Garden - Vesna McMaster

Shit. What am I going to do if this goes tits up?

It’s my first proper heist with the Barnsley Boys and I have everything to prove. Got to be honest, not happy with my ‘Posh Nonce’ nickname. Anyway, the target is the new outpost of the Camden Crawler. They had the cheek to set up practically in our backyard. Can’t say as I blame the bosses for losing their shit. Why Michael had to pick me to be the main muscle I have no idea. He had an evil glint in his eye. Mind you he always has an evil glint in his eye but this was something different. Shit. We’re here. This is it.

‘Round the back, Nonce Boy!’ hisses Buzz.

Round the back where? Down that alley? Buzz and George launch themselves at the front door of the ramshackle house and I don’t stop to ask because the alley looks more inviting than the sound of splintering wood.

The back wall is all covered over in ivy and it ain’t as easy to get over a mouldy garden fence as they make it look in the movies, not if you’re 180 pounds and counting. It tends to collapse under you and land you in the nettles on the other side.

I thought I’d got away from busted doors but there goes the back door into the grotty little backyard. Exit Buzz, George, and some blonde bloke with a freshly pulped face.

‘Git ‘im!’

They’re gesturing at me. So I grab the guy and sit on him.

‘Git ‘im up!’

So I heave him back up. I don’t know if he’s making zero sound because he’s brave, scared, or has lost the ability.

‘Git ‘im back in ‘ere!‘

Buzz and George turn back into the house. Seems I’m in charge of the prisoner.

The inside of the house is as depressing as the outside. Someone’s drawn big swirly patterns on the carpet with black motor oil. They’ve taken an axe or something to an old piano and left the carcass leaning against the wall, almost in as sorry a state as my prisoner’s face.

George turns to me.

‘We’re gonna get the rest of ‘em. They scarpered. Make sure of this one. Guard ‘im.’

They swing out of the remains of the door in a haze of roid-assisted rage.

I look at my prisoner.

Garden?