Story 4-5 TROY THE LONELY BOY
image credit internet
The smell of rising damp and mould hit Troy as Blossom pushed open the door of her granny’s house. “It smells likes shit in here. Your granny stayin’ the old folk’s balmy place, then, “he asked. Making no comment Blossom pushed past him. In the confines of the narrow hall leading to the stairs her breasts pushed against his chest. Her cheap perfume cloyed at his nostrils. For a minute she continued to press against him and he felt her body heat. A feeling of revolution rushed over him. Once, the very closeness of her had brought him out in a heat rash.
“You been stealin’ in Pound Shop again,” he queried staying back a little from her broad ass swaying in front of his face as they ascended the stairs.
Blossom threw him a glance over her shoulder.
“The perfume – you stink,” he said.
Blossom stopped on the turn of the stairs blocking his way. “Fuck you! At least I don’t smell like bird shite and cat’s piss.”
Above them on the darkened landing a body disengaged itself from the shadows and stood silhouetted against the street light coming through the grimy landing window. “If you two love- birds have finished your domestic – there work to be done here.” A male voice sneered.
“Like your style,” Blossom retorted in a nonplussed way as she strode toward the figure clad from head to toe in black. “You packing,” she smirked as she brushed her hand against the man’s crutch.
“Speak only when you’re asked a question,” she said in a low voice to Troy as she opened the door to her grandmother’s bedroom.
Inside, a flickering candle stuck in a bottle cast eerie shadows on the peeling faded wallpaper. Gone now the old=fashioned bed, chest of drawers and barrel bellied wardrobe had had come out of some auction that had been there when he’d downed Blossom for the first time.
The room was empty now except for a table with a chair in front of it. A. crawling finger of fear began to creep up Troy’s spine. His mind jumped about registering several things at once. A machete lay casually on table as if it was the most natural think you’d find on a table in an old woman’s house. The old blackout blind which Blossoms granny refused to throw out because she said it reminded her of her husband ‘s part in the London Blitz had been secured to the window so that no light could escape. A body bag and plastic sheeting lay rolled up as silent as a corpse against the far wall.
The glow of cigarettes broke the darkness here and there around the edges of the room. In the shadows the fingers of a hand drummed edgily As Troy’s eyes adjusted to the dimness he realized there were three men sitting with their backs to the wall where the light didn’t reach.
“You took your time gettin’ here,” The finger tapping man snarled.
“Old Abdullah got a sale today, “Troy explained. A low level of swearing rumbled around the room like a gathering storm. Troy held back the snort that rose in his throat. You won’t be able to rob the poor bastard anymore, he thought.
He focused his eyes on the man who had addressed him. Despite the poor light he thought he recognized him. He was the guy Big Sammy did business with in the recesses of dustbins and scurrying vermin at the back of the Tower Block. He tried hard to keep his face expressionless and not let his lip curl in contempt. Show me your company, his father used to quip, and I’ll tell you what you are. That was rich coming from him.” Rats! The lot of them, he thought. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes but he could feel them burning into him like two hot pokers. He’d learned the hard way in St Pascal’s never be the first to blink or look away. In the animal kingdom it was taken as a sign of submission.
He dropped his gaze. Sometimes you had to lose the battle to win the war. This was one of those times. Keep your eye on the prize, he reminded himself noting the flicker of the candle lingered for a second on the fancy shoes sticking out from the foot of the man beside the boss. The shoes reminded him of his father. Seville Row custom made, bespoke shoes, if he was not mistaken. No borrowing from the Prudential or ordering out of Blossom’s Ma’s never never catalogue for these guys.
“What can I do for you?” He addressed his question to the third man who hadn’t spoken yet. His reply was a sharp warning dig in the back from Blossom who for once, was keeping her trap on silent.
“It’s a question of quality,” the man with the Seville Row shoes said in a quietly menacing way more powerful than if he had shouted out. He pulled his chair forward into the light so that Troy could see his face. Troy shivered. This wasn’t good. If he was letting him see him he wasn’t getting out of here alive.
“Rumor has it you have been shooting off your mouth about the quality of Sammy’s goods.”
“Wouldn’t know anything about that,” Troy retorted folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t like the feeling that was crawling about his belly. Blossom the fucking white witch had walked him right into it.
“Big Sammy has a head for business. He tells you’d rather work with an old man in a pet shop and his little feathered friends.” the drug dealer crowed. He gave Troy a sardonic smile. “He says you mess with the …, “
“No way, Troy said vehemently cutting off his words.
“Leave that to your women,” do ya” the machete man intoned beginning to lovingly trace the curve of the knife with his thumb.
Troy chanced a glance at Blossom.
“Not her! Your silvered tongued mummy! The Saville Row shoes spat out, a vein beginning to dance in his cheek. Troy could feel the sweat trickling down his back.
“Big Sammy swears it’s not him that messin” with the mix. It you, isn’t it?”
Troy shook his head violently
“If it’s not you it must be your bitch mother messin’ in things that don’t concern her.” the third man said softly from the shadows.
Troy drew in a sharp breath. Maybe this could work out in his favour after all. Kill two birds with one stone and get out of here alive, he thought his mind whirling frantically. He spread out his hands as if he was pleading. “Look. Big Sammy knows she’s a better lay when she’s doped to her eyeballs,” he lied.” He pretended to struggle with his conscience. “It’s a win win for him. He adds in her pills here and there. He reaps the benefit in the sack. What’s the harm? “Despite his hatred for his mother, somehow, it seemed wrong to lay her bare before this vermin who wouldn’t know a decent woman if she fell on top of them.
He let out an audible sigh as the shadows sniggered all around him, including Blossom, he noted. He’d deal with her later, he promised himself. His mother had been a good neighbor to her brats of sisters and brothers when the scum hauled her ma off to the funny farm to dry out. Forget Blossom, keep your eye on the prize, he counselled himself. He felt the atmosphere in the room relax
“Big Sammy – he’s your man, “he added softly.
Gemma Hill 2020 ©
.
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 