by A. A. Dhand
‘You want to know the reason why I didn’t?’ Harry asked.
‘Cos you’re a good brother. That’s why.’
‘No,’ Harry said. He took his eyes from Zain. Looked towards Ronnie. ‘I did it for Mum. She’s already lost one son.’
Ronnie struggled to his feet. He let out a muted cry and kept his hand over the bullet wound in his arm. ‘We both sacrificed something today.’
‘You talking about your pit bull?’
‘Blood is thicker than water. And I’m telling you, what he did to Saima? To you? I would never have cleared that. And he knew it. Which is why I didn’t know.’
‘I need to be on my feet now. I should be out there, looking for my wife. Heading to the hospital where I hope she’ll be. You want to know why I’m not?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m afraid,’ replied Harry. ‘Because ever since I killed that robber in Dad’s shop and you took the fall, I’ve had this feeling that one day, like today, karma was going to get me. And I felt it all day. From the moment I went running this morning and found Shakeel Ahmed’s body to the moment I put a bullet in his son.’
‘Life doesn’t work that way.’ Ronnie put out his hand. ‘Come on, get up. Go see that Saima is safe. I’ll take care of . . . this.’
Harry ignored Ronnie’s hand. But he did get up.
‘Hey, Harry, look, I’m not the monster you think I am. There are rules to what I do – there are ethics involved.’
‘Ethics? Ethics? Jesus, can you even hear yourself?’
‘You need to—’
‘There are three dead bodies here, Ronnie. Do you even see them?’
‘Of course I do,’ Ronnie snapped. ‘I met Colin when I was inside. He was like my brother.’ He raised his hand to stop Harry from interrupting. ‘There are things about me you don’t know, but when you give me a chance, when you see what I was trying to achieve, trying to build here – you might understand.’
‘We’re polar opposites, you and I,’ Harry replied.
‘No. We’re not. You try and clean the streets up from one end and me the other. This is about change, Harry, about Bradford and the streets. You’ve spent all this time running through them without ever realizing what the end game is.’
‘I need to see about my wife. You put her in danger. God help you if—’
‘No. Don’t you put that shit on me. You had enough warnings today to back the fuck off. You had the one thing in your possession which could have stopped this a long time ago but instead you chose to do shit your way. Like always.’ Ronnie stepped closer to Harry, aggressively. ‘It’s about time you took some responsibility for your actions.’
His breath was warm on Harry’s face and the brothers were eye to eye.
‘I judged the man who dared lay a finger on you, brother,’ Ronnie whispered. He cocked his head to one side. ‘You know the wars me and him have been through? How many times he had my back?’ Ronnie looked painfully at Reed. ‘I judged him. In an instant. Because he crossed a line. I’d hate for you to do the same thing.’
‘A threat? Really?’ Harry asked. ‘Now you want to threaten me? If I’m not mistaken, I just saved your life.’
‘Then we’re even. There’s no debts here any more. When I took the fall for what you did all those years ago? This? Here? Is the slate wiped clean.’ Ronnie stepped away. Took a few deep breaths.
‘Which slate are you looking at? There are still three dead bodies in this room.’
‘I’ll take care of that. You need to go.’
‘How are you going to clean this up?’
‘Those aren’t details you need to concern yourself with.’
Harry nodded sarcastically. ‘Bradford’s own Al Capone, huh?’
They moved away from each other, Harry to the door while Ronnie remained in the middle of the room.
‘Harry?’
Harry stopped.
‘You know I would never have put you or Saima in the middle of this, right? Tell me you believe that.’
‘I do.’ Harry didn’t turn around but pointed towards Reed’s body. ‘I do.’
‘One last thing.’
‘Go on.’
‘Something to think about, some other time . . . Jesus, Harry, would you just look at me?’
‘No.’
‘The case against you – with Pardeep. It’ll be dropped – you’re in the clear.’
‘How?’
‘He had a change of heart.’
Harry visualized Ronnie’s influence.
