‘My arm, man . . . Come on, dude . . . What the . . .’
The smurfs are used to deposit cash. They meet in busy places like mall car parks. The head smurf hands the money out and the smurfs go banking.
‘I asked twice. Bored now. I’ll break your arm off and shove it up your arse . . .’
The man stares up in horror, unable to comprehend why this beautiful woman with a bruised face and an English accent is beating him up.
A good smurf can deposit one hundred K in one working day. We find a smurf and follow him back to smurf HQ. We will stay discreet. We will remain covert. We will not show out or do anything to draw attention.
‘Safa!’ Miri’s voice in her ear.
‘Hang on,’ Safa tells the man, adding another twist that makes him gasp in pain, ‘I think I got one,’ she says, pushing the button on the wire threaded under her shirt.
‘What did you not understand about the word discreet?’ Miri asks, her voice for once showing some emotion – pissed-off emotion, but emotion nonetheless.
‘What the fuck?’ A deep voice speaks out. Safa snatches her head up to see a big man walking slowly into the alley. ‘What’choo doin’?’ he asks.
‘Piss off,’ Safa says, squeezing harder on the wrist in her grip as the man yelps again.
The big man walks slow. His eyes taking in the scene in front of him. A woman holding Lucas by the wrist. He cocks his head, showing mild concern.
‘You’re a big boy,’ Safa says, taking his size in.
‘You a cop?’ the big man asks, his voice deep and rumbling. His shoulders wide. His arms thick and bulging with muscle. A thick gold necklace round his neck. Gold rings on his fingers. Gold teeth glinting in the dirty rays of the Los Angeles sun filtering through the skyscrapers and made foul by the millions of cars, trucks and people.
‘Er,’ Safa hesitates, ‘sort of . . . Used to be . . . Best say no, not now.’
‘Not a cop?’ The big man is still walking towards her.
‘Maurice?’ Lucas yelps as a look of relief washes over his face. ‘Get this crazy bitch off me . . .’
‘Morris?’ Safa asks, chuckling to herself. ‘Nice name.’
‘My granddaddy name, and it’s Maureece,’ Maurice says with a hard glare.
‘Oh,’ Safa says, offering a shrug. ‘I don’t care. Fuck off.’
‘You British?’ Maurice asks. His instincts tell him she looks like a cop.
‘Are we bezzer mates now?’ Safa asks. ‘Fancy coming to mine for a pizza? Fuck off. ARE YOU A SMURF?’ she asks Lucas again, going back to the arm-twisting.
‘SAFA!’
‘Fuck’s sake . . .’ Safa mutters. ‘Yep, go ahead, Miri.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Some filthy, stinking, dirty-arse alley with my new best friend, Morris. He’s coming round for pizza later.’
‘What?’ Miri asks.
‘What?’ Maurice asks.
‘Bloody Yanks are deaf,’ Safa mutters. ‘Right, one more time, then I start breaking things,’ she tells Lucas. ‘Are you a smurf? Actually, I think you are, so just tell me where the smurf house is and stop pissing about.’
He moves fast for a big man. Safa is beautiful and a woman, but Maurice will mess her up the same as anyone else. Rules are rules, and no one touches his crew.
Safa smiles. Her dark eyes twinkling as she offers a prayer of thanks to the gods of back-alley fights. She pauses, holding Lucas’s arm to let Maurice close the distance, and in so doing she gauges speed, motion and how he conveys himself into a fight. By the time Maurice has taken five steps, she knows he is used to dominating by his size alone.
He swings. She ducks, and comes up showing him a middle finger, having dropped the wrist she was holding. Maurice swings out. She weaves, back-stepping and still holding the middle finger up at him. Goading his temper to explode. Maurice’s eyes glare with rage. His pride dented. He lunges fast and angry. Safa goes to move back to draw him on, then closes in with her right knee into his groin. That right leg comes down to the floor to reposition, then flies up to strike into the side of his knee. The flat of her left hand hits Maurice’s right ear, bursting his ear drum. The flat of her right hand hits his left ear, doing the same again. She stamps down, breaking several toes, and simply steps away as he topples from the points of agony blooming in his body.
Ben runs past the alley, stops and runs back to look down at Safa standing over two bodies. ‘What the fuck?’
‘Hey,’ Safa says, smiling at him. ‘Got two. You get any?’
‘What?’ Ben asks, coming to a stop as Harry does the same and first runs past, stops then runs back into the alley.
‘Smurfs. You get any?’ Safa asks.
‘We’re not fishing, Safa,’ Ben says, looking at Lucas then at Maurice.
‘Big lad,’ Harry says, stopping to look down at Maurice.
‘Miss Patel,’ Miri says, striding down the alley.
‘Oh, I’m in the shit.’
‘Discreet. Covert,’ Miri says, looking with distaste at the groaning Maurice and the too-terrified-to-run-away Lucas.
‘Yep,’ Safa says. ‘Thought we were catching them. Misunderstood. Apologies.’
Miri goes to reply, but spots the earnest look on Safa’s face and the wry smiles of Ben and Harry. She should chastise. She should berate and give punishment. Orders are to be followed. Anything less is a loss of discipline. Then again, this is the game and they are in it, and this game has no rules. To play at this level means needing people like Safa. People who can do this. Damn. She wishes she had had Safa when she was active.
‘Good work,’ Miri says instead, noting the surprise in Safa’s face.
‘Eh?’ Safa asks.
‘Please follow my orders in future, but good work,’ Miri says curtly.
‘Fucking freaks, man,’ Lucas wails, looking up in horror.
‘Harry, get him up,’ Miri says.
‘Roger that, ma’am,’ Harry says, stepping towards Lucas.
‘I am sorry, Miri,’ Safa says, feeling strangely repentant. There’s something about Miri that makes her want to earn her respect and thanks.
‘He’s up,’ Harry says, holding Lucas by the scruff of the neck, the poor man now on tiptoe as he stares at the group around him, seeing the bruises, cuts and swollen eyes from the fight in the house two days ago.
‘I will ask you once,’ Miri says, fixing him with her cold grey eyes. ‘Where?’
‘Where what?’ Lucas asks meekly. ‘Ma’am,’ he adds with a weak smile.
‘All yours,’ Miri tells Safa, turning away.
‘NO!’ Lucas bleats. ‘No, no, no . . . I can’t say anything – they’ll kill me.’
Miri slowly turns to look upon the young man. ‘So will we,’ she says with absolute conviction.
Ben starts going through the big man’s pockets, pulling out wads of banknotes.
‘I can’t,’ Lucas says, his voice trembling with fear.
Ben stands up, holding the thick wedge of cash. ‘Can’t what?’ he asks mildly, nicely. Harry lowers Lucas, sensing the new approach. He even reaches out to adjust Lucas’s clothes, pulling them gently back to order with a friendly smile. ‘Mate, what’s your name?’ Ben asks.