Extradited Read Free Page B

pacing to the nearest train station while jabbering on their mobile phones. I felt peculiar and insignificant; my life was falling apart but the rest of the world was carrying on as normal.
    The journey seemed to take hours. I was sitting just above the rear wheel of the van on a hard, plastic seat. The vibrations of every bump trembled up my spine – and the poor maintenance of some of London’s roads didn’t help. The officers were listening to Johnny Vaughan’s Capital FM breakfast show on the radio, chuckling as they had heard him say something funny. I tried to listen, desperately needing something to focus on so I could forget about where I was – but I failed in the attempt.
    We progressed further into central London and I watched the neighbourhoods change: suburban family homes became office towers and greenery became concrete. We stopped off at one point and I assumed that we’d arrived, but they were just picking up another person for court. He was placed in his own box on the left-hand side of the van. It’s funny how you take one look at someone walking into a police van and automatically assume that they’ve done something wrong. It turns out you think just the same, even if you’re sitting in the van yourself!
    It was around 9.30 a.m. when we arrived at Westminster Magistrates’ Court. The Friday-morning traffic and the off-route pick-up made the trip from Edmonton seem like a day’s travelling. On arrival I was put into a cell again, and I could hear people in other cells angrily banging their fists on the walls and shouting. The door slowly opened. I stood up ready to be taken to court, but another young man was put into the cell with me. There was a sudden stench of body odour. He wore blue overalls that were covered in paint and black elasticated plimsolls – the kind that primary school children wear for PE.
    ‘You fucking wankers! Give me back my money! Give me back my money!’
    He clenched his fists and pounded on the door. He forcefully ripped the plimsolls off his feet and threw them against the wall.
    Time passed slowly and we sat in silence. I tried my hardestnot to watch him force his finger into his nose and dig for buried treasure. When finding a bogey, he would pull it out of his nostril to examine the result. It took about five picks before seizing a big, fat one that he was satisfied with. He repeatedly rolled it in between his thumb and index finger until it was a little ball.
    Squash and roll. Squash and roll. The guy was so engrossed in what he was doing that he completely disregarded the fact that someone else was sitting there watching. I couldn’t help but stare, even though I didn’t want to. He constantly made tutting and moaning noises. Squash and roll. Squash and roll . ‘Fucking tossers,’ I heard him mumble to himself.
    There must have been at least an hour of awkward silence. Within this time a woman had opened the cell door and handed us some food that I’d started to eat.
    ‘So why are you going to court?’ I asked him.
    He cleared all of the mucus from his sinuses, bringing it all into his mouth and spitting it on the floor. I looked at my microwave meal and put it to the side. He responded:
    Um … well, I was standing in the alleyway yeah, and some policeman come up to me, and he was like, ‘Did you steal his wallet?’ And I was like, ‘Nah, man, I didn’t steal no wallet.’ Then he was like, ‘Yes, you did.’ Then he jacked my wallet, punched me round the face and now man’s been in a cell for two days.
    On the cell door there was a slit that could open up like a letterbox to communicate with the detainees. The slit opened and I could see a man in his thirties with a side parting and suit standing behind it. It was a lawyer that my family had hired. ‘The judge is going to ask you if you’ll allow them to extradite you to Greece; you have the opportunity to appeal and therefore you say no ,’ he said. ‘You got that? Say no . Whatever you do, do