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Authors: Stephen Sewell
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gonna do, Darren?â Pope asked pointedly, looking straight at him.
Darren knew what he was saying, but how much trouble does anyone want in their life? âItâs wrong and all that,â he said, âbut, you know â¦â He trailed off.
Turning towards him, Pope laid it on. âYou know, if Baz was still here right now, and weâd just been to your funeral, we wouldnât be having this discussion, because heâd have already done something about it.â
That wasnât true. Not because Baz was a cowardâhe wasnât, and everyone who knew him knew thatâbut because he was too smart to do something that stupid, a lot smarter than Pope or any of the rest of them.
âNow, if you donât want to do anything because youâre scared,â Pope continued, asking almost as an afterthought, âIs it because youâre scared?â
He was looking straight at Darren now, so there was no escape.
âItâs all right if you are. I just want you to tell me about it. Just talk to me.â
But Pope didnât want to talk to anyone, and he wasnât interested in what Darren had to say. All Pope wanted to do was hammer the coppers and hammer them hard. It wasnât even because Baz was a mate who deserved revenge.
It was because Pope wanted blood.
SEVEN
J was in the shower the following morning when Pope burst straight in and pulled the curtain aside.
âWhereâs Craig?â he demanded.
J was a kid, a seventeen-year-old boy, and here he was, starkers in the shower, with a grown man standing over him asking something he didnât even know the answer to.
âI dunno,â he said, trying to cover himself.
What was it? What was actually wrong with Pope? Was he gay, but not man enough to admit it?
âI need a favour, yeah?â Pope said, glancing down at Jâs cock. âYouâre good with cars, right?â
J was okay with cars, but he wasnât a professional or anything. He didnât make a habit of stealing peopleâs cars, but he could get one going if he needed to.
âYeah,â he answered, wondering what Pope was up to.
âOkay, you get me a Commodore or something like that,â Pope said, âand bring it to Darrenâs place. At two oâclock tomorrow morning.â
What sort of shit was Pope pulling with a stolen car at two oâclock in the morning?
âHow come?â J asked.
It was the first time he had ever questioned any of them. He knew Pope and Craig didnât want a stolen car at two in the morning to go for a joy ride, and felt he had the right to know what they did want it for.
âBecause I told you to,â Pope answered gruffly, turning back towards the door.
This was itâJâs baptism. This is where he started to learn what it was like to be part of the Cody family.
He heard the door slam shut, and pulled the shower curtain across. The water was going cold, but he stood there, shivering and wondering what Pope was up to.
Stealing the car wasnât hardâthat wasnât why J didnât want to do it; it was because he didnât want to be part of something that could go out of control, and, knowing the little he did about Pope, thatâs what he expected to happen.
Pope was weird. Disconnected. He had this odd way of looking at you sometimes, like he was looking straight through you to something on the other side, something that you couldnât see yourself.
He didnât do many drugsâhe was spaced enough as it wasâbut the ones he did were heavy-duty. Benzodiazepine. Quaaludes. Nose bleeders. The kind of stuff that put holes in your brain, like any of them needed another hole. And then the other things to smooth him back out: the injectables. And when he took drugs, it wasnât for the fun of it, not to have a good time, like normal people; it was to let himself go madder than he already was.
In fact, no-one ever had a good time
Darren knew what he was saying, but how much trouble does anyone want in their life? âItâs wrong and all that,â he said, âbut, you know â¦â He trailed off.
Turning towards him, Pope laid it on. âYou know, if Baz was still here right now, and weâd just been to your funeral, we wouldnât be having this discussion, because heâd have already done something about it.â
That wasnât true. Not because Baz was a cowardâhe wasnât, and everyone who knew him knew thatâbut because he was too smart to do something that stupid, a lot smarter than Pope or any of the rest of them.
âNow, if you donât want to do anything because youâre scared,â Pope continued, asking almost as an afterthought, âIs it because youâre scared?â
He was looking straight at Darren now, so there was no escape.
âItâs all right if you are. I just want you to tell me about it. Just talk to me.â
But Pope didnât want to talk to anyone, and he wasnât interested in what Darren had to say. All Pope wanted to do was hammer the coppers and hammer them hard. It wasnât even because Baz was a mate who deserved revenge.
It was because Pope wanted blood.
SEVEN
J was in the shower the following morning when Pope burst straight in and pulled the curtain aside.
âWhereâs Craig?â he demanded.
J was a kid, a seventeen-year-old boy, and here he was, starkers in the shower, with a grown man standing over him asking something he didnât even know the answer to.
âI dunno,â he said, trying to cover himself.
What was it? What was actually wrong with Pope? Was he gay, but not man enough to admit it?
âI need a favour, yeah?â Pope said, glancing down at Jâs cock. âYouâre good with cars, right?â
J was okay with cars, but he wasnât a professional or anything. He didnât make a habit of stealing peopleâs cars, but he could get one going if he needed to.
âYeah,â he answered, wondering what Pope was up to.
âOkay, you get me a Commodore or something like that,â Pope said, âand bring it to Darrenâs place. At two oâclock tomorrow morning.â
What sort of shit was Pope pulling with a stolen car at two oâclock in the morning?
âHow come?â J asked.
It was the first time he had ever questioned any of them. He knew Pope and Craig didnât want a stolen car at two in the morning to go for a joy ride, and felt he had the right to know what they did want it for.
âBecause I told you to,â Pope answered gruffly, turning back towards the door.
This was itâJâs baptism. This is where he started to learn what it was like to be part of the Cody family.
He heard the door slam shut, and pulled the shower curtain across. The water was going cold, but he stood there, shivering and wondering what Pope was up to.
Stealing the car wasnât hardâthat wasnât why J didnât want to do it; it was because he didnât want to be part of something that could go out of control, and, knowing the little he did about Pope, thatâs what he expected to happen.
Pope was weird. Disconnected. He had this odd way of looking at you sometimes, like he was looking straight through you to something on the other side, something that you couldnât see yourself.
He didnât do many drugsâhe was spaced enough as it wasâbut the ones he did were heavy-duty. Benzodiazepine. Quaaludes. Nose bleeders. The kind of stuff that put holes in your brain, like any of them needed another hole. And then the other things to smooth him back out: the injectables. And when he took drugs, it wasnât for the fun of it, not to have a good time, like normal people; it was to let himself go madder than he already was.
In fact, no-one ever had a good time
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