ESCAPE FROM BATECHU ISLAND: CHAPTER 1

Chapter One: Onset

A peeling black saucepan, sat tepid on the mouldy hob was launched across the kitchen. It showered the greasy, wavy, light brown hair and fake, ill-fitting designer white jumper of its intended target in baked beans and sauce.

Sixteen-year-old Mia Hayes was at home in Hartlepool in the northeast of England, having another heated argument with her twenty-seven-year-old stepmother, Karen. Home, if you can call it that, was a four-bed terrace in the far-left-hand corner of a cul-de-sac of gloom. Mia lived with her thirty-six-year-old father Carl, Karen, fourteen-year-old brother, Brandon, ten-year-old half-sister, Jemma, and six-month-old twin half siblings, Jade, and Jason.

“No, Mia, I’m not your mother, thank God. Yours went to prison to get away from you because you’re such a horrible cow.”

Carl walked into the kitchen with a can of beer in his left hand and a spliff drooping from his mouth. He was wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a black jumper covered in white silicone stains from his cash in hand job fitting windows. Carl put his right thumb and forefinger to his lips and took a sustained drag on the pungent herb before removing the spliff from his mouth and sending a plume of smoke in Karen’s direction.

“Look what she’s done to my hair and clothes, Carl. I am sick to death of her. She has got to go, do you hear me? There’s not enough room in this house as it is. Give me a drag of that spliff, babe, to calm me down,” Karen said, swiping the remaining nub of weed from his hand.

“Why can’t you two just get on?” an inebriated and stoned Carl said.

“Because she’s a bitch, Dad. A complete and utter vile bitch, like. She had the nerve to mention me mam again, like.”

“Karen, I’ve told you not to mention Emma. It upsets Mia.”

“They’ll no doubt be reunited soon. One more brush with the law and you’ll be sharing a cell with your beloved mam.”

“Like, you’re so thick, Karen. Me mam is in jail in Ecuador.”

“I wish you were there,” Karen said with a scowl.

“You shouldn’t have thrown the saucepan. Say sorry to Karen,” Carl said, swaying on his feet.

“I’m not apologising to your bitch, like,” Mia said, turning the key to the back door.

“If you walk out of that door, don’t you dare come back,” Karen said. Mia looked at them both stood in the dismal galley kitchen, with nicotine-stained, flowery wallpaper, hole-ridden, grey laminate flooring, apple green cupboards and matching worktops and walked out without saying a word. “Good riddance. Order us a takeaway on the app, babe. I’m going to clean myself up.”

Mia walked along the side alley leading to the front of the house. She took out her phone and started scrolling social media. She did not know it, but her every move was being watched.

The high rise was one of four that dominated the skyline and towered over the South London sink estate. Seventeen-year-old Dwayne Turner walked down the stairs from the third-floor flat he shared with his mother, Jenny, and seven-year-old sister, Charlene. Dwayne was wearing a designer black tracksuit, white trainers, gold-coloured coat, navy blue scarf, and matching gloves. The stale smell of urine, alcohol, weed and rotting food which emanated through the stairwell was in stark contrast to his expensive attire.

Dwayne’s life was a tough one. All he had known was poverty and suffering. A stray bullet in a gang dispute had taken the life of his father, Dwayne Senior, five years earlier. He knew his mother had turned to prostitution to make ends meet and that his father’s best friend was her pimp. Joining a gang gave him a sense of belonging and made him part of a family.

“Yo fam,” Dwayne said as he stepped outside the tower block and fist-bumped his fellow gang member Aaron D, who was also seventeen years old.

“Gonna make paper tonight, fam. You get me?” Aaron D said.

“Ennit, fam. If the feds don’t get in the way.”

“LT has got us a moped. Feds won’t catch us, fam.”

Dwayne and Aaron D both laughed.

“I’m on bail. Gotta be careful though, fam, yeah?” Dwayne said.

“Don’t worry. Feds are busy tonight. There is a mad protest going on. You got your blade?”

They both removed large knives from their waistbands and nodded at each other.

“Put those away, little men. Feds could be lurking,” LT said, appearing from the side of the tower block and approaching Dwayne and Aaron D.

“Ain’t no feds round here, LT,” Aaron D said.

“You don’t know that. When Leon on the sixteenth floor got busted, it turned out the feds had been undercover on the estate for weeks and nobody saw a ting. They are getting smart, you know? He’s banged up, awaiting trial now. I’m happy though. I’m keeping his girl company, if you know what I mean,” LT said with a smile.

“You must be mad messing with Leon’s girl. If he finds out, you’ll get shanked,” Dwayne said.

“Whatever, blud. He wouldn’t dare mess with me.” Dwayne and Aaron D looked at each other and back at LT, who had now stopped smiling. “Anyway, here are the keys to the moped,” LT said, throwing them towards Aaron D. “It’s in the car park. I’ll catch you later.”

LT walked away from Dwayne and Aaron D towards the road. A dark-coloured vehicle drove onto the estate at speed and slowed as it passed LT. The rear driver’s side window lowered and a hail of bullets were fired from a Skorpion submachine gun. Dwayne and Aaron D dived for cover. After a few seconds, the vehicle screeched away as fast as it had arrived. Dwayne and Aaron D ran over to see LT slumped on the pavement in a pool of blood. From the damage caused by the bullet wound to his head, it was clear he was beyond saving.

“Let’s get out of here,” Aaron D said.

“We can’t leave him like this,” Dwayne said.

“He’s dead. We’ve got to. Come on, I’ve got the keys to the moped.”

“What do you know you aren’t telling me, blud?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

Dwayne followed Aaron D, running towards the car park.

