Human Conditioning (9 page)

Aiden nodded in agreement. “Alright,
then. Let me see what I can do.”

Roy Watson was a stocky man of forty-two years, with
short, spiked brown hair and green eyes constantly formed into a scowl. He had
a hard, square face with stubble covering his chin and above his upper lip, and
his nose was reddened from too much booze.

He sat in The Stag supping on
a pint and watching West Ham play Queens Park Rangers, away. He was in an uncommonly
good mood; West Ham was playing well, though the score was still 0-0.

When he spotted his daughter
storming into the pub, he watched her warily from his seat. He wondered what
shit she had to bring down on him this time. Gina was just like her mother:
everything was always a fucking drama. In fact, the only
actual
drama in
his nine years of marriage to Lynn Watson was when she fucked off six years
after Gina was born without even a note to confirm a contact number.

Gina turned to see her father
sitting alone. She caught him glancing over at her and knew he was attempting
to avoid eye contact. He looked pissed again. She knew the signs all too well
where her father’s drunkenness was concerned. Even from afar she could tell
that his eyes would be glazed and his movement to bring his full pint up to his
mouth was slow and shaky.

She paced over to his table. “The
heating’s gone off,” she announced bluntly, upon her approach.

Roy looked up over his pint as
he took a gulp then placed it on the table. “So, put some money in the meter,”
he replied nonchalantly, his green, bloodshot eyes automatically reverting back
to the small television set mounted on the wall opposite. 

“I haven’t got any money, have
I? Give me a fiver,” she spat, holding out her palm.

“Nah, that’s all I’ve got
left.”

“I don’t think you need much
more, do you?”

She was referring to the
drink, and Roy knew this. He sighed. It was like a stuck record with Gina and
her complaining about him having a few drinks every now and then. It wasn’t
every now and then: it was all day every day, but he didn’t dwell on such
facts. “Fuck off will you, G. I’m watching the game. I
always
watch the
game. Go and put some woolly socks on if you’re cold...”

Gina sighed irately. “You’re a
useless tosser, d’you know that?”

“Yeah, your mother said it
enough...”

She stamped her foot in
frustration. Roy wasn’t paying any attention to her now. “Dad!”

“YES, FUCKING COME ON!” he
suddenly bellowed, flying out of his chair and punching his fists at the ceiling:
1-0, West Ham.

“Dad!”

“What, for fuck’s sake, girl?”
He slumped back into his chair and sighed in surrender. He just wanted rid of
her now. Plunging his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a five-pound note. He
had two more where that came from but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Here,
now leave me alone will you? You’re doing my head in!”

Gina snatched the note from
his hand. “Twat!” she spat before storming out of the pub.

Roy sat back and enjoyed the
rest of the match and opted to stay until later that evening to celebrate his
team’s unchallenged glory.

It was 9pm when Aiden swaggered into the same pub alongside
Reggie and Reggie’s cousin Connor Bailey. Connor was younger and a more
handsome version of Reggie, with the same mint-green eyes and tightly wound dreadlocks
sticking out from his head. Aged twenty-six, he worked in a taxi rank covering
the Hackney borough. He also helped Reggie with the occasional drop-off of
merchandise to the outskirts of the area during his night shifts.

Damien greeted them from
behind the bar in his usual reserved manner and immediately began to pour out
Reggie’s usual: a pint of Abbot Ale and a tequila shot. “Five more shots,
Damien!” Reggie sang cheerfully. It was Aiden’s seventeenth birthday and Reggie
was on a mission to get him shit-faced.

Reggie ordered two lagers to
go with the shots, and he and Connor left Aiden at the bar to bring the drinks
over whilst they took a table in the corner. All drinks went on Reggie’s tab.

Aiden had been working under
Reggie for five months. In that time, he had earned a good wage and, through
Reggie’s introduction, had gained an expanse network of ‘acquaintances’ in the
right places, who provided for their every need.

