A bitter laugh escaped Benito. He lit a cigarette and blew acrid smoke out of the cracked-open car window. His noisy brain craved the quieting hit of a joint, but cranking out weed at the side of the road was a sure-fire way to attract the wrong kind of attention—the blue kind—and Benito had spent his entire life dodging the feds.
On cue for poetic irony, a panda car rolled onto the estate, circling the precinct—the betting shop, the pawnshop, and the fried chicken takeaway. It came to a stop where Benito was loitering in his car. The passenger window descended, and a stern-faced copper gestured for Benito to do the same.
Irritation spiked Benito’s blood, but years of flying under the radar had taught him to play nice. To be forgettable. Not the arsehole who wouldn’t open his window.
He complied, plastering his face with the blandest expression he could find. “Yeah?”
“What are you doing?” The officer peered into his car. “You’ve been parked here for two hours. Are you waiting for something?”
Yeah. For the end of the fucking world. “My sister.” Benito pointed at the bus stop and then at the Barndale block. “I’m waiting for her to come home from school.”
“Why can’t you wait inside?”
“I don’t live there.”
“And you couldn’t pick her up? Which school does she go to?”
“St. Marc’s.”
“How old is she?”
“Twelve.”
The police officer said something to the copper behind the wheel. The panda car eased forward and pulled into the space behind Benito.
Both officers got out. Benito rolled his eyes and braced himself for an interrogation he hadn’t deserved since he’d abandoned road life in London and run all the way home. He slid out of his seat, keeping his hands clearly visible, and slouched against his car.
Waiting.
Still.
Forgettable.
The coppers crowded him, one squinting inside Benito’s black SUV while the other confiscated his smoke. “This is an expensive car,” the officer said. “Is it yours?”
“Nope. I leased it.”
“From where?”
“Motorama, like every other fucker fronting a ride they can’t afford.”
“Do you have paperwork?”
“In the glovebox. You want to see my licence too?”
“Yes.”
Sighing, Benito pointed into the car at his wallet on the console. The officer reached for it and passed Benito’s licence to the copper who was already calling his numberplate in for a vehicle check. Chatter blared back over the radio, but Benito tuned it out, already bored.
The other officer circled the car, opening the passenger door and the glovebox under the guise of retrieving the lease paperwork, but his glance under the seat was unsubtle. Benito rolled his eyes again. “You can search the car if you want; I don’t care.”
“Is there a reason we should?”
Benito shrugged. “Can’t think of one.”
“Don’t try to be funny, mate,” the first officer said. “The more cooperative you are, the easier this is.”
This. As if Benito had any idea what the charade was supposed to achieve.
The second officer came back with the lease paperwork and Benito’s Uber ID. “You’re a taxi driver?”
“Sometimes.”
“When?”
“Evenings and weekends.”
“What do you do during the day?”
“Sleep. Make sure my sister’s okay.”
“Why don’t you pick her up from school?”
Rinse and repeat. Benito folded his arms, caging the impatience that bubbled in his chest. “Because she likes to take the bus with her friends. I wait here to make sure she gets inside safely.”
“For two hours?”
“I was early and had nowhere better to be.”
It was the truth. Benito had woken at lunchtime with a restless energy that pacing his flat couldn’t contain. He’d hit the gym and then run loops around Willen Lake, but his legs had given out long before the monster dancing in his soul ever would.
The questions kept coming. Benito answered them, keeping a sharp eye on the bus stop until the officer so interested in the contents of his car came back and blocked his view.
He emptied Benito’s pockets, finding only his phone, a lighter, and a parking pass for the gym, and with Benito’s car clean too, the bullshit well ran dry.
“We’re going to let you go this time,” the officer said. “But in future, if you’re genuinely waiting for your sister to come home from school, don’t park here until she’s due back. We’ve had complaints about dealers harassing residents coming in and out of the block.”
Mental fatigue caught up with Benito. His fierce grip on his patience slipped. A sneer escaped before he could catch it. “I’m not a dealer. I don’t have shit on me. And if you’ve been watching me for two hours, you know I haven’t got out of my car and fucking harassed anyone.”
“Watch your language,” the officer snapped. “We’ve asked you reasonable questions and you haven’t given us plausible answers.”
“I don’t need to give you plausible answers. It’s a public street with no parking restrictions. I could stay here all day.”
“What for?”
The officer stepped closer, looming into Benito’s personal space.
Benito squared up, muscles bunching, ready to fight despite every age-old instinct he possessed screaming at him to stand down. What did it matter anymore? He had no hustle to protect. He’d left it in flames at the side of the road and he had the scar to prove it. Now he was just a sad sack of anxious shit until he could raise the money to buy his freedom for good.
And wasn’t that irony fucking beautiful?
Unbidden, Luis Pope flashed into Benito’s thoughts. A man Benito had held to ransom the same way some other bastard was holding him now. Benito hadn’t cared at the time. His icy heart had stopped beating, and he’d set Pope free in the end because it had suited him, not because he gave a shit that the dude had served his time and fallen in love and just wanted to be left alone.
Was this Benito’s punishment?
Karma?
Asa seemed to think so, but Asa was harder than Benito had ever been. Shame it had taken this for Benito to see it.
The cinderblock in his belly solidified. Still smouldering with smoky tendrils.
Rage. Grief. Revenge.
It kept him standing, but so did what remained of his pride.
Your ego, you mean. Ain’t nothing to be proud of here.
Whatever. The present returned to him with a cold snap. Barndale. Bletchley. The coppers still up in his face. Anger rippled through him. Fuck letting these clowns put him down right now. He let his fists curl and snatched a breath. “Go fuck your—”
“What are you doing to my brother?”
Benito froze, the snarled insult dying on his lips. He knew that voice. It was the one that made his heart clench as if it might break. The only one that made him feel things that hurt. Somehow, Benito had missed the bus rolling in. Some watchman you are.
Wasteman, more like.
The officer crowding Benito stepped back, putting enough space between them for a slight, willowy figure to slip into the void. The girl wrapped her arms around Benito’s waist, pressing her bony shoulder into his ribs as she turned her head to glare at the police. “Leave him alone.”