‘Once you’re ready to work again, I want you to work with me. Take Reed’s place.’
‘I’m leaving. You’re full of shit.’
‘Hey!’ Ronnie snapped. ‘Just give me another minute, Harry. You owe me at least that much.’
‘You have thirty seconds.’
‘Tomorrow this city will be put back two decades. But the rebuilding will start. We can change Bradford together. You clean the streets from the top and me from the bottom. We can be a force in this city, Harry. I do far more good than you realize. Give me the chance to show you. That’s all I’m asking. Tell me that when the dust settles you’ll hear me out? There is more to this than you realize. A lot more.’
‘You finished?’
‘Yes.’
‘One thing. Before I leave.’
‘What?’
Harry pointed at Lucas’s body. ‘There’s a church, top of Leeds Road. St Peter’s. Speak to Sister Clarke. Give Lucas the rites he deserves.’
Ronnie didn’t reply.
‘I’m not leaving till you give me your word.’
‘OK. I’ll make it happen.’
‘Kasam?’
‘Kasam.’
Harry walked out and slammed the door.
FORTY-EIGHT
HARRY HURRIED DOWN Toller until he got to Duckworth Lane. Police cars and ambulances were still hurtling to and from the hospital. The wound in his shoulder had stopped bleeding, but the pain was intensifying.
The drama unfolding in Bradford was obscene. Fumes strangled the air and a crescendo of sirens was constantly echoing. The shops on Duckworth Lane were closed and gangs of youths continued to run through the streets.
Harry arrived at Bradford Royal Infirmary and hurried past the police vans parked outside A & E. Ambulances were arriving in their threes and fours.
Approaching the entrance, Harry was stopped by uniformed officers dressed in riot gear. He struggled with his back pocket and removed his ID.
An officer looked at his wounds and asked if he was OK. Harry told him he’d been caught up in the rioting and pushed past into A & E reception.
The main desk was inundated with people clamouring to get information. There was also a hastily organized triage area where new arrivals were being assessed.
Harry hurried to the end of the corridor. This was Saima’s department; she had only finished work a fortnight before, working almost to her due date. He pushed past several injured patients, some with bandages around their heads, others with blood-splattered clothes.
He made it to the staff room and tried to hammer on the door. But the first time he hit it, pain pulsed through his shoulder. Harry kicked the door, shaking it from its hinges, but there was no answer. Everyone was on the shop floor.
Harry headed towards the minor injuries department, clutching his shoulder. He saw one of the consultants Saima worked with. He was dressed casually and the only thing which revealed his position was the name badge hanging around his neck. He’d obviously been called into the crisis at short notice. ‘Hey! Chris!’
Chris looked towards Harry and gasped at his bloodstained clothing. ‘Harry?’
‘Saima? Is she here?’
Chris hurried towards Harry and chaperoned him away from the nursing station. ‘Harry, what the hell happened to you?’ he asked, noting the wound in his shoulder.
‘Nothing,’ said Harry, ‘just a few scratches from the rioting. Saima, is she here?’
‘Yes.�
��
Harry grabbed hold of Chris, digging his fingers into his arms. ‘Thank Christ.’
Chris removed Harry’s hands and led him back towards the staff room.
‘Where is she? Is she OK?’ Harry was silently running through every prayer he could remember.
They entered the staff room and Chris closed the door. ‘Harry, what happened tonight?’
‘Never mind that. Saima, is she OK?’
Chris’s expression changed. He nodded at first and then told Harry to sit down.
‘Chris, don’t treat me like an idiot. I want clean, fast answers. Is my wife all right? The baby?’
‘She was brought here about an hour ago. She . . . was in a bad way, Harry. We’re not sure what happened, whether she fell or was assaulted but she’d suffered some internal bleeding.’
‘Where is she? I need to see her.’
‘She was in labour, Harry, and I mean well on the way. But she wasn’t conscious so we had to arrange an emergency C-section.’
‘Where?’
‘Fifth floor.’