Above all, he was being
recognised in the business and, finally, he felt like he was respected in their
small community, even if it was mainly because of his close association with Reggie.
Yet Aiden was not merely a pawn in Reggie’s small empire. That had never been
his plan. With his car theft business on the up, he was more acquainted with
the workings of living life on the wrong side of the law, he was making good
money, and he was thriving and zealous. He got a natural high from it all – the
cars, the drugs, the underworld as a whole – and he planned to acquire more,
much more. In the meantime, however, he would continue to learn and network and
gain the trust of his contemporaries and superiors. All in all, right now, life
was good!   

Aiden took the drinks over to
the table and sat down next to Connor. “Ah, shit,” he whispered as he settled
into his seat.

Reggie frowned. “What’s up?”

“Roy Watson’s in...” he
grumbled.

“The drunk?” Reggie sniggered.
That Aiden’s father had the same reputation as Roy for being a drunk was no
secret to anyone who lived round their way. Reggie grimaced. “Sorry, lad, I
didn’t...” he trailed off.

Aiden rebuffed his apology
with a shake of his head as he took a sip of his pint. In truth, he was utterly
ashamed of his father but he wasn’t about to get all upset and defensive about
it. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

“Why do you care about him?”
Reggie pressed.

“I’m sleeping wiv his daughter,
ain’t I?”

Reggie and Connor both
smirked. “Is she as fucked up as her old man?” asked Reggie.

“Sort of...”

“Oh, shit, he’s coming over!”
Connor announced excitedly, bringing his hand to his lips and sniggering into
the tips of his fingers.

Aiden didn’t acknowledge Roy
as he approached. “You messing about with my girl, Foster?” he slurred
incoherently.

It was the same old fanny he’d
heard over and over for months. He took a large gulp of his lager then turned
in his seat. “What of it?” he replied contemptuously.

Roy was about to do something,
though Aiden wasn’t sure what, when he acknowledged the large Rastafarian
beside him. He opted to point a stiff finger near, but not too near, Aiden’s
face. He was unsteady on his feet and he swayed a little as he attempted to
stand tall. “You jus’ treat her right, you ’ear?” he slurred.

“Like you do, you mean?” Aiden
retorted, his cheeks flushing with anger as he recalled the time he had first discovered
the bruising on Gina’s body. There had been a few more since, but they never
discussed it.

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “Look ’ere,
you little shit...”

“Alright Roy, I think that’s
enough,” Reggie intervened, standing up to reveal all his six-feet-five inches.
“About time you went home, don’t you think?”

Roy’s lazy eyes tried to focus
on the large man before him. He knew he shouldn’t say what he said next, but
drink can do that to a man: give him a confidence to do things he wouldn’t even
think twice about doing had he been sober. “Fuck off back to Brixton, nigger...”
he retorted.

Reggie hated that word. He
didn’t even accept it coming from a fellow black man. To him, it was derogatory
to his race, whoever’s mouth it came from, derived from slavery and suffering.

It took only a second for
Reggie to be in front of Roy and landing him a punch right on his nose. Roy
collapsed immediately, his nose gushing with blood. Aiden jumped up with a
massive grin on his face, laughing loudly. No doubt Gina would come looking for
him tomorrow, and he would get it right in the neck, but he didn’t care. He
hated Roy.

Reggie’s large, ringed fingers
curled around the shoulders of Roy’s shirt and he dragged him across the wooden
floor, opened the door and threw him out onto the pavement. Aiden and Connor
followed on his tail. Roy groaned and gargled as he started to come back to
consciousness. His eyes widened when he realised Reggie was standing above him.
“If I see you in this pub again, you cunt, I’ll break your fucking legs, got
it?” he bellowed, pointing a stiff finger at the drunken ponce on the floor.

Roy groaned again. His nose was
broken for sure. Aiden stepped to his side. “I’ll take him back,” he offered with
a reluctant sigh.

“No, you won’t. You might be
fucking his daughter, but you can let the cunt find his own way home!” Reggie
spat, and at that he, Aiden and Connor went back inside, leaving Roy to do
exactly what Reggie had instructed.

