City of Sinners

by Dhand, A. A.

  ‘Do you know Bradford? I mean, before this shit happened?’

  ‘Every Asian man knows Bradford. Doesn’t take long to find a relative or family friends in this city.’

  ‘It’s not like anywhere else. It’s … I don’t know, sort of like Gotham. You’ve got to stay in the shadows sometimes, become the city. Understand its energy, the good and the bad. And there’s some dark times to come, maybe darker than we’ve ever known. But after that – it’s all about moving forwards. Winning. And that’s when we’ll revisit this conversation. Can you live with that?’

  Tariq stood up, put his hands in his pocket and looked around the canal. ‘I guess I’ll have to, Harry.’

  He turned and put his hand out.

  Harry stood up and shook it.

  ‘I’ve got you covered,’ said Tariq. ‘Adnan’s history won’t ever get connected to Saima or to you.’

  ‘You’re a good man,’ replied Harry.

  ‘No. I’m not. At least, not in the conventional sense. I’m aiming for the top position in politics and I’m pretty certain this … bond, let’s call it, that we have forming here, is the start of something useful.’

  Harry’s eyes narrowed, both men analysing each other hard.

  ‘Have a safe trip back to London,’ said Harry.

  Tariq let go of his hand and smiled.

  ‘So long, Harry Virdee. Till we meet again.’

  Harry watched him leave.

  Had he just made a powerful ally or was he now a pawn in something he was yet to fully understand?

  Time, it seemed, would tell.

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  SITTING IN THE quiet of Ronnie’s cash-and-carry, Harry was on edge. The workers had left for the evening, leaving the brothers alone in the office.

  ‘How’s Saima?’ asked Ronnie. ‘Is she coping?’

  You’ll owe me, Harry.

  That’s why they were here. The favour Harry had committed to. One he had to keep.

  ‘She’s doing okay. It’ll take time. I had to tell her about us.’

  Ronnie raised an eyebrow. ‘Everything?’

  Harry smiled ruefully. ‘If I told her everything, she’d never believe it. She knows about what happened in the corner shop and about your real business interests.’

  Ronnie sighed and chewed his lip. ‘Complicates things, Harry.’

  ‘You helped save her life and Aaron’s. As far as she’s concerned, you’re a hero. We spoke about the truth and then, as Mum used to say, poured dirt in the grave.’

  ‘So, she knows what? That I distribute drugs?’

  ‘Yes. And that’s all.’

  ‘At least you don’t have to hide it from her now. Because the family is going to unite, Harry. And it starts right here. Right now.’

  Ronnie handed Harry a detailed folder, full of official-looking articles and statistics. He sat down in a large, executive leather chair and beckoned for Harry to do the same.

  ‘Government’s broke. Cuts to policing, NHS and every area of spending,’ said Ronnie.

  Harry was confused. ‘What’s this got to do with us?’ he said, only giving the file a cursory glance.

  ‘There’s six months of work in your hands. A blueprint for the future.’

  Harry rested the file in his lap and waited for Ronnie to explain.

  ‘Drug crime is at an all-time high. Politicians cannot hide it any more. Ninety per cent of the services for addiction have closed, leaving addicts with nowhere to go except back to the streets. Crime pays for them to use the drugs and round and round we go. Puts a strain on everything. Finally, Whitehall is about to give the greenlight to a trial, starting in Bradford. Legalizing heroin through registered outlets. I’ve been working with some people high up the food chain, all very hush-hush. Sensitive matters.’

  Harry stared at Ronnie in disbelief.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. You know what I’m saying is true. We legalize it, make the supply pure and remove the criminal element. Everybody wins. Pressures on policing, health and social mobility all ease. We’re looking nationally at overall savings of billions and it starts here. In Bradford.’

  Harry knew that, for some time now, conversations had been spiking about the legalization of drugs. It was a war the government was never going to win.

  ‘Pure heroin isn’t any more dangerous than booze,’ said Ronnie, pointing behind Harry towards the shadows of the cash-and-carry. ‘At least with alcohol, the government coffers are lined.’

  Harry placed the file on the desk. ‘What does it have to do with me?’

