Angels Of The North

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Angels Of The North Page 17

by Ray Banks


  But no. He had to maintain. No sense in shouting back. "I'm sorry—"

  "Fuck you sorry about?"

  "But you already woke the bairn up once."

  "I don't—"

  "With the shouting. I understand that you're hurt and you're angry, but I'm going to tell you this one last time – keep your voice down, or else I'm going to flatten your fuckin’ mouth for you."

  Gav stepped up, his eyes narrowed, his fists tight. "Howeh, then, you—"

  "Gavin." The wife, her eyes pink with tears. "Please. Let him talk."

  Wasn't as daft or as catatonic as she looked, then. Joe nodded to her. "Thank you." Then he turned back to Gav, who had resumed pacing, but now thankfully without the commentary. "You think we should do something, Gav?"

  "Yes."

  "What do you think we should do?"

  "I don't know." His mouth became a slit. He breathed through his nose.

  "You want to go round and break their windows?"

  Gav stopped. His voice was a whisper. "I want to go round there and break their fuckin' heads."

  "And how far d'you think you'll get?"

  Gav put a thumb and forefinger to his eyes and frowned. "I don't know."

  Joe glanced down at Gav's wife and wondered how much she knew. From the expression on her face and the obvious tremor in her hands, he guessed not a lot. She had the look of someone for whom the curtains had dropped and the freak had been revealed. What little she did know had come within the last half hour, and she was still muddling through it all. She probably didn't even know his name, or why she was here. The longer it stayed that way, the better.

  "Then you need to back off, Gav."

  Gav was about to speak again when they heard Michelle coming down the stairs. Joe put a finger to his lips. Gav closed his mouth as Michelle entered the room. She eased past Gav as if afraid to touch him.

  "How is she?"

  Michelle crossed to Joe. "Managed to get her back down."

  Gav's wife attempted a smile. "Sorry about all the noise."

  "It's all right." Michelle smiled back. "She's restless in the afternoons anyway."

  "Ours were the same. Lambs at night—"

  "All right, then, Joe." Gav stepped forward. "What do you want to do?"

  "Me?" Joe glanced around at the women in the room, tried to be as friendly as possible about it. "I want to put the kettle on."

  Gav trailed behind Joe as he went into the kitchen. Joe flicked on the kettle, then opened the back door. He gestured for Gav to keep quiet. In the front room, the wives chattered blandly about children; it was the kind of uncomfortable small talk made by people who couldn't bear the thought of silence.

  "Outside." Joe pointed to the back yard. "And remember to keep it down, all right? Don't need the whole street nebbing on."

  "You think they don't know already?"

  Gav stalked up the back path, then onto the dead lawn. Joe pulled the door slightly closed, then stuck a Regal in his mouth as he joined Gav. He lit the cigarette once he was behind the washing line and blew the first smoke at Gav. "What did you tell her?"

  Gav shook his head. "Nowt."

  "Come on."

  "I told you."

  "She's here."

  "I couldn't leave her, could I? They attacked the house."

  "Tell me."

  "I didn't tell her nowt." Gav looked around, hands out at his side. "All right, not much. I told her it was the dealers that put through the window."

  "And?"

  "And that's it, I swear. I think she knew anyway. She heard them."

  "You going to tell her the rest?"

  "I don't know." Gav looked back at the house.

  "I don't think you've got much choice." Joe offered him a cigarette.

  "Ta." Gav lit the tab, pulled a face like the first drag was rotten. "They know where I live."

  "Aye, and now they know where I live."

  Gav opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked at the cigarette. "Shit."

  "Aye."

  "I'm sorry."

  "You're sorry. If you were sorry, Gav, you would've kept this quiet. You would've kept this schtum and talked to me properly instead of chucking a fuckin' eppy."

  "How, you're the one started all this. It's your fault."

  "My fault? How's that?"

  "You promised. You said I wasn't going to get hurt."

  Joe stared at him. Flicked ash. He didn't say anything.