Harry moved past him.
‘No, wait—’
But Harry had already opened the door and was running towards the lift.
‘Harry? Harry?’ Chris shouted but it was no use.
The lift was out of order so Harry took the stairs. By the time he made it to the fifth floor, he was starting to feel faint and black dots were flickering across his eyes.
He paused and leaned against the handrail. The world was shifting, walls moving from side to side.
Harry made it to the maternity ward and pressed the buzzer. A female voice asked who he was and then released the electronic door.
Harry was slow getting to the counter, each step increasingly difficult. The ward felt intensely stuffy and the lights were dimmed. Another bout of dizziness swept through his head.
‘Saima Virdee.’ Harry put his bloody hands on the counter and struggled to calm his breathing. ‘My wife?’
The nurse was shocked at his appearance and asked him for ID.
Harry handed it over and asked about Saima again.
‘This way,’ she said and asked him if he was all right.
Harry nodded and followed her, struggling to keep up. She led him to a family room, telling him a doctor would be with him shortly.
‘Is she all right?’ Harry snapped. ‘Tell me that much at least.’
‘I’ve only just come on shift, Mr Virdee,’ she replied and left him alone.
There was a water cooler in the corner and Harry poured himself a cup. He wiped sweat from his temple, downed the water and poured some more.
‘Mr Virdee?’
He turned around to see a short balding doctor in blue scrubs by the doorway.
‘Doctor.’ Harry hurried towards him. ‘Please, just tell me what’s going on. Is my wife OK?’
The doctor stepped back apprehensively as he took in Harry’s appearance, but Harry dismissed his concern, urging him for details about Saima.
‘She’s asleep. You can’t disturb her. Please, Mr Virdee, I need you to sit down.’
Harry took a seat, positioning himself on the edge so he could lean closer to the medic.
‘Are you sure you are all right, Mr Virdee?’ He looked pointedly at Harry’s bloodstained clothing.
‘Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine,’ Harry snapped. ‘Please—’
‘My name is Mr Woollard. I’m the on-call surgeon. Your wife was admitted an hour ago. We’re not sure what happened but she had suffered some trauma, either a fall or an assault.’
Harry nodded, keenly focused on the doctor’s every word. ‘That’s what the consultant told me.’
‘She was in the late stages of labour and we were forced to do a C-section.’
‘I know. The baby?’
‘Fine. Healthy baby boy. Seven pounds.’
‘A boy? We were having a girl.’
The doctor smiled. ‘Scans are never one hundred per cent accurate.’
Harry put his hands on the doctor’s arms. ‘A son.’
The doctor nodded and reluctantly continued. ‘I’m afraid the prognosis for your wife isn’t as clear-cut, Harry.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m afraid Saima is in an induced coma at the moment and until we feel she is safe, we are going to keep her that way.’
‘Coma? Why? What happened?’
‘We’re not sure. She was in a bad state when we found her. She had lost a lot of blood and the C-section was complicated. She became distressed in surgery and her vital signs became critical.’
‘Is she going to be all right?’
‘We don’t know, Mr Virdee. I’m afraid that’s really up to her now. Saima’s survival is in her own hands.’
FORTY-NINE
IT TOOK TWO full days for the fires to stop burning in Bradford. The city was again under the scrutiny of the world’s media and, once again, for all the wrong reasons.
An investigation was under way – how had lessons of 2001 not been learned? George Simpson had taken immediate retirement. Harry didn’t blame him.
This was a mess which would take years to unravel.
There was no mention of Lucas Dwight, Colin Reed or Zain Ahmed in the papers.
Soon enough, Zain’s disappearance would be probed. The other two? Harry didn’t know.
Harry thought about Ronnie. About the crematorium he owned. How bodies disappeared without investigation.
Harry wondered if Sister Clarke had buried Lucas.
Would she raise the condition of his body with the media? He didn’t think so. She had been protective of Lucas and one thing was for certain: Harry’s last meeting with her had ensured she knew Lucas was not culpable. He had returned her car, given her money for the wing mirror and simply told her that Lucas had passed away. That his body would be returned to her, to do with as she pleased.
