Of All Flesh - PAPERBACK - Detective Loxley Crime Thriller Book 4

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1

The churning, roiling waters of the River Trent, several metres below, were the perfect metaphor for what was going on inside Malcom’s head. His thoughts were chaotic, troubled, and crashing through his mind like a tidal wave of pain and regret.
He’d had an absolute nightmare of a day, and now he was here, a couple of miles away from home in the middle of the night, with no idea what to do or where to go.
Leaning on the railing of the Trent Bridge, with the occasional car driving by behind him, Malcom buried his head in his hands and sobbed, letting out the emotions that had been building up inside.
“Oh, God,” he muttered, sniffing and wiping his eyes. Was it too much to ask for, to have a mum who cared and friends who didn’t hate him? He didn’t feel like that was asking for a lot, but he had neither of them right now.
Malcom stared out over the river. On his right, the Nottingham Forest football ground stood proudly on the banks of the Trent, but right now, in the depths of the night, it was as quiet as a tomb.
Gripping the railing, he closed his eyes and took a long breath. He’d stormed out of the house maybe two hours ago, leaving his mum to deal with her boyfriend, Ernie, alone. He’d had it with their arguments, his violence, and her complete dereliction of duty as a mother. Rather than run after him or come looking for him, she’d probably just opened another bottle or, worse, gone straight to the crack pipe.
She didn’t care about him and hadn’t for years now. All she cared about was that next high. It just seemed to be how she dealt with everything in life.
When another past-due bill came in, she had a drink. When the food ran out, she sparked up the crack pipe. And when Ernie hurt her again, her chosen coping method was to get as drunk and as high as she could and forget about her life.
But that meant she forgot about him too.
She wouldn’t be out looking for him, she wouldn’t call the police, she just didn’t care enough. He’d stayed out before, at a friend's house or whatever, and she’d never batted an eyelid.
A small part of him hoped that today would be different. When they started fighting tonight, and Ernie started hurting her, he’d jumped in to help. Ernie punched him in the face for his trouble.
That had been Malcom’s breaking point, and he’d stormed out, fed up with his mum, his friends, and his life. He wanted out. Out of that house, out of the Hyson Green estate, and out of this city.
But he was fifteen, and it simply wasn’t that easy.
He’d seen what some of the other kids his age and younger were doing to make money. There was no way he was getting involved in the gangs. It was far too dangerous, and no matter how much he wanted to earn more money to buy the things he wanted, there was no way he was going to do that.
On the one hand, it looked glamorous and alluring with the stacks of cash, the new trainers and new phones. But these trinkets hid a life of danger and violence that Malcom had no interest in at all.
He knew friends that had disappeared for days and then turned up beaten and bruised or worse, all because they’d been seduced by the 'Trap Life’ as they referred to it.
No, that wasn’t for him. He wanted out of the life he was in, but drug dealing was not the way.
The right way was to work hard at school and stay away from those idiots, but that was easier said than done.
Turning away from the water, Malcom continued south over the Trent Bridge, recalling the day he’d had with his mates in the park. Jordan was nice enough, as usual, although he was too easily led by Zeke.
Malcom sighed. He never quite knew where he stood with Zeke. One moment he was his best mate, laughing and joking, and the next moment he was being an abusive, racist bigot and getting Jordan and Angel to side with him.
Things had got a little out of hand today, with Zeke turning on him for some perceived slight that was just stupid. But when he decided he wasn’t taking Zeke’s shit and stood up for himself, Zeke threw a punch.
They roughed each other up until Angel managed to separate them and march Zeke off with Jordan helping, leaving Malcom to make his way home alone.
The argument continued over WhatsApp for the next few hours, with insults being traded until Zeke’s older brother joined in and threatened to kill him. That was when Malcom turned off his phone. He’d had enough and didn’t want to be subjected to that abuse any longer.
He should have stopped hanging out with Zeke years ago. He’d always been volatile, snapping at the slightest thing, but that was easier said than done, and it wasn’t as if he could talk to his mum about it.
She was always drunk or high when he got home from school, so he just shut himself in his room and hid from it all.
Malcom turned left off the bridge and walked around to the water’s edge, feeling drawn to its rushing flow as it meandered through the city. The water’s hissing white noise soothed his nerves and calmed his senses, allowing him to take a breath and let some of the day's stresses fade away.