  Gav caught the look in his eye and his shoulders sloped. He sighed. "They scared my missus, man. She doesn't know anything, what do you think she's going to be like when they chuck a fuckin' bat through the window? She's terrified." He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and sniffed. "I don't know what I'm going to tell her. I mean, I should've told her everything, anyway. We don't keep secrets, you know?"

  "That's nice."

  "Fuck off." Anger curled Gav's top lip, twisted the volume up to a shout. "The fuck you getting at—"

  "Calm down."

  "Getting arsey with me. It's lucky my kids weren't in the house, else—"

  "Else what?" Joe stepped up. "Spit it out, mate."

  Gav nodded, moving away, calming down. "It's all right. I'm not having a pop."

  "Sounds like you are."

  "I'm just worried."

  "You shouldn't be. They're striking blind. This isn't personal."

  "Then how do they know where I live?"

  "I don't know. Ask your cabbie mate. He take any precautions when he brought you home, or did he drop you off right at your door?" Joe watched, waited for an answer. None came. "That's what I thought. Lookuh, if you carry this on, then you're the one making it personal, and I wouldn't recommend that, Gavin. Not at all. Because if you're going to win this, then you're going to have to nip it in the bud now, and I don't think you've got the bottle or the experience for a short, sharp shock. You've just got to face it, mate – this isn't your game. Never has been."

  "But it's yours, right?"

  Joe shook his head. "Not this time."

  "What, you're saying you're out?"

  "That's right."

  Gav moved back a couple of steps. "What happened there, then?"

  "Nowt. I'm just finished." Joe dropped the filter onto the path. His trainer scraped as he twisted his toe over the dog end. "We went in there, it didn't work out. I promised you that you wouldn't get hurt. You did get hurt. Means I'm not up to the task, and you're definitely not. If we push this now, we're pushing too hard, and we're not ready for a fuckin' backlash."

  Gav moved his mouth like he couldn't get rid of a bad taste. "So you've not got the bottle for it, is what you're telling us."

  "How. Leave it."

  "Just tell us the truth, Joe. Tell us you're scared."

  Joe glanced back at the house. Michelle was making tea in the kitchen. "I'm not scared."

  "Aye, you fuckin' are."

  "Leave it." Joe turned back to Gav. "Seriously. Take a friendly warning. Don't push them and don't fuckin' push me, either. Go home, get your window fixed, get on with your life and hope to God that's the end of it. I'm not working. I can watch my family. You can't."

  "I can watch my family." Gav showed his chin. "Don't you worry about me, mate."

  "At school? When they're round their mates? You going to keep 'em chained up while you're at work?"

  Gav rubbed his nose and looked as if he was searching the back fence for something he'd lost. He shook his head, made a quick move that ended in a tremble of the shoulders. "I can't."

  "You got hurt." Joe tried to get his attention. "You got hurt and I'm sorry about that. I should've took you aside and told you then, but I didn't have time. There was other things we needed to get done. But it's finished now, all right? It's not worth it. Them lads up the street, they don't give a fuck, they've had it too good for too long, they've got too much confidence now and we don't have the bodies to back us up. The odds aren't in our favour anymore. I wish I knew that before, but I didn't."


  "I can't let this pass."

  "Howeh, man. Give your head a shake, will you? Eh? Listen to what you're saying."

  "What am I saying?"

  "You can't let this pass? You're talking out your arse because you're frightened. I know that, I can see that. You're talking about revenge. You're a cab driver, all right? You've got a family. The fuck is the matter with you?"

  "Something needs to be done. They don't get to win."

  Gav moved away. Joe put a hand on him. Gav knocked it off, put both of his on Joe's chest and shoved him back a couple of steps.

  They stood motionless, watching each other.

  When Joe spoke again, his voice was low: "It's finished."

