What Came Before He Shot Her (29 page)

To Kendra, this was an overly sanguine way of looking at the problem of Ness. The girl had brought nothing but ever-increasing diffi culty into Kendra’s life from the moment of her arrival, and something had to be done about her. Kendra could not, however, come up with anything beyond giving orders and making threats, most of which—out of duty to her brother, Ness’s father—she lacked the courage to carry out.

“You keep ’spectin her to be like you,” was Dix’s maddeningly reasonable assessment of the situation when he and Kendra discussed it.

“You get past that, you got a chance of ’ceptin her for what she is.”

“What she is is a tart,” Kendra told him. “A truant, a layabout, and a slag.”

“You don’t mean dat,” Dix replied, laying a finger across her lips and smiling down at her. It was late. They were drowsy from lovemak-ing and readying themselves for sleep. “Dat’s your frustration talking.

Just like hers is talkin as well. You letting her vex you ’stead of lookin at the why of what she’s doing.”

Mostly, they circled each other, wary as cats. Kendra walked into a room; Ness flounced out of it. Kendra assigned a chore for the girl; Ness did it only when the request became the demand and the demand became the threat and even then she did it as badly as possible. She was monosyllabic, angry, and sarcastic when what Kendra expected of her was gratitude. Not gratitude for the roof over her head—which even Kendra knew was too much to ask for, considering how it had come to pass that Ness and her brothers were living in Edenham Way—but gratitude at least for the deliverance from the Blade as effected by Dix. The second time, in fact, that Dix had delivered her from trouble, a truth that Kendra pointed out to her.

“He was
dat
bloke?” Ness responded to this news. “From the Falcon? No way.” But after learning this, Ness eyed him differently and in a manner that would have caused concern in a woman less sure of herself than Kendra.

“Yes way,” was Kendra’s reply. “How drunk
were
you, girl, that you don’t remember?”

“Too drunk to study up on his
face
,” she said. “But wha’ I
do
remember . . .” She smiled and rolled her eyes expressively. “My, my, my, Ken
dra
. Ain’t you one lucky slag.”

Her remark was a small pebble thrown into a large pond, but the ripples still made their way outward. Kendra tried to avoid attending to them. She told herself that Ness, in her present state, liked to mess with minds and didn’t care how she did it.

Still, she couldn’t avoid a reaction deep within herself, one that eventually prompted her to say to Dix as a way of approaching the topic obliquely, “Blood, what’re you doing loving on this middle-aged body of mine? You don’t like girl flesh? Is that what it is? Your age, I’d think you’d want someone young.”

“Y’are young,” he said promptly, a gratifying response. But he went on with an intuitive question. “Wha’s dis really about, Ken?”

That maddened Kendra: Dix’s seeing through her indirections. She said, “It’s about nothing.”

He said, “Don’t think so.”

“All right, then. You mean me to think you don’t look at girls?

Young women? Down the pub, at the gym, sunning themselves in the park?”

“Course I look. Ain’t a robot.”

“And when Ness walks round here with half her clothes off? You take note of that?”

“Like I said, Ken. Wha’s dis really about?”

Pressed to it, however, Kendra couldn’t bring herself to say more.

More would have indicated a lack of trust, a lack of confidence, and a lack of esteem. Not esteem for herself but esteem for him. To take her mind off what Ness clearly wanted her mind on, Kendra redoubled her efforts to increase her list of clients for massage, telling herself that everything else was secondary to the future that she was trying to build.

She hadn’t intended that future to include the Campbells, though, and as Ness continued to demonstrate how unpleasant life with an adolescent girl could be, Kendra understandably gave thought to ways in which life with an adolescent girl could be brought to an end. She considered the possibility that their mother might reenter their world and take them off her hands. She even visited Carole Campbell privately to assess whether her maternal instincts—such as they were—might be re-awakened. But Carole, having “a faraway day” as her lapse into a fugue state was called, was mute on the subject of Ness and Joel. Toby, Kendra knew, was a topic best left unmentioned.

