Troy the Lonely Boy
Story 5-5 Troy the Lonely Boy
A poisoned chalice, Troy thought as his hand gripped the handle of the chipped cup. He swirled the golden liquid the man with the Seville Row shoes thrust at him in the kitchen of the derelict house before putting it to his lips and throwing it back with a self assurance he didn’t feel. It burned his throat making him cough.
On a pre-agreed nod the upstairs meeting had ended. A hand snaked out and smothered the light from the candle plunging the room into inky blackness. Troy felt the shadows moving; heard the quick shuffle of feet grating on the grimy bedroom floor and smelled the bodily smell of relief as bodies scurried down the stairs like rats escaping the trap. “Don’t move.” Blossom’s voice said in his ear. “You’re not finish yet.”
“New line of business,” Troy said indicating the naggen bottle of whiskey proffering the cup for a drink he didn’t want but felt he might need before the night was over.
Seville Row man refilled his cup. “Maybe that’s something you could help us with. “One good turn deserves another. .Right?” So the rumours were true then, Troy thought. The gangs in the Tower Block were now into bootlegging as well as weed. He wondered if Sammy was in on it.
He drained his drink and stood up abruptly. Blossom slid off his hip. The drink in her glass sloshed about mimicking the way his stomach was feeling. It had all been too easy; too smooth. Getting rid of Big Sammy was within his grasp. It didn’t feel as good as he’d thought it would. For some reason his mother’s face rose up before him. He buried it beneath the loathing he felt for her. She’d made her bed… His skin crawled. The trio behind the table had accepted him too easily. He looked at Blossom. She averted her eyes. What had she promised them?
“Your girlfriend tells me you have a problem that needs fixing,” the Seville Row shoed man grinned. Troy noted the sheen of well polished teeth behind the fake smile did nothing to soften the steely flint in the man’s eyes. “I can help. That’s what communities do. They help each other out.” He chortled at his own joke.
Troy shot Blossom a killer glare. She shrugged as if to say I thought that was what you wanted.
The crawling feeling in Troy’s belly intensified. He drained his second drink.. It hit his stomach like a clenched fist making his head jerk back on his shoulders. “Big Sammy is a hard man. What had you in mind?” he said sitting down before his legs folded under him. A look passed between the man and Blossom.
An image of the three men in the shadows came back to him. He had the picture now. The guy in the middle was the mouth-piece. The guy with the machete was the action man and the man sitting across the kitchen table from him in Blossom’s granny’s kitchen was the big fish. AAA
A sudden realisation struck him. The shoe man and Blossom were an item. He fought hard not to let the thought show on his face but a small guttural sound escaped him. She was to be his minder – whatever it was they had planned for him to do. She was the one he had been confiding in since he’d come to live in the tower block. She was the one he trusted. He drained his glass in one go and held it out for another refill. He felt sick. A middle class dumb assed kid. Easy prey, he thought. She has been grooming me for this moment.
“You don’t have to worry about your Da…”
“Correction,” Troy ground out, cutting across the shoe man, “he’s my mother’s pimp. He is not my father,” he said vehemently.
“My apologies, your old man topped himself in prison, didn’t he,” the shoe man said smooth as black ice.
Troy didn’t correct him.
“What’s on your mind?” Troy reiterated.
“Stop the aggro for starters. Start actin’ like you’re indebted for him feeding and clothing your skinny arse so he doesn’t suspect anything.”
Troy swore and rose unsteadily to his feet. “Never! I hate the bastard…”
A hand behind him shot out and his body slammed back in the chair. A man came into Troy’s line of vision. His fingers twitching on a long bladed knife. Troy felt the whiskey taking effect. He cursed his stupidity. He hadn’t even known that machete man was in the house. He’d thought he’d left with the others.
Saville Row shoe man gave a slight imperceptible shake of his head so faint it could almost have been mistaken for an involuntarmovement. The hand fingering the knife stilled.
“You hate the tattooed bastard. That’s good.All ya have to do is be friendly ta the fucker. You’re a smart kid. If you can do that…”
Troy lips curled. He doubted he could but. He’d have to if he wanted to get out with his own skin. “That’s all you want me to do – be nice to him?” He knew it was a redundant question but he wanted the shoe guy to spell it out for him. It was him or Big Sammy now.
