Silence. Then something unseen—and unheard—seemed to shift the air. Wherever Mickey was, he tapped on a keyboard, and when he spoke again, his deep voice was flat. “I spoke to the council. They’ve accepted an offer of three hundred a month on the arrears if the first payment on the account is made within twenty-four hours. A full rent payment is due at the end of the month, but DOSHA is going to sponsor it.”
“Sponsor it? What does that mean?”
“They’ll front it.”
“Like, a loan?”
“No. They’ll pay it as a one-off hardship benefit while your mum waits for her Universal Credit claim to go through. I helped your sister do the forms on her iPad this morning.”
Another cough built in Benito’s chest. He swallowed it down. “You saw Gianna?”
“I thought she’d be at school when I stopped by, but it’s half term, right?”
Right. It was the only reason Benito was still in bed and not loitering by the bus stop with breakfast. “Was she okay?”
“Seemed to be. I didn’t see your mum.”
“You won’t. She’s agoraphobic, remember?”
“Is that her official diagnosis?”
“What do you think?” Benito snapped. “She hasn’t left the flat in months. How the fuck is she going to get diagnosed with anything?”
“It would help her case if something like this happens again,” Mickey said. “She could even get extra money if she can prove her condition is limiting her life.”
“Yeah, well. She’s not going to walk to the doctor’s surgery anytime soon, so I guess that’s a fucking pipe dream. Are we done here?”
“Unless there’s anything else you need from me?”
“Like what?” Frustration rippled through Benito, driving him up from the bed and to the window, his free hand jammed in his hair. “Fuck. That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, Benito, I do. But it has to be this way. You know that. Just make the payments on your mum’s account and stick to them, okay? And with clean money, man. Right now, it’s all you can do.”
Mickey ended the call without waiting for a response, and the quiet click rattled Benito’s brain. He lay back on the bed, then changed his mind and sat up again. Hunger clawed at his belly. Dazed, he rose and sloped to the kitchen to dump oats in a bowl with milk. He nuked it in the microwave.
While he waited for his porridge to cook, he stood at the window, gazing out at the city he despised almost as much as London. The skyline was different, but the vibe was the same. Brutal. Grim. And for Benito, desperate. At least, it was getting that way.
I don’t want to do it.
The thought was sudden and sharp-edged, and it took him a moment to pinpoint the context. Mickey’s call had thrown him off kilter. He’d almost forgotten the one that had come before.
Ipswich. Benito pulled out his phone and studied the maps again. He highlighted the route he’d take if it were up to him, then the most obvious, then focused on the two that were left. One took the mule back country through roads similar to where Benito had hit it before. The other was a healthy mixture of urban and rural.It’s this one. Benito knew it like he knew grass was green, and not just because the route passed two branches of KFC.
Benito wrote out the route, then deleted the searches and texts from the burner phone. The microwave had finished ten minutes ago. Benito retrieved his lukewarm breakfast and ate mechanically while his brain ran riot with plans for Friday’s raid.
Location, vehicle, weapon.
Location, vehicle, weapon.
Location, vehicle, weapon.
He finished his breakfast and tapped his fingers on the countertop. Five days seemed a long time to wait, and his body thrummed with anticipation, wanting it over with.
The timings came through on the burner phone. He committed them to memory, then erased the message and regretted it instantly, as the moment it was gone, distraction set in like rot, sowing the self-doubt he’d spent his entire adult life fighting.