Homegrown Hero: A funny and addictive thriller for fans of Informer. Khurrum Rahman
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href="#litres_trial_promo">82. Jay
83. Derelict Building Site, South London
About the Publisher
Parking my Beemer in my driveway‚ I killed the engine and took a deep breath. Leaning back‚ I sank into the driver’s seat and closed my eyes‚ enjoying the cool evening breeze coming in through the car window.
In the distance‚ I heard the low growl of a diesel engine. At first barely perceptible‚ the sound moved closer‚ louder‚ the vehicle picking up speed then humming idly as it came to a standstill close by.
A car door opened‚ and closed.
I opened my eyes and turned.
He was standing beside me‚ smiling down through my open car window. Like seeing a ghost.
‘Hello‚ old chum‚’ he said‚ ‘I haven’t seen you in ages.’
I barely had time to catch a glint of something before his arm snaked through my window and‚ in perfect silence‚ sliced my throat from ear to ear.
Fatwa: A pronouncement of death by a higher authority.
I’d never before come across a person like Jack. I had him tightly strapped in the backseat as I drove him to the location. He knew just as well as I did‚ maybe better‚ that I only had a small window to extract the information out of him. Because once we’d reached our destination he’d be protected to the hilt and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. He just needed to hold tight. But he’d made a mistake. He didn’t know about me‚ about my past. I’d get the information I needed from the devil if it was the last damn thing I did. I was confident of it. I had to be careful‚ though. I couldn’t get physical. If he turned up with so much as a mark on him‚ it would be me that suffered.
‘Jack... C’mon‚ mate‚’ I started with the soft approach.’Where is it?’
‘I’ve told you‚’ Jack glanced outside the window at the buses lit up within Hounslow Bus Garage. ‘I’m not telling you.’
I inhaled through my nose and gripped the steering wheel tightly. Even if I drove slowly I had maybe five minutes left of the journey. I loosened the grip and dropped my shoulders. He was observant‚ and I did not want him to see me tense. I turned the volume up on the CD player. In an effort to break him I had been playing Yellow Submarine on repeat‚ a song that he hated and one that I loved. It hadn’t worked though; I was beginning to despise it; I took a quick glance in the rear-view mirror and he was singing along.
‘Put it higher. This is my jam!’ Jack squealed‚ and I immediately killed the sound.
‘Jack. Listen... J-just listen.’ I stammered and realised that I was about to plead. I’ve never before bent over for anybody and I wasn’t going to start now. I pulled up at a red light and slipped the gear into neutral. I closed my eyes and tried to gather my thoughts and focus on my training. It seemed like a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime ago. A blare from the car behind broke me out of my thoughts.
‘It’s green‚’ Jack said.
His tinny voice echoed in my ears and I found myself grinding my teeth so hard that my temples started to rhythmically pulse. I slipped into first and set off with a stutter. I slid the window down and allowed the cold evening air to hit me‚ to jolt me into action‚ but I was fast running out of time and ideas. Jack sneezed. Gotcha! I moved my hand over the control panel and slid down every window. I eyed him through the rear-view and I could see Jack physically curl up into a ball‚ his shoulders hunched and his chin down to his chest. His bottom lip quivered. I almost‚ almost felt for him but instead I turned the air conditioning onto cold.
‘You okay in the back‚ Jack?’ I said‚ and with his chin still dug into his chest he lifted his big blue eyes at me and sniffed.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Bet you wish you wore a jacket now.’
‘I’m fine.’ He said‚ his face getting paler‚ angry goose pimples appearing on his arm.
‘You ready to tell me or do I go higher?’ I said‚ my hand hovering over the AC control.
‘Do what you like. Go higher.’
I could not believe it. Why was it so hard to break him? When had I become so terrible at this? All my training‚ all my discipline had left me. As always‚ at times of stress‚ my scalp started to itch‚ as though a thousand little spiders were dancing through my hair and it took all my will not to scratch the hell out of it.
‘You’re sweating‚’ Jack said. His chin was now raised and pointing at me in defiance. My hand was at my forehead wiping away the sheen of sweat. He smiled‚ goofy and mocking and I dropped my hand immediately to the gear stick and gripped it.
No more Mr Nice Guy. This ends now. I closed the windows and killed the air con.
‘I’m going to count to ten and if you haven’t told me where the remote is then I am pulling over and going to work on your fingers until you do tell me. Is that what you want‚ Jack? Do you want me to chop off your fingers?’
‘Why would I want you to chop off my fingers?’ He blinked lazily at me.
‘Because‚ you’re asking for it.’
‘I don’t remember asking to have my fingers chopped off.’
It was an empty threat‚ an ill-judged bluff‚ one that we both knew that I would never go through with. I could never harm a single hair on his dumb side parting. I had lost‚ convincingly. The night