CHAPTER 33
Deep in thought about Greg, Roger went outside to find Kevin.
He found him sheltering beneath a tree talking on his phone.
“Why are you also under a tree, Cass?”
“It’s cooler, Kev. It’s not like Park Road where it rains all day. I’m totally knackered.”
“Why?”
“I’m on the run, Kev. Don’t you understand. I’m like a wanted man. My photo’s on Facebook. Probably on TV as well. A bomb went off, and they think it’s me. We really need to talk, Kev, but we need to talk fast. The battery in this old Nokia only lasts a short time, and I don’t know where I can recharge it without being spotted, and there’s not much credit left. I need to get to Bangkok and—” The phone line crackled and echoed.
“Cass? Can you hear me?” Kevin asked. “Kurt’s in Thailand.”
“Kurt? Why? What—”
The connection died just as Roger arrived.
“That was Cass,” Kevin told him. “He sounds—”
The phone rang again.
“What? Why are you eating peanuts?”
Kevin knew it, but he just couldn’t seem to find anything relevant to say. Concern for Cass and not knowing what to do for him were mixed with too many questions. He didn’t know where to start.
“You know a guy called Wazir Khan?” he asked while wondering why he’d mentioned Wazir? Was Wazir a priority right now? No. Kevin swore at his own stupidity, but Cass didn’t seem bothered.
“Describe him, Kev.”
“Pakistani. Scottish. Looks like a fatter version of Khan at Faisal World Travel.”
“It sounds like Khan’s brother, Kev.”
“Jesus.”
“He’s a crook, Kev.”
“Christ.”
“Stop saying Jesus and Christ, Kev.”
“Sorry. Roger says it shows a lack of . . . something.”
“It shows a lack of respect for Jesus Christ, and it spoils the karma.”
“What the hell’s that?”
“It spoils my smooth thinking, OK? And there’s no hell . . . This conversation is going nowhere, Kev, but fucking Khan needs to be exposed.”
“Doesn’t saying fucking spoil the karma, Cass?”
“It does. I agree, but you’re allowed to express feelings to mates. Where’s my mum, Kev?” Cass’s priorities were also all over the place. Things just came into his head.
“They think you joined ISIL, Cass.”
“I did but not willingly.”
“What you gonna do?”
“I could stay in another temple, but . . . You think a big hand might come down from the sky, pull me out, and drop me back in Shipley Street?”
“Believe me, you wouldn’t want to come back here, Cass. But you must have done a real good job of convincing them you were a genuine, fully paid-up Moslem.”
“Oh, definitely. But it nearly got me killed. It may still get me killed, so I wouldn’t recommend it. But I never did anything bad.”
“I always said you weren’t a bad boy.”
Cass tried to laugh, but it wasn’t easy. Whilst talking, he’d been pulling his socks and trainers off to cool his feet. “What’re you doing right now, man?”
“I’m with Roger.”
“Who’s Roger?”
“A mate. He’s old. About sixty. And you know something, Cass? I’m half Pakistani. I never told you because it didn’t seem vital. My father was Pakistani.”
“Wah! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did.”
“Your ma was married to a Pakistani?”
“Not married, Cass.” Kevin paused. A lump fit to burst was forming in his throat. “We got issues, and it’s all mixed up with the Khans. It needs sorting, but when you start digging, it’s like the mafia runs this whole area. That’s what my mum says. I thought it was just people with no money, but it’s more than that. Things are going on, but if you suspect something’s wrong, then the first thing you do around here is not tell anyone.”
Cass was listening but also watching the charge on Jon’s old phone. “Phoning’s no good, Kev. We just get going and then have to call a halt.”
“Yeh, I know. Just hang in there, Cass.”
“Yeh,” Cass replied. “I was thinking of becoming a Buddhist monk so they don’t recognise me.”
“Good idea.”
“It’d be so cool, man. I could walk down Shipley Street in sandals, wrapped in an orange blanket with a begging bowl and calling at all the houses. I reckon it’d scare the shit out of Winston. Is Winston still around?”
“Yeh, living in a flat in Shipley Street. He works in a bakery. Walid lives two houses up, but he’s only got a bedsitter. Winston shares with two Egyptians who live on rice and deep-fried pigeons and seagulls they catch with a trap on the roof. Walid works at Gordon’s.”
“Who’s Walid, Kevs? And is that old greasy business of Gordon’s still running? Sometimes I miss it all, you know? I’ve wanted to talk to you for two years, Kev. Know that? But I’ve had time to think. What does a man really need? You come with nothing, and you go with nothing. I nearly died a few weeks ago. I was nearly blown up. I couldn’t hear for two days. I was nearly shot dead, not once but several times. I’ve thought a lot about all that since I got here. I could have been just one of nameless thousands killed. Who really cares? Who really understands? What good does fighting do? Coming here, my thoughts are changing. I met a monk called Ajahn Lee, Kev. Incredible guy.
“He’s old, about sixty like your friend Roger, but I could listen to him for hours. Before I really die, I want to be ready—in my mind, that is—because there’s nothing afterwards, Kev. Believe me. Nothing. You die, and that’s it. No fancy angels singing songs of welcome, no rose garden, no nympho virgins, no souls that float about, hoping to gain favour from a bloke with a beard who quotes from the Bible or the Koran. There’s nothing. But I don’t have a problem with that. While you’re alive, you just gotta sit, think, and understand your life and how to cope with everything that’s thrown at you. When you’re ready to die, then all you need is to feel content with the few years you’ve had.”
It was a long speech. It sounded interesting, but Kevin struggled to digest it in one non-stop speech on a phone. Perhaps another time. So he said, “What would your grandma say about all that, Cass?”
“That I’m a bad boy, Kev. In Punjabi, of course. And then she’d blame you—that nasty white English kid who led me astray.”
“I’m not all English. I’m half Pakistani.”
“Yeh, well, she didn’t know. She made a mistake.”
There was another bleep from Cass’s phone, and then it died.
Kevin stared at his phone and so, six thousand miles away, did Cass.
So what now? What had they decided? Nothing.
And Cass had not even mentioned the most important thing on his mind—the memory stick and what he uploaded earlier.