Page 51 of Knox

We skip through until we can see us approach Roman. None of us comment on how sad he looks. We know. Then I’m on my own, and I scan the rest of the room until I find the man who watched me leave. “Him.”

We watch him leave and walk outside, and Knox switches to the camera mounted on the exterior walls. It’s the same guy for sure.

“He must be new. I can check the log-in, see when he came in and swiped his card; I can find his out name then.”

I let him work silently, checking all the different screens he’s brought up.

“He’s new, only been a member a week. His name is Carter Webb.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. Can you zoom in so I can get a closer look.” I look hard, trying to track any distinctive features, but he’s pretty ordinary. I’m still sure there’s something I should recognise. There’s a tattoo above his pec, and when I look harder, I know what it is. “That’s a gang tattoo. He knows who I am.”

“You need to tell Drake,” Roman says, his face as white as a sheet.

I’ve already got my phone out of my pocket and bringing up Drake’s number. He answers on the first ring. “He’s in the gang, or he was. I don’t recall him, but tattoos don’t lie.”

“Get Knox to send all the footage to me. I’ll run a facial recognition search.”

I don’t expect to get any sleep, even though it’s late, and my mind is whirring with the possibility of being on someone’s hit list. That there was a chance I can’t be saved this time. But with a jolt I’m awake, and I’ve got who it is.

Tyrone.

Now that I know the who, I want to find the why.

I grab my phone, then slip out of bed and pull on a pair of sweats that I’d left on the chair in the corner and go downstairs. Back in the living room, I pick up the laptop, and even though I know Knox would let me use it, I’m not sure he would want me to be looking for the contact number of a man who set me up to be killed. I’m not the naïve kid I was back then; I’m also a damn good fighter.

I go through the history on the screen and pull up the file Knox had all the member’s details. I put the mobile number in mine and shut down the laptop.

What to do next? It’s just past three in the morning. Why would calling him now be in any way beneficial? If I tell him to leave and stay away, would he actually do it? I’m back in that pokey but clinically clean flat, watching him cut the coke, the heroin with god knows what, talc, flour, chalk, I have no clue. I’ve gone over the moment I heard him set me up so many, many times over the years I can recite his words by rote, and I still don’t understand what he got from it.

Without thinking anymore, I press call.

“It didn’t take you long to work it out,” the voice at the end of the line says. He’s been waiting for me; it didn’t even ring.

“What do you want?”

“We need to have a little chat. Just me and you.” There’s humour in his voice, and I’m not sure I can find anything funny. “I think we have a story or two to share, don’t you?”

“Fuck you. You were trying to get me killed. It nearly fucking worked. When did you get out of the nick?” I can’t remember how much time he got; it was a custodial sentence, I’m sure of it

“You see, this is why we need to talk. Where is safe and private?” Tyrone is really pushing for a meeting. I can’t get any hint from him as to why. The spark of interest has been lit, and after all these years, maybe I’ll get some truth from him

“Oh yeah, I’m sure this is all a way to get revenge for your prison time. It should be me seeking vengeance.”

“Aren’t you even the littlest intrigued? Come on, Deano; Yeah, I know what DeVon called you, but you know you want to.” He’s finding this amusing; I don’t know him, but I can imagine he’s smirking. It’s like he’s playing a cat and mouse game. “You haven’t even asked me how I found you.”

“Don’t call me that; that’s not me. Anyway, does it matter?”

“Of course, it does, it even gives you a hint about our chat.”

“Fine. Where are you?”

“Eighteen Beaufort Road, it’s off the...”

I cut him off; I know where it is. It’s in an expensive side of town, not far from Drake and Finn. I considered it myself. “I know where it is. I’m on my way.”

I drop my phone down on the sofa and flop back, using the heels of my hands to scrub at my eyes. As if that’s going to make a difference. Unless I can rinse my brain out, nothing is going to be clear. This has got to be the third most stupid thing I’ve done in my life: the first was walk away from Knox, the second was meeting DeVon.

The hoodie in the hall makes it easy to finish getting dressed along with my trainers. I don’t need to go back upstairs and risk waking the other three.