Angels Of The North

by Ray Banks

  Gav nodded and left. Joe pushed the dealer into the room. The fat bloke went off to one side and turned on a flickering strip light. The wallpaper featured cartoon cars that must have been brightly coloured at one point. A table stood in the middle of the room, old cardboard boxes on top of it. There was the cloying smell of weed in the air and, on a single bed set against the back wall, Joe saw what he reckoned were stripped plants hanging out of Presto carriers. But he hadn’t come here for fucking puff.

  "Get the gear."

  "It’s—"

  "Don’t fuck us about, you lardy cunt. I'll take your balls."

  Both hands up. "Okay."

  "Go."

  The bloke shambled towards the corner of the room. Joe heard Gav talking to the girl, his voice low and soothing. He heard the girl’s voice, and she sounded younger than fourteen, which made Joe’s gut clench. He wanted to ask just what the fuck the fat bastard thought he was doing with that girl, but had so many possible answers already, and didn’t want to hear any of them spilling out of that wet mouth. The dealer turned and held up the gear.

  "Good. Bag it all up."

  The fat man did as he was told, but he did it slowly and apparently at random, grabbing what he could and shoving it into the bag. Joe watched him, felt the knife handle grow slippery with sweat.

  Then he heard the scream.

  The girl.

  He lunged forward and grabbed the bags from the dealer, shoved them down the front of his jacket, and then pointed at him with the knife as he backed out of the room. "Stay there."

  Then it was Gav’s turn to scream.

  Joe got out onto the landing in time to see Gav stumble out of the girl’s room, one hand over his arm. He leaned against the wall, his knees buckling. Blood ran down the length of his arm, dripped off the end of his finger and tapped the carpet. The girl bolted out of the room, something flashing in her hand. Gav swung the bat weakly after her and missed. Joe stepped in before she had a chance to strike, grabbed her wrist and twisted it sharply. Something snapped. She dropped the razor, showing a cut palm as her fingers splayed. Then she coiled and spun round, nails out to scratch. Joe dodged and swung her round into the wall. There was the crack of teeth against brick and then the back of her head met the floor.

  Gav was shaking. "There’s a cot. She was just—"

  "Doesn’t matter."

  Gav made a move back towards the girl’s room. "There’s a bairn."

  "Leave it. Howeh, we need to go."

  "I can’t."

  "Leave the bairn."

  "I can’t go home, man. Look at us."

  He was right. He couldn’t go home. But he couldn’t stay here.

  Joe nodded. "I’ve got an idea."

  And it was a good idea, taking him round Brian’s. It was the only right thing to do. Except now Gav’s mate, that big bolshy-looking bastard, was involved and Brian knew about the drugs, it felt like the seams were beginning to tick apart. Which was why Joe was still up with the birdsong, wide-eyed with adrenalin and shame and fear.

  This was a mistake. This whole thing. He shouldn't have got the cabbie involved. Because why the fuck did he want to raid the place anyway? It wasn't some wayward sense of community spirit, was it?

  Yes, it was.

  Aye, right. Of course it wasn't. He knew the reason. He only had to look down to see why. He was going dry. It had nothing to do with cleaning up the estate. There was no sense in ignoring it. Just as there was no sense in pushing the matter any further. He had what he wanted. Someone else had spilled their blood for it, but wasn't that always the way?

  He shook his head, and nudged the loot into the hole in the floor with one foot, making sure to keep one bag out for immediate use. He didn't see himself sleeping otherwise.

  21

  Gav didn’t go in for two days after, but couldn't afford to stay off too long. There was nobody he could trust to look after the place while he was away. By the time he arrived back at the office on Tuesday morning, word had already spread, courtesy of Phil Cruddas, who'd gone out of his way to pre-empt any questions and quash rumours, taking the agreed story and bullishly spinning it further, embellishing and elucidating, allowing what had once been a simple excuse for a nasty wound to become something bordering on urban legend.

