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

by Roland Lloyd Parry

  “I never heard about no shooting in The Grace,” he said.

  “They kept it out of the papers, didn’t they.”

  “Handy for you.”

  “Check it out.”

  He fumbled his iPhone out of his trouser pocket with his spare hand.

  He called Paterson.

  “So it’s true,” he said after he’d hung up. “You killed your own dad.”

  “He was a jihadi scummer. You’d rather he was still walking around?”

  “That makes you the son of a scummer,” he said. “What’s that, another reason to trust you?”

  “I didn’t choose him. He was just my dad,” I said. “When I found what he was, I did him. I put my country first, didn’t I?”

  He looked lost. He waggled the bottle in his fist.

  I spoke again. Someone had to fill the awkward gap.

  “Bring him back, I’ll do him again,” I said. “Give me a Sig and some knuckles and you’ll see. I’ll go down that dungeon. I’ll go wherever. I’ll have the fucking lot of them.”

  I sat there on the settee with my legs open while he stood over me. I shifted and lit up another fag.

  Pazzer looked over at Sanky. The lad shrugged, unlocked the door and held it open. Pazzer turned his back on me and walked through it. Sanky followed and closed the door.

  I sat there sucking the smoke down deep and looking up at the crossbow on the wall.

  A few minutes later they came back in. The bird followed them and handed Pazzer another Becks. He looked up and caught her eye. She went out and came back in with one for me.

  I didn’t say thanks. Just sat back and supped. Pazzer watched me swallow it. He nodded.

  He reached out his bottle and clinked it on mine.

  “Sanky will help you. He’ll get hold of the gear.”

  “Eh?”

  “Few jerries of Esso for the tunnel. Few mollies for the big house. It’s Guy Fawkes night soon.”

  “Just tell the bizzies. They go and save you the bother.”

  He wiped his lips on his knuckles. Smeared beer on his wedding ring and signet. “I don’t trust them, Az,” he said.

  “You’re with Paterson now.”

  “He doesn’t trust them either.”

  Right.

  “They could have already reached the dungeon,” I said.

  He paused with the bottle halfway to his face, his gob open. “Why? You told them?”

  “No.”

  “You saying Sanky has?”

  “Course not. But they’re already been as far as the cellar, haven’t they. That night me and Sanky went down there.”

  He nodded.

  “There’s a tunnel the size of my cock right under Liverpool,” I said. “They must know about it.”

  “You’d be amazed what the bizzies don’t know. They let that Raz get nice and cosy. Right under my nose. Right up to the gates of my old school. Even now. He’s still shipping his goodies into Bootle.”

  I felt a cold shaft in my chest. It cut through the buzz of the beer.

  “He’s poached all my pals in the Balkans,” Pazzer said. “The price of a gun in Toxteth has gone tits-up. Even Sanky’s little bro’s got one.”

  I took a breath and shifted my arse on the settee. He was still standing over me but less close than before. I fished my fags out of my pocket and lit another.

  “If you torch the place, you’ll wipe them out,” I said. “Then you’ll never find Raz.”

  “Sure I will. Best way to bring him out of hiding.”

  I shivered. I was thinking of Becky.

  I was thinking of Maya.

  I thought about it for one more sec. No. Still not the time to tell him about Jala the cleaner. I'd hold onto that. If I ran into her there, or into Parkesy... Well. I'd worry about it when it happened.

  Pazzer stood up. His bottle was empty again. He took it by the neck. He picked up the first one too. He held them like two ends of a skipping rope.

  “Sanky will talk through the job with you,” he said. “You give us the key to the tunnel.”

  20

  Sanky drove me back to my flat. I was shitting myself about the feller I’d seen snooping around there last time. I didn’t mention that to Sanky. He was chilled. It pumped up your balls big, working for Pazzer and driving round in one of his beamers.

  I nipped up and fetched the key out of the sock in the wardrobe. I was going to ask Sanky to drive me off again and leave me at the pub. But when I got back down and went up to the beamer, he was talking on the phone. To Pazzer, by the sound of it. His boss was calling him off somewhere.

