'I c..c.. can't stop sh...shaking,' whispered Lek.

'It's shock.'

'N.. no. It's the dr..drugs. Reacting with m..my adrenaline.'

'Just lie down for a moment,' Crystal said.

'No time,' said Lek, and with one hand on Crystal's shoulder and the other on the wall, he forced himself into a standing position and together they hobbled back through the courtyards.

Chapter 30.

In the smoke filled air of Battersea, in the middle of a wild pack-clash, it seemed as though the smell of Roma Bruce suddenly blossomed in the night air like the aroma of wild jasmine in Harlesden, and her pack looked at one another, bewildered by the bizarre phenomenon. Only Dahlia Ortega understood its true meaning, and she led the pack back around the Queen's Circus, dodging the missiles and avoiding the skirmishes, through the side streets of Battersea without questioning herself. Their pace slowed and the trail led them to a brick wall outside a housing estate. One by one, they leapt up and over the razor wire and dropped gracefully into the alley below.

While the Twins cowered in the corner of the alley, unsure of what to say or where to look, Zevon ran to be at Roma's side and was the first to touch her. Blood had pooled behind her head. 'Don't speak Roma. We'll get a doctor. We'll get you to a hospital. I don't know. Just, just stay with me.' He had known her demise was inevitable, having already outlived the average lifespan of a pack leader, and even though he had begun to resent her control over him, in all aspects of his life, he was still crushed. Here she was, his childhood friend, the wolf he had served under for six years a stealing, mugging and even killing at her command. To see her fallen made him question his own mortality. He felt like a part of himself was dying with her and his eyes flooded with tears. He stared down at her battered face and asked through choking sobs, 'Who did this to you?'

Before she could even try to answer, Dahlia told Zevon to step away.

She knelt down and turned her cold eyes on Roma. Her voice was like ice. 'Roma. I cannot challenge you now, but know that your actions tonight have brought disgrace on the name of the Brixton Wolves.'

'How... dare... you?' whispered Roma, but all the venom of her voice had already died, and she sounded beaten.

'The boy you killed was an innocent. A no-mark. You broke the agreement of the prelim and now you've started a war. It will take a strong leader to right your wrongs.'

'Zevon,' croaked Roma.

'No, you have forfeited the right to choose your successor. Besides, I paid for Zevon's life in drugs and now I own him. Zevon will not replace you. I am the leader of the pack. I am Alpha.'

Roma's eyes narrowed slightly, and she bared her twisted fangs at her lieutenant's insolence, but Dahlia only stood up, rolled the muscles at the base of her neck and placed her foot on Roma's windpipe. She took a long look into the eyes of the three males before pressing down with her full weight.

'The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.'

What had changed? Everything and nothing. Arid Bomani was still fifteen; still the son of a shipping merchant and a school inspector; still a schoolboy himself. In the morning, he would be sitting in a cla.s.sroom. Osaze would not. Where was his body now? In a hospital? Or a mortuary? Arid didn't even know how such arrangements were made. His brain struggled to cope with the idea of returning to the life he had known earlier that day, his life before the rumble. And where were his new friends now? Those who had been so keen to share their drugs and to laugh and speak of their war, and the new revolution. Ulan and Fogo? Yakuba? Gone. Back into their holes. In a daze, Arid placed one foot in front of the other and walked around the Queen's Circus, until his emotions got the better of him and he broke down and cried again for the loss of his friend. Arid Bomani was a good boy.

Queen's Circus was deserted. The chilling silence was fractured by the sound of a siren to the east. The only evidence of the all-out war which had been raging not fifteen minutes earlier was the smouldering recyclo-bins, smashed gla.s.s and burnt out Credibus shelters. All the bodies had been removed, either carried off by the gangs themselves, or taken away by the authorities who had appeared as if by magic when the violence ended and the cease-fire was called. The only figure still on the scene as Lek and Crystal made their way over the roundabout was a young black kid, sitting on the kerb with his head in his hands.

'We're not going to make it,' Crystal said despondently.

'We have to,' Lek snapped, 'we've come too far to give up now. We've got seventeen minutes to make it to Victoria before that Smarte Locker opens.'

'Forget the money Lek. I'm thinking about the train.'

