Closer Than Blood. Paul Grzegorzek
head. “I wasn’t kidding earlier. The guys looking for me are the worst kind. If they even get a sniff of where Dad is, they’ll hurt him just to draw me out. Tell him … tell him I’m sorry, and that I love him, but I can’t go. You try and make me and you’ll be hurting Dad as much as it hurts me.”
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, folding my arms.
“Then tell me who they are.”
“Look, I know you don’t leave shit alone, so the less I tell you, the better for all of us. These people won’t give a damn that you’re a copper, they’ll still leave you in a ditch.”
“Then surely I’m safer if I know what might be coming my way?”
“Gareth, leave it! This is not a problem you can solve. I pissed off the wrong people, and the only way I come out of this with my skin intact is by getting enough money for a new identity and a flight somewhere obscure. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Then tell me where you’ve been, at least. It’s been almost twenty years.”
“That long? Shit. I’ve been around, London and Glasgow mostly. I’m off the brown now, but I was on it for years. Nearly died a few times, from bad shit or too much, but now,” he paused and pointed to himself, looking slightly ludicrous in trousers that were too short topped with an ancient Christmas jumper, “I’m a respectable businessman.”
“Respectable?”
“Respected?”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow.
“OK, maybe not but I can turn a profit.”
“Which is why you’re so popular with whoever is after you, I guess.”
“Sort of.”
“Come on, if you can’t tell me who, at least tell me why.”
“I, uh, I may have borrowed some of their product.”
“You stole cocaine? You idiot. How much?”
“Six kilos.”
I stared at him, unable to find any words. He looked much as I remembered him, a little more meat on his frame perhaps. Like me, his dark curly hair was now suffering from the inevitable creep of grey, but his face was thinner than mine and his nose a little longer. Other than that our features were eerily similar, and no one looking at us could confuse us for anything other than brothers. It was like looking at a warped reflection, and I wondered if right now we both had the same haunted look in our eyes.
“Let me get this right. You stole six kilos of cocaine?” He nodded. “Who even has six kilos of cocaine?”
“Nasty bastards, usually.”
“Just how nasty are we talking, Jake?”
“Skin your face and rub it in salt nasty.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
I realised then that he had been right earlier. If I arrested him, he would be fair game for whoever was after him. The sort of people who had six kilos of coke lying around had the kind of clout that could get anyone killed, inside prison or out, with a click of their fingers. I wasn’t sure if I could keep the promise I’d made Dad, but arresting Jake would be the first step in the wrong direction.
I looked at him, standing there like a caged animal, ready to fly at the slightest provocation, and suddenly felt a tremendous wash of guilt. Jake was still my brother, yet all I’d shown him was anger and disappointment. Before he could react, I darted across the room and grabbed him in a bear hug, smelling the salty tang of the sea on his skin as I squeezed him tight.
“I missed you, you fucking idiot,” I said as he initially struggled to get free, then relaxed a little and began to pat me on the back. “Even with everything that’s happened, I missed you. Me and Dad both.”
“Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely. As I drew back I could see a glint in his eye that looked suspiciously like a tear. “Me too. Wanted to call pretty much every day at first, but the longer I was away, the harder it became and eventually it felt like it was too late.”
“It was never too late,” I replied gruffly, releasing him and stepping back as something made my own eyes sting. “We’re family, Jake, and there’s nothing closer than blood.”
He nodded and took a step towards the window, then winced and bent to put a hand on his knee.
“You OK?” I asked.
“You were right,” he replied, still rubbing his knee, “water was like concrete. Thought I’d broken my legs when I hit.”
“Speaking of which, how did you not get spotted by the life boats?”
“There’s loads of metalwork on the outside of the marina. I used it to pull myself around to the other side. Couldn’t get my legs to work at first, and then the sea caught me and sucked me down. I thought I was done for, but it pushed me against the wall and I grabbed hold of the first thing I found. While the boats were all searching for me on the east side, I was already halfway across the west. Only bit I had to swim across was the marina entrance and my legs had come back to life by then.”
“Bet your drugs didn’t like being dipped in the sea.”
“Don’t matter, the bag’s got a waterproof liner.” He reached over and hefted the bag with a grin. “I’ve still got six kilos of finest …”
The grin faltered as he remembered who he was talking to. “So what am I supposed to do with you?” I moved to sit on the end of his bed. The room hadn’t changed since Jake had left, and I stared idly at the ancient Manchester United strip that graced his duvet covers.
Jake sat on the far side of the bed, careful to keep out of reach. I guessed that years of living in the murky world of drugs had eroded his faith in anyone but himself. His eyes kept flicking to my hands, as if waiting for me to jump him, or maybe he was worried I’d try and hug him again.
“Just let me do my thing,” he said finally. “I only came down to Brighton again because the market here isn’t connected to … to the people looking for me. It’s one of the few places I can sell it without getting caught.”
“You want me to leave you alone so that you can sell drugs in my town and disappear?”
“Well, yeah.”
“No way. Tell you what. You leave now, walk out that door and don’t come back. Go wherever the hell you like, but you leave my city alone. I can’t and won’t protect you if you try and sell your shit here. There are plenty of other places.”
“You don’t understand, they’ve got eyes everywhere else!”
“Then tell me who the fuck they are!” I thundered, standing again to loom over my brother. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me anything.”
“Fine.” Jake stood, shouldering his bag. “I’ll go. Say hi to Dad for me.”
He stormed out onto the landing and down the stairs. I heard the front door open and waited for it to slam shut. There was a moment of silence. And then something that sounded suspiciously like the smack of flesh on flesh, followed by a sharp cry and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Jake’s enemies, it seemed, had found him after all.
I was moving less than a second later, barrelling out of the door and down the stairs to see Jake in a heap on the doormat. Above him stood a bear of a man in a black thigh-length leather jacket that strained to contain his biceps and shoulders. He looked up in surprise and then I was on him, one foot lashing out to catch him under the kneecap while my fists struck chest, cheek and jaw.
The