Page 46 of Mean Machine

“Brooklyn Marshall?” one asked.

“That’s me.”

“What’s wrong with your hands?”

“I broke them.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to handcuff me, I’m coming.” He could at least hope.

The copper nodded. “Let’s go.” He stepped behind Brooklyn, and they filed out the door, down the stairs. One policeman opened the door of the patrol car for him. “Good fight, that. You showed that goatbanger.”

Brooklyn closed his good eye and leaned back in the seat. Dismissing the Greek like that after the way he’d fought. Hare-brained patriotism trumped human emotion every fucking time, but he was too tired and defeated to say a word.

WHEN THEYarrived at the old gym, dread choked him. The coppers had taken the drive in overall good spirits. Chauffeuring a runaway home was likely one of their more pleasant assignments for the night.

He stepped out of the car when one of the coppers opened the door.

“I was with a man called Nathaniel Bishop,” Brooklyn said. “He’ll be worried.” Maybe frantic. But at least not pissed off like Les or Curtis.

“Yeah, that’s all over the press,” the copper told him. Whatever the press had written, it was enough for a dirty grin. “Do you have a phone number or address for your paramour?”

“No.” Of course not. Brooklyn glanced to the entrance of the gym. “He might have called in to report me missing.”

“We can check that.” The copper left him with his colleague and leaned down into the car. Brooklyn’s stomach knotted up when the copper returned, shaking his head. “No, no ‘Bishop’ on record. This is your registered address. Let’s go.”

It was that or get tasered.

Charlie was the guard on night shift and let them in. While Brooklyn stood in the dark gym with only the nightlights on and the smell of old, cold sweat pervading everything down to the brickwork, the coppers took a moment to remind Charlie that negligence regarding keeping violent convicts under control was a criminal offence, and this would have “consequences.” Likely a hefty fine. Charlie grumbled some kind of apology and closed the door behind the cops.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” Charlie said. “Are you okay? Need a doctor?”

“No, I had that.”

“Well, then, you know the way.”

At this point, all Brooklyn wanted to do was sleep.

Charlie walked behind him, disturbingly calm. But then, at four thirty in the morning, he probably only looked forward to the end of his shift.

“Not that way,” Charlie said when Brooklyn headed towards his bed. “It’s the cage for you, Brook.”

Brooklyn glanced over his shoulder. Yeah. Convicts that needed a short reminder about discipline were locked in alone.

The cage was deep in the bowels of the old Victorian structure. Surrounded on all sides by thick brick walls, this was a place without light or air. Like being buried alive. Charlie opened a heavy metal door and nodded for Brooklyn to go inside. “There’s a bed to the left. Do you need food?”

“No, thanks.” Brooklyn stepped into the cell. “I just want to sleep.”

“I’ll tell Les you’re here. He’ll come for you tomorrow.” Charlie closed the door, and Brooklyn stood in the darkness, completely alone.

He reached out with his elbow, found the brick wall, and moved alongside it to the left until his knee bumped into a cold metal frame and rough cloth, like canvas. A field bed. He sat down on it and found there was no blanket or pillow, but he really didn’t care.

THE DOORopened; light flared up. Brooklyn blinked against the wholly modern several-hundred-watt lights screwed into the ceiling behind grills.

Les walked in. Curtis followed. Brooklyn’s gut knotted up. Oh, this was going to be bad. Their faces were empty, immovable. But Curtis had taken off his sunglasses, and that alone told Brooklyn he was in for a serious beating.

“Welcome home, Brook.” Les crossed his arms.

“It wasn’t my choice, Les.” Nathaniel had simply waltzed in and changed his whole life, and Brooklyn could see that Les held him responsible. Why did everything he touched turn to shit? Why did he lose every single person he cared about? Why did they all end up turning against him?

“What, running away?” Les shook his head. “You’ve never faced up to the consequences of your actions. It’s always somebody else’s fault.”

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