He was looking north, past the recently built apartment blocks, to the city beyond. A couple of miles that way was Hyson Green, the deprived estate that was ruled over by the HGK Posse, a violent, drug dealing gang that ruled the streets near him with an iron fist. The residents were cowed into submission by their shocking violence, and the local kids were being sucked into the gang lifestyle on a daily basis, lured in by the promise of earning more than their parents did in a week for a single day’s work.
He saw the effect that environment had on his mum and her boyfriend all the time. Hell, he was a direct product of it. His mum didn’t talk about it, but Ernie seemed to make it his mission to remind him that he was the child of an affair his mum had with a dealer fifteen years ago. It also seemed to be why Ernie hated him so much, because he was a walking, talking reminder of his mother's infidelity.
Was it any wonder that he ran away, desperate for a new, better life anywhere else?
Maybe leaving his house tonight was the first step to leaving his life behind? Maybe he’d try to find a new life on the streets somewhere or even in a new city. He wasn’t sure, and the only thing he knew was that he didn’t want to go back home.
The wind picked up, and the cool air chilled him to the bone in the dead of night. Feeling a little cold, Malcom turned towards the Trent Bridge. He spotted the pair of tunnels beneath and decided to seek shelter. Maybe they’d provide a little protection against the elements while he pondered what to do with his life.
The pavement went through the right-hand tunnel. On his left, another threaded through the base of the bridge, but there was no marked path leading through it.
Preferring to be away from prying eyes, Malcom mounted the verge and walked into the darkness of the left-hand tunnel. He saw discarded boxes and rubbish on the floor and, sitting amongst it all, a man and a woman, talking quietly. They wore warm but threadbare clothing in layers, with fingerless gloves, and used some cardboard as a makeshift blanket.
For a moment, he judged them as somehow lesser, as if he was better than them. But that feeling of superiority soon faded. Right now, with all he was considering, he was as homeless as they were, except he was new to all this and didn’t know what to do.
Spotting a dry patch of cardboard, Malcom walked over, sat on it, and hugged his knees tight. It might be spring, but the nights were still cold. Even with his coat on, he could feel the chill in the air. Sitting still only seemed to make it worse.
Burying his head in his arms, Malcom wondered what the hell he was doing. He was miles from home, sitting in a tunnel, freezing his arse off, and didn’t know if he would ever return home. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the prick of tears.
With a sniff, he stifled a sob, trying to get a grip on himself. What on earth would his friends think of him if they could see him now? Malcom shook his head in frustration, annoyed that he was still referring to those idiots as friends. Friends didn’t treat each other like that. They stuck up for and helped each other, they didn’t set their big brothers on them.
“Hey, you okay?”
Malcom glanced up to see the homeless woman standing close by. She looked like she was in her thirties, with dry, knotted hair and poor skin. But her eyes were bright, keen, and so very alive. She tilted her head to one side and offered him a smile.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you alright?”
“Leave him, Viv,” said the man. “You don’t know who he is.”
“Ignore him,” Viv said, waving her friend off. She pointed to the cardboard beside him. “Can I?”
Malcom sighed. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”
“What's your name?” she asked, sitting next to him. “I’m Vivian.”
“Viv!” her friend exclaimed, but she ignored him.
“That’s Aaron. He doesn’t like me talking to other people. But just ignore him. He’s harmless.”
“Oh, okay. Sure.”
“What’s your name?”
“Malcom. But, call me Mal.”
“Mal. Nice name. What are you doing here?”
Malcom frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look like you’ve been sleeping on the streets.”
“Oh. Well, no. I guess not… Or, well, I wasn’t. Now, I’m not sure. Maybe I will.”
“Aaah,” she said, and nodded in understanding. “I see. You just ran away, right?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Kinda. Where are you from?”
“Hyson Green,” Malcom answered, noticing the flicker of recognition that briefly appeared on her face. “Yeah, it’s rough up there.”
“It is.”
“Is that why you ran away?” She seemed genuinely curious.
“Maybe. It’s part of it. It’s my friends and mum, they don’t care about me. They couldn’t care less.”
Viv fixed him with a look. “Are you sure about that? She might care very much.”
“Not while she’s high, she won’t. She won’t care.”
“Well, she might surprise you, but maybe I can help in the meantime?”
Further up the tunnel, Viv’s friend, Aaron, stood up and walked over. He didn’t look too happy. “Viv. What are you doing? Come away. You don’t know him.”
“I know,” she said, unconcerned. “I just wanted to…”
“Screw that. No. Come away.”
