Khurrum Rahman - East of Hounslow

As Idris approached I surreptitiously checked him out. A dark blue casual blazer‚ with a crisp blue shirt. Wrapped around his neck in a loose knot was a lightweight black-and-white polka-dot scarf designed for design rather than to serve purpose. A pair of tight skinny grey trousers which made me wonder how the fuck he was going to give chase if the occasion occurred. Nice shoes though‚ black suede Fila hi-tops.

We shook and I nodded for him to jump in. I waited nonchalantly for him to acknowledge my new whip.

‘Nice‚’ Idris said‚ smirking at me knowingly. Always knowingly.

‘Yeah‚ it’s alright. Gets me from A to B.’

‘Look at you trying to act cool with your new ride‚ you crack me up.’

‘So‚ what’s the latest? You don’t call‚ you don’t write. Bad guys keeping you busy?’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘Something like that. Keeps me in a job.’

My phone rang again‚ I looked at the display and frowned. ‘Shit. Parvez!’

‘The Preacher? That Parvez?’ Idris asked.

‘Yep. One and the same‚’ I said‚ weighing up whether to answer it or not. ‘I better get it. It’s the second time he’s called in the space of a minute. Hang on.’

‘He loves you‚ you know that‚ right?’ Idris said‚ poking me in the ribs. ‘He lurves you!’

‘Fuck off.’ I swiped my screen and answered. ‘Yeah‚ Parvez. ’Sup?’

‘Aslamalykum‚ Brother.’ Parvez said. ‘Thanks for helping out today.’ Helping out? I didn’t like the way he said that. He didn’t mean to say it in that way‚ but it came across as a touch patronising and it wound me the fuck up.

‘Of course.’ I said. ‘Thank you for helping out today.’ Yeah‚ that’s right! How you like me now? Two can play that game.

Parvez comes back with. ‘Please‚ Brother. It was my duty‚ my Farz.’

Oh‚ I give up. He played the Farz card. Fine. Whatever. You’re a better Muslim than me. Sanctimony is not becoming. I inserted the key into the ignition and the Bluetooth immediately kicked in and the technology gave me a small thrill as I placed my phone down on the centre console. However‚ my thrill was short lived as Parvez’s voice was now emanating through my Blaupunkt speakers‚ sounding twice as annoying.

‘Am… Am I on speaker?’ Parvez asked‚ at the change in transmission.

‘Yeah… So‚ what’s going on?’

‘Right. So some of the Brothers are assembling at Ali’s Diner at eight tonight.’

‘And?’

‘We need to talk about what happened at the Masjid. Discuss best way forward. Security and that. You know?’

‘Yeah‚ I know‚’ I sighed. I looked at Idris who was predictably shaking his head at me. I turned away from him. ‘What time?’

‘Eight‚ Brother. I’ll see you there‚ yes?’

‘Yeah‚ cool. In a bit.’ I ended the call.

‘ Really ‚ Jay?’ Idris exclaimed.

‘Uh… Did you not hear what happened at the mosque?’ I asked‚ sounding defensive. ‘I’ve just come from there. It was a state. I helped with the cleaning. Man‚ we turned that place inside out.’

‘So‚ you helped out‚ right?’

‘Yeah‚ course. I was there most of the day. I don’t recall seeing you there.’

‘I was at work‚ you twat. What I’m saying is‚ you’ve done your bit. What is there left to do?’

I shrugged. I was an accomplished shrugger. I had a shrug for every occasion. This one was slight‚ barely a movement‚ a little lift of the shoulders. A shrug that said‚ maybe something ‚ maybe nothing.

‘Are you going to track them down with the rest of the Brothers ?’ He said‚ and I could just feel the cynicism dripping in his tone. ‘And then what‚ you going to give them a good beating? Maybe someone would be kind enough to stab one of them‚ so this will never happen again.’

‘Look‚ calm down‚ Detective Inspector! Chill‚ man. Take your copper’s hat off for a minute and put on your Paki hat and see it from our point of view. Something like this happens‚ people just need to vent and be around others akin to them.’

I hadn’t realised until I’d finished that I’d raised my voice.

Idris looked at me with elevated eyebrows. ‘Akin?’

‘Yeah‚ fucking akin. I can throw down an akin when the moment takes me. Or do I need a diploma?’

‘All I’m saying‚ Jay… Find another way to help. Sitting in a room full of angry Muslims isn’t healthy. You want to help‚ do it another way.’

‘What other way?’

‘I don’t know‚ Jay. Just another way.’

‘I’m not you‚ Idris‚’ I said.

He looked out of the passenger window‚ I fiddled with the temperature controls on my dash. Silence filled the car. It wasn’t awkward. We were tight enough not to feel the need to fill the airwaves with inane chatter. Silence sat comfortably with us. After a spell I broke it.

‘Is there any heat on me?’

‘No‚ Jay. Not heard any whispers. Just keep discreet and don’t make any stupid moves‚’ Idris said‚ eyes roving all over my car.

‘It’s under Mum’s name. Asian parents are always buying cars for their kids‚ right?’

‘Yeah‚ maybe‚’ he said.

‘What?’

‘What? Nothing!’

‘I know you wanna say something. Say it.’

Idris sighed. Then he shrugged. His shrug wasn’t as good as mine. It was exaggerated‚ shoulders touching his ears. Then he sighed some more.

‘Fuck’s sake. What ‚ Idris?’

‘Jay. We go back a long way‚ right? Me and you‚ we’re like brothers. Fuck that‚ we are brothers and I know you better than you know yourself.’

‘Yeah. And?’

‘So‚ I know that you can’t be happy with what you’re doing. You’re smart‚ Jay. You’re one of the most creative guys I know. You can do better than this. Yes‚ you’re making some money but is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of your life? You’re not on our radar because you’re low level but inevitably—’

‘I can’t be doing a Dolly Parton‚ Idris. Starters‚ I got no qualifications. So what are my options? Burger King‚ security guard‚ baggage handler? Nah‚ you’re alright‚ mate. Not for me.’

‘Start a business… A legit business.’

I wasn’t about to tell him about the rented one-bedroom flat in Cranford. Fluorescent lamps‚ bags of skunk seeds and soil‚ the fucking lot. It was a rash decision‚ a moment of grandeur delusions‚ one I realised that I could not have gone through with. I planned to clear it out at my first opportunity.

‘You must have some savings by now‚’ he continued. ‘You’ve been doing this forever.’

I shook my head.

‘What? Nothing ?’

‘You’re sitting in it‚’ I said‚ sheepishly.

‘You spent it all on the car?’ He sounded incredulous. I felt stupid. He smiled at me.

A smile laced with sympathy.

4

Kingsley Parker sat alone in a large conference room at the head of the table. He twirled aimlessly in his chair and wondered how many decisions had been made in this very room? How many lives saved and how many lives destroyed? Which number was greater? Parker looked up at the clock and then at his phone‚ which was sitting face-up on the huge table. It rang as he knew it would. He answered on the first ring.

‘Tell me‚’ Kingsley Parker said. ‘How’s our boy?’

*

At Thames House‚ 12 Milbank‚ MI5‚ his colleagues referred to him as Chalk. Parker had earned the nickname in 2003 when he was part of – in his view – the huge joke that was the invasion of Iraq and the search for weapons of mass destruction. A joke with a devastating punchline.