  He rolled down the window and kept talking. Reached out his hand and snapped his fingers.

  I put the key in his hand. I tried to open the passenger door. It was locked.

  Sanky nodded at me. He kept the phone to his ear and sped off.

  I watched him turn the corner.

  I looked around me in the dark. The road had got scabbier even in the few months I’d been in the hossie. The streetlights were broken. The lamppost was covered in black graffitti. Half the houses down the street were boarded up.

  At least there was no one around that I could see.

  I unlocked my front door. Inside the porch I sat down on the first step and called Paterson.

  “How doth my lord, Sir Azo of Toxtethshire?”

  “Alive.”

  “Keep up the good work.”

  “I am doing. I’m in with the Toxteth mob.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I thought you’d be glad.”

  “I am,” he said. “Let’s just say I didn’t hear that last bit.”

  “You choose which bits you want to hear.”

  “Righto.”

  “Pazzer wants me and Sanky to torch the banshee’s place.”

  “Really?”

  “He wants to keep his old neighbourhood safe.”

  “Charming boy.”

  “And he wants Raz. Reckons he’s the one running the house. I reckon he’s right.”

  Paterson hmm’d. I could tell he was proud of me.

  “So what do you plan to do?” he said.

  “Well I’m not torching the place till I’ve found Maya. But there’s no need to wait, right? Send your bizzies down the rabbit hole. Nick that Dicey. Keep that girl safe.”

  He cleared his throat. “Ooh-er,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I’m afraid we’re running on a rather smaller outlay than last time, lad.”

  “No budget for nicking jihadis?”

  “It’s not so much the budgets as how we’re to use them. We’ve got a lot of beady eyes on us.”

  “Oh aye. God forbid the bizzies should take a risk. Keep them behind a desk, eh. It’s what they’re best at.”

  “I just mean I have to watch where I step when it comes to cases like this.”

  “What are you on about?”

  “Oh, là, là, Azo,” he sighed. “Let’s just say I don’t always tell everyone about everything I do. Even my bosses,” he said. “And least of all about cases like yours.”

  “You’re making me feel safe.”

  “You should. You’re doing the same for this country.”

  “God help it.”

  “Hmm. Anyway, we’ve got to box clever with this house of ladies,” he said. “I need you to hold Pazzer off till Dicey leads us to Maya and Raz. And to the money.”

  “Hold Pazzer off? How do you do that?”

  “We’ll work something out:”

  “You mean I will. Then you’ll nick them?”

  “Then you’ll do what Pazzer’s asked. Cheap as chips, and much less messy.”

  I was quiet for a bit. I leaned forward and reached for the door. Twitched the letterbox up for a split sec and peeked through into the street.

  I sat back on the bottom step.

  “Are you allowed to do stuff like that?” I said.

  “What I’m not allowed to do is fail,” said Paterson. “
Folk can be so unforgiving.”

  “This is just you and me, isn’t it?”

  “I told you. These are hard times. A copper has been killed. Drawbridges have been hoisted up. There’s more attacks than ever. We’re ordered to do the job and given less to do it with. So we get our heads down and get through the scrum. Are you a rugby man?”

  I stared up through the frosted glass at the top of the front door. A street light was shining through it.

  I lowered my voice.

  “What if Dicey tries something?” I said.

  “An attack?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then you stop her. Dead.”

  A shadow passed across the glass.

  “About that,” I said.

  “Oh dear,” he moaned. “Go on.”

  “About the feller who’s after me.”

  “I thought we’d given you a penis-lengthener to deal with him?”

  “Let’s hope I can remember how to use it.”

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “He’s at my front door.”

  I switched the phone off, slipped it in my trackie pocket and raised the Sig to my right cheek. I flattened myself against the wall on the hinge side.

  I’d stayed down in the porch after I spotted the Mazda across the street. I’d clocked it easy. I was soppy like that about past cars I’d drove. They’d sprayed her black but she hadn’t really changed. The shape and look of her. She’d just dyed her hair.