************

Roy awoke late the next morning with the reminder of the
night before painted over his face and shirt. As he stared at himself in the
bathroom mirror, he realised he couldn’t quite remember why Reggie had gone at
him and, naturally, he convinced himself that he had been the innocent victim.

Rage boiled inside of him.
He’d never liked Reggie Driscoll.
So he dealt drugs? Why the fuck did
that make him God of the Hackney council estates?

As he ran the memories he
could conjure in his mind, he came to the conclusion that it had all been Aiden’s
fault.
He
had been there, smiling like a fucking Cheshire cat whilst he
got a pasting. He would recognise that cocky white-toothed grin anywhere.   

As the minutes passed, he
began to remember little snippets of what had happened. He recalled that he’d
gone to talk to Aiden about Gina...
fucking Gina
. His daughter had
always been the root cause of all his problems. 

His temper was getting the
better of him now, as it always did, and now everyone else was to blame other
than himself, especially that Aiden and his dirty whore of a daughter.
Where
was she now?
Probably at
his
flat, servicing him, thanking him for
sorting out her old man.

He stormed out of the bathroom
and burst into his daughter’s bedroom. She wasn’t there. He slammed the door
shut, his fury recharging his energy and allowing him to forget the pain he was
in. 

Gina was sitting at the
kitchen table eating toast and reading the local newspaper when Roy stormed in.
She saw his face and gasped, “What happened to you?”

She wasn’t prepared for the
fist that slammed into the side of her head. She fell to the side, hitting her
head on the table before she was dragged from her seat. Throwing her to the
floor, Roy pounced on top of her and forced her wrists above her head, against
the lino. 

“You and your fucking
whoring!” he bellowed as she began to struggle beneath his grip. 

“Get off me!” she screamed.
“Get the fuck off me!”

Roy spat in her face. It was
less than she deserved. Everything that had gone wrong in his life had been
because of this little slut and now she was whoring herself with that little
prick who thought himself as something special because he hung out with niggers.
She was out of control, she always had been. He’d been happy before she’d come
along. He and his wife had been in love; they’d had a life. Then Gina had been
born and it had all got fucked up! “I’ll show you how to behave, girl!” he
bellowed into her face.

All Gina could see was her
father’s wide eyes glaring down at her, his nose bloodied and bruised. She
tried to struggle beneath him, but as ever he was too strong for her. She
attempted to buck him off, but he was kneeling between her legs, leaning over
her, pinning her to the floor like a lion would pin a deer.

“Dad!” she screamed. He swiped
her hard across the cheek then immediately swiped her again. “Get off me, Dad!”
she cried hysterically. She could taste her own blood. Her mind raced with
possibilities as to why her father was so enraged. He had been assaulted, that
was as clear as day, and instinctively she knew it had to have been something
to do with Aiden, otherwise why would he be so incensed?
Had Aiden done this
to him?

It was clear what her father’s
intentions were when he pulled her dressing gown up over her thighs. As she
felt his thick, rough fingers scramble over her flesh, a familiar stir of
resignation and habitual compliance washed over her. She knew it was wrong, she
knew, and when her father slipped himself inside her, she questioned her
reasons for not fighting him off, but she was numb again – always the same
numbness, always reluctant to struggle because to struggle would contradict her
innate reaction to treatment that she had been conditioned to accept all her
life. Like a robot programmed to comply, she just lay there and allowed him to
take her until he was spent.

Roy pulled on his boxers in
silence and left the room. He would take a shower. He always did, and he
wouldn’t talk to her now for the next couple of days. It was always the same,
as if he was too ashamed to communicate with her, as if only time could repair
what he had done. Her father was once again on a shame spiral and she would be
left out in the cold once more, and a creeping realisation clawed its way into
her clouded mind. Roy was jealous: jealous of Aiden and
her
love for him.

Sid Foster was a younger and leaner version of his
brother with less hair on his head and face, yet side by side you’d know he and
Duggie were related. Aged thirty-six, Sid had spent most of his life going in
and out of prison. For the past five years he’d been serving time for
possession of drugs and with nothing else to do other than think, shit and
sleep, he’d devoted his time to working out in the prison gym.