  Gav noticed the difference as soon as he stepped into the office. The lads related to him in a new way. Nobody pecked his head about shift changes; there was no more taking the piss; whatever Gav told them was gospel. If he didn't know better, or if he was the kind of bloke to believe his own hype, he would swear that the drivers respected him, to the extent that he wondered what exactly Phil had told them in his absence. But he couldn't ask, because there was something about that twinkle in Phil's eye whenever he came close – that wink waiting to happen; this was their little secret – that made Gav's stomach roll.

  Besides, Phil made it clear that he wasn't interested in the past; he was only interested in the future, and bait time down Dunston Park was the ideal time and place to discuss it. "All I'm saying, this bloke promised you something and he never delivered on it, did he?"

  Phil took a large bite out of his sandwich – Justine must've brought home a job lot of wafer-thin chicken slices, because his was packed – and pushed the food into one cheek in order to continue. "Don't get us wrong, like. The idea is fuckin' sound. The general intent. Your dog's got a flea in his ear, you don't just dose his head, you do the whole dog. But your problem here, your obstacle that keeps you from your goal, is that your squaddie mate isn't fuckin' reliable. He's not trustworthy."

  "These things happen, Phil."

  "No, they don't. That there, what happened to you, is a case of someone's piss-poor preparation. He took his eye off the ball, that's what happened. And the second he did that, you were marked." Phil chewed, shaking his head. "He made you a promise. A man makes a promise, he better keep it, or else how are you supposed to believe he'll manage owt that'll last? This is the little stuff, Gav. There's big stuff to do."

  "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

  "No, I know. Course you don't. How's the arm?"

  "Healing."

  "Hurt?"

  "A bit."

  "Can you move it?"

  Gav tried flexing his arm, didn't get far. "Still stiff."

  "Huh." Phil took another bite, gestured at Gav with his sandwich. "If it was up to me, I don't think I would've had the balls to go in there like you did. Just the two of you. I mean, I like a square go as much as the next lad, but I'm not that fast on my feet. I go in there, I might as well have a fuckin' target painted on my head."

  "Plenty of room."

  Phil laughed, showed mashed-up sandwich. Nodded. Chewed the rest of his mouthful and swallowed. "Even then, mind ... You two? Accident waiting to happen, man. You were lucky to get out in one piece, you ask me." He sniffed. "How many in there again?"

  "I don't know." Gav stared down at the cokeworks. There were lorries trundling around, waved into place by men in yellow jackets.. Now that the worst of the winter weather was over, it looked like the wrecking crews were going to have another go at bringing down the walls. "I can't remember."

  "You were probably in the zone, man." Phil waggled a finger at his head. "Adrenalin going an' that. You probably didn't even know what you were doing half the time."

  "Aye, maybe."

  "See, and to me, that's an arse-about-face way of going about it. If you're going to storm a place, you do it with your eyes wide open. You know what you're getting yourself into, right?"

  "Okay."

  "And you do it – listen to us now, because I'm telling you something – you do it with an army."

  Gav smiled. "We didn't have an army, Phil."

  "Ach, that's nowt. You could get one easy enough. Manpower's not the problem. Just need to look around you."

  Gav was about to tell him he'd heard that before, when he stopped. "Who've you been talking to?"

  "No one."

  "No one?"<
br />
  "Swear down, man. But people talk."

  "Like what?"

  "There's a difference, isn't there? Up there? People noticed. They're talking about it."

  "Not to me, they're not."

  "Wey, they are. And all I'm telling you is you're not alone. You want to do something like this again—"

  "No."

  "No, I know. Not now. But maybe after you've had a chance to think it over, heal up a bit. Or when you see what you achieved—"

  "I'm not doing this again."

  "All I'm saying is, you'll have back-up if you want it."

  "What did I tell you?"

  "All right." Phil raised a hand and smiled. "But I had to say it."

  "No, you didn't." Gav's arm ached as he reached for his tabs. He lit one. The first puff of smoke was pure exasperation. "I'm serious, man. You can't be stirring it up like that. It's not on."

  "Who's stirring it up?"

  "I know you, Phil. You say people are talking."

  "That's right."

  "You're fuckin' talking. You're the one putting ideas into people's heads. It's not right, man. I got hurt."

  "I know you did."

  "And I'm not doing it again. It's not going to happen."

