What Came Before He Shot Her

wiv is havin my mum get a call from the cops.”

            “Jus’ sit and be cool,” Joel told her. “They won’t do nuffink ’f we don’t give ’em reason.”

            Neal gave Hibah a look. “Be cool,” he told her.

            Joel took this as a form of agreement with what he’d said. He thought it might presage further agreement, so he spoke openly as Hibah sat back on the bench. “I been thinkin,” he said to Neal. “Why we vexin each other? ‘S not getting us anywheres ’cept—”

            “You ain’t vexin me,” Neal cut in as he joined Hibah on the bench.

            “You basic’ly an arse wipe needin tossed in the bin. Dat’s all I’m tryin to do wiv you. Put you where you need to be put.”

            Joel wouldn’t let this remark boil inside him. He could see how Neal was going to take advantage of the presence of the police. Sitting, he’d made himself a target. If Joel launched himself at him with the cops as witnesses, Joel would take the fall for it. He said, “I don’t want to fight wiv you. Dis shit going on, it’s been happenin too long. We keep it up, summick bad’s comin down. You want dat? I don’t.”

            Neal smirked. “Dat’s cos you ain’t got the bottle for a war ’tween you and me. But you know it’s comin. You c’n feel it, eh? Dat’s good. Keep you on your toes.”

            “Damn it, Neal Wyatt,” Hibah said.

            “Shut up!” Neal turned to her. “Shut your mouf  for once, Hibah. You don’t know what you’re talkin about so jus’ stop talkin, y’unnerstan?”

            Surprise stopped her. But something in his words also caused a dawn to break over her. She said, slowly and thoughtfully, with a growing awareness, “Hey, this right here . . . This stuff going on between you an’ Joel . . . Hey, this ain’t even about you, is it? Cos—”

            “I said shut up!” Neal glanced to the bridge. The cops were gone. He gave Hibah a shove to indicate his desire that she leave them then.

            “Your mum’s wantin you at home,” he told her. “You can’t keep it plugged, you go back and do wha’ever she tell you. Say your prayers or wha’ever.”

            “You can’t tell me—”

            “You do like I say. Or you want summick help you make up your mind?”

            Her eyes widened. He’d said enough. She looked at Joel. “You keep clear,” she said. “Y’unnerstan?” But that was all she said before she rose from the bench and headed out of the gardens, leaving Joel alone with Neal.

            “You listen good, yellow,” Neal said to Joel when Hibah was out of earshot. “You in my face, and dat’s exackly where I don’t want to see you, y’unnerstan? Piss off and be glad wha’s comin ain’t come yet. Maybe you still suckin on your muddah’s tit, but I ain’t. Got it?”

            Joel felt the full weight of the flick knife then. Bring it out, press the button, thrust it at the other boy, and who’s sucking on whose tit where? But he did nothing.

            He tried a final time, for Toby’s sake. “Dis ain’t the way to solve nuffink. You got to know dat. We got to put t’ings to rest between us cos there ain’t no point in it otherwise.”

            Neal stood in a rush. Joel took a step backwards.

            “I  tell you  what gets put at rest,” Neal said. “Don’t work th’other way round no way. I mark you and you stay marked. ’F you t’ink any different, you end up —”

            “Joel! Joel Joel!” The cry came from the direction of the bridge, from beneath where Toby had emerged from his hiding place. He was clutching his crotch, his knees pressed together. He could not have been more specific about his needs had he sent a telegram. Nonetheless, with the disturbing honesty that was typical of him, he called out,

            “I got to use the toilet. Ain’t no headhunters round anymore, is there?”

