I slipped into the steaming water, goose-pimples erupting in surprise at the heat.
After the stabbing, Diane and Ray had tried very hard to persuade me to change my job. I was tempted. Why go looking for trouble? On the other hand, I knew that if I gave it all up it would be like giving in to the threat of violence. And how many other things would I stop doing in order to feel safe? Stop going out at night, visiting new places, answering the door? In the end, I got some counselling to help with the panic and to decide on my future. It helped. I’d chosen to work even if that meant being scared some of the time. I wanted to be a survivor, not a victim.
JB rang as I was getting dry. ‘Look, I’ve been asking around. Talked to a couple of the lads. Martin’s not on the patch. They’d know if he was doing business round here. Then one guy I ask, he clams up. Big silence. He was scared, shit scared.’
‘Why?’
‘Search me. Couldn’t get shut of me fast enough. Kept saying he didn’t know nothing and I’d better leave it alone. Now, he’s a user…’
‘You think it might be something to do with drugs?’
‘Possible. There’s some heavy stuff going down.’
‘I know.’ Guns were the new addition to the so-called drugs war in the city. People had been shot. Killed. Including two little boys. Whole estates had been labelled no-go areas, to the anger of the local residents.
‘I’m gonna see who’s going into the clubs tonight, see if anyone’s heard anything. I’ll ring you tomorrow.’
‘Right.’ Why was JB being so helpful? ‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘but you got me thinking about Martin. He couldn’t look out for himself; I’d like to know he was okay. Besides, I’m curious now,’ he laughed. ‘Gives me summat to do.’
‘Keeps you off the streets?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Thanks JB’
‘See ya.’
He was a nice guy. I wanted to get him something to show my thanks. Not just money, though I’d pay him for his time; he was doing the legwork twice as effectively as I could have done. No, something personal. Of course. A sketchbook, some charcoal or maybe a drawing pen. He’d like that.
JB didn’t call that Thursday. I thought it was him when the phone rang at eight-thirty in the morning. I’d got a mouthful of toast and honey. I sluiced it down with tea.
It was a new client; once he’d established that he’d got the right number, he asked for an appointment.
‘There’s some work I’d like you to do.’ He had a local accent, a slight lisp.
