Riot Act

“Yeah.” He’d seen, of course, that I was alone and gave me a lopsided smile that suddenly took ten years off his harsh features. “And Roger?” he asked.

“Long gone, I’m afraid,” I said shortly, half-heartedly batting some of the brickdust and extinguisher powder from my jogging pants. It was a losing battle. “What about Nasir?”

“The other kid? Likewise,” he said wryly. “He freed the blockage and his aim seemed to be getting better with practise. I came down strongly in favour of tactical retreat.”

I shrugged and walked past him, wanting to check on the external cabinet that housed the electricity meter, which was on the front of the building. Even without benefit of a torch I could clearly see that the cover was hanging off and the main circuit breaker had been thrown.

“They knew just where to look,” Sean commented quietly from behind me.

“Hardly surprising,” I pointed out, without turning round, “seeing as how Nasir’s an electrician.”

“Who was he, the other kid?”

“Nasir Gadatra. He’s the son of my next-door neighbour,” I filled in. “He and your baby brother seem to be big mates.”

Sean didn’t answer, so I clicked the power on again and the fluorescent tubes inside the gym vibrated back into life. We went in to survey the damage. I was expecting it to be bad, and I wasn’t destined to be disappointed.

The now-defunct extinguisher lay on its side on the floor at the epicentre of a sea of the pinkish white powder. The stuff had coated the carpet in the immediate area so thick you couldn’t tell the original colour of the weave. It had blasted up onto the walls too, and layered round the machinery like dust in an old abandoned crypt.

We left trails of footprints as we moved into the main gym area. I noticed that the weight I’d chucked at the boys had splintered part of the wood panelling that Attila had used to line the lower half of the brick walls. I swore under my breath.

Sean bent and picked up the extinguisher. “This your idea?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “It seemed like a good one at the time. No doubt I’ll have to get the damn thing refilled.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Sean said, and something in his voice made me turn. He was staring at the cylinder in his hands. When I looked, I saw a big raw gouge out of the side, slicing through the paint like skin to the metal underneath. “You were lucky, Charlie,” he said, voice sober. “The round glanced off it rather than penetrated the steel. If this thing had gone up it would have taken your arms off.”

No, I thought, I had it on my shoulder at the time. It would have blown my damned head off instead . . .

I swallowed and didn’t comment on that one. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot I could say. But my legs suddenly felt a lot less steady than they had done, before Sean had pointed it out.

I glanced round, pulling a face, distracting myself with the practical. “I suppose I’d better call the police,” I said wearily.

“No.”

The denial was too instant, too emphatic. It stilled me, brought my head up. Sean put the extinguisher down, moved in. I had to fight the temptation not to back away from him. I remembered what had happened the last time I’d let him get too close, even after four years. God, he even smelt the same.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me why the hell I shouldn’t?” I inquired, my voice low with resentment.

I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. Liquid black eyes, deep enough to drown in. “He may be your kid brother, but he and his mate have just tried to kill me. That’s not something you can just sweet-talk your way out of, you know.”

He sighed, hunching his shoulders. “I realise that, Charlie, but I’d like some time to find out why.”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that,” I said. “Does Roger think I got him beaten up, is that it?” The last time I’d spoken with Nasir in the back garden he’d certainly seemed to think I was responsible, however indirectly.

Sean shook his head. “He didn’t say so, but he was in a pretty bad way when we got him home.” His face closed in for a moment, cold and hard at the memory. “He says he doesn’t remember much, and he certainly isn’t aware that you tried to help him.”

“If I’d known who he was at the time,” I said bitterly, “I might not have done.”

Sean cast me a searching gaze. “Why? Because he hurt one of your neighbours?” he asked, still grim. “Or because he’s my brother?”

“Well now,” I said softly, “there’s a loaded question.”

I tired of the stare-out contest first, breaking away to do another sweep of the gym. “Besides, it’s out of my hands whether the police are involved or not. I’ll have to call Attila about this, and then it’ll be up to him.”

To my surprise, Sean broke into a smile. “This place belongs to Attila, does it?” he said. “Me and him go way back. I think I can persuade him to give me a few days to try and straighten things out.”

I shrugged and turned away. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that Sean was acting on his own motives, without any regard for me. Running true to form.

I moved to the phone on the counter and dialled Attila’s home number. He agreed to come at once when I gave him the outlines of what had happened, then he asked to speak to Sean. I held the receiver out to him without speaking, and left them to their man-to-man chat while I went to shower and change out of my dirty clothes.

When I came back, in my bike leather jeans and the fresh shirt I always kept in my locker, Sean had finished the call, and was sitting on one of the cleaner benches, surveying the mess. “Attila’s on his way over to secure the place,” he told me. “He says no police.”

“There’s a surprise,” I said dryly, plonking my helmet and jacket down on the counter.

Sean paused for a moment. “I assume you got my message the other night, Charlie,” he said carefully. “I meant what I said. We’ve unfinished business you and I.”

“Oh, I think things are well finished between us, don’t you, Sean?” I said, keeping my voice brisk. “There’s nothing more to be said or done. It was a mistake. A big mistake that cost me dear, and it’s not one I intend making again.”

Sean regarded me sadly, his head on one side, suddenly looking older.

“I thought I knew you, Charlie,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t even close, was I?”

“Yeah, well, people change,” I bit back, fatigued. I was in no mood for some clever verbal fencing.

“I never would have believed you’d change so far, or so fast,” he said. “What happened to make you so bitter?”

I stared. How could he ask that when he knew damn well what had gone on? What game was he playing now? He may not have started events rolling, but he’d sure as hell given them a push on their way down hill. Old resentment surfaced unexpectedly.

“What happened?” I struggled to keep my voice level. “I got thrown out of training, Returned To Unit in disgrace, and muscled out of my career. What the hell do you think happened?”

“And you think I’m to blame for you being RTU’d?” My God, he even sounded affronted. “You think that justifies you crying rape?”

Crying rape? Did he really think none of it happened? That I’d made the whole thing up? Suddenly I was tired of all this side-stepping, this careful dodging round the point without ever getting right down to it.

“Get out, Sean,” I said, quiet and flat, not meeting his eyes.

He stood up, moved to come past me, then changed his mind, whirling fast, angry, and catching hold of my upper arms. “Talk to me, Charlie,” he demanded. “I need answers from you and I can’t deal with your silence.”

Instinctively, I brought my forearms up to break his grip. His hands slid off my shoulders, but his fingers stayed wrapped in my shirt, stretching it back away from my throat.

He stiffened abruptly, and I knew he’d seen the scar. That close he’d have to have been blind not to have noticed something that looked like an Ordnance Survey map of a railway line running halfway round the side of my neck.

“Christ. Jesus,” he whispered. “What happened to you?” He reached out tentatively to touch it, as though it might have been a trick of the light.