17

Night had descended on the RatHoles and Timmy had never wished to be somewhere else more in his young life. The rain had intensified and was coming down in forlorn sheets, washing the day’s filth from the cobbles, while they were holed up in the abandoned tenement. Wind had joined the rain, making the building so cold he shivered constantly. Still, he had it better than Wally, who’s nearly non existent disguise left so much of his milky, goose pimpled flesh exposed to the cutting winds. Sarpele was huddled deep into his cloak and fake beard, quietly muttering to himself as he rocked back and forth. He had set himself up so he could see the towers without it looking like he was watching. Timmy had to admit that his commitment to the part was astounding. It was easy to forget there was a healthy, sharp eyed undercover detective in there somewhere. Timmy really found himself believing he was a half senile, crippled old man with weak eyes.

Despite Wally’s hushed protests, Sarpele had demanded they stay overnight in the tenement as most drug activity didn’t take place until the sun went down. As the sun fell and the thick thunderclouds blotted out the moon, business had picked up, but only minutely. The towers were quiet. All around them in the tenement, addicts itched, coughed, and moaned as their need for another fix worsened.

“Ughh,” Wally muttered, all of his gangly limbs huddled into himself as he desperately tried to get warm. “I wish they’d shut up.”

Timmy agreed. The moans were haunting. The addicts sounded like they were in dire pain, most of them were too weak and malnourished to scream or writhe, so they just moaned piteously and begged. The other addicts, those not so deep in their addiction, tried to care for them. They soothed their burning brows with rainwater and tried to get them to drink. But the addicts pleaded, they bargained, they threatened, and they wept. All they wanted was another hit. Just one. That wouldn’t kill them, right? And if it did, it was better than this.

“They're in pain,” Sarpele muttered. “Wish you that you never experience a want so deep or painful. They’re experiencing withdrawals, and withdrawals from Burn are the worst. Their bodies are on fire, they have fevers, nausea, diarrhoea, and painful cramps all over their bodies. Many of them will die just from the need.”

“It’s ‘orrbile,” Wally replied, hugging his knees to his chest. “Serves ‘em right for takin’ that junk in the first place.”

“You think so?” Sarple said.

“Well yeah. No one forced ‘em to become junkies. Everyone knows wot that stuff does to you, and they still went and done it anyway.”

“And you’ve never considered what might drive a creature to do something so destructive?” Sarpele asked.

Wally looked at him and shrugged his narrow shadows. It wasn’t something he had ever considered.

“You still have much of the world, and it’s pains to explore young Washbottom,” Sarpele sighed. “Help me up.”

They took Sarpele under his arms and helped him shakily to his feet.

“I’m going to do some surveillance around the towers. We are getting no useful information holed up in here. Might be we’ll have to attempt a buy tonight if nothing more happens. I will be back shortly. Do not speak to anyone and keep to yourselves while I’m gone.” Sarpele took up his walking stick and began muttering nonsense to himself as he shuffled away.

Timmy and Wally slumped back down again, miserably.

“I wish we were back on the beat,” Wally muttered to Timmy. “At least we’d be ‘ome by now with our feet up, nice and warm. Nan was s’posed to be making a lovely ‘otpot with onion gravy tonight.”

Timmy stomach rumbled at the thought of food. They hadn’t eaten since that morning at the precinct.

“Instead we’re stuck ‘ere with a bunch of nasty junkies in the freezin’ cold!”

“Keep your voice down,” Timmy muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“Not like they’re listenin’,” Wally said. “Look at ‘em. Rolling around in the filth, crying, and moaning all for some bloody Burn. Why do we even care if they OD on that crap. I say let ‘em. Least that’s one less problem for the rest of the city to deal with.”

Timmy sighed. This morning, he probably would have agreed with Wally. As coppers on the beat, it felt like half of their day was taken up dealing with petty theft and erratic public behaviour of addicts. They lied, they stank, they were filthy, and they were a nuisance. They would spit at you and call you pigs and generally be as vile as they could be, and in the end they were usually slung back out onto the street because it wasn’t worth the city’s time and gold to prosecute them. So the next day, they would be dealing with the same junkie nonsense. But seeing them here, like this, made Timmy’s heart ache. They were just people. They had friends. They cared for each other. They tried to tend to each other and soothe their pains. They weren’t some completely different species.

