Michael Robertson - Highrise Hell

“With the world in the state that it’s in, you’d think he wouldn’t give a fuck about some dog shit on the pavements.”

“Are you serious, boy?” Shaking his head, George screwed his face up against the memory of bleach that was permanently burned into his sinuses. “Have you smelt the hallway? The man’s a clean freak.”

“True. So, Mike. You said he decided to do something about what was happening to him.”

“Oh, yeah. So our school had a rivalry with the neighboring school.”

“As most do.”

“Right. Mike thought he could pay some of the boys at the other school to sort his problems out. One of his cousins went there, so he had a connection. I heard he paid them a good couple of hundred quid.”

While doing his hair in the mirror inlaid in the sun visor, Ravi then started stroking his eyebrows into shape. “So he tried to set up a fight between the schools? That’s what kids in rival schools talk about doing all the time, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. He was fed up with the current regime that he was living under, so he thought he’d try to do something about it. Change his situation and maybe his social standing. The thing was, some of us, although we may not have necessarily looked out for him, stopped the bullying when we saw it happening most of the time. We were nearly on his side, yet he was setting up something that fucked us all over. I understand he was tired of the bullying and not being able to eat each day, but he went about it the wrong way.”

“So what happened?”

“His cousin sold him out. I knew the boy, and he told me everything before it happened. Not even his cousin liked him.”

“And what did you do?”

“What could I do? I knew Mike was planning to fuck a lot of people up. A lot of people that didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t let that happen. I didn’t want to have to fight because of him no matter how sympathetic I was to his reason for doing it.” Looking across at Ravi, who was now staring straight ahead again, George gripped the wheel. “I didn’t think I could stop him doing what he was planning, so I had to get involved. I had to tell the top boy at school what was going to go down. I couldn’t stand by and let it happen.”

Ravi’s gulp was audible. “And what happened to Mike?”

“Killed himself. He got badly bullied after everyone found out. Even worse than before. The poor, fat little cunt took his own life in the school toilets.” Sighing, George sagged at the memory. “I found him.” Pinching his throat, George said, “I remember him hanging there. Electricity flex around his neck. His fat tongue sticking out of his fat mouth. The weight of his large body pulled his chins up and made his chubby face look even fatter. It’s amazing how much weight the neck can hold. At fourteen, he was easily fifteen stone.”

When there was no reply, George chewed the inside of his mouth for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder whether I did the right thing in telling everyone. Should I have stood back and let it happen? Should I have had a word with Mike? Maybe let the fight kick off?”

“I think if you’d have spoken to Mike, let him know what you knew, then he would have made the sensible choice and stopped planning to fuck people over. Everyone deserves another chance, right?”

Raising an eyebrow, George resisted the urge to look at Ravi. “Yeah. Let’s hope they make the right choice when they get one, eh? Do you think if I’d told Mike what I’d heard, then he would have forgotten about his crazy ideas?”

“Definitely,” Ravi’s reply shot back. “I’m certain he would have.”

After a few seconds of silence, Ravi then said, “Thank you, George.”

“Don’t make me regret it, boy.”

Ravi didn’t reply.

As he came to a stop outside the property, George rolled the tension from his large shoulders. Butterflies sat in his stomach when he looked up at the big townhouse.

As if reading his mind, Ravi said, “I hope no one gets killed today.”

Screwing his face up, George stared at the boy. “It’s Dean we’re talking about. Someone’s going to die. Even if it’s one of us.”

The house was tall and white and shone against the backdrop of a decaying city. It stood in a row of similar houses, and the line of abandoned luxury cars out the front was a nod to days past. Two-seater sports cars with private number plates had very little use in the new world.

Ravi whistled. “Wow, I reckon it’s got at least five bedrooms. Notting Hill’s a nice place, bruv. I bet this one’s worth at least ten mil.” There was a pause. “Was worth.” He sighed, “It’s worth fuck all now.”

The tension returned to George’s shoulders. The boy never fucking shut up.

“I wonder why they haven’t left. Don’t they realize they’re a target for every gang in town?”

“A gang like those hoodies that stormed the block earlier, you mean?”

Shrinking in his seat, Ravi shut up.

When Dean got out of his truck, he bounced on the balls of his feet and waited for the other gang members to hop down. The bloody hammer had turned his arm into a pendulum. Rocking from side to side, it was ready for action.

A slow lurch rolled through George’s stomach as he watched on. What was he doing here?

As the crew gathered behind Dean, George looked across at Ravi. “You’ve got some making up to do, boy.”

Staring back at him, Ravi’s face loosened. “Huh?”

“Get the fuck out there and help them.”

“But I stay in the truck with you.”

Watching the boy for a moment, George then slowly shook his head. “Not anymore. That privilege has gone, sunshine.”

Several breathy noises escaped Ravi’s mouth, none of them turning into fully-formed words. When he looked up, George stared hard at him.

Dropping his eyes to his lap, Ravi sighed and then nodded. His lip buckled, but he didn’t say anything.

When Ravi opened the door, it filled the cab with the smell of smoke. Another building burning in London.

Enough of the fumes entered George’s space that when Ravi closed the door, the chemical bite nipped at the back of his throat, and he started to cough.

Every time George coughed, it was worse than the last. It made his throat burn like he was hacking up glass.

When it finally passed, George got out of his truck and did his coat up to his neck. Burying his hands in his pockets, he tensed against the cold air. The smell of smoke was richer out here, and he was sure it carried the tinge of burning flesh. Or maybe he was imagining it. The scent was so embedded in his psyche that he would have smelt it in a rose garden.

Looking over at the cage, his eyes found the lump of meat on the filthy floor. There were more bite marks in it.

Turning away from it, he watched Dean look past his group of men to his truck. “Come on, Freddie.”

When the meek Freddie slipped out of the cab, George could see the reluctance with which he walked towards Dean. The boy still wouldn’t take his eyes off Ravi, and Ravi did everything to avoid looking back at him.

Pointing at the building and shouting loud enough for the people inside to hear, Dean called, “We’re going to smash the door in and take everything!”

Freddie might have thought the orders were for his benefit, but George knew better. The mind games had begun. This was phase one of Dean’s systematic destruction of those he was hunting. It was like an art form for the man.

Looking at the large windows, George couldn’t see any signs of life. There were no twitching curtains. No silhouettes stirring in the darkness. No sounds from inside. Maybe Dean was wrong? Although it would be a first if he was. Besides, the houses rarely buzzed with activity when this motley crew were on their doorstep.