House of Birds: Forget who you were before... (The Azo Coke thrillers Book 2)

by Roland Lloyd Parry

  The cider was going down heavy. I looked Frank in the eye. He was looking scared too. I’d never seen that before either. His white forehead was wrinkled up.

  “Who told you?” I said.

  “That bizzie I know, Mather. No one else to tell. There’s been no Mrs. Gibbsy for a while. I had to go I.D. him.”

  “You saw him?”

  He nodded into his pint. Then he turned and met my eye. “They’d messed him up before they done him,” he said.” They wanted to know something.”

  “They were after somebody else.”

  I called Paterson. I told him about Gibbsy. He hmm’d and played it cool like always.

  “Chin up, Azo. It’s just Raz’s thugs. You can handle them.”

  There was times I felt like I could never get through to him. He always had a chirpy line to blow me off with.

  I told him about the cleaning lady at The Kingston. The cleaning cupboard and the black holdall.

  He hmm’d and sounded a tad less smug.

  I went quiet. My mind wandered. He was still on the line.

  “Something bugging you, Azo.”

  I blew my nose on a scarp of bog roll from the Port of Spain loos.

  “What would happen if someone found out about you?” I said. “If they tried to use me to get to you. What if they made me set you up?”

  He chuckled. “There’s a very refined piece of spycraft for that, Azo. If you want it. Just choose a code word.”

  “Bellend.”

  “There you go. Lovely. If someone makes you call me with your balls in a vice, just say “bellend”. Now. To work.”

  I tried to think whether Raz’s lot could trace me to the place off Lodge Lane. I’d not told anyone I lived there. But Becky had found me, hadn’t she. She’d followed me there after saving me from Sanky.

  I thought of the sweetie-trail she’d followed to get to me. Three easy steps. Gibbsy. Frank. Azo. All the way into my flat.

  15

  My phone buzzed on the bedside table. Some fixed-line number came up.

  At fucking last. Becky.

  She was in a cybercafe on Lark Lane. I asked her if she was alright. But she was in a hurry. She got straight to it. I heard cars and bustle around her. Her voice sounded tired.

  “She’s a refugee,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “The girl.”

  “The cleaner? You’re living with her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the banshee? You made friends with her?”

  “Her name’s Dicey. I’m bunking down on the floor in her dungeon.”

  “Where’s she from?”

  “Scouser.”

  “No one else living down there?”

  “There’s a feller. I’ve heard him coming and going in the night. Not seen him.”

  “And the young woman… “

  “Jala.”

  “Why’s she there?”

  “They killed her husband. In Syria. She’s in hiding so she doesn't get sent back.”

  “Why can’t she stay here above-board?” I said. “Like the ones who go to the church?”

  “She’s too scared,” Becky said. “She’s got to do a job for Dicey.”

  A messed-up foreigner hiding in an old house while a gang makes plans for them. That reminded me of something.

  “And if she doesn’t do it?” I said.

  “In Syria they’ve got her kids.”

  I’d dealt with this crap before. I could feel who was lurking behind it all.

  “Has she mentioned a guy called Raz?” I said. “Or Beshat?”

  “No.”

  I lit a fag. Stood up from the bed. Held the phone between my cheek and shoulder while I shufted the sash window up. I looked down the back fire stairs into the pub’s back yard.

  “So she’s hiding,” I said. “By going out on the bus to work every day? Cleaning the bogs in a nightclub?”

  “It’s cash-in-hand.”

  This was turning into a headfuck. I felt the water lapping round my chin. I closed my eyes and tried to tune my brain back in.

  “So what have you been doing all day?” I said.

  “Helping Dicey. Helping her talk to Jala.”

  “She’s not had you back at the church?”

  “No. She’s keeping me out of sight too.”

  “There’s plenty of Arabs at the drop-in for you to talk to.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure she’ll go back there sooner or later. She’s been going to Saint Hugh’s since she was a kid.”

  “You blagging me?”

  “That’s how she was brought up. She went abroad at some point. I’m not clear how. She doesn’t make much sense a lot of the time.”

  “Where does she think you are now?”

  “Food shopping.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “She picked you up like a ragamuffin and now she’s trusting you with that?”

  “She likes me. Because of church, I guess.”

  “Doesn’t she think you’re too good to be true? What did you tell her?”

  “The truth. I went to uni. She liked that. She went to uni too.”

  “And she thinks you’re a Bible bod an’ all?”

  “I’m a Catholic Scouse girl who’s had a rough time,” she said. “I’m just like her.”

  16

  “She’s good, this hack of yours,” Paterson said.

  “I’ve trained her well.”

  “You mean you’ve bullied her.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Hmm.”

  Twat.

  I told him about Jala and her kid and Dicey. The latest filthy snapshot of what my dad had been up to.

  “He was worse than I thought,” I said. “And there’s more where he came from.”

  “Don’t worry, lad,” Paterson said. “We’ll have them.”

  His voice was tight. It put me on edge. He’d been sounding narked about something ever since I told him about The Kingston.

  “We’ll have that young woman at the club, for starters.”

