Riot Act

something like that, for God’s sake?

I walked out of the estate under the same subtle surveillance that I’d entered it, and crossed the derelict area marking the boundaries without looking up, past the rows of abandoned, boarded up houses that marked the centre of No Man’s Land.

It was only when I’d gone a street or two into Lavender Gardens that my instincts coughed loudly enough to finally attract my attention.

By that time, of course, it was far too late to do much about it.

There was a gang of six Asian boys surrounding me, early teens by the look of them. Four in front, and two already circling behind. They moved suddenly out of gaps and appeared round pieces of broken fencing, approaching me with determination and purpose. I recognised only one of them, the boy with the dyed blond hair.

I took a good look around me, and realised with mounting unease that I was well trapped in a secluded alley with tumble-down garaging down one side. It was almost identical to the sort of place where Roger had been beaten up by Garton-Jones’s men. Somehow, I doubted Sean and Madeleine would come galloping to my rescue this time.

For a while nobody moved, and I took my time assessing the situation, but my escape routes were blocked. Outwardly, I did my best to stay calm, even as I was inwardly cursing my own stupidity.

Automatically, I focused on the blond-haired leader. Close to, he was a few years younger than I’d thought. He’d managed to scrape enough facial fluff together to cultivate a bit of an artistic beard and moustache combo, and was probably the eldest of the bunch. That said, he was still only just old enough to legally buy cigarettes, and they’d probably make him show ID to do that.

“What you doin’ here, white girl?” he asked, so softly his voice was almost a hiss. I caught the trace of a lisp under his words as he made a feature of a speech impediment he couldn’t hide.

“I’m just passing through,” I said as calmly as I could.

“You come from Copthorne,” one of the others put in, sneering, and spat at my feet.

I glanced down to where the splatter of phlegm had landed. “I’m not from Copthorne,” I said, looking away. “I’m living here. Kirby Street.”

The blond stepped forwards, trying to face me off. “Oh we know where you live,” he breathed, “but we know you’ve just been over on Copthorne. Seeing your fascist mates.”

“You shouldn’t pigeonhole someone because of the colour of their skin,” I pointed out mildly.

That provoked angry movement from a couple of the others. The leader stilled them with an impatient gesture. “You think we won’t lay a finger on a white girl,” he said, lip curled. “Well, some of us aren’t fussy. But then, you know all about that, don’t you?”

He gave me a shove, hands against my chest. I allowed my body to roll with it, half expecting the next sharp push that came to my back. They formed a loose circle round me and I allowed them to jostle me backwards and forwards, like a party game. Trying to take them all on was stupid. I was far better to just keep calm and hope they didn’t have the nerve to really put the boot in.

Still, it was difficult to stay relaxed in the face of such provocation.

The next time I was shoved at the blond-haired boy, I stumbled deliberately, falling against his bony chest to the jeers of the others. He gave a wolfish grin and put his arms round my waist, grabbing roughly at my backside with his left hand. Most of my good intentions dissipated right about then.

If you’re going to do it, make it quick, I reminded myself. It was something I’d always drummed into my self-defence students. Once you’d decided to act, put your heart and soul into it. No holding back.

Just when I’d tensed myself to act, the decision on precisely what I was going to do was suddenly and unexpectedly taken away from me.

A forearm as thick as a child’s thigh wrapped itself round the blond boy’s neck from somewhere behind him, and he was yanked backwards. I didn’t get a chance to identify the big man attached to the rest of the arm before I too was grabbed.

The rest of the gang scattered in enough different directions to foil effective pursuit. There only seemed to be one other man, in any case. I didn’t recognise any of them until the black bomber jackets and short cropped haircuts finally registered.

My old mate Mr Drummond had the Asian boy by the back of his collar and had screwed one arm up behind his back with brutal efficiency, slamming him face first into the nearest piece of fencing.

I twisted my head and saw it was Harlow who had hold of me. I tensed, expecting similar treatment, but he contented himself with a pit bull grip on the back of my jacket.

Garton-Jones’s faithful sidekick, West came into my field of vision. His jaw was set rigid and there were veins standing out on his temples. I waited, half hoping he’d have an embolism, but this wasn’t destined to be my lucky day.

“Well, well,” he said to the boy after a moment or two, his voice almost a snarl. “Want to tell me what the fuck’s going on here, then, sonny?”

The Asian boy gave him a sullen glare and said nothing. His gang had completely disappeared. So much for loyalty among thieves.

“What about you?” He swung in my direction, lips stretching into a mirthless grin as he got a clear look at my face. “Well now, Miss Fox isn’t it?”

“Mr West,” I greeted him, voice flat. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

He moved in, stuck his face into mine in a gesture he could only have learned from his boss. He had breath like warm camel dung. “Well, you’d better get used to it. It was a nice try you made to get rid of us, lady, but we’re back now, and this time we’re here for good.”

For a moment, my mind was too blank to be diplomatic. “What do you mean, you’re here for good? The Residents’ Committee threw you lot out.”

“Yeah well,” he said, smoothing a hand over the stubble of his haircut, “after recent ‘events’ shall we say, they just couldn’t wait to beg us to come back.”

I stilled, suddenly cold at the rich satisfaction in his voice. Now, there was a twist I hadn’t given much thought to. If Garton-Jones was as obsessed with the idea of keeping his claws into Lavender Gardens as he’d seemed that night, was he mad enough to kill to achieve his aims? And what were they, in any case?

“By the looks of it,” West went on now, “we turned up just in time. Proper seventh cavalry, we are,” he mocked. “So, are you going to tell me just what the game is here?”

I took a brief look at the Asian boy. Only half of his face was visible. The rest of it was wedged up tight against the fence where Drummond was crushing him, but I didn’t need to see it to read the fear in every tense line of his body.

I remembered what Garton-Jones’s men had done to Roger, and found with a sickly taste in the back of my mouth that I couldn’t stomach having another beating on my conscience.

After all, Nasir had blamed me for getting Roger worked over, and then the pair of them had come looking for me with a gun. No way did I want to be seen to be siding with the Streetwise thugs. Not if I was going to stay in one piece until Pauline returned. Even if that meant letting go of my anger. Now wasn’t the time to let it out.

I twisted myself out of Harlow’s grasp, giving him a dark look as I straightened my jacket. “There is no game,” I said sourly. “I was just teaching the boys here a bit of self defence. They’ve all been on edge since they heard about Nasir.”

“What?” West spluttered his disbelief, incredulity lighting up his face. His gaze shifted from my face, to the boy’s, and back again. “You have to be jerkin’ my chain.”

I stood my ground, even though the explanation had sounded just as unlikely to my own ears. Still, sometimes the ones that seem the most unlikely are the most fitting. Plus that was the best I could come up with in the time allowed.

“Of course I’m not,” I snapped. “Since when did Garton-Jones introduce rules about that. It’s like being back at school.”

West moved round until he was in the boy’s line of vision. “What’s your name?”

“Jav,” the boy supplied in a voice breathless with his discomfort. “Tell him to let go – he’s breaking my arm, man!”