  ‘The trial needs to work and it will, but there’s one problem. The Europeans making inroads into this city. Darker animals than me. Those boys drop bodies like confetti. You know what I’m talking about. HMET’s body count was at an all-time high last year.’

  ‘Argh, shit, I know what’s coming,’ Harry said, resigned.

  He grimaced and scratched the stubble on his face.

  Ronnie took the file from the desk, opened it and removed the very first page, a large colourful graph. He held it up for Harry to see.

  ‘We’re looking at a seventy per cent reduction in crime. A twenty per cent reduction in the strain on NHS services. Fuck me, that’s a lottery win for this city. But I need to flush these European bastards out of Bradford and, so far, I’m struggling to find out who they are. We remove them – we win. I get out of the illegal drug trade, into a legal supply route and we create history. As long as I can prove it works, the rest of the UK will follow. Might take years, but it will happen. We create a legacy which will never be forgotten. It’s what Tara wanted – change for this city and to make a difference. And it’s what you wanted – me out of the game. This way we all win.’

  Harry stood up and turned to stare into the gloom of the cash-and-carry. He approached the window and stood, hands in pockets, head bowed.

  ‘Still like to stand by the window to think?’ asked Ronnie.

  ‘Mmm,’ replied Harry.

  He’d promised Ronnie and couldn’t renege.

  Yet this was far from simple.

  Harry had dealt with over a dozen murders in the past eighteen months, all connected to a new breed of European criminal. Like Ronnie had said, these guys thought nothing of dropping a body.

  Harry heard Ronnie come towards him, both brothers now side by side, looking into the shadows of the warehouse.

  ‘Once they realize Bradford is going to legalize a trial of heroin, they’ll want to come for the guy arranging the supply. Ensure it never happens. They’ll put everyone I care about in danger. It’s how they work. No boundaries. I want us all back together and this way, it can happen. We take out the garbage, get our hands dirty one last time and after that, we go legit.’

  Ronnie put his arm around Harry. ‘That’s what I want from you. One final time. Help me and Enzo take these guys out. You work from the top, us from the bottom and, in a year’s time, we’ll change this city and our family’s futures for ever.’

  Harry looked at Ronnie now, eyes narrowed, jaw tense.

  ‘I want you out of this life once and for all. I want my family back together. And you know I always repay my debts. I’ll do this with you. One last time,’ he said quietly, now turning to face his brother. ‘Like you said: once it’s done, Bradford will finally turn that corner.’

  Harry embraced Ronnie tightly, feeling both hopeful and at the same time, apprehensive.

  One year. One team. One fight they had to win.

  EPILOGUE

  STANDING ALONE BY his father’s body, Harry stared at the monitors bleeping by the hospital bed.

  Blood pressure: 100/55.

  Pulse: fifty.

  It was late, there was nobody else around.

  Another day where Ranjit Virdee had neither woken up nor passed on.

  Limbo.

  Harry knew what Limbo felt like.

  He paced the room.

  He’d made a promise to his wife.

  ‘If you touch my feet,
I will be forced to cut them off,’ whispered Harry. He wasn’t sure he could keep it.

  Looking over at his father, anger burned deep in his chest. But there was something else too, something softer.

  He took off his jacket, hung it over the door to the room, blocking the view through the small square window so that no one passing would see what was about to happen. Harry rolled up his sleeves and took a cushion from behind his father’s head.

  ‘That is some poison you have in your heart for me, Dad,’ he said, shaking his head.

  Holding the pillow in his hand, Harry squeezed it hard. ‘But these things need to be done.’

  Harry ran the tap in the sink, filling a plastic jug with warm water. He grabbed a towel, stood by the foot of the bed and pulled the bedsheet back from his father’s feet. He lifted them and placed the cushion underneath.

  ‘I came here to say so many things, Dad. Now I’m here, there doesn’t seem much point.’

  Harry poured a little water over his father’s feet, grabbed a bar of soap from the sink and gently washed them.

  He took his time, making sure they were fully lathered before pouring warm water from the jug over them, the pillow absorbing the water, stopping it from soaking the mattress.

  Harry dried his father’s feet, again taking his time, and left them exposed.