The fact that Dix wasn’t bothered by the presence of the Campbells—

and particularly by Ness—increased Kendra’s sense of guilt about her own feelings. She told herself that she was “good God their
aunt,
for heaven’s sake” and she tried to shake the general sense of uneasiness that had her waiting endlessly for the worst.

As for Ness, she knew that her aunt was wary and, powerless for so long, she enjoyed the fleeting feeling of supremacy she was able to experience simply by being in the same room with her aunt and Dix D’Court. For Kendra had begun to study her like a microscopic specimen on a slide, and reading her aunt’s suspicions as jealousy, Ness couldn’t help trying to give her something to be jealous about.

This required Dix’s cooperation. Since, to Ness, he was a man like all men—governed by base desires—she set out to seduce him. There was nothing subtle in her approach.

He was standing at the kitchen sink when she accosted him. He’d made himself one of his protein-packed juice drinks, and he was powering it down. His back was to her. They were alone in the house.

She murmured, “Ken’s got
all
the luck. You, blood, are one fine man.”

He turned to her, surprised because he thought she’d left the house.

He had things to do—primary among them his daily workout—and having a tête-à-tête with his woman’s niece wasn’t among them. Besides, he’d seen the way Ness had started looking at him, assessing and deciding, and he had a fairly good idea of where a private colloquy with her might lead. He drank down the rest of his smoothie and turned to rinse out the glass.

Ness joined him at the sink. She put her hand on his shoulder and ran it down his arm. It was bare, as was his chest. Ness turned his wrist and traced his vein. Her touch was light, her hands were soft, and there was no mistaking her intentions.

He was human, and if he thought fleetingly of returning her touch and if his eyes dropped even more fleetingly to the rich dark nipples that, braless, pressed against her thin white T-shirt, it was owing to this humanity. Pure biology worked in him for a moment, but he mastered it.

He removed Ness’s hand from his body. He said, “Good way to get into trouble, innit.”

She caught his hand, pressed it to her waist and held it there. She fixed her eyes on his and raised his hand slowly till she had it at the swell of her breast. “Why she got all the luck?” she repeated. “’Specially when I saw you first. Come on, mon. I know you wan’ it. I know
how
you wan’ it. An’ I know you wan’ it from me.”

Biology again and he felt himself heating in spite of his wishes. But this prompted him to jerk away from her. He said, “You readin t’ings wrong, Ness. Dat, or you makin ’em up.”

“Oh right. You was bein’
noble
at the Falcon dat night, Dix? You tellin me dat? You sayin you don’ re
mem
ber just before you drove me home? We go to your car. You put me inside. You make
sure
I got dat seat belt fastened. ‘Here, lemme help you, lit’le lady. Lemme draw it

’cross you, make sure you’re
snug
.’”

Dix held up a hand to stop her words. “Don’t go dat way,” he told her.

“What way? Way of you grazin your fingers cross me like you want to do now? Way of your hand sliding up my leg, high as you can, till you find what you want? Which way is it you don’t want me to go?”

He narrowed his eyes. His nostrils flared when he breathed, and he took in her scent. Kendra was sexy, but this girl was sex. She was raw, she was present, and she scared him to death. He said, “You a liar as well as a slag, den, Ness? Keep away from me. I mean it, y’unnerstan.”

He pushed past her then and left the kitchen. What he left behind was the sound of her laugh. A single note of it, high and possessing neither heart nor amusement. It felt like a scalpel peeling back his flesh.

NESS WAS NOT of an age to understand what she felt. All she knew about what was going on inside her was that she was roiling. To her, this roiling was a thing demanding action, for action is always easier than thought.

Her opportunity for taking an action to express herself came soon enough. She’d imagined the action being sexual: herself and Dix entwined hotly in such a manner and in such a place that discovery by Kendra was guaranteed. But that was not how her life played out. Instead, Six and Natasha supplied the opportunity for expression, which came about because two circumstances to which none of them were strangers occurred simultaneously: Lack of cash collided with a desire for substance on an evening when the girls had nothing to do.