  “You’re going to rescue her?” I said. “You’ll be doing her a good turn.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Why? What’ll happen to her?”

  He sighed. “Most times, she’d be on a cheap flight out of here. This time she’ll go down. Once we’ve nailed that Dicey.”

  “That’s not fair. She’s being used. It’ll be all over the papers.”

  “Indeed. It will send a message.”

  “You think the ones running her are scared of going to jail?”

  “Not to them. To the country.”

  “What country?”

  “Mine.”

  He was in a funny mood. This edge in his voice that I’d not heard before.

  “So what’s the message?”

  “Never mind.”

  “What’s made you so arsey?”

  I heard him sigh. All these things I wanted to ask him. I wished I had him in front of me.

  “Come ‘ead,” I said. “You said when we started this whole bumfuck that I was meant to be looking after people. Why aren’t we looking after this girl?”

  Paterson sniffed in sharply and let his breath out slow.

  “I said you were to look after the country,” he said.

  “She’s not one of us?”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “So it’s alright if Dicey chews her up.”

  “Stuff happens.”

  “And if not?”

  “We’ll see what we do with her when the time comes.”

  “So you’re using her too.”

  “She’s placed herself in this business. Does that make her a tool? Perhaps.”

  “Placed herself? My arse. She was forced here.”

  “She leaves one of the shittest countries in the world and ends up in one of the best. I bet her arm took a lot of twisting.”

  I felt dizzy. Sick. Like I was back in the posh jail being headfucked by spods. No. Like I was back i
n the classroom. Being headfucked by some teacher.

  “So come ‘ead,” I said. “What’s this message for the country?”

  He sniffed, slower than the first time. I wondered what was the matter with him.

  “I can’t be going down in that dungeon and sorting this out if I don’t know what we’re doing it for,” I said.

  “You’re right, Azo. You’re a straight-thinking chap. You need a sense of purpose. I understand that.”

  “So what’s the big message?”

  “This is what you get when you let the boat people in. This is how they thank you.”

  A splash of anger in my guts. All through my arms.

  This stank. I'd reckoned he might have a side like that to him, Paterson. But I'd not seen or heard it out loud till now. He’d let his feelings show. Why?

  His voice was light now. Like he’d had a dump and got it out of him.

  “Don't worry about Jala, lad,” he said. “I'll see to it.”

  “You mean a judge will,” I said. Becky had taught me a thing or two before she went underground.

  He sniffed and breathed out hard. “I mean I will,” he said.

  The hardness came back into his voice. He was losing his rag again. He knew he had to tell me some things to keep me happy. But he'd told me too much now and he knew it.

  “Why can't you just nick Dicey?” I said. “Raid the nightclub. Find whatever it is they’re stashing there. Raid the dungeon. Why do you have to bring Jala into it too?”

  ”She’s part of the house, isn’t she?”

  ”She’s not done nothing.”

  ”She’s going to.”

  I didn't say anything.

  ”Whatever Dicey and Rodney are planning, that Jala is in on it,” he said. “You want to save her from it? Find out what it is. Help me keep this country safe.”

  I snorted. He sounded like some bellend off the telly.

  “Any news on Becky’s bird?” I said.

  “Why? You want to go to the wake?”

  That flash of nasty madness was still in his voice. He was stressed about something. He was losing his grip.

  That didn’t make me go easy on him.

  “One bizzie got slashed and you hushed it up,” I said. “Then Becky’s one got slotted. You’re in it up to your bollocks.”

  “Leave it, lad,” he said.

  “They’ll be after me and Becky next.”

  “Leave that case to us. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “My arse. You know already. That bizzie Sandra. Who killed her?”

  “It’s not your case.”

  “Did you have it done?”

  He hung up.

  17

  I waited for Becky to call again. She didn't.

  I started to panic.

  The next day was Monday. I went to the church. Didn’t know what else to do. Couldn’t just hang around waiting for Becky to fix my life for me. Maybe I was hoping deep down that they’d take me in.

  Good job I did go that day though, because there was a change. For the first time in weeks, Dicey showed up in the morning. The drop-in opened at ten, but I’d got there bright and early, I was that on edge wanting something to happen. Dicey showed about eight-fifteen.

  I watched her sour face, her eyes to the ground as she reached the church. Her grey ponytail swinging as she turned her back to me and climbed the steps.

  Who was she? Going to church while she was in with Mossie and his lot. Did they know she went? Why did they trust her anyway? They’d trusted me, hadn’t they. But that was easier. I wasn’t the kind of lad who went to church.

  They’d trusted Raz too.

  Was Dicey like Raz, a useful nutcase to have around? Raz had a whole past behind him. Did Dicey have that too?

  I watched her go up the steps and into the porch. Waited to see her white body-warmer move left to the hall door. It didn’t though. It faded forward to the far end of the porch. I saw a glow as the middle door opened. Then the porch went gloomy again.

  She’d gone into the church.

  I came out from behind the parked van where I was lurking and crossed the road. For the first time in more than ten years, I walked into church too.

  She’d sat down near the front. I lowered myself into a pew near the door.