  ‘When a son loses a father, he’s supposed to wash the body. Purify it before it is cremated. And whilst we might not be there yet, if it does happen, you wouldn’t want me to honour you that way.’

  Harry backed off, stood by the wall, looking at his father and not retreating to the window which is where he wanted to be.

  ‘I didn’t do this off my own back,’ said Harry. ‘Saima asked me to. My way – no, our way of saying we forgive you. We get it. You can’t change. It’s too late in the day, you’re too long in the tooth – you pick your cliché.’

  Harry stepped forward and put his hands on his father’s feet. ‘Never did touch yours every morning.’ Harry shook his head slowly. ‘Dad, I’ve spent all this time hating you for what you did to me but I realize … I did it to you, too. To us all. For that – only for that, mind – I am sorry,’ said Harry, squeezing his father’s feet gently. ‘But I’ll never be sorry for marrying Saima. She came in here to try to show you how good she is. That she is worthy of your love. You gave her your poison. Yet, still, she asked me to do this. Because if you don’t recover, she doesn’t want me to feel the pain of knowing that the last thing I should have done for you, washing your body, I couldn’t.’

  Harry removed the pillow from under his father’s feet and placed it on the floor under the bed. He grabbed his jacket, pulling it on slowly over his wounded arm.

  ‘If you do die tonight, I’m certain that wherever you go, you will see that I made the right choice.’

  Harry dimmed the light in the room.

  ‘But if you decide to wake up, that’s okay too. Because I’m done with the pain, Dad. I’m done with the past. I’m done with you.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Huge thanks to former DCI Stephen Snow for his time and help in assisting with the procedural aspects of this novel. Any errors are mine, sacrificing protocol for drama! Seriously, mate, you really supported me on this and I’m massively grateful.

  Dr Louise Mulcahy, for some pointers with the finer details of post-mortems. Once again, any errors are solely mine in the pursuit of pace and drama.

  Dr Seirian Sumner (@waspwomen) for entertaining my (many) bizarre queries to do with wasps. Your knowledge of these fascinating insects is incredible and I will admit to shifting my views from ‘uneasy’ to ‘interested’. I am really very thankful for your input.

  Phil Williams for allowing me to fuse reality with fiction. I do hope you are never faced with such a scenario as happens in the book, but you can always call on Harry!

  To my brilliant editor, Darcy Nicholson, for your passionate support. We’ve worked really hard on this and I’m proud to have you on my team. You are my secret weapon in a fiercely competitive market. To the Transworld family – every link in the chain is vital and as important as the writing itself. I’m privileged to have such a talented unit on my side.

  To my agent, Simon Trewin and WME, for their continual support and encouragement.

  To writing friends who have become a second family: Ayisha Malik, Abir Mukherjee, Vaseem Khan, Imran Mahmood and Alex Caan for being ‘there’ and championing everything we are all trying to achieve; there isn’t a cliché in sight and long may it continue!

  To my friend Vinod Lalji, for the constant encouragement. You never, ever allow me to waver from the objective and keep me on-point.

  To my family, for their continued understanding and support when I am stressed, busy, unsociable, late, moody and all the other things you’ve become accustomed to when I’m in ‘writing-mode’.

  Final words (as always) for my wife; we started this together and we continue it together. I write the books for you; a dream which became reality and a reality which transcended our expectations. So, keep doing what you do; it makes me do what I do.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A. A. Dhand was raised in Bradford and spent his youth observing the city from behind the counter of a small convenience store. After qualifying as a pharmacist, he worked in London and travelled extensively before returning to Bradford to start his own business and begin writing. The history, diversity and darkness of the city have inspired his Harry Virdee novels.

  Also by A. A. Dhand

  STREETS OF DARKNESS

  GIRL ZERO

  For more information on A. A. Dhand

  and his books, see his website at www.aadhand.com

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

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  Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

  First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Bantam Press

  an imprint of Transworld Publishers

  Copyright © A. A. Dhand 2018

  Cover design by Stephen Mulcahey/TW

  Photographs: Silhouette © Arcangel; background © Alamy

  A. A. Dhand has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473559516

  ISBN 9780593080498

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

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