Scott made some calls. He was talking on the phone in a respectful, frightened tone that Nate had never heard him use. When he was done, he turned on Nate.
“Take me to the package.”
Nate again shook his head. He wasn’t stupid enough to give up one of his hiding places. Even at eleven, nearly twelve, he figured he had a life yawning before him where he’d need many hiding places.
“That wasn’t a question!” Scott shouted.
“I’ll get the package, bring it to you,” Nate offered, “just tell me where.”
Scott stared at him.
Scott, no fool (or at least not entirely a fool), knew that Nate was a tough customer. That was why he liked the kid. But Nate didn’t know what this was about, how important this was. Nate had absolutely no idea how much trouble Scott was in.
Watching the boy Scott knew he had no choice. He got on the phone and made hasty, embarrassing explanations. Then he had his orders.
Nate would, himself, bring the package to Mr. Roberts.
When Scott shared this with Nate, Nate shrugged. One drop, he thought, was the same as another.
Making certain sure he wasn’t followed, Nate went to get the package and took it where Scott told him to take it. He was surprised when, on the grimy, dirty street corner, there stood an elegant, shining, long limousine. For some reason Nate didn’t fear this and boldly approached the car.
The window rolled down slowly but Nate saw no one inside.
“Bloody hell, Scott. A kid?” Nate heard a rough, male voice say from inside.
“Mr. Roberts,” he heard Scott’s frightened voice.
“Get out,” the rough voice came again.
“But, Mr. Roberts –”
“Out.”
That one word should have scared Nate, the tone in which it was said would have scared anyone else. Nate just calmly got out of the way of the door.
Scott alighted from the car and looked down at the boy.
“Sorry, Nate,” he said quietly then he took his chance and ran.
Nate never saw Scott again.
“Get in the car.”
Nate, being a very smart boy, did as he was told.
He sat opposite a man like no man he’d never seen before. He had thick, brown hair and assessing brown eyes and an angular, hard face. He was wearing a suit. Not the shiny, cheap kind of suit, a suit that looked like money. He had a nice, flashy watch and Nate could tell even his hair was not cut at the kind of barber that cut Scott’s (Nate’s mother cut his and not very well).
Nate also had very discerning tastes. He just didn’t know it at the time.
“What’s your name?” the man asked.
“Nate.”
“Your full name.”
He didn’t hesitate. He also didn’t fear this man.
“Nathaniel McAllister.”
“That’s better.” The rough voice held approval. “How long have you been doing Scott’s drops for him?”
Nate shrugged.
There was silence. Nate sensed something in the car he didn’t understand. It didn’t frighten him but another person would have been afraid, definitely a kid and also most men.
Nate, however, sat comfortably and waited.
Finally, after watching him awhile, the man said, “I paid Scott three hundred pounds for every drop you made.”
This penetrated the ironclad shield Nate had around his emotions and reactions.
Instantly, Nate got mad and it showed.
“How much did he give you?” the man asked.
Nate shrugged again but this shrug was different, this was a jerky, angry shrug. It was a good thing that Scott never saw Nate again.
The man sat there watching him. Nate struggled to settle his emotions. The struggle didn’t last long. When he’d conquered his anger, the man smiled.
“I’m Mr. Roberts and from now on, Nathaniel, you work for me.”
* * * * *
And he did. For a year he worked for Mr. Roberts. He did drops, he delivered messages, he stood look out. He did a lot of things and got paid a lot more than twenty pounds.
Deirdre was thrilled. Nate began to pay the rent on the flat, paid all the bills on time and there was food in the refrigerator on a normal basis. Now she began to steal from him.
He didn’t mind, there was plenty to go around or at least a hell of a lot more than there used to be.
At twelve years old Nathaniel McAllister was the bread winner, the man of the house. He’d been that way since he could remember, really, cleaning, tidying, holding her hair back when she’d overindulge and vomit in the toilet, dragging her in and putting her to bed when she passed out in the hall.
But now he was really the man of the house.
She, unfortunately, became stupid with their or, more to the point, Nate’s good fortune. She bragged to anyone who would listen that her boy was working for Mr. Roberts.
She wasn’t proud of his genius or of the budding good looks that were stamped on his features or the tall, lean strapping boy he had become but she was proud that he’d become a gangster’s errand boy at eleven years old.
This pride caused her death.
Drunk and bragging to her new boyfriend, an out-of-work, good-for-nothing lazy bum – or at least that’s what she called him, over and over again and very loudly. Her son worked for Mr. Roberts. Her son brought home lots of money. He bought her dresses, got her vodka.
Considering her boyfriend was drunk, high, stupid and mean he didn’t take to this very well. He got fed up with it quickly and squeezed the breath out of her throat until there was no more which, of course, made her shrill voice stop. Then he took another, very large snort of coc**ne that Nate’s money had bought and he drank the rest of her bottle of vodka and he waited for Nate.
Nate didn’t even have to walk into the flat to know something was wrong but he did anyway. She was his mother. He’d been taking care of her for his lifetime. It was habit.
He opened the door and saw his mother’s lifeless body. That was all he needed to see.
Her boyfriend made a grab but didn’t come close.
Nate was so quick, he was vapour.
He vanished.
For a week.
And missed two scheduled drops.
Seven days later they found him, picked him up and took him to Mr. Roberts.
He sat in the back of the limousine. He’d seen Mr. Roberts twice since they first met; both times he’d been friendly and cordial.
Now he was not.
“Would you like to tell me what’s going on, Nathaniel?” Mr. Roberts’s voice was very cold and Nate knew this was no request.
“Me Mum’s dead.”