Puzzling Pieces

Chapter 19

I’d been used to broken ribs, nose, jaw, both eyes close to blindness, tooth falling out, and crutches for a couple of weeks, but none prepared me for that day when me and Nate had to take on at least 8 of these guys. It was an attack that I realize now was set up from the start. And the sickening part was, I truly believe that Y.O.M wanted to see what I was capable of.

Nate was a pawn too, and the reason being, he was a relative of Sidney’s but kept that under the porch for only me to know. He was ashamed to be related to Henry and son. And I didn't blame him when I started to claw in on every suspicious move that Sidney and the brains: his dad, made.

Before this fight though, the most recent indication of me busting Henry’s brain cells was when I stopped a newspaper round being made by simply watching the boy throw the paper at certain homes; the same hour; every day; for a month. And when I once intercepted a paper by running across the pavement like flash: catching the paper and having to outrun this 13-year old’s bike which was harder to keep up with than the treadmill’s top speed – that I caught up with to find the boy said it was all kosher ... my ass!

But na … I knew better, even then, to not take everything as normal. I went to the newsagents with the same paper that the boy delivered. And asked at the paying counter, “do you have any more paper round jobs?”

“Anymore?” Dirk’s leaning in to take the paper from me: checking to see if the paper is what he sells. “I haven’t employed anybody for that. This paper I wouldn’t sell her.”

“Why?”

“Henry wouldn’t have me selling anything that’s associated with him here. He knows I don’t approve of the things he does. And this newspaper is full of junk and jargon that nobody would read.”

“Oh.” I took it back. “Seems pretty ordinary to me.”

“It’s the content you need to be reading. And the ones who he’s delivering to.”

The case was, that Y.O.M newspaper was circulating to the doors of many of the boys with 10 – pages worth of information on why joining them would give them regular work and generate some profit when normal jobs would never hire them. They had a logo right on the back which I cut out: it was just the acronym in a bold black.

It was done discreetly, and just in time … as if they knew the habits of the boys which I also traced to find suspicious. And then they’d pick it up, and receive a phone call a few minutes later when they breezed through it: walking off again and leaving the paper. I did them a favor and recycled the newspaper on a table at my ex-girlfriends’ crib at the time.

I sifted through it all and noticed that each varied in content to the other: real precise and had to be done by an outer source. Nobody around here could hardly tell their left from right, so, to have somebody be able to come up with words to write a small newspaper isn’t easy for me to accept.

The content that always stood out to me was the association with each boy’s habit on the street. One paper was addressed to Tyrone, and he had a knack for outrunning the cops. Tyrone was one of the fastest on the street and once won a trophy when he actually attended school for sports which he had a shot at. The content was aimed at him being a personal runner for Y.O.M and being paid to do it. They also branded training sessions, education in English writing, and some physical attributes to get them up to speed.

I had forgotten, that one of the papers I collected was addressed to Nate: bottom of the pile at the time with me forgetting because he never had a permanent home to sleep in. Always kipping at friends or ex-girlfriend who he remained mutual with.

My ex-girlfriend at the time, Anisha, came into her room with all these newspapers scattered over her bare desk with only a silver lamp on the side. She rolls those forlorn eyes around the globe and back to me with her bag being slung onto the unmade bed … the bedspread and pillow sheets were my job that night, but I was too occupied with my unpaid activities.

“Let me take a wild guess?” Anisha kicked her vans underneath the bed and pulled out her hair - beginning to run those short fingers up the back of her neck and then massaged her scalp with no shampoo. She let her eyes slowly close and enjoyed that self-service. “You found a new case to play with?”

“Are you talking with me now?”

“I forgot you had the key to my bedroom. Maisy be letting you in when I bar you from entering.”

“Maisy knows that we both pay for this room. Even if I agreed to stay on the outside of it.”

“Quit stalling, Sia. Why have you come back to me? Is it because I’m the only one of your exes who enjoy the torment of seeing you work yourself to death over s**t that the police should be meddling in.”

I gulp with worry for Anisha when I used to see her like that: always working, but never saved up enough to get the hell out of this dump. She was always the girl with the biggest heart that never shared a synch of it because many wanted to use and abuse.

It didn’t help that she was cynical of even wanting to leave her room since the day I told Sidney I’d stuff a sock down his throat. Many didn’t have the balls to stand up to such a fool. But I did. “I’m sorry that you had to come back and catch me doing this. I was hoping to get it done before you came.”

Anisha comes over to the desk and picks up the newspaper addressed to Nate; and then Tyrone; and then Trent; Elroy; Leon, and then finds that I’m at it again so hands me it all back. “That’s theft, you know.”

“A shitty free paper isn’t theft. They didn’t even want it.” I stack it back down … and nearly fall on my bum because there is no desk chair in there. Anisha prefers standing all the time

“Mm-hmm.” Anisha sounds disinterested. “Why did you cut out that Y.O.M. logo that’s by your sock?”

I bend down to pick it up, “because I think Y.O.M is like a surveillance camera of the street-credible. Only, they like to catch you out and recruit you.” I stay down. “I think the best way to ever have a crack at them is to act oblivious. With this new guy name Vivian coming around, I should show them how good my acting skills can be.”

“I’d prefer that you just … not involve yourself with that. We might not be together anymore. But I worry about you all the damn time.”

I’m up now and wondering where that sort of care was a few months ago when I received the text that it was either me or her that had to leave. “You never used to.”

“Time brings new reasons to why a relationship ended. I found that your lust for death is what put me off you. I think you have a death wish. And you need some serious help with that as a fetish.” She sighs and does a small spin of frustration until she stops to walk over to the mini fridge: gets out a cold pesto pasta and sweetcorn “What normal person willingly seeks out s**t that could get them shot in the head!?”

“Doesn’t it make me unique” –

“No, Sia. It turns you into a psychiatric case.” Anisha closes the mini fridge. “How could we have a relationship when the only time we have a conversation is when your back from rummaging through Henry’s and Sidney’s attempt at running the youngers into the mash. And to be fair, they might do some dodgy dealings, but they give them something to do.”

“Y.O.M., seem more of a military backing, then something anybody around here would take seriously. I mean, really, a bunch of hood rats wanting to don a lifestyle that equips them for a possible induction into the real army life, it stinks! And this newspaper is ridiculed with lies. They want to use them boys out there for behind the scenes dealings because it’s what they do all the time. I’ve known Henry coming back as a lieutenant with a badge was nothing to do with anything sincere.”

“Oh … not that angle again.” Anisha stuffs some pesto pasta into her gob.

“Yes. Ever since Sidney’s dad got back, things around here have been weird. And think back to how my interest in investigating grew stronger since then. It’s because Henry brought back a disease that’s going to leave one of us around here dead.”