Robert Young - Gatecrasher

‘No, no problem,’ said Campbell politely. Whilst he didn’t mean it he was careful not to say so. ‘Can you tell me anything?’ he asked, his words slow and deliberate.

‘Well we’re rather been hoping that you might be able to do that for us actually…’ he replied and pushed his glasses up his nose.

Campbell’s irritation was already simmering at nearly two hours on a cheap plastic seat, tired and paranoid. ‘Look, I’m sorry mate, but I’ve already said that I don’t know who he is, where he came from or what happened.’ Campbell was aware as he spoke that he was still slurring his words and he became instantly self-conscious about it again.

‘Of course, of course. Its just difficult to deal with when we have no identification, no-one to contact… I’m sure you understand.’

Campbell shrugged, said nothing.

‘Well unfortunately he’s not in a good way, I’m afraid. He’s lost a lot of blood already and he lost consciousness completely more or less as soon as you arrived with him. It’s impossible to say at this stage what will happen, very touch and go. We’re doing all we can for him of course but his injuries…’ he trailed off and looked at Campbell, seemingly watching for a response. ‘Did he speak to you? Were you able to find out anything at all?’

Campbell was careful not to let his expression betray him. He thought for a moment, saw again the briefest flash of memory, of that dark, blood-matted hair raising itself up… ‘Nothing.’ he said flatly and hoped that his slow wits would be put down to drunkenness.

The gentleman scribbled and Campbell tried to read his writing upside down but couldn’t. He seemed to contemplate the words he had written there for a moment, as if he might suddenly be able to figure out what this all meant. Campbell thought that the man was probably far less important than he was making out and was playing this up for effect.

‘Right. OK,’ he said with a mournful shake of the head. ‘Well, we have no desire to inconvenience you further. Of course we appreciate you trying to help out. I think the best thing is that we take some contact details from you so we can get in touch if needs be but in the meantime, you might as well go and get some sleep.’

Campbell hurriedly scribbled his home and mobile phone numbers on the piece of paper that was handed to him and was already at the door before the suited man could stand up and show him out.

Sunday. 10am.

The usual Sunday quiet of the East London street was punctuated by the occasional sounds of passing cars and barking dogs. A radio played through the open windows of a parked Mercedes as a teenage boy worked a large sponge over the bonnet. The paintwork gleamed proudly in the morning sun and streams of soaped water ran against the edge of the pavement down into the drain.

Close by, a car pulled up to the curb across the street and Julius Warren, a slim muscular black man, climbed out, locked it and crossed the road. Walking around the front of the sparkling vehicle he walked through the gate of the nearest house, up the short path which he covered in three strides, and pressed his finger to the bell.

The door opened and the man was invited in and pointed along the hallway.

In the kitchen, disturbed by the doorbell, George Gresham stood at the counter with a large knife in his hand and was staring at the doorway as Warren walked in.

‘Mr Warren. Always a pleasure old son. Lovely day,’ Gresham greeted him brightly.

‘George.’ he replied with a curt nod.

‘Rabbit stew,’ Gresham jabbed the knife toward the chopping board where a pair of long, limp dead rabbits lay. He began slicing through their beige fur, working his thumbs underneath as he deftly skinned the animals. Warren noted both the fact the knife seemed far too large and cumbersome for the seemingly delicate job that Gresham was using it but equally how adept the man was at handling the blade. Gresham, without looking up, picked up on Warren’s train of thought.

‘I love this big bastard,’ he said holding it up for a better look. ‘You could skin a fucking Rhino with this Jools. Beautiful isn’t it?’ he said and went back to the rabbits. ‘Not that you’d want to I s’pose. Even so, lovely piece of work. Keep this sharp and this sharp,’ he said as he tapped his temple with the tip of the blade and then thrust it into the air in front of his face.

Warren raised his eyebrows and nodded again, attempting to convey his affirmation. Gresham’s attention was back on the lamb.

‘Lovely meat, rabbit. You cook Jools?’ Warren opened his mouth to answer but Gresham was still going. ‘I love cooking. Very stress relieving, you know, chopping things up. Taking out your frustrations after a hard day in the office on a pound of carrots and a chicken. But there’s art in it too, you know? Craft. Getting the perfect balance, getting everything just right. There’s a lot of technique and skill. Timing. You know what I mean son? You cook?’ Gresham’s voice was thick and deep and always sounded to Warren as if the big man had just woken up.

‘I’ve got a few little specialities in my repertoire George, yeah. Soon as I realised that I couldn’t live with me Mum forever I quickly realised that I couldn’t live without her rice and peas and jerk chicken either. Used to hang around the kitchen when I was 18 and watch her work. Still can’t get close to the old girl but I do alright.’

‘I’ll bet you do son. Now,’ Gresham said as he went back to work on the meat, ‘are you going to tell me why you are standing in my kitchen on a Sunday morning, watching me skin a brace of rabbits and talking to me about your Mum?’

Warren drew in a breath and the rehearsed words that he had run through several times in the car deserted him entirely. ‘Last night boss… Tony,’ he said and stood silently searching for the next sentence to form.

Gresham put down the knife, which Warren found strangely more threatening than had he still been holding it. ‘Jools, I am going to assume that since you were not alone last night when we spoke and you are now that the others have sent you as the messenger because they know I like you and they know that I’ll have their fucking knackers if they turned up here and said to me what I am very much concerned that you are about to say to me. Am I right, Jools? Are you here alone because you have bad news for me?’

Warren, to his credit, looked his boss in the eye when he answered. It was one of the reasons the older man liked him. He had balls. He had balls enough to own up when he fucked up. Gresham could only respect that quality in a man.

‘Think he walked on us.’ he said flatly.

‘Fuck off Jools,’ he spat. ‘He did or he didn’t. Stop messing about.’

‘OK, he did. But… well he can’t have got far. He was not a well boy.’

‘If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here ruining my weekend.’

‘OK. We followed him round most of the day, but he was really edgy so we couldn’t get near him for ages. Anyway, when we finally got hold of him, well, it wasn’t much fun. He was a mate too you know.’

‘Jools-’

Warren stopped him. ‘I know George, I know. But it doesn’t make it easier.’

‘Just makes him more dangerous.’

Jools shrugged a reluctant acknowledgement. ‘Anyway, Keano did him. Volunteered for the job in fact.’ Gresham’s eyebrows arched but Warren pressed on. ‘You know what he’s like though, keen as mustard. It’s like one-upmanship with Slater half the time. Anyway, he found somewhere quiet and we left him to it.’

‘Why do I get the feeling you’re about to tell me that boy is making us all look like cunts again?’

‘He forgot himself gov. Came back over to us and Slater says to him ‘Have you done it right?’ — I don’t think Slater really wanted to leave Keano to do it alone but Cooper knew Slater’s game all the way. Maybe he fancied his chances with Keane.’