What Came Before He Shot Her

counted furtively, and just as furtively illegal substances were handed over. Indeed, as she reached the top of the steps and gained the bridge, the two individuals who’d been watching melted out from their hiding places and met each other. They conducted their business in such a fluid manner that had Ness been looking, she would have known this was a regular encounter.

            But she was intent upon her own purpose: an end to the heat that burned from within. She had no money and no knowledge of the area, but she knew what to look for.

            She stepped onto the bridge and took her bearings. Across the road was a pub, and beyond this ran a stretch of terrace houses on either side of the street. Ness studied the pub but saw nothing promising within or without, so she headed in the direction of the houses. Experience had taught her that somewhere nearby had to be shops, and experience did not lead her astray. She came upon them within fifty yards, with Tops Pizza offering the best of the possibilities.

A group of five teenagers mingled in front of it: three boys and two girls. All of them were black, to one degree or another. The boys wore baggy jeans, sweatshirts with their hoods drawn up, and heavy anoraks. This was something of a uniform in this part of North Kensington. The kit as a piece told an onlooker where their loyalties lay. Ness knew this. She also knew what was required of her. Match rough with rough. It would not be a problem.

            The two girls were already doing this. They lounged back against the front window of Tops Pizza, eyelids lowered, breasts thrust out, flicking ash from their cigarettes onto the pavement. When either of them spoke, they did so with a toss of the head while the boys sniffed around them and strutted like cocks.

            “You a star, yeah. Come wiv me and I show you good times.”

            “What you want wiv hanging ’bout here, darlin. You out here seein the sights? Well, I got a real sight to show you.”

            Laughter, laughter. Ness felt her toes curl inside her boots. It was always the same: a ritual whose outcome differed only in what came of its conclusion. The girls played along. Their part was to act not only reluctant but scornful. The reluctance gave hope, and the scorn fed the fire. Nothing worthwhile should ever be easy.

            Ness approached them. The group fell silent in that intimidating fashion adolescents adopt when an intruder appears in their midst. Ness knew the importance of speaking first. Words and not appearance produced the initial impression when more than one person was chanced upon in the street.

            She jerked her head at them and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She said, “You lot know where to score?” She blew out a laugh and threw a look over her shoulder. “Shit. I’m achin for it.”

            “I got somet’ing you ache for, darlin.” It was the expected response. It was given by the tallest boy in the crew. Ness met his eyes squarely and looked him over top to toe before he could do the same to her. She could feel the two girls bristle at this, her invasion of their territory, and she knew the importance of her response.

            She rolled her eyes and gave her attention to the girls. She said, “Bet no one scores from this  lot. Right?”

            The bustier of the girls laughed. Like the boys, she eyed Ness, but this was a different kind of evaluation. She was assessing Ness’s potential for inclusion. To help things along, Ness said, “Get a hit?” and indicated the cigarette the girl held.

            “Ain’t a spliff,” was the reply.

            “Know that, don’t I,” Ness said. “But it’s something anyways and like I say, I fuckin need  something, I do.”

            “Darlin, I tell you I got  what you need. Jus’ step round the corner and I show it to you.” The tallest boy again. The others grinned. They shuffled their feet, touched fists, and laughed.

            Ness ignored them. The girl handed over her cigarette. Ness took a drag. She eyed the two girls as they eyed her.

            No one said a name. That was part of the dance. An exchange of names meant a step was taken and no one wanted to be the first person to take it.

            Ness handed the cigarette back to its owner. The girl took a drag. Her companion said, “Wha’ you want, den?” to Ness.

            “Hell, it don’t matter,” Ness replied. “Jesus, I go for coke, weed, olly, E, anyt’ing. I’m jus’ fuckin itchin, you know.”

            “I got a way to scratch—,” the tallest boy began.

            “Shut up,” the girl said. And then to Ness, “Wha’ you got on you?

            It ain’t free round here.”

            “I c’n pay,” Ness said. “Long’s cash i’n’t wha’s required.”

            “Hey, den, baby—”

            “Shut up,” the girl said to Tall Boy once again. “I got to say it, Greve. You vexin me, man.”

            “Now, Six, you gettin ’bove yourself.”

            “Dat your name?” Ness asked her. “Six?”

            “Yeah,” she said. “Dis here’s Natasha. Who might you be?”

            “Ness.”

            “Cool.”

            “So where we score round dis place?”

            Six jerked her head at the boys and said, “Not from this lot, you c’n be sure, innit. Dey is not  producers, lemme tell you dat.”

            “Where, den?”

            Six looked at one of the other boys. He’d hung back, silent, observing. Six said to him, “He deliverin any substance tonight?”

            The boy shrugged, revealing nothing. He looked at Ness, but his eyes weren’t friendly. He finally said, “Depends. An’ if he is, no sayin he plan to skim. Anyways, he ain’t givin it away, and he don’t do deals wiv bitches he don’t know.”

            “Hey, come on, Dashell,” Six said impatiently. “She cool, all right?

            Don’ be nasty.”

            “Dis ain’t no one-time deal,” Ness told Dashell. “I plan on bein a reg’lar.” She shifted from foot to foot, then, from to foot to foot, to foot to foot, a little dance that said she acknowledged him: his position in the group and his power over them.

            Dashell looked from Ness to the other two girls. His relationship with them seemed to turn the tide. He said to Six, “I ask him, den. Won’t be before half eleven, though.”

            Six said, “Cool. Where he bring it?”

            “If he goin to skim, don’t worry bout it. He find you.” He jerked his head at the other two boys. They sauntered in the direction of the Harrow Road.

            Ness watched them go. She said to Six, “He c’n supply?”

            “Oh yeah,” Six said. “He know who to call. He real enough, i’n’t he, Tash?”

            Natasha nodded and gave a glance in the direction Dashell and his companions were taking. “Oh, he take care of us,” she said. “But cars goin two ways down dat street.”

            It was a warning, but Ness saw herself as a match for anyone. As she evaluated things in that moment, it didn’t matter how she got the stuff. The point was oblivion for as long as oblivion could be prompted into lasting.

            “Well, I c’n drive a car, can’t I?” she said to Natasha. “Where we stop, den? It’s a long time till half eleven roll around.”

            IN THE MEANTIME , Joel and Toby continued to wait for their aunt, obediently sitting on the top step of the four that climbed to her front door. From this position they had two choices of vistas to contemplate: Trellick Tower with its balconies and windows, where lights had been shining for at least an hour, and the line of terrace houses across the lane. Neither prospect comprised much to occupy the minds or imaginations of an eleven-year- old boy and his seven-year-old brother.

            The boys’ senses, however, were fully occupied: by the cold, by the unremitting noise from the Westway Flyover traffic and from the Hammersmith and City line of the London underground, which—at this section