The destruction of Shakeel Ahmed’s businesses had been seen as a hate crime.
Strangely, Martin Davis’s body had been found at one of Ahmed’s restaurants, cementing the theory that the BNP were behind the anarchy. Harry wondered how Ronnie had pulled that off.
Bradford’s destruction was being treated as a race riot, similar to those in 1995 and 2001.
Misdirection.
The story of Ronnie Virdee’s life.
Harry was at the hospital, visiting intensive care. He had received an early-morning phone call that Saima was improving.
There were twelve patients on the ward, all with bleeping monitors by their beds. The windows were sealed and the humidity was uncomfortable. The sister in charge smiled warmly and led him to Saima’s side room. Harry held his son in his right arm. His left was in a sling.
Saima was hooked up to three different monitors. The tube in her mouth had been removed and she was breathing on her own. Harry had been handed a bag with Saima’s belongings when he’d first visited. Now, he removed his mother’s slippers from it and placed them at the foot of the bed.
Saima was all about superstitions. Maybe it was finally getting to Harry.
He sat down by the bed. The monitors continued beeping in synchrony with her breathing. Saima’s face looked anaemically pale.
‘Hey,’ he whispered.
She didn’t respond.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘the last time we spoke, we were standing underneath the moon. I should have sacrificed that day, not you.’ Her eyelids were fluttering and she looked as though she would open them at any moment.
Harry leaned across and kissed her clammy forehead. He manoeuvred their son on to the bed, placing him by Saima’s body. Harry lifted her hand and rested it on their son’s skin.
‘Typical for us. Nothing is ever simple. We’ve got a gorgeous healthy little Virdee. He’s got your green eyes, Saima. If you don’t wake up, I’m going to name him Harrydeeppreet-Singh the twenty-fifth.’
Saima’s hand moved at the touch of her baby. He let out a whi
mper and her hand moved a little more.
Then, after forty-eight hours of medically-induced coma, Saima Virdee opened her eyes.
Harry was in the family room while the nurses gave Saima a bed-bath. He had left their son asleep in a cot by her side. Saima hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him. She was weak and the extent of her injuries wasn’t yet known. Harry had started to breathe again. He had spent two dark nights terrified that he would lose her. That his life would fracture and he would be left alone.
There was a gentle knock on the door.
‘Harry?’
He didn’t need to look to know who it was. Harry turned around, away from the window. His brother was standing in the doorway.
‘Not allowed flowers in intensive care,’ Harry said. ‘Infection control.’
Ronnie stepped inside and put the bunch of yellow and white roses on the table. ‘I heard she’s awake?’
‘Is there anywhere you don’t have snitches?’
Ronnie shook his head. ‘I called, Harry. Have done every day.’
‘You’re not welcome.’
‘I know.’
Ronnie’s right arm was hanging deadweight by his side. Harry pointed at it.
‘Fine,’ Ronnie replied. ‘No lasting damage. Will take a while.’
Harry turned away. Back towards the window.
Ronnie closed the door. ‘Listen—’
‘You’re not welcome. Didn’t you hear me?’
‘I’ve some things I need to say.’
‘Want to lighten your conscience?’
‘Yes.’
‘Figures.’
Ronnie moved closer. ‘Give me five minutes? Then I’m gone. For ever if you want.’
‘Get on with it.’
Ronnie reached his side. They looked out across the city. The rioting was no more but the darkness somehow remained.
‘Was it worth it?’ Harry asked.
Ronnie didn’t answer.
‘Lucas?’
‘As you requested.’
‘Zain?’
‘Gone.’
‘Same place as Reed?’
‘Similar.’
Harry sighed. ‘Fucked if I know where we go from here.’
‘That’s why I’ve come.’
‘Penance?’
‘I prefer rehabilitation. How’s . . . the kid?’ Ronnie asked.