Cleaning Up

by Paul Connor-Kearns

  Twenty minutes waiting in the alley and the fucker still hadn’t showed up. Junior fished out his mobile and rang him - it went straight to answer. They looked at each other and agreed on five more minutes then split. Junior strolled down the alley, stuck his head around the corner and looked down Oak towards the shops for a few seconds. He sauntered back up towards Pasquale shaking his head as he did so - not impressed.

  ‘Any sign of him Joon?’

  ‘He’s down there, chatting with a couple of fit looking birds, boom box going. Showing off to ‘em he is, the fucking dickhead.’

  Pasquale breathed heavily through his nose, some businessman Dwayne was proving to be. Junior irritatedly picked up his bike, ‘I’ll go and get him - for fucks sake.’

  Junior took off and turned right into the street. He watched the gap for a few moments then leaned back against the fence and looked up at the grey sky. It was a little chill today, a good job that the hoodie was fleece lined - that was his mum, always thinking ahead. He felt a warmth towards her that he hadn’t felt for quite a while, maybe he’d get her something nice for her birthday. He looked at his watch, ten more minutes had gone and Junior was not yet back. He walked down the alley and briefly stood in Oak. Junior was pointing his bike back up to the alley and Pasquale could see his impatience, his wave returned with an exasperated shrug. At last, Dwayne broke away from the chicks, all three of them laughing as he did so - Mr fucking big bollocks. Junior was already pushing the pedals, all business. The two of them had to wait another five minutes for Dwayne to climb through the fence with the packages tucked away in his shoulder bag.

  Dwayne handed the gear over and Pasquale reminded him of the agreement, ‘quick in and quick out, we agreed.’

  ‘Ease up young un, for fucks sake. All work and no fuckin’ play you are,’ Dwayne tut-tutted his exasperation at him. Junior had turned his bicycle and was already headed off down the alley, not interested in any discussion.

  ‘Some pussy would fuckin’ sort you out P,’ Dwayne told him, ‘the fuckin’ cheddar’s not fuckin’ everything son.’

  Pasquale turned his bike to see that Junior was making a skidding left towards Strickland. He stood in the saddle and hit it.

  Darrin had gone over to the folks’ place for Sunday lunch and, for the first time in a long time there was a full house of uncles, aunties and cousins, all of them eager to ask him about his role in the riot. All of them, even his hard-eyed, begrudging Aunty Beryl cooing over him and treating him like a hero. He had two hours of ‘our Darrin’ this and ‘our Darrin’ fucking that. His mum couldn’t stop beaming and his dad was twinkle-eyed proud over the pages of the Sunday Mirror.

  The old fella even got into the back and forth. ‘Tell them about the recommendation son - go on.’

  He did, he’d been put forward for recognition for his actions from both Sarge Thomas and DI Kendrick for shielding big Chev, helping him back up to his feet and then on back to the line. Just doing the job, he modestly told the clan but it felt nice to be king for a day.

  He had plenty of work to do though and the doing of it was predominantly occupying his mind and after lapping it all up he had made his excuses. It was already half past three and he was full as, truly roast dinnered and apple pied up to the fucking gills. Darrin touched his tight stomach and reminded himself to get his arse back to the gym as soon as possible.

  Mac was lying on the sofa when he got to the flat, a couple of Sunday rags on his chest, nodding along to the sounds on his iPod - probably that appalling folky shite that he was into - all that swirling mist enveloping the magic isle bollocks. He was slightly startled when Darrin walked into the room, although, to be fair, he had told Mac that he’d be there nearer five.

  Mac hadn’t seen Chris Johnstone since ‘the incident’ as Mac now called it. His brother had been in last night, out with some reasonably tasty if downmarket bird who was taking up most of his attention by fervently chewing on his earlobes as if they were a packet of pork scratchings. Biffo Pete had surprised Mac by asking him how June was going when they had briefly been stood side by side at the bar, a tacit recognition of Mac’s definitive actions near the pool table.

