“The bus that comes through here-does it run on Sunday mornings?”
“Every hour.”
Ruiz takes out his notebook and jots something down. “I’m just doing a little detective work,” he explains. “Two girls went missing from this spot a few years ago. Do you remember the Bingham Girls?”
“Everybody knows about them,” says the brunette, taking a few steps and looking into the car. “Are you really detectives?”
“Working a case.”
“Piper Hadley was a really good runner,” says the tall girl.
“Did you go to the same school?”
“No.”
“What about Natasha McBain?”
“She was just, like, you know…”
“I don’t.”
Eye-rolling. “She had, like, this reputation of being a slag.”
“A wannabe-dot-com,” adds the brunette.
Ruiz glances at me, already tired of talking to the girls.
“My dad thinks they’re, like, dead,” says the tall one.
“Is like dead the same as being really dead?” asks Ruiz.
They look at him blankly.
Further along the road I notice a familiar-looking Vauxhall Cavalier slow and pull over. Tinted windows. Fat tires. Two-up. Toby Kroger and Craig Gould emerge. Gould is wearing stylized baggy pants, a leather jacket and an oversized T-shirt like he’s an LA gangbanger an ocean away from home. Kroger has on the same cotton hoodie and battered jeans that I saw him in two days ago.
“Afternoon, ladies,” he says, grabbing the crotch of his jeans. “Are these old pervs hassling you?”
The taller girl giggles. The brunette stands with one foot behind the other, pushing her breasts forward.
Opening the car door, I join Ruiz on the footpath.
“You know these clowns?” he asks.
“The local yoof.”
Kroger tugs at his hood, pulling it over the brim of his baseball cap.
“I like your hoodie,” says Ruiz. “Justin Bieber wears one just like that.”
The girls are giggling.
Kroger takes a moment to formulate a response, peeling back his lips to show splinters of gold in his teeth.
“Two girls were kidnapped around here, so when we see two old guys putting the hard word on local girls, we get concerned.” He winks at Gould and then at the brunette. “We’re like guardian angels.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” says Ruiz. “They’re angels. I don’t see any wings. You know what they say about angels with small wings?”
Kroger’s eyes seem to click open and his feet are set before he swings. His fist bounces off the side of Ruiz’s head. That was his one half-chance. Before he can set himself again, he’s doubled over with a fist deep in his stomach and no air in his lungs.
With the minimum of fuss, Ruiz twists Kroger’s arm behind his back. A shirt button pops loose and rolls into the gutter where it spins like a bottle top.
I don’t see Gould’s arm move. He punches me hard in the side of the face and I fall against the car, bouncing onto my backside. My jaw is simultaneously numb and on fire.
Ruiz pulls me up. He’s still holding Kroger and nearby Gould has curled up on the pavement, shielding his head.
“A hundred thousand sperm and you guys were the fittest. It makes you start to question Darwin’s theories, doesn’t it? Survival of the fittest. Natural selection.” Then he addresses the girls. “Maybe you should run along now. Careful how you go.”
They leave quickly, short skirts swinging against their thighs.
“This is assault,” whines Kroger.
“I didn’t throw the first punch.”
Gould is still lying on the ground, moaning slightly, his teeth like a row of dirty pebbles.
Ruiz speaks next. “We can play this one of two ways, lads. We can call the police, take statements, lay charges, meet up again in court… or you can run off home.”
Kroger and Gould look at each other. Ruiz makes a buzzer sound. “Time’s up.”
He walks away and opens the car door.
“Try not to let your minds wander, lads. They’re too small to be out on their own.”
If a broken mirror can bring seven years of bad luck, what’s the penance for breaking someone’s body? On the scale of sins, how do you measure something like that? How many Hail Marys and Our Fathers?
Callum Loach got crippled and Aiden Foster went to jail. That’s when Tash’s life turned to shit. They say a person’s life can spin on one event-one chance meeting or a mistake or a piece of good luck. It’s true. I don’t believe in fate or destiny, but sheer blind-arsed bad luck… that’s another story.
Tash had been sort of dating Aiden Foster for three months when it happened. I say “sort of” because nobody ever formalizes these things. It’s not like those American teen movies where people badge each other or swap college rings.
Aiden was four years older and one of Hayden’s friends. They would have been in the same year at school if Aiden hadn’t left after GCSEs to become an apprentice at his father’s garage. He always had dirty fingernails, which turned me off, but Tash didn’t seem to mind.
She liked making him jealous. She could do it without even trying. Aiden was jealous of her clothes because they got to touch her skin all day. That’s what he said. And he even carried a pair of her panties around in his pocket, used ones, which is just plain creepy.
He was also a complete tosser most of the time. He had his hair gelled back like he was standing in a howling wind or skydiving. And he thought he was hot shit because he played guitar in a band, which used to get hired to play at parties, mostly by friends. Eighteenths. Twenty-firsts.
That’s why we went to the party in Abingdon. It was somebody’s birthday. I lied to Mum and Dad and said I was spending the night with Tash. Aiden picked us up in his car. He drove the whole way with his hand sliding up and down Tash’s thigh.
The party was at a big old house near the center of Abingdon with arches over the doors and windows. The place was full of college-age kids; boys with crew cuts and leather jackets and girls in postage-stamp dresses smelling of Pantene and cigarettes.
Tash was in a good mood. She was younger than any girl at the party (and prettier) but nobody was going to kick her out. Hayden had given her some stuff to sell and she road-tested the merchandise in advance. Her eyes were like black marbles and she was swaying and giggling.
A guy called Simon tried to chat me up by telling me dirty jokes. I stopped him halfway through and said I’d heard the joke before.
“What’s the punchline then?”
“I can’t remember,” I said. “But I know I’ve heard it before.”
“When was the last time you laughed?”
“Yesterday. Eleven thirty-four a.m. And I’m gonna laugh tomorrow when I think about you.”
He left me alone then, muttering something under his breath.
People were smoking and drinking and popping pills. I recognized some of them from school, but they were way ahead of me.
Tash was dancing with Aiden, grinding against him until he was drooling in her ear. Aiden’s friends were watching her, particularly Toby Kroger and Craig Gould. Craig was always looking at Tash in a funny way, like he was hungry and she was a Big Mac and fries.
Aiden and Tash disappeared for a while. They went upstairs. Tash came back fifteen minutes later, carrying her shoes. She kissed me, wrapping her arms around me and pushing her tongue hard against mine, before pulling