The howling wind and ice-cold rain battered the vulnerable pedestrians navigating the streets of Cardiff City Centre. A middle-aged couple wrestled with a blue and white umbrella, which had turned inside out, succumbing to defeat as it flew off in search of pastures new. The woman berated the man for his lack of upper body strength, and herself for marrying him, although he did at least have money. She beckoned him towards an inviting bar, with sumptuous brown leather seats in front of a warming log fire. He would pay for the Sauvignon and the taxi home, as well as ordering her a new umbrella on his smartphone for his trouble.

For Sanjeev, Marie, and Poppy the dog, welcoming shelter was harder to come by, although they often got grief from passing strangers. They were homeless. Whatever the weather, they slept without a roof over their head on the streets of the Welsh capital, waking to another day chasing the cash to chase the dragon by injecting heroin into their deteriorating veins.

Their lives were a tragedy of addiction. Sanjeev and Marie had experimented with soft drugs at college, but it had soon escalated to harder, more addictive substances. Now, at nineteen, their future was bleaker than the weather.

They had nothing, but they had each other, and the company of a black labrador. The dog was also a means of protection as they tried to survive each day, and could be a source of income. Requests for spare change often proved fruitful when a passerby stared into Poppy’s eyes, although that was proving more difficult as the move towards a cashless society continued to progress.

The rain saturated their ragged clothing as they huddled in the fire escape of a newsagent. Their eyes glazed over as the latest hit dulled their central nervous system and their palpable anxiety drifted away. Poppy watched on, as helpless as ever from under a filthy blue blanket, hoping they would wake up and find her food and water.

Poppy barked as a white van pulled up alongside them and a tall, muscular black man wearing all black clothing climbed out of the driver’s seat. Poppy growled as the man led her to the back of the van and forced her inside. It took little effort for him to place Marie and Sanjeev in the van. In their stupor, they considered this was all just part of a substance-laden dream. Poppy knew it was anything but a dream, though the appearance of a bowl of water and much-needed sustenance in the shape of dog biscuits eased her fears and suspicions, for now at least.

The bottles of wines and spirits stared at Mia in the supermarket aisle. She had met up with her friend Olivia and they had stopped off on the way to their friend Jess’s house. If they all got drunk enough, Jess’s mother would allow Mia and Olivia to stay the night. With several shoplifting convictions to their name, amongst other offences, Mia and Olivia had proved ineffectual thieves.

Olivia secreted three miniature bottles of wine in the pockets of her black coat. Mia picked up two, 350 millilitre bottles of vodka and slipped one into each pocket of her light blue coat. Vodka was her mother’s favourite. Emma had accrued debts to an Albanian drug dealer named Burim. He had forced her to go to South America to smuggle cocaine into Europe, and she had been caught. Of course, there was no evidence against Burim. His criminal endeavours continued to go from strength to strength. Mia and Olivia proceeded to the self-service checkout and paid for the crisps and chocolate in their basket.

As they exited the store, a security guard attempted to apprehend them but they escaped his clutches. Mia and Olivia ran as fast as they could through the car park to the main road and crossed over into a side street. They turned around to see the overweight and unfit security guard had stopped and sat down on a wall, gasping for oxygen.

Their dreams of freedom were dashed as the rear doors of a parked white van flung open, and two hooded figures grabbed them, dragging them inside. Their vision of a night of vodka, talking about boys, and slagging off Karen was over.

The delicate hands of a dapper man, with dyed jet-black hair holding back his advancing years, played the piano in the Italian restaurant in central London. Patrons quaffed fine wine to wash down succulent fish and pasta dishes. Photos of its glorious history adorned the mood-lit room. Servers dressed in black and white tended to patrons’ needs. A large map of Italy in a silver-coloured frame was on display on the wall behind the bar.

A man wearing a light grey suit with silk white shirt and navy-blue tie, and a woman in a claret, knee-length dress with black shoes walked hand in hand from their table to the door. The man had a glistening gold watch as expensive as a brand-new car on his left wrist, whilst the woman had diamond earrings and an accompanying necklace that would sparkle in a jeweller’s bank balance.

Dwayne and Aaron D watched the restaurant from the lesser comfort of their moped.

“Rich pickings around here, blud,” Aaron D said.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Dwayne said.

“What’s up, fam? You still upset about LT?”

“Yeah. You don’t seem bothered. And…”

“And what? Spit it out, fam.”

“You didn’t seem shocked by what happened, like you knew.”

“Yeah, I knew. And what of it, fam?”

“Nah, blud. I can’t believe you did that,” Dwayne said and climbed off the moped.

The man in the light grey suit and the woman in the claret dress walked out of the restaurant.

“Screw you, fam. I’m making paper while you grieve for that wasteman LT,” Aaron D said.

Aaron D revved the moped, drove across the street onto the pavement and stopped in front of the couple. He pulled his blade out and threatened them.

Dwayne pulled his blade out and decided he would cross the street to join in the robbery, but received a blow to the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

Unbeknownst to Aaron D, the woman was a mixed martial arts expert, and in no time he was on the ground, with the moped lying on top of him and his own blade pointed at him.

“I’ll call the police,” the man said.

“There’s no need for that, sir. We are already here. We will deal with him,” said a tall, stocky white man dressed in blue jeans, a grey jumper, and light brown shoes, approaching them. He had a bright orange alligator tattooed on the right side of his neck.

“Where have you appeared from?” the woman said.

“There’s been a lot of robberies in this area. We have been working undercover so as not to alert them. They are quick to escape on these mopeds, so we must catch them in the act,” the man said, handcuffing Aaron D.

“Do you not need a statement from us?” the woman said.

“Thank you, but there’s no need. We witnessed it all. We have got enough to prosecute him,” the man said as he led Aaron D and the moped away towards a white van.

“That is a strange police vehicle,” the man in the grey suit said to the woman, as the van sped past them into the distance.