  As it happened June was sidelined from the op at the moment. She was working on allegations of abuse in one of the city’s many old folks’ homes, working shifts undercover in the guise of a nursing auxiliary. Mac laughed at that, ‘poor cow, adult diapers and one mile an hour walks down to the local park to feed the ducks. Must be bad, she reckoned she was even missing being in the bloody Admiral.’

  They chatted about Dalton’s new guest for a while. Mac had heard about the Saltt crew in relation to organised crime even when he was up there in Geordie land. ‘Criminal royalty they are son, if that is the right fuckin word, living proof that, for some anyways, crime can and does pay.’ Mac shook his head; the mere thought of that being the case pissed him off.

  Just before five, Darrin stood up and went to the window with Mac’s lightweight but powerful binoculars in hand. Quiet down there, no surprise that, it was a pretty shitty day weather wise, heavy, impenetrable, low cloud with on and off again rain. Dwayne was up there at his post, chatting with a couple of big breasted young wenches, music system at his feet, more of the bonobo crotch grabbing and plenty of shared laughter.

  Mac told him he was up for some fish fingers and did he want some? He blew that off, he was just over the crest of the mountain that was the digestion of his mum’s Sunday dinner.

  A youngish black kid was cycling towards Dwayne and his fan club. The kid came to a skidding halt right in front of Dwayne waving his arms around a bit. Darrin had seen him plenty of times before - it was young Junior. The two of them chatted for a little while and then Dwayne turned his attention back to the girls. Junior wasn’t interested in the flirt fest, turning his back on the group and facing the bike back up towards Strickland Road.

  A couple of minutes later Darrin caught a little flash of red at the top of his vision. Some kid was out on the street standing down towards the bottom of Oak near that little alley down there that backed on to Linden. He lifted the glasses and caught a clear view of Junior’s other half, Pasquale, the good looking mixed race kid. Pasquale animatedly waved to his mate who gave him a little return shrug of the shoulders. A few minutes passed then Dwayne broke away and said something to Junior who took off up to Oak with the other kid disappearing into the alley.

  He grabbed his coat and told Mac that he was hitting the street.

  ‘Got something son?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, Darrin was quickly out of the door with no looking back. He took the stairs in bounding strides of threes and fours, he went on out the back of the mid-rise then with a measured haste around the right hand side of the sad looking terraced houses, which abutted The Admiral car park. A couple of hundred yards at a fast paced walk and he was moving past the two girls who gave him a little look and a giggle. On past Sycamore, and his shoulder was now giving him shit every step of the way but he kept up the long striding pace. He reckoned he had a minute, at the most, to get there. Thirty yards on and he was now past Linden, only ten more yards to the alley. Junior shot out of the narrow gap pedalling hard with a grim faced focus. As close as he was, Junior hadn’t registered his approach, taking a skidding left and shooting off to Strickland, fast as the fucking wind. He turned into the alley to see the other kid barrelling towards him, only three yards away at the most. The kid yelled and hit the breaks but he took Darrin out anyway, he went down on his arse and the kid hit the wall just to his left. The kid was dazed and looked in slightly worse shape than he felt. Darrin thought he heard a bit of noise further down the alley but a quick look confirmed that there was nobody to be seen. The kid was groaning, his nose bloodied, the darker red staining the bright red of his hooded top. Darrin pushed himself up with his decent arm and collared him, as he did so he reached behind the kid’s back with his sore arm and unzipped his backpack. He picked the kid up to his feet by his collar and put t
he package in his face. ‘Gotcha you little bastard,’ he told him. The kid was pale and in shock, he didn’t look so fucking arrogant now.

  Darrin phoned it in and a squad car was up there in five minutes flat, the girls were looking down in their direction when the car pulled up and they gave him the finger when he cheerily waved at them with the package. Ten minutes later and he was booking the kid in at the station desk and then Sarge Thomas led him down to the pen and Pasquale Edwards was duly processed.

  Darrin got the mother’s home phone number from the kid but there was nobody home. The kid had given him her mobile too and he got the same deal with that. Sonny was on call that day and he arrived at the station less than half an hour after Pasquale’s paperwork had been sorted out. Sonny had caught up with him in the quiet canteen as he was nursing his second cup of tea. A sore left shin and a grazed elbow was the only damage from the collision.

