back.
He laid in the dust and laughed loudly and didn’t care who heard him‚ didn’t care about the fact that there were three dead bodies alongside him with their eyes open staring up into the beautiful night.
It turned out one of the men that he had killed was a high-value target‚ according to the deck of playing cards he carried with him at all times. 9 of Clubs. Mahmud Al-Aziz. When this story did the rounds back at headquarters‚ how he took out three Kalashnikov-carrying Iraqi insurgents with only a Browning‚ his nickname was born. Quick on the draw. Chalk.
That was the last time Kingsley ‘Chalk’ Parker had fired a weapon in anger.
*
A little over a decade later‚ after heavy counselling‚ and after resigning his commission‚ Parker found himself working for MI5.
Demons compartmentalised.
It was due largely to the one man that Parker trusted without question‚ that he had allowed himself back into an ongoing war. Major General Sinclair Stewart had played a big role in convincing Parker and‚ in some part‚ convincing the Director of Counter Terrorism at MI5‚ that Parker would be key in locating and capturing The Teacher‚ their highest target and the leader of the terrorist group Ghurfat-al-Mudarris.
Not much had been known about The Teacher but he was assumed to be responsible for a number of attacks that had taken place‚ solely against the West. Many of those who worked under his command‚ who were involved directly in the attacks‚ were British Muslims‚ based in Luton‚ Blackburn‚ Coventry and London. Some died in the name of religion‚ others were detained. But none spoke. That was the respect that The Teacher commanded from his pupils.
*
‘Some activity‚ sir‚’ said the voice on the phone. His name was Teddy Lawrence. He was new to the job and already pissed off with the bullshit of the no-value‚ no-purpose surveillance he was tasked with. ‘You know about the attack on Sutton Mosque?’
‘I do‚’ said Parker. ‘Our boy was there?’
‘That’s affirmative. For almost five hours. Cleaning operation‚ started small but escalated quickly.’
‘I can imagine… Who do we like for it?’
‘I’m not sure‚ sir. It’s being looked into. Just vandals I guess‚ sir.’
‘This is more than that‚ Lawrence. This could get nasty. It will get nasty. The Muslim community will without doubt take action.’
‘I agree‚ but whatever happens will be domestic. It’s not our place… Not yet.’
‘Anything else?’ Parker asked.
‘There’s a meet tonight at twenty-hundred hours at Ali’s Diner in Cranford‚ West London. Not far from Heathrow Airport.’
‘Keep eyes on our boy. He may make an appearance.’
Hesitation. A barely heard sigh. ‘Yes‚ sir.’
‘What is it?’ Parker asked.
‘We’ve been on him for twenty-one days. He’s low key. Just another dealer. I don’t know what to tell you. Nothing to report‚ nothing sticks out.’
‘Stay on him‚’ Parker instructed. ‘He’s the one.’
Ali’s Diner is a place where everyone knows your name. And your business. It’s not often that you see an unfamiliar face in there. Mosque goers‚ students‚ Aunty-Jis and Uncle-Ji’s‚ the Somalis‚ the small Irish contingent that operate out of the neighbouring estate agents‚ all frequent visitors. There are other eateries close by‚ but between Ali’s famous Volcano Burger and the Tawa Chicken Wrap they have no chance of long term survival.
Shishas‚ normally lined up against every wall‚ had been removed and replaced by more chairs and tables. Ali knew it was going to be a busy one‚ and Ali wasn’t one to miss a trick.
He was right‚ the place was rocking. Packed to the rafters. Ali usually flies solo but that day he had a small team of three assisting him. The stench of grease and meat attacked my senses and put me off my fried chicken. It hadn’t even turned eight and there we all were. United. And evidently hungry. The door opened with a jaunty chime‚ all eyes moved in sync towards it and the draught blew in the self-titled badass that is Khan Abdul. He was flanked by two equally mean-looking characters known as The Twins. They weren’t actually twins. In fact they couldn’t have looked more different. It was just a moniker that sounded vaguely cool based on the fact that they did everything together. Khan stood at the door and waited for everyone to take him in. Some of the older lot got up and heartily shook his hand and the younger lot looked up at him in awe‚ not yet having earned the respect to approach him.
Personally‚ I thought he was a twat. I wanted to share that thought with Parvez‚ who was sat opposite me‚ but with the way his mouth was open and his eyes twinkled‚ it was as if a Paki Father Christmas had just walked in.
Khan approached the counter and Ali greeted him with a masala chai. He took it in his meaty hand and sipped from it‚ scoping the room over the rim‚ ready to address his audience. The three of them were dressed almost identically‚ black baggy clique jeans and market-bought black leather jackets. There was enough leather to offend the Hindus and embarrass McDonalds. They looked like they had just stepped out of the nineties. That was my problem with Khan. He had never quite left that era‚ he had never quite grown up.
Around maybe the mid-nineties‚ Khan Abdul was part of the SL1 Crew. A gang mainly comprised of Muslim youths‚ some students and others on the dole. They operated out of Langley‚ Slough. The Holy Smokes and the Tooti Nungs‚ who ran Southall at that time‚ were comprised mainly of Sikhs and Hindus. So‚ not to be outdone‚ some dumb Pakis formed the SL1 Crew and like some fucked up Robin Hood and his Muslim Men‚ they got up to all sorts. But unlike the Smokes and the Nungs‚ they had no agenda. Well‚ no‚ that’s not true. The SL1 Crew did have an agenda. Trouble and Strife.
Local Muslim business encounters non-Muslim competition.
They stepped in.
Mixed relationship between a Muslim and a non-Muslim.
They stepped in.
Racially