“Chill out, he’s just a kid, look…”
“I don’t care,” Aaron said. “You don’t know him from Adam. He could be anyone. For all you know, he could be one of those brats that comes round here causing trouble.”
“Aaron, no, he’s not.”
“I’m not,” Malcom added, feeling perplexed.
“Yeah, well, excuse me if I don’t believe you,” Aaron spat. He reached for Viv and grabbed her by the wrist. “Come on.”
“Get off me,” Viv protested and pulled her hand away.
Aaron raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, be like that. I don’t care.” He turned and stormed up the tunnel. “But I won’t sit here and watch you get into more trouble. I’m off.”
“Aaron,” she pleaded. “Don’t be like that.”
“Forget it,” Aaron said. He grabbed a bag from where he’d been sitting and continued up the tunnel. “Do what you like.”
“Damn it,” Viv hissed and went to get up. She turned and put her hand on Malcom’s knee. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
“Okay,” Malcom replied with a nod, her touch like a bolt of electricity through his body.
Viv got up and jogged after Aaron, who was exiting the other end of the tunnel. “Aaron. Aaron, wait,” she called and followed him out.
They disappeared from view, leaving Malcom alone. Aaron was suspicious of him, which was only natural. But he was struck by how kind Viv had been. She seemed friendly and acted like she honestly wanted to help him. It was amazing, and he found himself wishing his mother could be more like this. It would make all the difference if she showed that she cared, just a little bit.
Maybe then, he could make a go of things.
After a few moments of sitting, waiting in the cold and dark with no one around, he heard movement to his right and the sound of an engine. Looking out to where he’d entered the tunnel, he saw a van backing up along the verge between the path and the river. The slope made the van lean precariously until it turned between the low bollards along the path's edge and backed onto the tarmac. It stopped a short distance away from the tunnel, with the engine still running.
Malcom frowned at it and the three words on the back door.
“Food and Snacks.”
His stomach rumbled. Was this a good Samaritan coming to feed the local homeless? No one seemed to be getting out of the vehicle.
Malcom turned and looked the other way, in the direction that Viv had gone, but she wasn’t there. No one was there. The area was deadly quiet, apart from the soft rumble of the van’s engine.
Malcom got to his feet. Maybe Viv would appreciate some food when she got back. It was the least he could offer for her friendship. Malcom approached the van, looking down one side to the driver's door, but saw no one. He walked up to the rear doors and re-read the words a few more times. The decals were faded and torn but still legible. Wondering if maybe the owner was inside the back of the van, getting ready to serve them, Malcom knocked and waited. But there was no answer.
He frowned again, thinking it was odd. He turned and stepped away from the van, looking around the quiet nook beside the bridge but couldn’t see anyone. There wasn’t anyone up on the bridge, either. It felt odd and a little eerie.
He caught a brief sound of shifting clothing before something wrapped around him. There was a flash of metal as it caught the light before disappearing beneath his chin.
Pain, hot and intense, exploded across his neck. Something cold and sharp cut deep into his throat. Warm lifeblood gushed and spurted, soaking his chest. He briefly fought against the attack, flinging blood everywhere, but it was too late.
The attacker let go, and any strength in his legs vanished instantly as raw, primal panic set in. He fell to the floor with one hand on his neck, trying to stem the bleeding. He couldn’t breathe, and there was this wet, bubbly sound as he tried to suck in air. Blood covered his hands and splashed on the ground. The crimson glow from the van’s brake lights bathed everything in a wash of deep red. A harsh, warm metallic taste filled his mouth as he sensed movement behind him. He heard the van doors open.
He tried to speak, to say something or call out for help, but no sounds came as he gasped for breath. Feeling utterly helpless and fearing that this was the end for him, tears streaked down his face.
Whoever had attacked him suddenly grabbed him again. Malcom panicked, but his flailing and desperate attempts to fight back were useless. Within moments, he was dumped into the back of the van, which was curiously lined in plastic.
Looking up, he saw the dark figure stare at him for a moment.
Darkness crowded in from the edges of his vision, making it hard to focus. Behind the figure, at the far end of the tunnel, Malcom saw Viv step out and stop. She froze for a moment before ducking back and leaning out to watch.
In a last, desperate attempt to get help, Malcom raised a hand and reached for the doors, the ragged remains of his neck bubbling and spurting as he tried to call out.
Then the van doors were slammed shut.