  Gav turned back to the house. Joe watched him head into the kitchen. He heard Michelle's voice, then Gav's, but he couldn't make out what was being said. They left the kitchen and Joe went towards the house. As he approached the kitchen, the front door slammed, echoing through the house. He shut the back door, made sure the bolt was on. Michelle entered the kitchen, looking confused. Even more so when she glanced at the locked door behind him. "Joe?"

  "They gone?"

  Michelle nodded. "What's going on?"

  "Where's the old man?"

  "I don't know. Down the bookies, probably."

  Which meant he'd be down there for a good while yet and maybe he'd skulk off to the pub afterwards. That was good. Joe didn't need the old man hovering around. He crossed down the hall to the window in the front room and tugged at the net, peeked out at the street.

  Michelle followed behind. "Joe. You never answered my question."

  "That's because I don't know, love." He watched the street, and felt his mouth dry. "We're just going to have to wait and see."

  23

  The drivers arrived at six, just as the sun was going down.

  Joe watched from the bairn's room as cab after cab arrived in the street, slowly approaching and then pulling up outside number thirteen. Gav's was first, then a Granada – Gav's mate, Phil – and then another two Escorts and a Cavalier. They parked a short distance away from the squat. The cabs were arranged in crooked diagonals, cross-hatching their way up Kielder Walk like a series of barricades. There were five cars, all of them with their windows rolled down, their radios tuned to white noise and the volume ramped up to the point where it sounded as if the sea was about to rise up and crash through the Hall. It was a small but pointed show of force, unnerving more than overwhelming, and judging from the look on the skinny Asian lad who stood outside the house, it had worked a treat. He had one arm in a sling and his arse in a bunch, shifting his weight from foot to foot, one eye on the cabbies, the other on possible escape routes, which would narrow to nothing in a few more seconds.

  Gav was up front. He stared at the dealer. Talking to him, but not close. More talking at him, lecturing him, warning him. Joe couldn't hear what he was saying, but whatever it was, it was delivered with a smile and the kind of confidence that came with back up. The most important part of that back-up that Joe could see was Phil. Phil was Gav's right hand man, if that right hand happened to be curled into a permanent fist. There'd been the stench of National Front on him when they'd last met, and Joe had known plenty like Phil Cruddas in his time. Phil was the kind of bloke who had two main choices in his life – prison or the army. And as much as the army said they didn't want that kind of soldier – at least that was the official message, delivered in stern, paternal tones – and maintained that they had rigorous screening procedures in place to exclude unstable recruits, you only needed to take a slow look around your fellow squaddies to see that the powers-that-be were actively breeding nutcases. These were the kind of soldiers who hit Civvy and became security guards, bouncers and bailiffs; the kind of ex-soldier who got off on control and punishment. Mind you, even the army psychos had an element of discipline. Judging by the beer gut on this Cruddas fella, he had none of that.

  Phil moved to the left of Gav, said something to him. Gav turned and smiled at the cars behind him, a confirmation of his power, then glanced back at Joe's house. Joe stepped out of sight, changed his view. Across the road, curtains twitched. Brian was watching, too. Joe moved away from the window, sat down in the chair next to the bairn's cot and rubbed the back of his neck. They were building up to something out there, and the something was starting to look like the last scene of a monster movie, those final minutes where the locals marched on the castle with flaming torches and a lynching on their mind.

  Jesus, they were going to get themselves killed.

  He stood, left the room. Went down the stairs.

  Michelle saw him, came out of the front room. "Where you going?"

  "Out."

  "Where?"

  "I'm just going to talk to them."

  The old man appeared from the kitchen, a tab between his fingers and the eyes of a six-pint drunk. Joe wondered when he'd got home "I don't think they want to talk."

  "I don't care."

  Joe left the house in a stride, slamming the door behind him. He glanced across at Brian's house, saw the man duck behind his nets. The noise of the door must've caught Gav's attention, because he mumbled something to Phil and the pair of them turned to meet Joe as he approached.

  Phil moved his chin. "Fuck d'you want?"

  Joe ignored him. His business was with the organ grinder. "What you doing, Gav?"

