Читать книгу Ride or Die - Khurrum Rahman - Страница 24

I walked across Imy’s driveway and looked back at my Beemer, hoping that I would be getting back into it in one piece. I’d just had it washed, and my car had already seen too much of my blood shed. I walked past a Prius, which I knew belonged to Imy, and then past a Golf with a child’s car seat in the back. That alone nearly made me spin on my Jordans and drive for the hills.

I took a breath and tried to clear the vision of when we’d last met. A gun planted between my eyes. Hands shaking, unable to pull the trigger. A decision that would irrevocably change his life.

I glanced through the bay window as I approached the front door, and wondered if his eyes were on me. I pushed the letterbox and it clanged loudly in my ears and I realised that I should have pressed the doorbell. So, I pressed the doorbell, too. I don’t know why I did that.

I waited for the clanging and the ringing to die down before I jabbed at the bell short and sharp, but I wasn’t sure if it had rung that time, so I pressed it again, just in case, and then jammed my hands in my pocket, so I wouldn’t be tempted to do it again. He surely would have heard. I tried to work out his movements; the funeral had been the day before, I doubted that he’d be out. Chances were, Imy was curled up in bed, mourning his loss, with a pillow over his head, pissed off at the idiot insensitively jabbing at his doorbell like it’s a musical instrument. But I was here now, and I had to see this through. I side-stepped off the porch and pressed my forehead against the bay window and peeked through the small holes of the nets into the living room. It took a second or two for my eyes to adjust.

On the other side of the window Imy was sitting in an armchair with a glass in his hand. He was looking right at me with dead eyes. I swallowed and pointed at the front door as though to gently guide him through the door-opening process. Fuck, I was on form! I watched him for a moment through the nets, as he tried his utmost to ignore my existence. I could have and should have come back another time, but would it have changed anything? I was never going to be welcome there. I side-stepped back onto the porch and got down on my knees and pushed open the letterbox and spoke through it.

‘Imy,’ was as good a start as any. ‘It’s me, Jay,’ wasn’t the best follow-up. ‘Look, I… I… I wanted to chat to you… I heard… you know, I heard what happened… Can we talk… please?’

I let the flap drop and rested my forehead against the cold steel of the letterbox and sighed. He didn’t want to see me and I couldn’t blame him. I’d thought maybe the dark history that we shared would count for something, we’d both lost a big part of our lives to this. But I had to remind myself that my loss could not be in the same league as his. It was time to give the man some space. I pushed the letterbox and put my mouth to it.

‘Listen, Imy. I’m gonna go. I’ll try again later. Tomorrow maybe. Hopefully you’ll—’

The door flung open and from my position on my knees I lifted my eyes up to him. He wrapped his fists around the collars of my mac, hoisted me to my feet and dragged me over the threshold. He kicked the door shut behind him and then spun me around in a waltz before pinning me to the wall with force.

He gritted his teeth in my face. No words, just a feral growl coming from somewhere deep inside him. I smelt booze on his breath as he shook me. I allowed my body to slacken and let him just fucking get on with it, which he did. He repeatedly bounced my head hard against the wall. I took it. I’d take it all. He dropped his hands and balled them into fists, his forehead scrunched tight over his face as he breathed heavily through his nose.

I did what I went there to do: I looked into his eyes and said, ‘I’m sorry.’

His fist connected against my ribs, and again, two rapid jabs, painful as fuck. I slid slowly down the wall and crumpled to the floor. I lay on my side and held my stomach.

Imy leaned down, his breath in my ear, his tears on my face. ‘You ever, ever come to my home again, I’ll fucking kill you.’ He left me there on the floor, and through heavy eyes I watched him walk away.

I should have, too.