This should have presented no problem. Following hand jobs, blow jobs, full penetration, or whatever else they had negotiated for, the area’s bicycle-delivery boys had always been happy to hand over to the girls payment in the form of cocaine, cannabis, Ecstasy, crystal meth . . . the beauty for them being that the girls weren’t choosy about substance. But lately, the situation had altered. The source of dope had begun watching the boys more carefully because a wary customer along the line had complained about someone skimming. Thus, the well had run dry and no number of sexual favours appeared to be able to prime it.

There was no question that the girls needed money. But they had nothing to sell, and the idea of actually seeking employment—had any of them been employable, which they were not—didn’t occur to them.

They were of the instant-gratification generation anyway, so they thrashed around through their options in order to decide how best to come up with cash. There seemed to be two possibilities: They could sell sexual favours to someone other than the delivery boys or they could nick the money. They chose the latter option, as it seemed quicker, and it left them with merely deciding from whom they should lift what they needed. Here again, there were further choices: They could nick money from Six’s mother’s purse; they could nick it from someone using a cash-point machine; they could nick it from someone defenceless in the street.

Since Six’s mother was rarely around, neither was her bag and she had no cache of cash in the flat that Six knew about, so that eliminated her as a possibility. The cash-point machine sounded quite good until Tash, of all people, pointed out that most machines had CCTV cameras mounted nearby and the last thing they wanted was to have their faces photographed in the midst of mugging someone using the machine. That left them with a confrontation in the street. This was agreed to, and all that remained was selecting the area in which to carry out the operation and selecting the appropriate victim.

The three estates in which the girls lived were rejected at once. So were Great Western Road, Kilburn Lane, Golborne Road, and the Harrow Road. These, they decided, were far too crowded and a person mugged would likely send up a cry that would get them noticed if not get them stopped. They settled on an estate directly across from the Harrow Road police station. While others might have rejected this as a ludicrous spot in which to mug a London citizen, the girls liked it for two reasons: It had a locked entry gate, which would foster a false sense of security in their potential victim; it was so close to the police station that no one would expect to be mugged there. It was, the girls decided, sheer brilliance on their part to make the estate their selection.

Getting onto the estate proved no problem. They merely hung around three wheelie bins near the gate and waited until an unwary elderly woman approached, toddling along with a shopping trolley in tow. Tash dashed forward to hold the gate open for her once she had it unlocked, saying, “Lemme help you wiv dis, ma’am,” and the woman was so surprised to be spoken to and dealt with politely that she had no suspicions when Tash followed her inside and gestured for Six and Ness to do likewise.

Six shook her head to indicate that they’d let the woman go on her way. A pensioner, she’d be unlikely to have enough cash on her for what they wanted, and anyway, Six drew the line at mugging defenceless old ladies. They reminded her of her own gran, and not mugging them was a form of deal making with fate, guaranteeing that her gran would remain unmolested on her own estate.

So the girls began to prowl up and down the paths, watching and waiting. Neither operation took long. They hadn’t been inside the walls ten minutes when they saw their target. A woman came out of one of the terrace houses and set off towards the Harrow Road, foolishly—

and in direct defi ance of everything the police recommended—taking a mobile phone from her bag.

She seemed a godsend as she punched in a few numbers, oblivious of what was going on around her. Even if she had no cash, she had a mobile, and nothing had changed in the lives of Six and Natasha heretofore, so possession of a mobile phone still represented the apex of their dreams.

Three of them and one of her: The odds seemed excellent. All it would take was two girls in front of her and one behind. A confrontation without violence but with the threat of bodily harm omnipresent.

Looking tough because they
were
tough. What’s more, she was white and they were black. She was middle-aged and they were young. It was, in short, a match made in heaven, and the girls had no hesitation about going forward.

Six led the way. She and Tash would confront. Ness would be surprise backup behind the lady.

“Patty? This is Sue,” the woman was saying into her mobile. “Could you unlock the door for me? I’m running late, and the students aren’t likely to wait more than ten minutes if . . .” She saw Tash and Six in front of her. She stopped on the path. From behind, Ness clamped a hand on her shoulder. The woman stiffened.

“Le’s have the moby, bitch,” Six said. She closed in quickly. Tash did the same.