'Forget the money? Are you kidding? That's our ticket out of here.'

'A hundred grand? How long do you think we can survive on that?'

'It's enough to keep us under the radar while we make our escape. Besides, Pechev controls all my money. I just used to send him the bills.'

'He really did have you in his pocket,' Crystal said with a touch of animosity.

'And I suppose your lap-dancing for Calabas paid well?'

Crystal lowered her eyes and said nothing.

'I'm sorry,' said Lek, 'that was a cheap shot.'

'I worked hard Lek. And I never complained. Even though I hated every single minute of my life in that s.h.i.thole, did you ever hear me complain?'

'I'm sorry. I was out of order. I suppose I'm just feeling a bit... grizzly.'

Crystal tried not to smile, but she couldn't help herself. 'You're an idiot,' she laughed, but Lek's mood had darkened once again. 'What's wrong?'

'That girl in the alley. Do you think I...? Was she...?'

'Listen, it was either her or us - she was going to kill us. Pure and simple. You did what you had to do and baby, I for one am glad. You can't think about it now. Come on, let's just get there.'

Lek ignored the pain in his leg and managed to maintain a steady pace through Battersea. The flagship Dynagym, which had once been a power-plant before the turn of the Millennium, shone like a lighthouse in the darkness, as gym-junkies worked through their share of the nation's energy debt, with digi-boxing mitts clocking each of their jabs and dyna-rowers monitoring their every stroke. Lek looked at the palm trees planted in each of the four chimneys and gave a hollow laugh. How long could the UK survive like this? Hiding behind this facade of success? On the surface, everything seemed to be working well, the population was thriving, the engine was still ticking over; but scratch beneath that surface and you saw a Government which was at best inept, their public services failing to meet the low standards which they had set themselves. The United Kingdom had become a rusting infrastructure which could not cope with its own heaving ma.s.ses, the violence on the streets, the drugs...

'Whatever happens,' said Lek, 'we have to catch that train.'

They hurried over Chelsea Bridge, while a coal-barge slipped silently through the slick green waters beneath them. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from their shoulders when they reached the other side. The nightmare of the full moon rumble was behind them, but Lek was suffering badly with the pain in his leg and the debilitating effects of the come-down from his own drugs. He leant against a wall and vomited weakly. Crystal had never seen him in this state and she began to have her doubts about his chances of making it to the station at all.

'I'll be fine,' said Lek, sensing her tension, 'I just needed a moment.' And he staggered to the nearest water fountain and drank deeply. 'Let's keep moving.'

He had lost a lot of blood and was deathly pale. 'We're nearly there. We've only got to get along this street and we're there. Victoria's five minutes away, max.'

'Let's nab a taxi? Or a rickshaw?'

'I doubt anybody's going to... pick me up... in this state.' Lek was slurring his words. Suddenly, Crystal lost her grip on his waist as he slipped away from her and swayed precariously towards the kerb. She screamed his name and tried to grab on to his wrist, but his weight pulled him away from her and he fell like a drunkard into the path of an oncoming car. Lek whirled around trying to maintain his balance, but he could tell neither up nor down and could hear Crystal calling his name from the bottom of a well. The car screeched to a halt on Buckingham Palace Road and the driver leaned on his horn as Lek spun one-hundred and eighty degrees once more and rested his hands on the bonnet. The driver, a short Asiano wearing a lot of jewellery, jumped out and began swearing furiously in his own language. As Lek raised his hands and stepped away from the car, the driver noticed his injuries in the light from the headlamps and switched to English.

'Ringo Starr, brother! What happened to you? I didn't do that to you, did I?' he looked around and shouted louder, 'I didn't do that to you!'

'No, no,' said Lek. 'It's ok. Me and my lady were attacked on the other side of the bridge.'

'Man, you've got to get to a hospital or something.'

'Actually, we're just trying to make it to the police station in Victoria. We want to report it first. Do you think you could help us out?'

's.h.i.t man, course I can!' said the driver with visible relief, 'just don't bleed on my seats.'

He helped Lek into the back, and even ran around the other side to hold the door open for Crystal, while behind him, a string of cars blared their horns at the delay.

He swore again in his own tongue, made a gesture which would have been understood in any language, before jumping in and gunning the engine.