            Joel felt something akin to a stab entering his heart. He heard Neal’s short, abrasive laugh. “Stupid shit,” he said in a voice that sounded like wonder. “Wha’s wrong wiv dat dumb cunt?” He looked at Joel, who’d turned back to him. “Headhunters, innit? Got yourself a spot to bolt for, eh? Mon, you got one stupid fuck of a —”

            “Leave him alone.” Joel heard himself give the directive in a voice that was not quite his own. “You touch my brother again an’ I swear you die an’ die bloody. You got dat, mon? You got a problem wiv me, you leave it wiv me. Leave Toby out of it.”

            He walked away, knowing the risk of turning his back on Neal but reckoning that if a brawl should start, he still had the knife. He was, at this point, more than itching to use it.

            But Neal didn’t attack. Instead he said, “Next time, mon. We take care of business, you an’ me. Meantime, you keep an eye on dat brother twenty-four seven. Cos you ain’t first on the list no more, Jo-oell. No more an’ no way, y’unnerstan?”

            KENDRA FELT INCREASINGLY miserable as the weeks went by. While she had more time for building her business and even enough time to take a class in Thai massage for modest clients wishing to remain loosely clothed when she worked upon them, she was acutely aware of the hole in her life.

            She tried to fill it at first with a new concentration on the Campbells. But the problem with her approach to giving the children attention was that she failed to see on the horizon a different sort of danger from the dangers she’d seen before. Most of those had involved Ness, who was— for reasons remaining mysterious to Kendra—suddenly doing what she was supposed to do, which was community service, seeing her probation officer, and attempting to get herself sorted out with regard to school by taking a course at the college. Kendra’s worries about Toby she put on the back burner, along with the paperwork that she was meant to fill out to allow someone —and she didn’t want to know who that someone was—to engage in studies of the little boy. That, she swore, was not going to happen. And Joel, from what she could see on the surface, seemed to have dealt with his problems with the neighbourhood louts by himself. Thus, there seemed nothing for her to do for the children aside from offering them food, shelter, and the occasional outing that did not require paying an admission charge.

This mistaken idea of there being nothing left for Kendra to do took her thoughts ineluctably to Dix D’Court: It had been exactly as Dix had said it would be, she decided. Joel and Neal Wyatt, left to their own devices, had come to an agreement allowing both of them to live in peace.

Thus, having no idea what was really going on, Kendra possessed ample time to look at her life and find it wanting. She spoke to Cordie about this, taking the opportunity on a lunch hour to catch her girlfriend in the midst of painting a set of talonlike nails on the hands of a middle-aged overweight white lady with fuchsia hair and sunglasses that she didn’t remove despite being inside the shop. She was called Isis, Cordie informed Kendra, without a hint that she might be conscious that the name—attached to this particular female—was in no small way ironic.

            Kendra nodded to Isis and spent approximately one minute watching the work being done on her nails. Cordie was something of a legend in the Harrow Road, possessing a talent for decorating artifi cial fingernails in such a way as to leave absolutely no doubt that they were entirely false from cuticle to tip. In this case and in keeping with the time of year, she was going for an autumn motif on top of the acrylic. The base colour was purple and she was painting golden corncobs and sheaves of wheat on top of it.

            Kendra said to Cordie, “Nice, that.” And to Isis, “Colour’s real good with your skin.” This was not actually true, but anything directing attention away from Isis’s hair was an improvement. Isis said frankly, “She’s a fucking genius,” with a nod at Cordie. “I been telling her no way’s she going on leave of absence this  time round and making me find someone else to do my nails.”

            Kendra drew her eyebrows together and looked at her friend. She said, “Leave of absence?”

            Cordie shrugged, nail enamel brush in hand. She looked embarrassed. Her embarrassment told the tale. “Cordie! You pregnant? What happened?”

            Isis said to Kendra, “You look damn well old enough to know the fac’s of life, luv.”

            Kendra waved her off. “Cordie?”

            Cordie drew her mouth to one side, her way of screwing up her courage to speak. She said, “First off, he found the pills. F’r a week he rant ’bout betrayal. I c‘n handle dat, but den he talk ’bout leaving us. An’ I c’n tell he mean it.”