As Timmy looked around the room, he saw a young girl sitting against a wall, her head lolling down, a bloody rag wrapped around her arm. She sniffed and wiped tears from her face as she grimaced in pain. She couldn’t have been any older than them, perhaps even younger. She didn’t look like the junkies either. She was cleaner, her skin not yet mottled, and even her teeth were still mostly white. She had orangey-red hair, tied back in a ponytail, and light green eyes that were full of pain and fear. She lifted the bloody rag, and Timmy saw there was a nasty gash across her arm that was bleeding freely.

“She’s hurt,” Timmy whispered to Wally.

“Wot?”

“That girl, she’s injured.”

“So wot? Everyone here is.”

“But she’s bleeding.”

“Tim,” Wally warned, knowing that earnest look in his partner’s eyes. “Sarpele said we was to keep to ourselves.”

“We can’t just let her bleed. Look, she’s all alone. We won’t be bothering anyone else.”

“Tim,” Wally hissed, but it was too late: Timmy was already up on his feet, shambling towards the girl.

She looked up as he approached, and fear blossomed in her eyes. Timmy gave her a crooked smile and opened his mouth before remembering he was under strict instructions not to speak, lest he give away his cover. He pointed at her wound and tried to give her a friendly smile. She shrank away from him for a moment. He dropped to his knees and then mimed for her to show him. The girl looked around in panic. With great reluctance, Wally followed Timmy over and sat down next to the girl.

“He wants to ‘ave a look at your arm,” Wally said to her. Now he was closer, he could see how young and afraid she was, and it softened his voice. “I’m Wally and this is Timmy. ‘E’s proper good at first aid.”

Timmy gave her his warmest smile, which always made him look like a complete simpleton, but in this instance that made the girl feel safer.

“I’m Marney,” the girl said, her voice as quiet as a mouse. She shakily extended her arm to Timmy.

Carefully, he took her arm in his podgy hands and peeled away the rag.

“‘Ow did you do that?” Wally asked, wincing as he saw the gash.

"I was being chased by some… bad people, and I had to jump a fence. There was wire at the top, and I cut my arm,” she explained in her soft voice, tears welling up in her eyes.

Timmy examined the wound.

“Is it going to need stitches?” Marney asked, her voice fearful.

Timmy shook his head. He then mimed for her to stretch her legs out. Once she did, he carefully rested her forearm on her leg so the wound was facing upwards. He held up a finger and then trundled off.

“Does it hurt?” Wally asked her.

Marney nodded and bit her lip as the air wafted across the wound.

“Doesn’t your friend talk?” she asked.

“No, he’s not a…” Wally was about to say allowed to. “He’s not able to.”

“That’s so sad,” Marney said, wincing.

“Makes ‘im a good listener though,” Wally said.

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Timmy returned with a small foil bowl of rainwater and the remains of the foul smelling spirits Sarpele had been sipping on as part of their cover. He sat them down and then tore a length of his sleeve off. He dabbed it in the bowl and then began to clean her word. Marney took a sharp intake of breath and closed her eyes. Timmy looked up at Wally and mouthed for him to talk to the girl to distract her.

“Oh ermm… so Marney… you look… umm… you don’t look like you belong ‘ere,” Wally stammered.

“I don’t think anyone belongs somewhere like this,” Marney said, wincing in pain.

“Yeah right,” Wally said. “Where are you from?”

“Northern boroughs, out by Longshade.”

“Oh right. Did you umm… ‘ave you run away from ‘ome?”

Marney nodded and looked away from him.

Once Timmy had finished wiping away the excess blood, he folded the wet rag and pressed it against the wound. He looked at Wally and then picked up the bottle of spirits, pulling a pained expression.

“‘E says this bit is gonna ‘urt,” Wally said.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to pain,” Marney said, a rueful grimace on her face. She held her hand out for the bottle after Timmy had soaked the rag. He handed it to her and she took a deep drinking, her face fluching as the spirits burned her throat.