  Sonny was his usual upbeat self, asking him about his old injury and then his new ones when Darrin had told him the circumstances of the arrest. Darrin finished briefing him, then he and Sonny went to the desk and asked Sarge Thomas to get the kid from the holding cell so that they could take him into the interrogation room.

  He quizzed the kid about the package but got fuck all. The kid was stupidly stoic, playing street tough, his disdain at Darrin’s questions not in sync with his eyes, which betrayed his anxiety and alarm. His gaze was darting constantly between Sonny and himself - as flighty and restless as a box full of kittens.

  After Darrin had finished, Sonny had a crack at him.

  ‘Do yourself a favour Pasquale, answer the constable’s questions, let’s make it easy for yourself. You could be looking at juvie here even though it’s your first offence. You won’t like it in there son, trust me. The refuge is Butlins in comparison.’

  But still the kid held his silence. Sonny sighed and stood up, ‘I’ll try his mum again.’

  The kid watched Sonny leave and Darrin gave him the beady once over. ‘Well, are you going to be smart Pasquale or are you just going to be another little smart arse?’

  The kid looked briefly over his shoulder over towards the door and then he met Darrin’s gaze.

  ‘I have something for you, maybe.’

  ‘OK then, wait till Sonny gets back and say it in front of him too – right?’ The kid nodded, he was up for it.

  Sonny returned in a couple of minutes, he’d gone straight through to her answer phone.

  Sonny sat back down, Darrin gave him a little ‘it’s on’ look and pushed his chin at the kid, ‘Go on then son, let’s have it.’

  The kid looked at Sonny then back to him, he gulped a couple of times then took a deep breath, ‘remember me mate M - Matthew Marshall.’ They did, and both men unconsciously edged forward on their chairs. ‘Well, I remembered a little while ago, that the day before he died he’d mentioned going to a party on the Saturday, down at the Quays,’ he said. At that Darrin felt a surge of adrenalin boot up his heart rate. He could feel the pulse in his legs. In fact, it was all he could do to stay in the fucking chair.

  ‘Go on,’ he told him.

  ‘He said a name too, yer know on the phone. Bazzer, I think it was, Bazzer Dougan. He was talking to him I think - straight up.’

  Darrin nodded to himself and looked at Sonny. He turned his attention back to the kid who was staring at the floor again.

  This time it was Sonny that broke the silence.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before Pasquale? For fucks sake! He was your friend - supposedly.’

  The kid nodded and his shoulders started to shake a little, a tear running down his cheek down to his jaw line.

  Sonny curled his mouth at him.

  ‘Who is that for then pal, for Matty or for you?’

  Darrin let the kid cry, fuck him, his mum could deal with that shit. He’d call Young, kick it upstairs see how this affected the overall picture. He voiced a silent prayer of thanks to a god that he had stopped believing in years ago and somewhere in his mind a still blurred face began to take on a little more definition.

  He got up and asked Sonny if he was OK to stay with the kid for a few minutes. Sonny nodded, well pissed off and as stony faced as an Easter Island statue, there would be no succour for the kid there either.

  Pasquale was stuck in the room for at least two more hours. Sonny and the cop had relentlessly taken it in turns, tag-teaming him with their bullshit questions. Sonny was still striving to persuade him to give it up about the package. He was trying to scare him with talk about the local juvie prison - Bolton Wood. Sonny cranked it up telling him that he had heard that a couple of local lads who’d been thrown in there for taking part in the riots had been nailed within a couples of days of being locked up. They’d had the wrong allegiance to the wrong crew and were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Both of them had been leathered and both had ended up in hospital. Sonny told him it didn’t have to be that way for him and, at that, the copper told him that maybe a leathering might do him some good. The door opened and the big sergeant had ushered his mum into the room. Sonny stood up and grabbed a chair from the corner of the room. He gave her the chair and the two men made room so that she could place herself in between Sonny and the copper. She didn’t say a word to him but her eyes never left his face. The copper took the time to outline the charge to her and all of the possible outcomes. She raised her eyebrows and nodded at him but that was it. As soon as he finished giving her the lowdown she lasered him with her eyes.

