‘Fuck off, you ginger twat!’ the boy said.
Mallory wasn’t going to take that; he grabbed the boy’s shirt and ripped off two buttons.
This was all the boy needed to explode. There was so much going on in his head. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to have a good scrap. His mother, Mel, had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer a few months ago. The previous night, she had been taken away to something called a hospice near Llancastell. Auntie Pat said it was a bit like a hospital, but the boy wasn’t stupid. He knew she was dying. She looked awful. He had taken her hand, which was cold and bony, and looked into her face that seemed to have gone grey. She had promised that the boy could come and visit in the next day or so when she had settled in.
His dad, Rhys, seemed to act like his mum’s illness was just a massive pain in the arse for him. He huffed and rolled his eyes behind her back. The army had given him compassionate leave but he spent his time in the pub. He was a prick and the boy hated him.
CRACK.
The boy caught Mallory with a right hook straight on the jawbone. He must have hit him hard because his knuckles hurt like hell. Mallory clutched his face and then kicked him in the shin. The pain seared up his leg. The boy didn’t care. His dad had beaten him a few times when he was drunk. He knew how to hide that he was hurt.
Launching himself forward, the boy grabbed Mallory and bundled him to the ground. He sat on top of him, pinning him to the tarmac. Jabbing him on the nose with his fist, the boy saw blood trickle from Mallory’s nostril. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he killed Mallory. He was a wanker with posh parents. They went on foreign holidays and had a nice car. Mallory’s dad, Kev, helped to train the school rugby team and was always laughing and joking with the boys. Everyone liked Kev.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ a voice thundered over them.
The boy glanced up to see the new Headteacher, Mr Williams. He had only been there since September and was rarely seen out of his office.
Feeling no fear, the boy was looking forward to getting into trouble. Anything to change the way he was feeling. He looked down again and punched Mallory in the mouth.
‘That’s enough!’ Mr Williams yelled as he pulled the boy to his feet. ‘Stand there!’
The boy stood to one side trying to close his shirt where Mallory had ripped it open. He felt the knot on his tie which had been pulled tight in the scuffle.
Mr Williams’ eyes narrowed as he glared at Mallory who was wiping blood from his nose. ‘Steven. I’m really surprised at you!’
Of course the new Head already knew Steven Mallory’s name! He and Kev Mallory were probably friends. That’s how it worked.
‘I didn’t start it, sir,’ Mallory whined.
‘I don’t care who started it.’ Mr Williams looked at the boy. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Nick, sir,’ the boy said with a defiant glare.
‘Nick what?’ Mr Williams enquired.
‘Nick Evans,’ the boy said.
‘My office. Both of you. Now!’
CHAPTER 1
Croxteth Park, Liverpool L12
31st December 1999
Curtis Blake sat in the back of the BMW with his brother Shaun. Now aged eighteen, Curtis had his jet black hair shaved close to the bone like ‘our kid’s’. His face was olive skinned, handsome and chiselled, his eyes blue and piercing. His aunts always commented on his long eyelashes and how he was ‘...going to break some hearts’. He had a scar just above his left eyebrow from a knife fight when he was fourteen.
Despite all his bravado, Curtis could feel the tension growing in his stomach. Tonight was a big night – they had to get it right. If he was honest, he was terrified. Maybe he should have had a drink or a line? Shaun said they had to stay sharp or they’d get hurt.
In the front of the car were their mates, John ‘Sparrow’ Carragher and Steven ‘Chuck’ Armstrong. As a fledgling gang, they were gaining a reputation for violence, drugs and crime. Watching The Abbey pub as the New Year Millennium party got into the swing of things, the gang were waiting to make their move. Even from where they were, the reverberating sound of the bass was loud. Curtis could see it was pissing Shaun off. He just wanted to get on with it. But that was Shaun. A hothead. No patience for anything. Curtis didn’t want Shaun to know how scared he actually was. It was important that he gained his older brother’s respect tonight.
On the nearby estates, the Curtis brothers, Sparrow, and Chuck were now referred to as the Croxteth Park Boyz, but Curtis Blake wasn’t happy about this notoriety. Even though he was glad they had a reputation, Curtis was also savvy enough to want to keep under the radar of both the police and the larger, more established gangs in Liverpool. That’s what the other faces round there didn’t understand. They were all about giving it ‘the big I am’. They bragged about what they did – they were flash, mouthy and bloody stupid. They swaggered around like God’s fucking gift, but that got them noticed. And getting noticed got you into jail or dead. It had only been a month since Wayne ‘Fat Boy’ Kay was found in Bootle with two bullets in his head. Kay, only seventeen, had got into a road rage incident with two men in their fifties. When challenged, Kay waved a knife around, said the two men didn’t know who they were messing with and he would come and kill their kids. The men were part of the Keane family, an Irish gang that went back to the fifties. Two
