Read The Survival Game Online

Authors: Stavro Yianni

Tags: #Crime, North London, Thriller, Drugs, Ethnic, Greek Cypriot, Guns, Drama, Yardies, Gangs

The Survival Game (10 page)

BOOK: The Survival Game
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John rested his hands on the bar and hunched his shoulders. ‘It’s a long shot, and I’ve been let down by those before, but…’ He craned his neck forwards and lowered his voice. ‘The geezers who took the delivery the other night were Polish. Don’t tell Aziz but…’ He leaned in closer. ‘That prick Omar set ’em onto me, told ’em where I was gonna be, so they could mug me.’

Ahmed’s eyes widened as if he’d just heard a juicy bit of gossip about a neighbour from the cashier at Tesco’s. ‘
Noo
…’ he remarked.

John nodded and raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh yes. And the girl who works there just happens to be Polish. She said she recognised one of ’em. Said he’s an escaped con. She recognised his face from a Polish newspaper or something…’

‘Yeah?’

John stared incredulously at him. ‘Yeah. So, check it out.’

‘Check what out?’

‘The fucking Internet.’

‘What for, John?’

‘Are you messing me around or what? I want you to look for Polish escaped cons.’

Ahmed laughed. ‘Oh yeah, I’ll just Google that, shall I?’

‘Whatever you gotta do, man…’

‘John. It ain’t as simple as that—’

‘Look! An escaped con is big news in any country whether it’s Eng-
land
, Po-
land
or fucking Lap-
land.
This fucker’s made the news somewhere, she told me that much. Now, all I want is for you to dig out that news for me. Isn’t that what the Internet’s for?’

Ahmed shrugged and sighed. ‘All right, John. I’ll try, but I’m not promising I’ll find anything…’

‘Well, it’s worth a go, Ahmed. Like I said, it’s a long shot…’

Ahmed then went to work clicking keys on his laptop. John looked around him while he waited.

Aziz had now removed his glasses and was staring at him through a haze of cigar smoke. The bloodhound was suddenly back, and it detected the sweet smell of claret. ‘Any word on my goods, John?’ he asked loudly, not caring who heard him.

John tapped his fingers on the bar, anxious. He raised his eyebrows in Ahmed’s direction. ‘I’m working on it, Aziz,’ he replied.

‘Well work faster,’ Aziz retorted. ‘We don’t have time to play around on computers.’ He then placed his glasses back on and picked up the paper, having said his piece.

John sighed.
God, how much did he want that particular monkey off his back,
gamota
?

He turned his attention back to Ahmed. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked.

‘Well, I got the Polish Police web address from Wikipedia…’

As Ahmed spoke, John suddenly found himself blinking rapidly as if he’d just caught a fly in his eye. From nowhere, a pair of jet-black horns were starting to shoot out the sides of Ahmed’s head.

John diverted his stare. ‘Yeah?’ he replied. When he looked back again, they were fully-grown. Full-on horns. John stared at them in fascination.
What the hell are those things?

What happened to me when that
putana
knocked me out?

‘And unfortunately, my Polish is a bit rusty,’ Ahmed continued, ‘so I have no idea what the hell any of this writing means, and there’s no English version available. But don’t worry…’ he said, lifting a finger in the air like he was some kind of mad scientist. ‘I’ll get an online translator up in no time.’

John nodded, even though he was nonplussed. As far as he was concerned, all this
was
‘nerdy freak’
skata
. Besides, he was too busy staring at the horns on Ahmed’s bonce to even know what he was on about.
Was he a
Satano
? A demon? Some kind of monster,
gamota
?
He looked around him at all the different people in the hall, playing snooker, drinking beer, watching the footy, all with either haloes or horns superimposed on their heads.
Is that what all this is…? Am I seeing real angels and demons all around me? Why? Is that what angels and demons are? People?

One thing’s for sure, something happened while I was in that coma, something I can’t get my head around. Maybe—

‘Okay, John,’ Ahmed then said, knocking John off of his train of thought. ‘I might have something here, mate.’ Ahmed spun the computer round to the side so that John could see it. But, instead of looking at the laptop screen, John just stared wide-eyed at Ahmed like he was some kind of ghost.

‘Are you okay, John?’ Ahmed asked.

John just carried on staring at him for a few seconds. ‘Would you say you’re a good man, Ahmed?’ he then asked.

Ahmed’s face scrunched up. ‘What? Where the hell did that come from?’

