The Mercy Seat by Martyn Waites Read Free Book Online Page A

the
Matrix
series,
Dog Soldiers, Jeepers Creepers I and II, Ghost Ship, The Lord of the Rings
trilogy. Class, he thought. Takeaway pizza cartons, empty soft drink cans leftlying around, seemingly invisible. From somewhere else in the house, some rapper was challenging another one to see who was the hardest.
    Jamal nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Nice. Like my yard back home.’
    Another boy slumped on the sofa, pizza crumbs down the front of his T-shirt. Thin and pale with prominent, yellowing teeth. A horror film played on the screen before him, a nubile young woman being screamingly sliced up, but his sleep-lidded eyes let the images just slide over him. Si pointed at him.
    ‘This is Andy.’
    Jamal nodded; the boy barely registered him.
    ‘You get owt for us, then?’ the boy asked Si, his voice a listless drawl.
    ‘Later,’ Si said.
    ‘Fuckin’ better ’ave an’ all, you tosser.’ There wasn’t enough energy behind the words to turn them into a threat.
    Si’s response was cut off by a booming voice from upstairs.
    ‘Is that Si I hear down there?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Si replied, ‘and I’ve got something for you.’
    ‘Then come on up.’
    Si smiled broadly, but the affected bonhomie didn’t reach his eyes. Fear lingered there.
    ‘That means you too,’ said Si. ‘Let’s not keep him waiting.’
    ‘Look, our boy’s back.’
    Click. Click.
    The camera was as near to the window as possible without being seen. A young Asian man, good looking, in designer jeans and a tight-fitting black T-shirt, trained his telephoto on the terrace opposite. On two houses knocked through. Or three.
    ‘And he’s got someone with him.’
    A woman, young, with long blonde hair tied back, joined him at the window. They watched.
    ‘Been recruiting again,’ she said. ‘Any idea who, Amar?’
    Amar, the Asian man, didn’t take his eye from the lens. ‘New playmate, from the looks of it. Black lad.’
    Click. Click.
    He smiled. ‘Quite cute, if you like that kind of thing.’
    The woman gave him a stern, unsmiling look.
    Amar felt it more than saw it, turned to her. ‘Which I don’t. Oh come on, Peta, it was just a joke, for God’s sake.’
    Peta’s expression didn’t change. ‘Just shut up and keep watching. And be thankful I don’t shove this camera up your arse.’
    Amar smiled. ‘Promises, promises.’
    She sighed, shook her head. Allowed herself a small smile. ‘Just keep watching. We’ll get a break soon.’
    ‘I know, but in the meantime …’
    The smile disappeared. ‘We keep watching.’
    Click. Click.
    Jamal followed Si up the stairs and into the master bedroom. All white, it was dominated by a huge bed. At its foot a wall-mounted plasma TV, beneath it a DVD and VCR. On the screen the writhing, sighing and grunting of a porn film. And on the bed one of the biggest, fattest men Jamal had ever seen.
    Wearing a black-silk dressing gown that looked big enough to parachute with, the man sprawled across the bed, taking up so much space that another person would have been prohibited from joining him. He had faint, wispy, blond hair and dark, sunken eyes, like pebbles at the bottom of an algae-infested, stagnant rockpool. They lit up with a murky, green glow when they alighted on Jamal. Somehow,Jamal thought, the man would find room on the bed for another.
    ‘And who have we here?’
    The screen was paused. A pained expression, gender indiscriminate, filled it.
    ‘Jamal.’
    ‘Jamal …’ He almost purred the name. ‘Lovely. Very … exotic. Come closer.’
    Jamal approached the bed. The fat man smiled. Like a clam opening its jaws, waiting to catch an unwary fish. ‘Mmm. A little coffee boy. Tell me, little coffee boy, do you ever take cream?’
    The fat man laughed, high and effeminate.
    Creep, thought Jamal.
    ‘Has Si told you who I am?’
    ‘Father Jack?’
    ‘Well done. Very bright, little coffee boy. Father Jack. Not an ecumenical appellation, purely an honorary one. I’m father to all the children