There was a rugby union player, Jonah Lomu, a New Zealand Māori, who rewrote the rules of the game, because of his size and speed. No one had seen anything like him before. This hulk, this oversized tank, who moved with such grace and pace. It is Jonah Lomu that is going through Mitch’s mind as Garth runs at Luca, grabs him around the waist and hurls him over the parapet of the car park. There is a long, astonished silence, followed by a loud, distant crunch, and the wail of a car alarm. Mitch stares at Garth. Garth is combing his hair.
‘How did he know my wife had died?’ Garth asks.
‘Huh?’ says Mitch. He had meant to say more, but that’s all that came out.
‘How did he know my wife had died?’ Garth repeats. ‘Only the cops and the killer knew.’
‘So, he –’ says Mitch.
‘He killed her, and I loved her,’ says Garth. ‘I know I don’t look like the sensitive type. But I am.’
‘I see that,’ says Mitch, trying to regain a little composure. ‘So what now?’
‘I figure we’ve got about seven minutes to get out of here,’ says Garth. ‘Let’s take your car.’
‘Where are we going?’ Mitch asks.
‘To Coopers Chase,’ say Garth. ‘See if we can’t get your heroin back.’
‘No killing,’ says Mitch. ‘I’m serious now. Enough.’
‘Can’t promise anything,’ says Garth. ‘But if they play ball, they’ll be just fine.’
Mitch hears the screams of the public down below, and feels sick to his core. Why is everyone dying? What is he missing?
Please make this end soon. And please let him get out alive.
Ibrahim knows that it is just a waiting game now. Somebody is sure to visit Coopers Chase, looking for the heroin. Every new car through the gates could be bringing death.
So, just for today, it is quite nice to have something to take their minds off it all.
Tatiana’s friend ‘Jeremmy’ is coming this evening to pick up his money. Or so he thinks. Truth be told, he may be in for a rude shock. Joyce, as is increasingly her wont, has a plan for him.
They are all meeting at Joyce’s flat at six p.m. Donna is there now, enjoying Joyce’s hospitality. So if anyone tries to steal the heroin today, at least they have some strength in numbers to fight them off.
Ibrahim has invited Bob over a little earlier than necessary, he’s not sure why. Actually, perhaps he
‘What must you make of us, Bob?’ Ibrahim asks, pouring two cups of mint tea.
‘I’ve never really felt it’s my business to make anything out of anyone,’ says Bob. ‘I’ve never been good with people. Almost everyone is a mystery to me.’
‘Every true soul is unknowable,’ says Ibrahim.
‘Who says that?’ Bob asks.
‘Me, Freud, Jung, some others,’ says Ibrahim. ‘That’s why I enjoy my job. You can only ever know so much. We remain out of reach to each other.’
‘We certainly do,’ agrees Bob.
‘I know a woman,’ says Ibrahim. ‘A cocaine dealer, who can kill people with the click of a finger. Yet, on Monday, she laid her hand on my arm like a lover.’
‘I don’t think that makes up for killing people,’ says Bob. ‘Unless I have that wrong?’
‘No, goodness, no,’ says Ibrahim. ‘And today she sent me a beautiful bunch of flowers. They are in the sink.’
‘I do like flowers,’ says Bob. ‘But I never think to buy them for myself. It makes me feel foolish. I bought some orchids once, this is a few years ago, and as I was paying I told the man they were for my wife. I don’t know why. Anyway, I left them on the train.’
‘I’ve enjoyed working with you though, Bob,’ says Ibrahim. ‘These last few weeks.’
‘I don’t know that I’ve been much help,’ says Bob. ‘After the initial stages.’
‘You’ve had fun though?’
‘Do you know, I have,’ says Bob, taking a first sip of his tea. ‘Often I just do online quizzes, or read up about things, or wait for lunch, and this has given me something else to do. I think I spend too much time alone.’
Ibrahim nods. ‘It’s nice to have the choice, isn’t it?’
‘And to watch the snooker,’ says Bob. ‘I enjoyed that. I even enjoyed answering Joyce’s questions.’
This feels like a good time? Does it? Ibrahim supposes there will never be a good time.
‘Do you know, Bob, when I was twenty I was a medical student.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ says Bob. ‘I was an engineer in the factory my dad worked in.’
‘Oh, I can see that,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Tell me a little more?’
‘No, no,’ says Bob. ‘You tell me more, Ibrahim.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘We have half an hour or so,’ says Bob.
‘So we do,’ says Ibrahim, and settles back into his chair. He chooses not to look at Bob directly. Instead he looks at the painting of the boat on the wall, the painting he has carried around with him from office to office over many years. ‘I lived in Earls Court, do you know it?’
‘Yes, it’s in London,’ says Bob.
‘That’s it,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I had very little money, but I had a scholarship that saw me through the worst of it. I would study all day, and come home at night to this tiny bedsit. 1963, I would say.’
‘The Beatles,’ says Bob.