  Phil moved into his eyeline. "What does it look like?"

  "I'm not talking to you."

  Moving closer, his shoulders back, Phil licked his bottom lip. A human wall. His fingers kept working at his sides. He was itching to smack something, and he obviously didn't give a shit where he started.

  "We already talked about it." Gav didn't look at him; his attention was on the Asian lad in front of the dealer house. "You didn't want nowt to do with it as I recall. If you changed your mind—"

  "No."

  "Then we got nowt to discuss."

  "You're making a mistake."

  "Noted."

  "You need my help—"

  "He already had your help, mate." Phil grinned at him. "Put him in the fuckin' hospital, didn't it?"

  "People are going to get hurt."

  "That's the point."

  "The wrong people."

  "Said yourself it's a risk you have to take." Gav looked back at the squat. The lad who'd been standing outside was gone, disappeared inside. There were other faces in the windows. "If they'd taken the fuckin' hint the first couple times, then this wouldn't be getting so messy, but there you go. But I'll tell you, you're right about one thing, Joe. This here, tonight, this has to be final. Because if we leave any of them cunts walking around, they'll try it on again."

  "What you going to do, raid the building?"

  Phil shook his head. "We're gonna smoke 'em."

  "You what?"

  Phil nodded over Joe's shoulder. One of the drivers, a broad-shouldered guy in a Hawaiian shirt was busy siphoning petrol from his cab into a bucket. Joe turned back to Phil and knew immediately whose idea this was. Phil had been waiting to wreak havoc in the most ostentatious way possible for a while.

  "What about next door?"

  "Nowt but smackheads in there."

  Gav glanced over his shoulder. "And who gives a fuck about smackheads, eh?"

  Rage flared in Joe. "You fuckin' idiots."

  "What's that?" Phil was warming up.

  Joe got in his face. "You heard. Even if you don't end up killing yourselves, you're going to make this bigger than you can handle. You burn this lot out, it won't be just them you have to deal with, it'll be the police."

  A rasping laugh from Phil. "Fuck the police."

  "You can't pull this off and not get noticed."

  Gav turned and smiled. His eyes glittered in the fading light. "Maybe I want to get noticed."

  Phil nodded. A reference to some conversation they must've had recently, some kind of long-term plan confirmed between them.

  As Gav continued, h
is voice got louder. "And maybe the fuckin' police should be thanking us. Fuckin' hell, we ever see them round here, it'll be a nice change, won't it?" There were murmurs of agreement somewhere behind Joe; the cab drivers were obviously getting warmed up too, and Gav was only too keen to stoke that fire, his tone going Scargill-strident as soon as he realised he had an audience. "This is exactly what you were talking about. This is it. This is us taking the place back for ourselves. This is Curtis fuckin' Sliwa, man, except we don't need no fuckin' satin jackets and berets to make our point that we're one, we're united, we're a fuckin' community. This is democracy in action."

  "No, it's not, Gav."

  "You got a problem, I suggest you speak to the fuckin' majority here and ask them what they think about it, and then after you can fuck off back home and hide behind your nets." Gav stepped up, edged Phil out of the way. "Because if you stay here, you're either on our side or theirs. Either way, you might get hurt, flower."

  Flower?

  "Since when did you have a pair, Gav?"

  Phil stepped in between, put hands on Joe. Joe pushed them off. Phil put them back on and shoved him. Joe caught his balance and lunged. Phil took the shove and bore down. Joe stepped back again. "Fuck d'you think you're doing?"

  "Moving you on." Phil clamped a hand on Joe's shoulder. There was strength in the hand, plenty of it, and if it'd been quick enough to grab his shoulder, it would be quick enough to switch to the throat if need be. Joe scanned Phil, sourced his potential weak spots, but did nothing. The look in Phil's eyes said he'd welcome a scrap right now. Nothing he'd like better than to slap a soldier, see how it went, and Joe might've been able to put the big lad down, but he wasn't sure about the other drivers. They were watching him with pack animal eyes.

 

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