John shook his head and laughed. ‘Nothing. I’m… still fucked up from being knocked out last night. Must be the shit still in my system.
What have you found?

Ahmed gave him an unsure look before pointing to the laptop screen. ‘This—translates as ‘It has not found prison escapee. Urged people to come forward if information has.’ It’s dated around ten days back…’

John’s eyes rolled down from Ahmed’s horns to the screen. He found himself staring at a mugshot. Weird writing surrounded the mugshot that to him was nothing but gobbledegook. He focussed in on the photo instead. It showed a bloke with a shaved head, dark rings for eyes. A big, fat head, and stocky shoulders that kind of merged, eliminating the need for a neck. John looked into his eyes and when he did, he was transported back to the night before and to the exact moment Prince Charles took his mask off. He could now see that same mug in his mind’s eye. Big, fat head, dark eyes. The Michelin Man.

His jaw dropped. ‘It’s him!’ he said without breathing. ‘It’s him, Ahmed!’

‘Are you sure?’

John began nodding his head vehemently. ‘Yeah, it’s him. Definitely. It’s him, man! I’ll remember that fat head forever, I swear to God…’ John rubbed his eyes, and steadied himself before he looked again, not wanting his successful ID to be down to those fucking hallucinations making him
think
it was Prince Charles when it wasn’t. He wanted to be a hundred percent positive and not just looking for hope. He took in a deep breath, cleared his mind and looked again. But no, it wasn’t a hallucination. There was no doubt about it, the mugshot he was staring at was the
malaka
who hit him with a cricket bat and nicked the delivery. It was definitely him. No doubt. He glanced under the photo to read the name—Marek Kolovski.

Marek Kolovski. Now the face had a name.
Now he was getting to know his enemy…

‘And there’s another one too,’ Ahmed said before spinning the laptop back his way and scrolling down the page. He spun it back and John’s eyes widened. He was now staring at a woman. Her jet-black hair was cut short and spiky. She had a skinny, bony face, and a nose ring. Her eyes brimmed with a clear and lucid intelligence. Beneath the photo was another name—Valeria Kolovski.

‘And that’s the bitch who shot me!’ John exclaimed. ‘With the tranquilliser dart!’

‘You sure, John?’

John growled. ‘
Yes
, I’m telling you, it’s them!’ He looked at the screen again. ‘They both got the same surname,’ he said to himself. ‘Married?’ he asked Ahmed.

‘According to the translation, brother and sister. Twins.’

John almost choked. ‘
Twins
? Well, they ain’t identical, that’s for sure. I dunno if that’s a better job for him or her!’

Ahmed chuckled.

‘What are they wanted for?’ asked John.

Ahmed spun the laptop back his way and began scrolling. ‘According to this—he was part of some gang called the Gladiators… Football hooligans. They were nicked on the way to a match…’

‘What for?’

‘For being hooligans basically…
erm
… other hooligan gangs saw his arrest as unlawful so they united and busted him and his crew out of the security van they were transporting them all to prison in… blah, blah, blah… They don’t know where he is, think he may have jumped the country, they don’t know where… or, he could still be in Poland… his twin sister is Valeria Kolovski… used to work for Government but defected… Get this, she’s some kind of doctor, medical doctor, some kind of genius chemist according to this… Unbelievable, a hooli and a genius as twins, couldn’t be more opposite, could they?’

John rubbed his stubbled cheeks.
Hmm, interesting… But how does mugging me fit into all this?

‘Sick innit, mate? How they let geezers like that get in the country so easily,’ Ahmed commented.

‘That’s this Government for you, Ahmed. Couldn’t give a toss about our safety.’

Ahmed nodded in agreement. ‘John. Shall we tell the old man?’

John turned to face the horned bloodhound in the frilly shirt sitting at the end of the bar. He was still reading his paper. ‘No. No, don’t tell him anything, Ahmed.’ John turned back to face him, a serious look now planted on his face. ‘Leave it to me.
I’ll
get his shit back for him.’

‘I hope so, for your sake, mate. Remember what I told you happened to the last delivery man…’ Ahmed said, a dark, grave expression on his face.

John felt a shiver jig up his spine at the thought. ‘
Yeah, I remember, Ahmed…
’ he said, glancing back at the old man at the end of the bar. ‘Can you make us a copy of those mugshots?’ he then asked Ahmed, wanting to change the subject.