The almost non-existent shake of the head travelled between the two men again. “That’s it – for now – when he trusts you…you’ll be told more.”
An icy calmness came over Troy. Suddenly he was stone cold sober. He looked the machete man in the eye. He knew the bastard would slit his throat in a heartbeat and go home and tell his kids a nursery rhyme before they went to bed.
He would do it if it meant getting rid of Big Sammy he’d do it. He’d befriend his mother’s pimp. All of a sudden he wanted to get away from this place where human life was worthless unless it was of value to the gang leaders.
A plan began to form in his mind. He’d do it but not as the shoe-man wanted it done. He rose. To his irritation he felt his legs shake. From the smirk on the machete’s man gob he knew he had registered it.
“Don’t contact us. Blossom’s the go-between. She’ll tell you when it time to move on to the next step.” Troy wanted to spit on the shine on the man’s shoes. But all he did was nod his assent.
Machete man spoke for the first time. “We know it was you, you little bollocks who put the bird shit from the old Indian’s shop in Sammy mix. You just signed his death warrant. Mr Abdullah and his shittin’ birds will pay for that,” he said, running his hands lovingly over the evil looking blade.
Outside the air felt clean despite the rubbish strewn footpaths and the grimy faced windows of the Tower block. Blossom tagged along beside him. Troy shrugged her off. Only when they turned the corner well away from her granny’s house did he speak. “Get the fuck away from me! “You and shoe man –did you do it with him like you did it with me, in your granny’s bed?”
Blossom had the grace to blush.”You need to get out. Get your Ma out. They’ll be coming for you all and the pet shop owner.”
“Is that the next step? Machete Man is going to hack my mother and Sammy?”Troy’s fury erupted and he jammed her against the nearest lamppost. “You’re fucking with me, Blossom,” he snarled. “And you’re spreading your legs for him.” He rapped out his hand closing on her throat. Blossom clawed at his hands.
His rage spent Troy let her go.
The Flat was empty when he got in. A large plastic bag filled with white powder lay propped against the vase of fake flowers in the centre of the table. He picked it up and went in search of a black bin bag. Going into his mother’s room he stuffed in whatever clothes he could find; Swept as much of the expensive jewellery he could lay his hands on into the cloth bag he used for shoplifting and stuffed it inside his coat. Then he went in search of Big Sammy’s stack of cash.
Old Abdullah was tutting nervously outside the pet shop when Troy arrived at the agreed time. He noticed that already the new owners had begun to repaint and rebrand the name above the door.
The old man smiled a greeting. “Your Ma she is sleeping like baby in back of van. We need to hurry to catch ferry to Belfast,” he explained taking the black sack of Troy and tossing it into the back. “No cases?”
“Too risky – Blossom might have been watching.”
Abdul nodded. “She was looking you. I told her mother – not keepin’ well – you went to hospital.” He winked. “She swallowed it …I think you say – hook, line and stinker.”
“Sink her – and Big Sammy – I hope it does,” Troy murmured as the Docks came into view.
“You very good boy, Troy. You save mother, When we settled in Belfast you and me business partners, yes?”
“What did you give her,” Troy said as his mother shifted and farted.
The old Indian man chuckled. “Your mother – she like her drink. Small toast to thank her for help of good son, I tell her.”
“What did you give her?”
Mr Abdullah gave an exaggerated sigh. “Special drink will do no harm – just long sleep. She’s being OK – and safe from shoe-man and knife-man.”
Troy took out the crumpled picture of his father. “I did it for him, not for her,” he said as the van rolled onto the bottom deck of the Ferry.
The former pet shop owner was unresponsive as he edged the big van into the allotted slot. “Holding anger…seeking revenge…hurt you more than her,” he said softly covering the prone figure of Troy’s mother. “We wait?” he asked turning to Troy.
Troy shook his head. “We eat – it’s on Big Sammy,” he quipped pulling a wad of notes from his pocket.
“You stole his money!”
“I stole his money and his dope.” He got off light, Troy thought – at least until machete man doesn’t get his supply and Big Sammy realised he has no money to buy him off.
Troy hoisted the backpack containing the weed and the jewellery on on to his shoulder. The cocaine was his passport into the Belfast gang. Ireland was a small place. Once he was established he’d find his father…
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