  I looked at her back. Turquoise fleece on under her bodywarmer. Her hair tied in a purple bobble.

  She kneeled to pray. A priest came out from the back. He waddled round the table bit at the front. Looking for something.

  She spotted him, upped and walked out.

  I bent down like I was praying myself so she’d not see my face.

  I heard her heavy breath as she walked past me.

  Behind me in the porch, I heard the door to the hall open and squeak slowly shut as she went through.

  Fifteen minutes later I was back in place across the road watching when she came out again. Someone with her this time. A little boy. He walked by her side up the street.

  He looked about ten, by the size of him. I couldn’t see his face. He had this dark blue zippy on, with the hood up. Dark blue trackie bottoms. Chunky black kiddy trainies. Him and Dicey weren’t talking. But she looked happy enough, for her.

  They headed up towards the main road.

  I followed.

  The knot in my chest got tighter. Now they had their backs to me I could see he had a little rucksack on. Black with red markings. Spiderman or something.

  They crossed over, turned left at the top onto the main road and over a zebra crossing. They walked on and on. I followed them, watching from the far side. Further and further up. They passed a pub.

  I looked at my watch. Ten to nine.

  I shook my head and had a sick chuckle to myself. Sure enough, after another zebra they turned off right. A quiet leafy street. Only it wasn’t quiet just now. It was heaving with kids and prams and bikes.

  Saint Rock’s.

  I walked along way behind them, moving gently through the flocks of kids and mums and dads.

  Dicey was holding the lad’s hand. He still had his hood up. I hadn’t got a glimpse of his face the whole time.

  They slowed as they got close to the gate and had to wait for others to go through. A big bizzie was eyeing the kids and mums as they went in. Here we go, I thought.

  When he saw Dicey, the bizzie smiled and nodded and touched his cap.

  In she went with the lad.

  I stopped five yards short of the gate and watched them vanish behind the playground fence.

  So Dicey had the okay to take some refugee lad to school.

  It was one way to get your name on the list.

  I lurked across the main road from the turn-off, waiting for her to come back.

  I scanned the crowd for Ali. Leanne always dropped him off nice and early. Now it was nearly time for the bell. I felt even shitter standing there, knowing he was just a few yards away but I couldn’t see him.

  My chest got tighter. It started in my head too. Tears stinging the back of my nose and eyeballs. I hung back by a gatepost a few cars down from the school gate, my hood up, glancing around me. Hoping the bizzies and other mums wouldn’t spot me.

  After ten minutes, Dicey came out.

  She crossed over and stood at the bus stop. She got on the next one that came. It took her off back up Park Road. Towards the big house.

  I wanted to go back at home time and see her pick the lad up. It wasn’t safe for me to be hanging around by the school though. The bizzies were there. Some other mum or dad might spot me and know me as Leanne’s ex. Or Leanne herself, when she came to pick up Ali.

  I wanted to hang around there most of all to get a glimpse of him.

  It was just too dangerous.

  I got on the next bus and waited around near the big house all day instead. I reckoned Dicey would go out again in the afternoon to pick up the kid from school. But four o’clock came and she didn’t show.

  I kicked myself. I should have waited by Saint Rock’s, in
spite of the risk. To see who else came to pick him up. I might have learned something.

  I bought chips and sat on the pavement in the side road, eating them with one eye on the alley where the back yard was. I was just screwing up the paper and the placky tray and chucking them in a skip when someone showed.

  He was by himself this time. The little lad Dicey had dropped off in the morning.

  He’d come all the way from the school on his own.

  He was thumbing away at a smartphone as he walked.

  He turned off the avenue into the side road and crossed over. I stooped behind the parked cars and watched him.

  He had his hood off this time. Curly black hair on his head.

  I stared. I saw him side-on as he walked along the pavement across from me.

  I gasped. Ducked down behind a car and tried to breathe steady. I peeped up again as he reached the back alley that ran behind the house.

  His face had got wider, his nose flatter. His eyebrows thicker. This wicked glint in his eye. He was still a stumpy little kid but his face looked older. He had a zit on his cheek. And that smile. Cheeky. Fearless. Mad.

  Hanzi.

  The boy Raz had brought in to the house of lads. First time I’d met him, he’d lamped me in the balls. It had been onward and upward since then. Raz had taught him to steal and fight. He’d got him out of the country along with Maya, that day the summer before when it all went off.

  He turned his back on me as he headed down the alley. Stopped by the back gate. Put the phone in his pocket. He stood by the gate for half a minute till someone opened it.

  He stepped out of sight, into the backyard of the house of birds.

  Hanzi. The youngest of Raz’s orphan footsoldiers. The weirdest.

  They’d sent him off to Syria. Now he was back.

  He was going to Ali’s school.

  I thought back to that first day in the house of lads. Raz had set me up to watch Hanzi while he and Mossie went out somewhere. The boy had just got there. He didn’t speak English. Hardly knew where he was. They hadn’t warned me about him. He was off his head.

  I’d duffed him up to stop him running away. I hadn’t known any better. I ended up crying to Paterson about it on the phone.

  It was Raz’s test for me.