‘Yeah, no problem,’ Ahmed said. ‘I’ll have to use the PC upstairs. Just give us a minute…’ He walked out from behind the bar, and left the hall floor to fix the photocopies for him.

While he waited, John stared at the mugshots on the screen in front of him as if his eyes were glued to them, taking in every detail of their face.
I’ll find you, Marek and Valeria,
he thought to himself, nodding his head at the same time.
I swear to God I’ll find you if it’s the last thing I do.

I’ll find you…

*****

Later that night, after John came back from the snooker hall, he sat pensively on the edge of his and Alisha’s bed, his head in his hands. He wanted another
cigarro
. Wanted to go to sleep as well, but couldn’t get a wink. He was edgy. Nervous. He kept checking the time on the digital alarm clock next to their bed. Right then it read 1:14 am. This time last night he was in some kind of drug induced deep sleep. He wondered if he’d been dreaming at all. He could vaguely remember something about cats. Black cats with piercing yellow eyes and horns on their heads. The thought made a rash of gooseflesh crawl across his bare back. He shivered.

Alisha murmured something in her sleep. He turned to face her. He watched her apprehensively as she quietened down and remained asleep. She’d been complaining earlier about a pain in her stomach. That was all he needed to hear,
gamota
. All of a sudden, Polish muggers were shoved to the back of his mind. He wanted to take her to the hospital, but pretty soon after, she said the pain was going away. He was relieved to hear that. He told her to lie down. She did, and then everything was okay again. John surmised that it was probably the stress of the past couple of days. And the future. She was scared, he could see that. She was scared for him and their child, and it was causing her extreme stress. He had to do something about it. He had to show her some
lires
, proper
lires
, very soon, just to reassure her, calm her down. The last thing he wanted was to damage his
moro
. He needed that money that Aziz owed him badly and some more soon after, just to reassure them all. That deposit on a new flat had been within reach but his cash flow had suddenly stopped dead.

All ’cos of those fucked up Polish twins.

He watched Alisha roll away and onto her side, her back now facing him. Her halo glowed brightly around her head. John sighed. He kept thinking about what Ahmed said earlier about Valeria Kolovski, about how she was a medical scientist.
Medical Scientist?
Like a chemist, he said. A chemical expert? Like a drug creator? A creator of drugs?
The type of drugs that knock you out, and you wake up seeing angels and demons all around you?

Maybe, or maybe—

And then suddenly a thought hit him so quickly it almost knocked him backwards, something he hadn’t even contemplated till then.

Did I die…?

Am I dead? Is that why I’m seeing angels and demons ’cos last night I… died?
He grabbed his head with both hands and briskly rubbed it, that abrupt thought suddenly making it ache. He then reached for a
cigarro
. He stuck it in his dry, slightly trembling lips and lit it, quickly taking a long drag soon after.
Well, I can taste this, so, I can’t be dead.

But, the hallucinations,
re
. Demons and fucking angels and rats and bloodhounds and… arrrgggghhhh!!!

He got up and went to the front door. He opened it and stood in the doorway while he finished his
cigarro
. Outside the air was crisp; it bit into his bare skin, making him shiver and allowing gooseflesh to crawl wherever it could.

Well, if I
am
dead, I can’t be in Hell ’cos it’s way too fucking cold,
gamota
!
He smiled wryly to himself and puffed away.

But all jokes aside,
re
. Did you see Omar’s fucking nose back there?
Yeah, it was crazy. And somehow he knew, he knew it meant he was lying. Like it was his natural instinct. He knew exactly what the things he was seeing meant. It was as if it were trying to help him, to tell him that Omar was lying, and he understood it perfectly.

What if you could use what you’re seeing to your advantage?

He blew smoke out from his lungs and looked over his shoulder. Alisha was lying in their bed, dead to the world.

Why don’t you ask her if she got pregnant on purpose? See what happens…

Hmm, maybe that’s not a bad idea, then I’d know the real truth.

But did he really wanna know the truth?

Why not just let it lie,
gamota.
It’s in the past, nothing can be done about it now…

Maybe that was right. Why go over old ground and risk creating more tension between them? Was it worth it? Maybe it wasn’t, but it was definitely food for thought. But right then it wasn’t the most important thing in his life that was or sure. Getting that delivery back was top priority. He couldn’t afford to slack off thinking about Alisha’s lies, or non-lies, or believing that he was dead and living in some kind of purgatory limbo. If he took his eye off the ball, he could end the week back in hospital.
Or worse…

BOOK: The Survival Game
8.85Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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