  He’d been walking across the road straight for me when I peeped through the letterbox. Same feller I'd seen snooping round here the night before. Grey trackie bottoms. Grey hoodie. Navy bodywarmer.

  He had the semi in his hand, hanging by his side.

  I listened for footsteps. Nothing. He’d stopped.

  I thumbed off the safety.

  The light shifted on the stairs. He was stood in front of the frosted glass. The glow came back. He’d stooped again. I heard his hands rustling over the paintwork. The door creaked as he pushed to check it was locked.

  The letterbox opened.

  I’d been sitting down in the dark. Just that yellow glow through the glass, the street light hitting the staircase a few steps above my head.

  I looked down at the flap of the letterbox sticking up. He was holding it open. He was trying to let his eyes get used to the gloom.

  The daft sod.

  I poked the tip of my Sig through the gap and pulled the trigger twice.

  It was quiet for a sec. Then he bumped against the door as he went down. I opened it and he flopped in on the mat.

  I looked up and down the street. No one. I dragged him by the waistband of his trackies into the porch and shut the door.

  I knelt and turned him on his back.

  He’d more stubble than when I last saw him. Looked a bit thinner on top. But he still had them spoddy round glasses. That sneery mouth.

  His ratty black eyes were open. One of the slugs had gone in between them. The other one through his right cheek.

  “Alright, Mossie,” I said.

  I went through his pockets. Just the car key. Nothing else. Not even a phone.

  I left his body on the mat and shut the door behind me. I looked up and down the street and crossed over towards the car. Same old Mazda. Same grey seat covers, like an old sofa. Same shit radio.

  I heard a step and a rustle and it went all red and black. When I opened my eyes, I was on my back. Blood sloshed in my mouth. The gun was poking my forehead. I saw white three-stripes and a shiny black quiff.

  “Come ’ead, then,” I said. “I’ll have the lot of yous.”

  “Naughty lad,” said Rodney. He raised the butt again. “You’re coming to naughty school.”

  21

  Jala was crying. Her wails floated through my head as I drifted in and out. Bit by bit I got my eyes open. But it was ages before I was strong enough to push myself up sitting, get my head up and back to the wall.

  I was in that empty cell where I’d hid with Sanky. Red stone walls. Green moss under the lecky bulb over the entry. Thick wooden door with a grate.

  My head spun. I’d had a whack alright. I pinned my back to the wall and closed my eyes. I opened them again. I leaned over and spewed on the stone floor.

  I moaned and shuffled away from it to my right. Keeled over onto my side and lay there.

  I heard footsteps and voices outside. The cell door opened. Someone huffed and tutted. The door closed. The footsteps and voice came back and the door opened again. I rolled over to face it.

  It was the first time I’d seen Dicey so close up. It was too gloomy to see much. Just the banshee vibe of her. Like a scally ghost.

  She had Jala with her. Quiet and sad. Black long-sleeved top and trousers. Rubber gloves on like she'd had in the bogs at The Kingston.

  A bucket in one hand.

  It was too dark to make out the look on her face when she saw me. Seemed like she stood and stared for a sec. She said nothing though. She got on her knees. The bucket slopped and clacked down beside her. She took out a rag and started swabbing.

  I watched her half upside down, on my side with my head on the floor. Still couldn’t see her face. It was just a shadow between her greasy ropes of hair. She shufted away with the rag, scooping the lumps of sick into the bucket and swabbing again with the same pukey water.

  Did she remember me? She must have done. She’d be wondering what to say to Dicey. She couldn't say anything though. Not without Becky to help.

  Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she didn’t care. Or maybe she’d do me a good turn and keep her mouth shut.

  I’d find out soon enough.

  Dicey watched her from the doorway. I couldn’t see her face either. She looked at me. She saw my eyes open, staring at her.

  “Milk. Two sugars,” I said.

