Liz Mistry - Last Request

Franco – tall but skinny, cap on backwards, pockmarked face and ice-cold eyes – cast a sideways look at Deano. He shook his head and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel twice. As if on some sort of preordained order, the prick, Big Zee, thrust the passenger door open, crashing it into Deano’s legs and jumped out, quickly repositioning himself in the back seat, beside another one of Franco’s goons. Deano wanted to slam his fist into the idiot’s sneering face, but contented himself with hoiking a gob of phlegm into the gutter. It was pushing it for Franco to come back to Listerhills. Thing was he didn’t get it – too arrogant. Didn’t he realise Parekh would never let him get away with supplying to her nephew?

‘Get in.’ Franco’s words were an order and Deano had no option but to obey. He was in too deep and Franco knew it … but did he know about him and Kayleigh? With a quick glance along the road, Deano wished that Nikki hadn’t disappeared off with that big Paki dick. He slid into the front seat, next to Franco and tried to angle himself to the side, out of arm’s reach of Big Zee and his sidekick in the back. Deano had been in too many similar situations in the past not to be aware of what was coming. How many times had he been the one to move to the back seat, ready to slip a chain round the neck of the idiot Franco was grilling in the front seat if he didn’t deliver the goods?

‘Little bird told me you were talking to that Parekh bint?’

Fuck, word travelled fast! Deano laughed, tried to look nonchalant, hoping his face wasn’t giving owt away. He was caught with his balls between a rapidly closing vice. On the one hand, Parekh had made her threat clear and Deano couldn’t risk Franco finding out about him skimming. No way did he want to end up as pig food on one of them farms in the Dales. He’d seen too many end up there. On the other, Parekh was no pushover. She’d made her intentions clear. The only option open to him was to strike some sort of deal with her. What the hell was he going to do? ‘Yes, frigid bitch. She needs a good seeing to, to loosen her up a bit.’

He sensed Big Zee leaning forward at the ready and, from the corner of his eye, he saw Franco glance into the rear-view mirror. His hands grew damp with sweat and relief swept over him as his next words gushed from his mouth. ‘She wants me to keep an eye on my stepdad. Tosser’s been beating up my mum. Had her in hospital twice. I told her I’d deal with the fucker.’

‘That all?’ Franco’s eyes honed right in to his soul, red hot like a soldering iron.

Deano ignored the sounds from the back of the car – the rattle of metal, the squeak of leather as Big Zee edged forward. Deano could feel the big man’s breath on the side of his face, and the smell of his aftershave made him want to choke. He shrugged. ‘Yeah, that’s all. Cow think’s that cos she’s a copper she’s got the right to sort everyone out. Don’t worry, my man, I’ll keep her sweet. I’ll keep her out of your hair.’

Gaze razoring Deano’s face, Franco leaned towards him, encroaching on his space and then, slapping the steering wheel, he laughed and jerked his head to one side – presumably the signal for Big Zee to step down. ‘You better, D. We don’t need some half-caste whore messing up our plans now, do we? This estate’s gonna be mine this time and you’re gonna help me.’

As Deano watched the streaming rain splatter down the windscreen, every fibre of his being screamed a warning. Franco could give the order and anything could happen inside the car without anyone outside noticing. Even if they did, chances were they’d ignore it. Franco was just that little bit too unpredictable, that little bit too dangerous for folk to risk annoying him. No one here ever volunteered a witness statement! ‘We did all right in Oldham, didn’t we? Ousted them Pakis and took control. Listerhills will be a doddle. Don’t worry, I’m on it. I’ve got my ears to the ground. Like you say – get the kids with us and the rest follows on. Parekh won’t fuck things up this time.’

Franco lifted his hand and angled it palm upwards, finger moving in a ‘gimme it’ gesture to Big Zee and Tyke in the back seat. A bit of rummaging and then a package wrapped in a plastic bag was given to Franco who passed it to Deano. ‘Here, go do your job then.’

Taking the package, Deano stuffed it up the front of his hoodie. No point in advertising what he had to everyone. There was always some tosser waiting to grab your stash, and that wouldn’t go down well with Franco. The man expected returns on his produce and Deano would have to make sure he paid up. ‘Usual rate?’

‘Yeah, keep the cost down, get ’em hooked, then, BOOM!’ Franco laughed like he’d cracked the finest joke ever – head back, furry yellow rabbit teeth on show. ‘Right, piss off then. I’ll be in touch.’

Deano slid out of the car, his legs shaking, and watched as Franco squealed off down the road towards town. Fuck! That had been a close one. All he’d wanted was a lousy Chicken Cottage and what did he end up with? Fucking Nikita Parekh on his case and then Franco. He glanced round. Who the hell had told Franco about his meeting with Parekh? Shit, he’d have to be extra careful now. Seemed like Franco had eyes everywhere.

Huddled over against the rain, Deano retraced his steps back to his house, wondering as he went how long he could keep his secrets hidden from Franco. He suspected it wouldn’t be for much longer. Shit, why did he have to do the dirty on the toughest drug boss in the north? As he neared his mum’s house, he slowed down. There was nothing else for it, he’d have to go to Parekh – cut some sort of deal. What with Franco involving Parekh’s nephew, Deano hoped she’d be only too willing to back him against the psycho. He shuddered, his back prickled as if a million pairs of eyes were scouring it. How the hell could he get to her without Franco finding out?

Sun speckled the walls through the blinds in Nikki’s bedroom and sent little specks of shimmer like a kaleidoscope over the carpet. The room wasn’t spacious, mainly because one corner was stacked with large cardboard boxes, each with a year scrawled in black marker pen on the front, dating from 2000 onwards. A bed, bedside table, wardrobe, chest of drawers and a chair took up most of the remaining space.

The radio blared some funky feel-good song from the Nineties. Nikki didn’t know the title or the name of the band, but she didn’t care. Having the house to herself for once, meant she could prance around and get rid of some of the pent-up energy that had built in her recently. Sajid had suggested she go jogging with him, but she’d made it clear that she’d rather go trekking through Bradford’s rat-infested sewers covered in cheese than do that. He’d laughed, finding it funny that her aversion to any member of the rodent family was compounded by the ongoing battle with her youngest child Sunni who, with his tenth birthday approaching, was adamant that a hamster was all he wanted. Nikki shuddered. The mere thought of their ratty tails and clawy-like feet and gnawy teeth brought her out in hives. Their pittery-pattery scritchy-scratchiness, their scurrying, all made her skin crawl. Sunni was going to be disappointed. Poor kid, he never asked for anything, but this was just too much for her to cope with.

The track changed and, breathless, Nikki flopped on the end of the bed wondering if she maybe should take Sajid up on his offer after all. The only thing was Marcus wouldn’t like it. He was already jealous of Sajid and the last thing she needed to do right now was fuel his stupidity. Of course, she could just tell him Saj was gay, but then that would seal up that escape clause and even after eleven years in some semblance of a relationship with Marcus, she couldn’t quite bring herself to fully commit to him. What is wrong with me? Maybe I should go jogging with Saj . Maybe that would be enough to knock Marcus over the edge and into ex-boyfriend territory, and the best thing was she wouldn’t even have to do a thing. Aw, Nikita, what are you thinking? Marcus was great – the perfect boyfriend: good with the kids, reliable and shit hot in bed. Still, it was too intense for her, too much to handle.