  "All right." Phil finished off his sandwich, balled the Clingfilm. "All I'm saying is you never know. And you never listened to my idea."

  "I don't want to hear it."

  "Course you do." Phil chucked the ball into the car. He reached in and popped a can of Coke, snapped the ring pull and dropped it in the can. It clicked as the liquid moved around. "Way I'm thinking about it, you wouldn't even have to be involved if you didn't want to. And when I say you won't get hurt, you know you won't get hurt. You can trust us on that, hand on fuckin' heart. You could run the show from your office if you wanted to."

  "I'm not interested."

  "Course, if you wanted to get up close and personal—"

  "Pack it in, will you?"

  Both hands up now. "One word for you—"

  "Two for you, second one's off."

  "Deliveries."

  Gav blinked. "You what?

  "As and when. Like that lad I told you about, remember? That dealer I had in the back of the cab? I was thinking about it, like. I thought, what if I got him chatting, and I let a couple of other lads know about it by offering up a fare to Dunston Park or something, give 'em the heads up for when I bring the bastard out here? And then I drive out here and there's a gang of lads all tooled up and then we bray the cunt all over."

  "Then what?"

  "We dump him wherever he was going to go in the first place."

  Gav took a moment to let the idea settle in his brain, then shook his head. "It wouldn't work."

  "Wey aye, course it would."

  "These lads get cabs everywhere, do they?"

  "They don't fuckin' drive, I can tell you that much."

  "Aye, but they're not all going to be that lad you picked up, are they?"

  "What d'you mean?"

  "I mean, say you get someone in the back of your cab, and they're a pure fuckin' headcase and the second they twig that you're not going the way they want you to go, they kick off."

  Phil shrugged. "It happens."

  "Then what?"

  "Then I back off, don't I? I cancel the drop." Phil's smile opened, and so did his hands. "That's the beauty of it. The only time we commit, when we actually cross the fuckin' line, is when we arrive. Anything happens on the way, we drop it and roll, pass off the detour as padding the fare."

  "And what if it goes well?" Gav felt tobacco in his mouth. He fished it out and spat. "D'you not think they're going to pick up on the fact that it's the same cab firm every time?"

  "Aye, I suppose they will."

  "And what then?"

  "So what if they do?"

  "Then it's my fuckin' livelihood, Phil."

  "And you want their money, do you?"

  "That's not what I'm saying."

  "Nah, listen to us, Gav. They find out Puma Cabs is behind it, they recognise it as our community hitting back. That's one knuckle on a fist, Gav. There are other ways. I'm thinking about 'em."

  "Then don't. Leave it." He flipped his filter. "I've got a business to run."

  "How, you let 'em win this, Gav, you won't have fuck-all to run. The whole estate'll go to the fuckin' dogs."

  "You sound like the squaddie."

  "Aye, and maybe he's right about that. Listen to us, you've got to keep the pressure on. And after the other night, man, you and that squaddie ... I'm telling you, you might have fucked it up and got yourself hurt, but you've got that lot at number thirteen shitting it. They don't know what to do with themselves and you know why? Because they're fuckin' cowards, that's why. Deep down inside, underneath all that fuckin' bravado, they're cowards. And they're lazy cunts an' all. They get too much trouble for too long, they get uncomfortable, they'll fuck right off, mark my words. Which is why I'm saying this is the next step. You want to hit them where it hurts, you take their money, you take their tack. You pick up their couriers and you spill some claret. Get right in their heads. Take away their business, they'll go somewhere else. Scare 'em hard enough and they won't dare to come back."

  Phil's smile was as crooked as his reasoning. Gav saw strings of spit lacing his teeth together.

  Gav shook his head once more. "Forget it."

  "Fuck's sake—"

  "I did a daft thing, Phil, all right? I got all wound up because of someone talking just the way you did, and I'm not doing it again. I can't run a business with half my drivers in the QE, can I?"

  "You're not listening to us."

  "I listened. I understood. And now I don't want to talk about it anymore."

  "I don't get it, man." Phil shook his head slowly. "You trust a fuckin' squaddie you don't even know, and he's got this half-arsed dangerous plan that fuckin' ... you know, you get hurt doing it, but you don't trust me – you've known us, what, since first school?"

