I Watson - Director's cut

“Fuck that.”

“That's what I thought.”

“Yeah. No way.”

“Then this other geezer, bright bastard, not a kozzer…”

They both laughed.

“He says, like, he'll give me his word that he ain't interested in anything other than the geezer who's doing it.”

“You said it might be a woman?”

“Yeah, that's what he said.”

“Did you believe him, about the other?”

“Yeah. Can't believe I did. You don't believe no one, do you? But I did. I got a feeling, just a feeling, you know? He'll be back. With dosh. Dick, dick, know what I mean?”

“Fucking hell!”

“Yeah. That's what I thought.”

In the corner, in the flicker of candle, something stirred. Two girls, sharing a mattress. Paul caught their faces, didn't know them, put them around thirteen but who could tell nowadays?

“Keep the noise down,” one said. “We're trying to sleep.” Maybe not thirteen, after all. Too confident. Maybe fourteen. Apologetically he whispered, “Yeah, sorry. Talking, see? Innit?” They disappeared again beneath a dirty quilt. Between them, on top of the quilt, lay a black cat, disturbed by the girl's movement, its tail flicking like something from hell.

“Look what I got here,” Jason or Brian said. He opened up a strong Robot City carrier. “Bats.”

“Bloody hell, how many you got?”

“Six. Worth, maybe, forty each.”

“Tennis.”

“No.”

“Squash, then?”

“No, no.”

“Badminton.”

“Yeah, that’s it. And I got these trainers, bag full. Mostly Reebok, see? Need to offload them. What do you think? Will they sell in the shop?”

“The Gallery? Maybe. I could try.”

“Half-half, right?”

“Sounds all right.”

“Done, then. Take them with you. Get nicked around here as soon as I close my eyes. Can't trust no one, can you?”

“No. You're right.”

It was much later when Powder Pete found him. Paul had been dozing, woke to find Powder Pete standing over him. It wasn't a pretty sight. Powder Pete was wide-boned and covered in clothes to go out in. They made him wider, more threatening. And lumpy.

He said, “Thought you'd got a job?” The bones in his face were prominent. And his skin, pale, stretched over the bones.

“That's right. Just gotta make myself scarce for a day or two.” “So how's it going? You learning to paint?”

“Yeah. Gotta learn about the classics first. That's the thing, see?” “You're an arsehole, Paul Knight, you know that? The only thing you're ever going to paint is numbers, and even that'd turn out shite. The only thing you're good at is robbing, and you should stick to what you're good at. You got a gift, a divine gift, and you should use it. TVs and DVDs and computers. The future, the bollocks. Not junk. Playstations, Internet, Kings Cross, E-something. Mail. Shit hot. Right?”

“Right?”

“And car batteries. I need lots of car batteries.”

“You in to cars now then, Powder Pete?”

“No, not cars, sulphuric acid, Paul. I need it to clean things up.” “What things, Powder Pete?”

“Things. The world. The planet. I’ve decided to become a one-man cleaning company. But never you mind about that and tell me what you’re doing now.”

“Staying out of sight for a while, see?”

“Staying out of sight is good. It's good for the soul. But this isn't the place to do it. Had visitors earlier, some of Ticker Harrison's mob. Started throwing their weight around. We gotta move out, find another place and build a stockade, a barrier against the so-called civilized world.”

“Yeah, wouldn't want to mess with them. No way. How long you got?”

“Ten days, they said.”

Paul shook a resigned head.

“But that's not the point. I told you last time, this place is for the youngsters. No one over eighteen.”

“I know that. I know you told me. I thought you'd make an exception, just for a day or two.”

“Over eighteens are over the road. It's the rule. My rule. The only one that counts.”

“I do know that. But like, I fit in here, don't I?”

Powder Pete smiled. “Yes you do. I've noticed that. You've never grown up, Paul. Something went wrong with you and I don’t know what. You’re a rogue and a rascal and an impossible dreamer but most of all, you’re innocent, you’re one of the meek and, if you live, Paul Knight and, I have my doubts, then you’ll inherit the earth. And that's why, before, I've made you an exception. But you're a grown man and these children are vulnerable and, no matter what your problems, I shouldn't put them at risk. They gotta come first.”

“I'd never touch them, Pete, Sir, never! I'd take care of them, and I'd cuddle them if they needed it. And that's all it would ever be. If they cry out in the night I'd hold them till they settled. That’s all. I’d fight for them, just like you!”

“I believe you, Paul Knight. Many wouldn't. But I do. You said it well and you can stay for a couple of days or so. And right now, you can come with me. I've had a tip-off, a word from the underworld. One of Ticker Harrison's villains that came to threaten us gave me the word. Even villains hate the nonces. There's a couple of children in trouble, and that should be everybody's business but it isn't. So it's down to us. We're all that they’ve got. So let's go. We won't be in time but we can pick up the pieces.”

“I'm with you, Powder Pete.”

Paul quickened his pace and ran to catch up.

As they led the children through the silent backstreets bells chimed out midnight, the apogee of darkness, the time when cold-blooded things began to stir. Frost fell like snow. The children shivered. Teeth chattered. Their trainers smacked the cold pavements. The tiny hairs on the girl's legs stood out, caught in unearthly light. The same light that sparkled in the boy's frightened eyes. Paul tightened his grip on the children’s sweaty hands. The wind whipped into their faces. It drew out their tears and snatched them away.

Voices, even their breathing, sounded deeper.

“You ever noticed, Paul, you take an 'o' out of good, you got God, you take the 'd' out of devil, you got evil? There's a mystery to life, more than we know.”

“You're right, Powder Pete, I see that.”

The pavements were bare. They seemed wider. The slabs glistened. They seemed harder.

The children clung on knowing instinctively that these strange men, the old man and his apprentice, were their salvation.

“Warm milk,” the older man said suddenly, and left them wideeyed and wondering.

They'd travelled a dozen streets, maybe ten minutes, when they heard the explosion, a huge ear-splitting thump that shook the ground and rattled the windows in the dark properties butting the pavement they trod. Then came the sound of breaking glass. Along the street a few lights went on and a couple of people came out to scan the rooftops. Beyond the terraced rows a curl of smoke spiralled on the wind and a few stars blinked out.

Then came the sounds of distant fire-engines and police cars. “Bloody hell, Powder Pete, that was more than a sparkler, that was more than a Chinese cracker. I reckon you've taken out half the street.” “No, just the one house.” Powder Pete’s voice was calm and dependable. “They won't do it again, will they? Hope they find tranquillity for that’s the sea that their bollocks are swimming in. That's what I call justice. Nothing else will do. Their names will never be on the sex offender’s register, and they'll never come out of prison to do it again. And that is good.”

They held the children's hands and led them back to the squat in Avenue Road, that huge run-down nursery for the children of the night. Powder Pete told them, “Now's not the time to talk. It's a hot bath for you both to get rid of the filth, then hot milk and bed. In the morning we can talk.” He turned to Paul and added, “Wake one of the older girls, the one who’s pregnant will do. She can help this young lady to clean up. And she’ll know if a hospital’s called for.” Paul nodded thoughtfully. Powder Pete wasn’t taking any chances. Not any more.