On the back seat, Crystal turned to Lek to see if he was feeling alright.

'Never better,' he replied with a sly wink. 'I told you I've got a few tricks up my sleeve.'

In a matter of moments, they pulled up outside the station. Lek gave the driver the last of the cash which Roma's gang had missed, 'for his troubles,' and thanked him.

They stumbled up the steps to the IKEA Victoria International Station at ten minutes to ten. The beggar that Lek had seen that morning, exactly ten hours earlier, was still sitting in the same place, still holding out his paper-cup for spare change.

'We've even got time for a coffee,' joked Crystal, pointing at the LED.

'Money first...' said Lek and with an arm around her shoulder he limped towards the bank of Smarte Lockers on the far side of the concourse. Halfway across the empty hall, Lek suddenly made a sound like he had been stabbed in the lung and the life seemed to drain out of him. Crystal struggled to hold him up. 'John Lennon, Lek, don't die on me now!' she gasped.

'It's not that,' said Lek, 'It's him. On the benches over there. It's Delia.' And in that moment, the skin-head in the raincoat turned and looked into the eyes of a man he had killed earlier that afternoon.

Chapter 31.

Delia thought he was seeing a ghost, and his stomach rolled over. The man before him was Gorski, it had to be - something about the set of his shoulders and those high cheekbones - but he looked like he had been attacked by a crazed beautox therapist and her dog. And his woman was next to him a it had to be them a she was sporting a pink wig and a black eye. So many questions fired in the slow synapses of Delia's brain: how is Gorski still alive? Who did I shoot dead in The Shangri-La? Are they her real t.i.ts? What the f.u.c.k is going on? Without an answer to any of them, Delia did what he did best. Instinctively, he stood up, crossed his arms over his torso and drew his weapons like a Wild West gunslinger.

'It's all over,' said Lek, and in spite of the mult.i.tude of adversities he had managed to overcome that day, his only thought was of the embarra.s.sment of being shot dead in a XXL sports suit. He briefly considered making a run for it, but the concourse was empty and there was no chance of making cover. 'No more tricks left.' His eyes flicked to the lockers, and Delia saw Lek's expression change to one of surprise and horror as the cred limit on the storage expired and the small door sprung open with a satisfying clatter of metal on metal. Delia turned and ran, and in spite of his wounded leg, Lek sprinted after him, unsure of what he was hoping to achieve. Delia was still sluggish from the sloth-extract a he felt like he was running through treacle - but he was first to the open locker. His eyes darted over the contents in a split second. He saw the doctor's bag full of money stuffed in tight at the back, he saw the stack of old bills and papers, but there, sitting right in front of him was a battered black spiralled notepad a it had to be the recipe book. He grabbed it with his right hand and spun around to point the gun in his left on Lek, but instead he met the charge of a wild-eyed tramp, who had covered the distance from the Starbucks picket lines in a flash. The tramp flung himself into Delia's naked midriff, driving the wind out of his lungs and sending him skidding across the polished floor, the pistol flying from his hand. Before Delia had a chance to get to his feet, he was mobbed by the same vagabonds he had abused earlier that evening, and they stood over him and kicked him viciously with their bare feet, raining heavy fists down on his unprotected face. Delia tried to defend himself by curling into a tight ball, but there was no escape from the punishment. He clung on desperately to the recipe book, until somebody tore it from his grip and ripped it into pieces out of spite. 'NOOO!' screamed Delia, but his cry was cut short as another of his attackers smashed an empty Juniperus bottle over his head. The pigeon-eater stole his shoes and an open packet of goji-berries.

During the melee, Lek calmly pulled the doctor's bag from the locker and closed the door. He looked inside the bag, just to be sure, and breathed a sigh of relief. When he looked up, his eyes met those of a tramp, but Lek merely pointed to the bag in his hand and then pointed to his own chest. The tramp nodded his a.s.sent. 'Finders, keepers,' was the only law of the popped lockers the tramps understood.

Crystal ran to his side and kissed him full on the lips. 'I thought you were a dead man!' she breathed, when she let him up for air.

'So did I,' said Lek, clutching the bag to his chest as though his life depended on it. 'If I'm honest, I never thought I would see this again,' he smiled.

'So this is us. We're home free?' said Crystal, beaming.