  "That's right." Gav nodded. "That's the way it has to be."

  "I've got something here that'll bring the bastards to their knees. I've got something that could clean this whole place up. Make you into something special. Gavin Scott. Local fuckin' hero. King of Derwent Hall."

  "I know. I'm sorry, mate."

  "You're sorry ..."

  Gav's radio hissed. He heard Rosie's voice: "Gavin, you awake out there?"

  He leaned in and picked up the radio. "Aye, just about, Rosie. What's up?"

  "Got a call from your missus. She's saying can you go home?"

  "Now?"

  "Aye."

  He shook his head like a sitcom husband. "What did I forget to do this time?"

  "She said it was urgent."

  "What is it, the kids?"

  "She just said she needed you home. She didn't tell us anything more than that."

  "All right, then." He signed off, got into the cab. "See y'after, Phil."

  Phil nodded.

  The cab tyres made a crackling sound as Gav peeled away onto the gravel path that led back to the main road. He waited until he knew he was out of sight before he let the worry show.

  Fiona had called him at work, so it had to be serious. Gav ran through the usual reasons, but couldn't think of anything that didn't involve the kids – an accident, an illness, maybe Andy got in trouble for fighting because that bleeding heart liberal of an RE teacher thought it was bad form to smack someone back. Maybe something to do with Kevin, but he couldn't see him in any real trouble. But then, Christ, what about Sophie? What if something had happened to the little one? The lads were resilient, despite Kevin's feminine tendencies, but Sophie was different. If anything had happened to his little girl ...

  As soon as he pulled into Kielder Walk, he knew Fiona hadn't called about the kids. And he knew that what had happened was no accident.

  Fiona was waiting for him, just inside the front door. "Gav—"

  He hurried her inside before she had a chan
ce to say anything else. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in the middle of the street. He crossed into the front room. Someone had smashed the window. A large, jagged piece of glass hung from the upper frame. It looked like a guillotine blade poised to drop at any moment. In the corner of the shard was the Neighbourhood Watch sticker he'd put up years ago. And in the middle of the cream carpet, like a huge shining slug, was a black rounders bat. His black rounders bat. The one he'd left behind the other night.

  His arm ached. "Kids at school?"

  "Yes. Baby girl's at nursery."

  "What happened?"

  "I don't know. I just heard the crash, and I came out here ..."

  "You see anyone?"

  "Heard them. They were shouting."

  "You all right?"

  She nodded, her mouth trembling. She was trying not to cry.

  "Sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Right." He stared at the bat, then he turned back to the front door. "Lock the door behind me."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I'm going to sort this."

  "What does that mean?" She put a hand on his good arm. "Gavin, tell me."

  He looked back at her. Struggled to find something to say that wasn't a lie.

  "There's something going on, I want to know about it. No more secrets, right?"

  "Right." He grabbed Fiona's arm and dragged her out of the house.

  22

  "Keep your voice down."

  "You what?" Gav leaned in to Joe and did the exact opposite. He was a child caught in the whirlwind of a tantrum. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

  "You're upset. I get it. But this isn't—"

  "Too fuckin' right I'm upset. Question is, what are we going to do about it, eh?"

  Joe shrugged. He stood in the middle of his front room, watching Gav pace. Gav's missus was on the settee, staring into the middle distance. Her blonde hair fell about her face, her hands trembling in her lap. Joe had heard the breaking glass, known that something bad had happened and that it probably had something to do with him, but didn't put the pieces together until he saw Gavin Scott storming up the front path, his wife dragged behind him like tin cans on a wedding car. Of course Gav couldn't just suck it up and bide his time, could he? He wasn't the kind of man who took a punch and rolled with it; he was the kind to lash out immediately, no matter what the cost. And this wasn't right. They weren't supposed to know each other beyond a nodding acquaintance, and so him bursting into Joe's house like he owned the fucking place, calling the shots and screaming the Artex off the ceiling would be a tough lie to sell to anyone who asked. And while this stumpy little bastard might have been a necessary annoyance in the past, right now – bolshy, bellowing and playing the alpha male – he was looking for a slap. And Joe was only too willing to oblige.