Knight & Culverhouse Box Set - Books 7-9

Chapter 26

26

Tyrone took off his t-shirt and replaced it with a vest. The problem with this flat — as well as all the other downsides to it — was that it was freezing cold for half the year and roasting hot for the rest of it. He couldn’t even open the windows as far as he’d like, thanks to the council installing some sort of device that meant people couldn’t fall or jump out of them. He stood by the window and sipped at the air it allowed in through the small gap.

He didn’t have to take a training session until four in the afternoon, which’d give him plenty of time to chill, even though that was the wrong word to use in this heat. It was no wonder so many kids spent their days wandering around the estate, hanging around on street corners. Even in the height of summer and the blazing sun, it was still cooler out there than it was in the damn flats.

Tyrone wouldn’t have minded living there on his own. It had started to get a bit cramped the more Shanice’s boyfriend, Elijah, had come to stay. That happened more and more often as their relationship grew, but once Shanice fell pregnant they’d tried their best to move out and get their own place. That hadn’t been as easy as they’d hoped, though, with the council telling them they already had a perfectly good home. They’d been on the waiting list for a new place ever since, but didn’t hold out much hope of ever getting to the top. Those places would always go to people who were homeless or facing eviction. As much as Tyrone loved his nephew Caleb, living in the same small flat as a screaming baby and his sister’s boyfriend wasn’t his idea of fun.

Caleb was nearly two, now, and — fair play to them — Shanice and Elijah were still going strong. Tyrone’d had his doubts about the guy at first, but he couldn’t deny that he gave Shanice the stability and purpose she needed. Other girls in her position could’ve easily gone off the rails at any point. He’d seen it happen too many times on the estate already.

He’d often wondered whether Shanice’s occasional remarks about him getting a girlfriend of his own had been laced with some sort of knowingness. They say women have some sort of in-built radar, don’t they? Almost like an early warning system. Whoa! No, not that one. Don’t waste your time! Were his sister’s comments her way of trying to encourage him to confirm what she’d always believed, always known? Or maybe she was genuinely interested, wondering when her younger brother was going to settle down with a girlfriend of his own.

Either way, she’d be disappointed. He wasn’t going to settle down with a girl. Sure, he could find a woman and go through the usual rituals but what would be the point? He’d be lying to her and to himself. Who would benefit, other than the perverse estate logic that being gay was somehow a sign of weakness, a thing to be ashamed of? He didn’t want any part of that. But at the same time, there was no way he was ever going to live anywhere else. He didn’t have the means to do so, nor the inclination to feel he should have to run away from who he was.

Fortunately for him, though, it had remained his secret. As long as it continued like that, he was comfortable enough.

The biggest problem in his life right now was going to be the man who’d certainly lived up to his name over the past couple of days: Headache.

He had no idea how this was going to play out, and he didn’t want to try to guess either. All he knew was the general consensus had been that the group would all go their separate ways, never speak to anyone about the bungled robbery and ensure that the police had nothing else to work with. Sure, people had been caught and others had got away. But that was life, right? They all collectively had too much to lose if someone decided to act up, blab their mouth or try and get some sort of revenge.

But then they weren’t just dealing with your general, run-of-the-mill people here. These were criminals who’d happily double-cross a friend for a wad of cash, not think twice about setting each other up if it meant there was a chance they’d be able to get one step ahead of someone else. Is that the sort of thing Peter would do? Wait all those years for Headache to be released, only to tuck him up by making it look like he’d burnt down Freddie Galloway’s house? He doubted it, but then again you couldn’t put anything past people like that.

Tyrone buttered a slice of toast and tried to forget all about Freddie Galloway, life on the estate and everything else for a few moments. Life tended to throw him these curveballs from time to time, but he was an expert hitter. He’d find a way of smashing this one out of the park, too.

As he crunched down on the slice of toast and wiped the smeared butter from his top lip, he heard the sound of paper sliding under the front door to the flat. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sound. Although the mailboxes were all downstairs near the front entrance to the block, it wasn’t uncommon for people to gain access to the corridors and put leaflets and mailers under the doors. It was usually something to do with a neighbourhood watch meeting or some sort of council application for redeveloping land. The sort of stuff that went straight in the recycling bin.

But Tyrone could see straight away, even from this distance, that this sheet of paper was very different. He walked over to the front door, bent down and picked up the folded A4 sheet, trying not to get butter on it as he unfolded it.

There was a message written on it, in landscape, spelt out with letters cut out from old newspapers and magazines, much like the stereotypical ransom note in a bad film. But this was no ransom note. This was a threat.

Tyrone swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest as he read the message again.

I FUCKIN KILL U QUEER POOF

This was more than just a threat. This was someone trying to tell him they knew his secret.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he unlocked the door, flung it back against the wall and went running down the corridor, before leaning over the stairs and looking down into the stairwell. He could see nothing. He took the stairs three or four at a time, bouncing down them at rapid speed, before getting to the bottom floor. The front door was closed. He opened it and stepped outside, looking left and right and across the street, but he could see nothing. Nothing but the same old tired estate he’d always known.