Timmy tenderly dabbed at the wound. Marney winced and screwed her eyes shut. As she did, Wally noticed all the bruising on her arms. They were finger shaped and some were fresh. He also noticed the bruising around her neck and the shadow of her healing bruise under one eye.

“Is there somewhere else you can go?” Wally asked. “Like a relative or somethin’?”

Marney shook her head.

“There’s only me and my dad… and I can’t go back there.”

Wally looked at her bruises again. No, she couldn’t. He felt a well of rage flare up inside of him. She was only a tiny little thing. She was thin, much thinner than was healthy, and she couldn’t have been more than a couple inches over five feet. Who would batter around such a defenceless person?

“This place ain’t safe,” Wally insisted. “Someone like you… you’re not safe ‘ere with all these junkies. You should go somewhere else.”

“Where?” Marney said. “There isn’t anywhere else for me. At least it’s dry and indoors, that’s better than other places I’ve been recently.”

Timmy placed one more fresh, rolled up rag on her wound and then carefully tied it around her arm.

“Thank you,” she said, beads of sweat on her forehead. “Can I finish this?” she asked holding up the bottle.

Timmy looked nervously at the bottle, then at Wally.

“I think you’re a little young to…” Wally began.

Before he could finish, Marney had picked up the bottle and glugged the remains of the foul liquor. She coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before sighing deeply. She tried to roll down her sleeves, but Timmy stopped her. He pulled her sleeve back up and saw the tell tale fresh horizontal slits on her arms. Timmy’s eyes widened and he looked at Wally.

“You’re a Burner?” Wally said incredulously.

“Yeah, so what, what’s it got to do with you?” Marney said defensively. She pulled down her sleeve and hid her arm from him.

“Wot you goin’ and doin’ that crap for?" Wally said, loud enough that others looked over.

“What?” Marney said. “What’s it to you? You do as well. Otherwise, what are you doing here?”

“Oh… yeah right… but you’re so young. Why would you wanna be goin’ and doin’ Burn for?”

“My reasons are my reasons,” Marney said, her eyes hard.

Wally was about to respond when Timmy held up his hand to him. Marney drew her knees to her chest and buried her face in her legs. After a few moments, they saw her shoulders shake and heard her sobs. Wally felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

“I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Timmy shuffled so he was sat next to Marney and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her back gently.

“No, it’s okay,” Marney said after collecting herself. She wiped her eyes on her bare knees. “It’s just been… a long day. And one of my friends… she umm… she passed away.”

“I’m sorry,” Wally said. “Wot happened?”

“Overdose,” Marney said, taking a shaky breath. “This Bad Batch going around. She hadn’t had any in days because everyone is so scared of OD’ing. Then she came to me all excited that she had found a fresh supply, and it was the good stuff. I was meant to take it too, but then I wanted to be clear headed so I could… do some stuff. And when I came back… she was… she was dead. It was so horrible. Her face was all twisted up. She looked like she was in so much pain before she died. And then the dealers came looking for her to pay her tab. They didn’t care she was dead. They wanted me to pay, and I didn’t have the coin. So then… they wanted me to pay another way.” Her words were babbled and jumbled as fresh tears rolled down her face.

“Fuckin’ animals,” Wally growled through gritted teeth.

“Then they did this,” she held up her arm. “And said they would kill me if I didn’t pay up. So I ran, and I just kept running. And I don’t know what to do. When they find me, they’ll kill me.” Marney buried her face in her knees again as she wept.

Fortunately, there was crying and moaning all around them, so hers didn’t draw any attention to them.

“We can help,” Wally said, without thinking.

“How?”

“Umm,” he looked at Timmy and panicked.

“We’re police officers,” Timmy said so quietly, the words were little more than whispers.

“What!” Marney gasped.

“Shh,” Wally said, holding a finger up to his lips. “We’re undercover.”

“We can take you somewhere safe,” Timmy whispered. “And you tell us who these people are, and we’ll make sure they don’t bother you again.”

“I’m not a rat,” Marney hissed at them. “And if anyone finds out I talked to the police, I’m dead!”

“We can help…” Wally tried, but Marney shook her head vehemently.

