Chapter 93

BORN OF JACKALS OR WOMEN

Spencer knew he was going to have to die. He was dead the moment he listened to that voice in his head telling him to kill Jay-T. But how could he not listen? It had been so tempting, that voice. It had been demanding. It told him to pick up a brick and smash Jay-T’s skull. It had called for blood, and Spencer had given it blood.

And now he was going to pay for everything he’d done. He’d suffer because he’d let Jack down. He’d betrayed him. He’d shown weakness.

There’s always a judgment, he told himself now. And maybe that was a good thing. Life seemed pointless. He’d seen too many terrible things to want to live on.

His heart had been corrupted. Not that it was pure in the first place. It had always been bad. But it had never been evil. And now, Spencer knew, it was full of sin. It was a black, pulsing monster in his chest.

He was glad to go with Hanbury when they raided the cavern and rescued Jasmine. He showed unwillingness—just so Jack thought he’d put up a fight. But Jack probably knew the truth. Jack knew most things.

Hanbury had told him to sit quietly in the corner, where Spencer eventually fell asleep. He’d been exhausted. It had been a relief to get away from the bloodshed.

But the respite was brief.

Charlie Faultless was coming, and that was bad news.

Spencer had heard about him. Geezers talked about him in the pub. Dealers muttered his name. Spencer’s mum said he was evil. “He was cursed, with his different colored eyes,” she’d warn. “Best thing ever happened to Barrowmore is that he disappeared. Evil, he was, evil.” And then she’d lean in and whisper, “They said he wasn’t born of a woman, Spencer. They said he was born of a jackal, and you know what that means, darlin’.”

Spencer had no idea what it meant. And he had no clue what “not born of a woman” meant, either.

All he knew was Charlie Faultless had returned, and he was on his way over.

Whether he was born of jackals or women, it made no difference to Spencer. The guy was scary.

When Mr Hanbury went to the door with that snake coiling around his neck, Spencer really started to worry.

He tried to think of ways to escape. If Hanbury and Faultless came in now, he might have to make a run for it. He quaked with fear. They’d catch him easily. But he had to try. Just get away from all this. He’d hole up with his cousin in Stepney for a while. Wait until Barrowmore calmed down. Until Jack went away.

He rolled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, rocking back and forth.

But Jack wouldn’t go away. If he killed a fifth, like he said he was going to, then he’d have the whole of London at his mercy.

And that meant Stepney.

Spencer whimpered. Nowhere was safe. Anywhere you looked, you had either Jack or Faultless or Hanbury—men born of jackals or women, maybe. Men born to kill. Not like him. He was born to hide, and that’s what he should have done right after he’d stolen the Sharpleys PS3.

But now it was too late.

And he knew that for certain when he heard scuffling from the hallway and then someone stumbling.

Mr Hanbury staggered back into the living room. The snake writhed around his neck.

Blood ran down his face. Spencer gasped in horror.

Mr Hanbury fell to his knees. The snake coiled. Spencer nearly went over to help Mr Hanbury. But then a figure entered the room, and when Spencer saw him, the desire to help went away very quickly.

It was Hallam Buck with a hammer in his hand.

But not the Hallam Buck Spencer had known.

This was a very different looking Hallam Buck.

His face was gray. There was a gaping wound in his cheek. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, which were wide and glittery. His jaw drooped, and something that looked like tar filled his mouth, and it oozed down his chin. Sweat drenched his body, and his clothes were saturated. His groin was bloody. It was a black-red blood. Blood from deep inside. Blood from your heart. His trousers at his crotch had been torn away, and through the blood Spencer saw flaps of skin hang like frayed ribbons.

Hallam Buck had been castrated.

Now the neutered child-killer raised his hammer and went for Mr Hanbury, who managed to kick out a leg and parry Hallam’s attack.

Mr Hanbury was on all fours. He was looking at Spencer. His face was a mask of blood.

He said, “Get out of here and find Charlie Faultless.”

The snake wound itself around Mr Hanbury’s neck. Its black eyes fixed on Spencer, and it seemed to smile. The snake tightened its body.

Now Hallam had regained his balance. He came again with his hammer. The tarry liquid dribbled from his mouth. He smashed the hammer into Mr Hanbury’s skull. The old villains eyes rolled back. He fell on his face.

The snake smiled at Spencer as it strangled Mr Hanbury.

Hallam straddled the dying man. He started to beat him with his hammer.

Spencer cried and shivered. He wet himself. The stink of piss triggered something in him, and he quickly crawled away, keeping tight to the wall. He tried not to look, but from the corner of his eyes he could see.

He could see Hallam like a pendulum hammering Mr Hanbury, the sound of bone cracking and brain mushing making him sick.

He could see the snake’s black eyes follow him as he made his escape. The serpent hissed and Spencer was sure the animal was speaking to him and it was saying, “I am the lord who gapes . . . I am the lantern of the tomb . . . I am the moth eating at the law . . . ”