  She got up and scuttled out with the bucket. She ducked under Dicey’s arm leaning in the low doorway. Dicey didn’t look at her. She had her eyes on me. When the girl was gone she took her arm down from the doorpost and put it by her side.

  “And some Jaffa Cakes!” I said.

  She stepped into the cell. Straightened up and walked towards me.

  She squatted down by my side. She was just a blur in the shadows to my eyes, but she could see me. She had the bulb-glow behind her. She held her face near mine. I could feel the shape of it burning in the dark. The sharp cheeks. The pointy chin. The sulky eyes.

  I could hear my own lungs working but not hers. Couldn’t feel her breath on me. Couldn’t hear or see or smell a thing about her.

  She touched me. A hand on my cheek. She gripped my jaw. Thumb on one cheek and four fingers over the other. She squeezed. Too hard. My bottom lip popped open. My cheeks mashed against the teeth inside.

  I lurched and tried to raise a hand to knock her away but I never made it. Something happened to my head. My mind went fuzzy. My limbs went numb. The blood roared in my ears. My eyes fizzed over and I couldn’t see.

  She thrust me back and pulled her hand away just before I puked again. Down my shirt.

  I panted and tried to spit the clingy gack off my lips.

  “Go on then, grandma,” I said. “Go and get my fucking tea ready.”

  The light from the door lit her up from the back. It caught the wispy edges of her hair. Her sharp nose and cheekbone when she tilted her head. But it didn’t help with the eyes and mouth.

  I was backed up to the brick wall. She brought her hand near my face again. I shuddered. I didn’t know why. It just happened. The closeness of her made me cold and scared. Every time she made for my face I started trembling. I tried to stare into her eyes. I got lost in two scoops of black.

  I felt faint. But she left my jaw alone this time. Put her hot sweaty palm to my cheek.

  She spoke. Scouse voice, like gravel. Deep like a man but soft like a woman.

  “I know what you are.”

  She went out and bolted the door.

  I was still awake when Rodney came in.
>
  Rodney. Raz’s top lad from that last summer. We’d sparred on the mats in Raz’s back garden that first week. I’d rubbed Rodney’s face in the dirt to show him and the others who was boss.

  I wasn’t the boss now, was I.

  All this time he’d had it in for me. And he knew I had a thing for Maya.

  He put a big placky torch on the floor in the corner and switched it on. The beam shot up to the ceiling. It spread dim light around the room so we could see each other.

  He sat down cross-legged and smiled at me.

  “Pussy,” I said.

  “Where?”

  He looked over his shoulder. He turned back to face me and grinned. He rocked on his arse there, hands on his bent knees.

  “Good shooting,” he said. “In The Grace, I mean.”

  I said nothing.

  “Point-blank like that. On your old man.”

  I shrugged.

  “So it was you,” he said.

  “Everyone knows it was me. What do you care?”

  “Truth is, not much,” he said. “But some friends of mine cared about your dad a lot. They think it’s not cool, Azo. Not cool.”

  “He’s not their dad.”

  He stood up. Paced around but kept his eyes on me. I watched him. He went through his fast-bowling moves, swinging his shoulders and flicking his wrist.

  “You going to hand me over to Beshat’s lot?” I said. “They’ll pay you a packet.”

  “They’ll pay even more when they know who you are.”

  “That’s why they want me, eh.”

  “I don’t mean Beshat’s lad. I mean, who you really are, Azo Coke,” he said. “Who you work for.”

  I snorted. “Do I look like I’ve got a job?”

  He half bent down, braced his palms on one knee as he stretched out the other leg. Warming up. I saw the line of his face turned sideways in the lamplight. He nodded.

  “But you’ve been keeping yourself busy,” he said.

  “I’m with one of the Toxteth gangs. What you going to do, nick me?”

  He laughed out loud. High-pitched. The racket filled the room. He stopped as quick as he’d started. He shaped up to do his bowling move again. The torchlight caught his hand. He had something in it this time. A dark red cricket ball.

  “You’re a player, Coke,” he said. “A real scally piece of work.”