“No, you don’t understand, rats are even worse than junkies. These are dangerous people. They’ll kill me!”

“Not if we find them first,” Timmy said.

Marney bit her lip and looked at the two of them.

“You don’t look like coppers,” she said.

“That’s the point,” Wally replied.

“Just give us their names, and we’ll leave you out of it completely,” Timmy whispered. “Tell us where we can find them, and we’ll arrest them. They’ll have more to worry about than chasing up a debt with you. No one will know you helped us.”

Marney looked from the earnest, soft face of Timmy, to the gaunt, fiery eyed face of Wally.

“You promise?” she whispered.

They both nodded.

“I only know one of their names,” she said. “He goes by Trembles.”

“Trembles?” Wally said. “Wot kind of name is that?”

“I dunno, it’s just what they call him. He runs an operation just North of the Houses, on Derby street.”

“What’s he look like?” Timmy asked.

“He’s a big guy, has a couple gold teeth and has his hair all slicked back.”

“Okay,” Timmy whispered. “We’ll find him and take care of him.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I promise.”

For the first time, a weak smile broke out across Marney’s face and transformed it. She looked even younger and innocent.

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank us,” Wally said. “Just doin’ out jobs.”

“But you should let us get you out of here,” Timmy said. “There must be a shelter or something we can take you to.”

Marney shook her head.

“They’ll send me back to my dad on account of my age. I can’t go back there. I’d rather die on the streets.”

“But…”

“Thank you, but no.” Marney said firmly.

Timmy sighed and looked at Wally.

“Take this then." Timmy produced a small, white card with his name and station on it. “If you get in trouble or you just need help, come and find us. My name’s Corporal Timmy Edgewater, and this is Corporal Wally Washbottom. Anytime you need help, we’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” Marney took his card and wiped tears from her eyes. “Why are police here anyway?”

“We’re undercover, staking out the towers, trying to find who’s selling Burn,” Timmy explained.

“Bad time for it,” Marney replied. “There’s hardly any business going on here at the moment. Every Burner knows to stay away from the RatHoles, all of their stuff is the Bad Batch.”

“Bad Batch?” Timmy asked.

“Yeah, it’s what’s killing everyone.”

“Wot d’you mean?” Wally said.

“All of the OD’s. It’s not just from regular Burn. There’s a tainted strain going around. Everyone’s calling it the Bad Batch. Apparently, one hit can kill you or make you really sick. It’s why all of these Burners here are hurting so bad. No one can trust any of the product at the moment, so those that ain’t desperate enough are staying away until the Bad Batch runs out and the good stuff comes back.”

“You’re sure about this?” Timmy asked.

Marney nodded her head.

“Thank you, that’s really helpful,” Timmy said.

They heard the tip tap of a walking stick come back up the creaky stairs.

“Shit,” Wally said, hopping up.

“Thanks for everything,” Marney said as they gathered up their supplies before Sarpele returned.

“We’ll take care of it’,” Wally whispered to her. “Don’t you worry about nuffin’.”

Marney gave him a small smile, and they scarpered back to the other side of the room. Sarpele came shambling back in, drenched, and still rambling. He sat down on the floor and shook out his hair and beard. He grumbled to himself until he was sure no one was paying attention to them.

“No luck,” he muttered. “The place is a ghost town. If we want information, we’re gonna have to go in and get it ourselves.”

“Go into there?” Wally said, looking at the foreboding towers.

“Yes,” Sarpele grunted. “We can do a couple of hand to hand transactions and try to get a few names and faces at least. I don’t understand why it’s so dead.” Sarpele reached for his bottle of spirits. He raised it and then shook it. “Did you drink this?”

Wally shrugged.

“Got thirsty.”

“You’d best be sober for this boy,” Sarpele growled. “There’s no telling what awaits us in those towers. It’ll be dangerous, and we might not have a clear way back out if things go wrong. I need you both sharp.”

“Yes sir,” Wally said, and Timmy nodded.

“Good. Nothing more nerve wracking than the door being locked behind you in a room full of nasty bastards.”

Timmy looked up at the ominous towers and then swallowed.