At eleven, Dave gave a 30-minute warning and, over the following half hour, the croupiers gradually brought each game to a close, then hid each table beneath a closely fitting branded pastic sheet. It took another thirty minutes and numerous tannoy announcements from Dave for everyone to clear the pool room and filter through to the main bar.
During the evening, Jack had been pleasantly surprised by the fact that scores of people had come and gone. In truth, they only amounted to a small percentage of the station’s workforce, but they were the important percentage — the people who Jack liked and respected. Even Angel popped her head round the door at just gone ten. She put a tequila slammer with salt and a slice of lemon on the rim into Jack’s hand, then clinked his shot glass with hers, necked her tequila, kissed him smack on the lips and said she couldn’t stay as she was on her way to a domestic triple murder-suicide.
Jack put his hand on her arm. ‘One second, Angel, just a query: do you know if anything of interest was found in the bins from the Jenkins house?’
‘Nope, just rotting food, old newspapers and old cardboard boxes from Amazon. But we took DNA from the cigarette butts, though it might be no good due to them being sodden. I have to go.’
Jack had parked his car round the back of the police station, so the first thing he and Ridley did on leaving The Red Dragon was head across to collect Jack’s overnight bag and wedding suit from the boot. Both men then embarked on the short walk to Ridley’s flat, where the groom would hole up overnight, so as not to risk seeing the bride on the wedding day until the moment she arrived at the registry office.
On their way back to his flat, Ridley insisted on ‘treating’ Jack to sausage and chips from Carlo’s Takeaway, which looked like someone’s front room with the wall knocked out. But Ridley insisted that Carlo sold the very best chips in London, so Jack went along with it. Jack paced the wide kerb edge whilst waiting for Ridley to buy their impromptu supper, which neither of them really needed as they’d been eating pizza since nine.
‘What’s in the weird bag?’
Jack turned to see a group of five young lads, all wearing black hoodies beneath various styles of denim jacket. Instinct kicked in and in the time it took for Jack to reply that it was a suit bag containing his wedding outfit, he’d moved around so that his back was to the window of Carlo’s Takeaway. He placed both bags on the ground behind his legs and he put his hand into his jacket pocket and closed his fingers around his house keys, manoeuvring his Yale key in between his fingers. Jack was now certain that if this gang were looking for trouble, he could keep them at bay until Ridley twigged what was happening and joined him.
‘Show us it.’
The leader of the group stood with both hands in his pockets, and spoke with a frightening degree of confidence. The remaining four lads hung back, waiting for their instructions. Even though none of them were much older than seventeen, they were all fit young men who, Jack presumed, would be in far better shape than himself or Ridley.
Jack was the epitome of calm. ‘My mate in there says these are the best chips in London. Fancy some?’ The leader shuffled his feet slightly, showing how Jack’s question had thrown him off guard. ‘You see, I’m not going to open the bag. So, I’m hoping I can just buy you some chips and we can all head home.’ Ridley stepped out of Carlo’s holding a paper carrier bag containing two portions of sausage and chips. The instant his feet were on the pavement, he knew what was happening. Jack nodded to him. ‘I was just saying to these lads that the best way for tonight to end is with us buying them some chips.’ Jack stared the leader dead in the eyes. ‘Anything else would be stupid.’
The lad smirked, and removing his hand from his pocket he pressed the button on the handle of his flick knife.
In the next split-second, Jack took his hand from his pocket and punched the lad on the top of his right arm. The Yale key penetrated his skin by an inch and, before he pulled it out, Jack twisted it, tearing the puncture wound into a jagged hole. The lad screamed in agony and his damaged bicep immediately became too painful to wield the knife.
Jack quickly and fiercely pointed his bloodied finger at the other four lads. ‘Go home! Before you really start to piss me off!’
All five lads looked at each other and, with one united nod, they made the wrong decision. In the time it took for Ridley to put the bag of food on the floor, more flick knives were out and pointing in their direction. Ridley deftly slipped his open jacket off his shoulders and wrapped it round his left forearm just as the blade of a knife sliced through the material. With one lad now within arm’s reach, Ridley landed a single powerful punch to his chin, cracking his jaw. The three remaining lads now froze to the spot. They pointed their knives, but none had the courage to use them. The lad with the broken jaw knelt on the pavement, cradling his face and crying in agony. Ridley took out his mobile and called for an ambulance as Jack stepped towards the remaining three lads.
‘I’ll say it again — go home.’ They didn’t need telling a third time.
As the leader watched most of his gang running away, he glared up at Ridley ‘I’m gonna kill you,’ he spat. He was on his knees, bleeding and abandoned, but he couldn’t bring himself to surrender. ‘You hear me?’ the boy grinned through dirty, stained teeth. ‘Enjoy his wedding... ’cos next thing will be your funeral.’
A darkness descended behind Ridley’s eyes and his fingers closed tightly around his mobile phone until his knuckles turned white. Ridley stepped towards the leader of the gang and lashed out with the hard edge of his mobile, striking the open wound to his bicep. The boy screamed in pain and crumpled onto his back. Ridley raised his fist again, but Jack caught his wrist in mid-flight. In the blink of an eye, sanity returned, and Ridley seemed to deflate. The fight had drained him and now he could hardly breathe. He was in shock. He stared at Jack’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. There was blood on his shirt cuff and on the edge of his mobile. Ridley looked at the blood as though he had no idea how it had got there. Jack let go of Ridley’s arm. He then picked up his bag of food and they headed for home.
For a good fifty yards, Jack walked behind Ridley. Then Ridley stopped. ‘I get these rushes of anger. I’m so fucking angry, Jack. And I’m scared. I’m fighting, and winning, I think. But what if it’s spread? What if it comes back?’ Jack and Ridley stood in the middle of the pavement, forcing the drunken stragglers from pubs and clubs to walk around them. ‘Who would care? For long, I mean. People would be sad for a bit, but nothing more than that. My only relative is a mother who doesn’t know who I am. Two months ago, I wrote my will. I have a flat with a mortgage and a few savings. I got an estate agent to value it, and it’s worth about fifty grand, but then it dawned, I’ve no one to leave anything to. Do you want it?’
Jack shrugged. ‘Sure.’ It took a second, but then both men were quietly laughing as they resumed walking towards Ridley’s flat.
By 3 a.m., Jack was still lying awake in the spare room. The little white box gave nothing away: no pictures, no colour, no personality. There was nothing except for a white single bed and a white set of flatpack bedroom furniture. It was like a hospital room.
Jack had been awake for so long now that he was beginning to get a headache. He got up and crept into the bathroom to try and find some paracetamol.
The contents of Ridley’s medicine cabinet were not encouraging: temazepam, dolasetron, protein powders, oramorph and at least ten bottles of various vitamin supplements. Jack felt useless, seeing the stark reality of his friend’s illness.