  ‘Good time to talk to us Pasquale,’ Sonny said, ‘I know you’re scared but don’t worry we can still work it out.’

  He pulled his eyes up from the scarred table and looked at her and then back to the cop who pointed to the tape.

  ‘For the record Pasquale – official.’

  And that was it he let it go - part of it anyway. He told them about Dwayne and the arrangement, he kept Junior out of it, saying he had never carried just him, which pissed off the copper and drew a snort of disbelief from his mum. Fifteen minutes or so later and that was it, all wrapped up.

  He’d be bailed to the refuge who had already been briefed about his arrest. His mum would get the summons with the date for his court appearance, which was likely to be sooner rather than later. He was given a bail notice, which explained the conditions of the bail. Sonny or one of his team would pick him up at the refuge and they would take him to report at the police station every day up until the court appearance. The copper had had a chat with his superiors and the prick had told them that he was of the opinion that Pasquale was at risk of re-offending. Therefore, he would be tagged and put under curfew. He almost launched a protest at that but kept it zipped - Sonny and his mum were ready to eat him alive. His mum left the station after signing some paperwork and Sonny was co-opted to take him back to the refuge.

  The copper led him off to get tagged and that took another hour of fucking around, which gave Sonny an excuse to leave too. Sonny took three hours to come back to the station and without any explanation or even cursory engagement walked him out to his car. The cop who collared him and the Sergeant farewelled him with a brace of stony stares that could have frozen water.

  Sonny turned to him as they walked across the car park.

  ‘Welcome to the system Pasquale.’

  They rode back to the refuge in a thick silence. No matter which way he turned, he had a sense of doors being closed in his face.

  Darrin had alerted Young and his team about the arrest and the info that the kid had spilled. The package he had grabbed from the kid had been dusted and that fucking idiot Dwayne was all over that one too. Young had hummed and hawed a little then kicked it upstairs for a decision. Word quickly came back down to bust him, pronto. It transpired that Dwayne had skipped after the kid’s arrest but there was no need for the deerstalker and pipe as the crotch grabbing plonker was found with a minimum of detective work. He was holed up at his auntie’s place in Bridgewater, which was less than five miles away fro
m the Coleshaw. A couple of cruising past bobbies had seen him strolling away from the local Chinese takeaway and had phoned it in. Detectives had picked him up at his aunts on the Monday - no mither, no fuss. He was brought to the central nick, charged and remanded in custody, no chance of Dwayne receiving bail given the charge and his priors.

  Young had licked his lips when he’d heard the kid’s drop on Bazzer. When Darrin had discussed it with him, he too, just like Mac before him, had used the word ‘jigsaw’ as a metaphor for the job. Maybe that was part of the drug squad training course. It was tenuous of course. As yet, there was no proof, only hearsay blah, blah, blah. But, given the fact that Dougan had turned up with a few barely legal lads and lasses at Dalton’s last bash, they could not avoid looking at it. Alerting Keithy Dalton to an imminent grab though, that was the team’s cause of concern, the noose was beginning to tighten on that prick and they didn’t want to fuck it up now.

  After some hastily arranged debate and no little angst the team agreed that he and Moz would have a friendly knock on Bazzer’s door. They’d bring up the specific intel’ about Matthew Marshall but not mention the parties at the Quays. The consensus was that a sniff of that and Bazzer, and probably Dalton, would fly.

  So that was it, they had a plan - Mozzer to lead in and him to ride shotgun. On the ride over Mozzer’s motor was still ponging but no better or worse than it had been a few months ago, at least Moz had a go at a clean out, only a couple of wrappers and paper cups in evidence on the back seat.

  As they meandered, dog-legged and right-angled their way close to the centre of the estate Darrin was assailed by the usual feeling of him entering a sub-world, one of a terminal dreary torpor. The estate was full of people whose lives were either in abeyance or deterioration, only upwardly mobile whenever they stepped into the Job Centre lift. Darrin had to pay due to a few outposts of tenacious citizenry, homes with well kept gardens, boxes full of flowers proudly displayed on a couple of window sills but these were anomalies and very fucking infrequent ones at that.