'Looks like it. Just got to catch that train.'

A couple of stern-faced Terror-Guards arrived from a steel portacabin near the platforms to investigate the commotion. They sent the tramps off with threats of eviction from the shelter of the station and turned their attention to the unconscious man lying face down on the floor. One of the guards rolled him over with the toe of his boot and noticed the holsters strapped to his chest. A quick search of his pockets uncovered some drugs, two knives, another gun and most interestingly, a severed thumb.

'You know anything about this?' the second guard asked Lek gruffly, when he noticed him staring.

'No officer,' Lek said emphatically, shaking his head and feigning wide-eyed innocence.

'What's your story then?' the guard replied, unconvinced.

'We got caught in the middle of the wolf-hyena rumble in Battersea. They beat us up pretty bad just for being there. We're just trying to catch a train.'

'f.u.c.king idiot kids,' he cursed. 'Come with me, Mr...?'

'Gorski. I'm afraid I can't, officer. The train's leaving any minute. I don't really have time to make a statement.'

'Just come with me sir.'

Lek reluctantly agreed, walked over to the portacabin and waited outside as instructed. The guard emerged a few seconds later with some black overalls and a small disposable first aid kit.

'You look like you need these.'

'Ah officer, you're a lifesaver. Thank you.'

The Terror-Guard nodded curtly and returned to his work. Lek thought better of saluting.

Crystal and Lek made their way hand in hand to the Europatrans terminal, smiling and laughing like a pair of honeymooners but looking like a couple of violent offenders. They thumbprinted through the security checks, drawing some odd looks from the staff members and pa.s.sport control officers and made their way towards the International platforms. The Europa Silver Bullet, the 22.05 to Paris, was humming gently when they stepped aboard and found their table-seats.

'You bought these tickets this morning?' asked Crystal.

'Yes.'

'What made you think I would join you?'

'Just a hunch. It was either going to be you or Delia.... but I thought that I could make you an offer you couldn't refuse.'

She kissed Lek on the cheek and he grimaced as pain shot across his face.

'Why don't you go and get changed? Spruce yourself up a bit. You'll feel better for it.'

'Good idea. I'll be back in a minute.'

Lek shuffled down the carriage to the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door and turned to face his reflection. It was a wonder that Delia had managed to recognise him; Lek could barely recognise himself. With the events of the past few hours, he hadn't had time to fully take in his transformation at the hands of Ursula, but most striking was his broken nose, the bridge of which was still heavily swollen and seeping blood. Both of his eyes had blackened and there were streaks of dried blood covering his face.

Lek filled the sink with warm water and gingerly lowered his face into it. Then he pulled off his sports suit top and used it to pat himself dry. He opened the first aid kit and applied some antiseptic cream to the cut on his face and stuck a fibrin-mesh plaster over it. He pulled off his tattered trousers, washed and disinfected his leg and wrapped a bandage around the puncture wounds. 'f.u.c.king psychopath,' he whispered under his breath. He popped a couple of Codinol into his mouth and swallowed them with a handful of water from the tap. Finally he pulled on the clean overalls, which smelled of paraffin but fitted at least, and after taking a moment to gather himself, he walked back to his seat, feeling better than he had in hours.

He caught Crystal's eye as he walked through the sliding doors into their carriage. 'Is everything alright?' he asked, 'You look worried.'

'I'm fine, just... glad it's all over, I suppose. You look better.'

'I feel better, I'll say that much.' Lek flopped into his seat and closed his eyes, as the Bullet began to pull away from the platform. 'Are we moving? Or is that just my head swimming?'

'No, we're off. At last.'

The train began to pick up speed. The engine hummed and the signal lights rolled by. The wheels rumbled over the tracks and the carriage swayed gently on its axels. '... serving a selection of cold drinks, hot beverages, beer, wine and spirits, snacks, sandwiches....' Lek was already dozing off when he felt Crystal wrap her arm through his and lean her head against his chest.

Lek dreamt of better things. He dreamt of Paris in the morning. He dreamt of walking easily again through the cobbled streets, to a cafe he knew near Montmartre. Croissants and coffee. Spending some money. New clothes. Sleeping with Crystal in a hotel bedroom, and making love to her between fresh sheets. He dreamt.