Stone Cold Red Hot - [29]

“Clear off,” shouted Mr Poole, his voice rich with fury, “clear off.” His jowls shuddered as he yelled. “You’ve done enough damage.”

A few curses then the group began to play with the ball in the middle of the street.

“Shocking,” said Pauline, “brass-necked cheek, they’ve no decency.”

Mr Poole turned away. “I’ll ring emergency repairs,” he said, “they’ll need that boarding up tonight.” He went through to his phone.

I went back to the doorway and stood there staring at the gang while they had their kickabout. I hoped to discomfort them. There was little reaction though I caught a few obscenities which I was sure were for my benefit. There was no sign of the police.

A private hire car came down from the main road and tooted at the boys who took their time to edge out of the way. The car drove down the Close to turn and drew up outside Mr Poole’s. “There’s a taxi here”, I called.

“That’s ours. Be seeing you Frank.” The women came to the door.

“I’d ring the police again you know,” said Mary, “they don’t always come unless you pester them.”

They said goodbye and walked slowly to their taxi.

Mr Poole came back out. “They shouldn’t be long, the repairs.”

“I thought they always took forever.”

“Not the emergencies. It’s the rest that’s a problem. They’ll board that up tonight but it might be months before they get round to replacing the glass.”

“Mary said I should ring the police again.”

He nodded. “Can’t hurt.”

I dialled and got put through to the same man.

“I rang fifteen minutes ago and no-one’s arrived yet.”

“They should be there soon, there’s no immediate danger is there? Things haven’t escalated?”

“Well, no.”

The lads were heading the ball now. Still outside the Ibrahims’ but not directing their attention at their victims at present.

“It’s a volatile situation though,” I said. “The people in the house must be absolutely petrified. There’s children in there. The police need to move these youths away before they do anything else.”

“There’s a car in the area,” he said, “should be with you soon.”

By my watch it took a further seventeen minutes before the white squad car appeared. During that time the Brennan twins nipped down home for some cans of lager and brought them back along with a large spliff which the four of them shared. When the car came into view the lads moved closer together on the opposite pavement. The car stopped beside them and the two occupants, a man and a woman got out. I couldn’t hear what was being said but it seemed very light-hearted. The twins were grinning and at one point the whole group laughed aloud. The police turned away and crossed over to join Mr Poole and I by his gate.

“Mr Poole.” The man was older than Carl Benson, the policeman who’d come out the previous time, he moved languidly as though he was experiencing gravity differently from the rest of us. “Miss Kilkenny.” He nodded at me. “PC Doyle.” He turned his head slowly to the woman at his side, “WPC Gilmartin. You reported the incident?”

He was grinning nearly all the time, nodding his head to some slow beat. He reminded me of a Jack Nicholson character, all lazy amusement and hidden menace. I wondered if he were stoned, his eyes were glassy, lids drooping a bit. Maybe he’d had a long shift.

“Seems like a little horseplay got out of hand. I’ve had a word with the lads and…”

“Hang about,” interrupted Mr Poole, “it’s not horseplay. This lot are terrorising that family. The council and the police know all about it. Your lot have been called out here countless times these last few weeks.”

He went on to outline all the forms the harassment had taken. PC Doyle didn’t like being corrected. The grin faded, was replaced by a pained frown and he looked to the sky while Mr Poole spoke. A belittling gesture. His colleague was doing her best to be invisible. She neither spoke nor even watched what was going on. Feet close together, eyes down, she rocked now and again lightly on her heels and waited.

When Mr Poole finished Doyle grinned again. “I’ve made a note of the incident, it’s been recorded.”

“Aren’t you going to see Mrs Ahmed?” I demanded. “Reassure her?”

“Mrs Ahmed?” He gave a little extra weight to the name, very subtle but enough to signal that he was a bigot too. “Mrs Ahmed doesn’t speak any English.”

“I still think you should show her you’re here. We can tell her the window will be boarded up tonight.”

He sighed. His eyes flicked to me then away. They looked hard, reptilian. He turned and walked in a slow roll over to the house followed at a distance by the WPC, Mr Poole and myself. The gang still hovered round the gateway. Why hadn’t he sent them away? He banged on the door hard four times and shouted ‘Police’. He sounded like he was going to launch a raid on the place not reassure a frightened citizen. There was no response. Surprise, surprise.

I went up to join him. As I passed the youths one of them made sucking noises.

PC Doyle banged again. “Police.”

I spoke too. Maybe a woman’s voice would be less threatening. After all how did Mrs Ahmed know whether this wasn’t yet more aggro from the gang, a trap set to get her to open the door?