“Mossie told me you had a hard time. Lost your job, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“You a good lad, eh? Live with your mum and dad?”
“No chance.”
“You got kids? Wife? Bird?”
I thought of Ali. Felt a squirt of sadness in my chest. Tears under my lids.
“I got nothing.”
Paterson had told me I had to be a good actor. I hardly needed to act when it came to telling Raz my sob story. I looked him in his lazy eye and let it all gush out. My mum, the home. Frank and his boxing ring. Learning to fight. Fighting. Getting in shit.
I didn’t tell him about Leanne and Ali, but all that other stuff was enough to be getting on with. I clenched my fists and fought back the tears. I’d worried about not doing a good job of bullshitting like this, but a funny thing happened. It felt real.
Raz reached down beside him and bashed a fist through the top of one of the boxes. He rustled around and brought out a bag of Monster Munch. Ripped it open and stuffed a fistful of the crispy chunks in his gob.
He narrowed his eyes as he was chewing. Peered right at me. “What about your dad?” he said.
Again, no acting needed.
“Never met him, Raz mate,” I said.
He looked me in the eye. “Wish you had?” he said.
“Yeah. Wish I could meet him now. I’d rip his knob off.”
I held his gaze as he gobbled the crisps. He spoke again through a sticky gobful of splodge.
“So you never knew who you really was, or where you was from.”
“Yeah I do. I’m Azo Coke. I’m a Scouser.”
“Aren’t we all, la’. But you feel like you got no dad. No home.”
I kept my act up. Fixed this look on my face, like I hated everything. Like I wanted to tear it down. I said it again and meant it.
“I got nothing.”
That’s what he was after. He swallowed the last of the Monster Munch, blew up the bag and popped it.
“That’s good,” he said. Then twisted his face into a smile. “I mean, what’s good is you got a fresh start now, eh?”
“Have I?”
“You like working here?”
“Don’t know. Just started.”
“Where did you work last?”
“Pepper Pizzas off Scottie Road.”
“What happened?”
“I went down, didn’t I. For duffing up some racist shit.”
Raz raised his chin. His green eyes caught the light.
“What he say to you?” he asked.
“Same old. Go back where I came from.”
He nodded slowly. Blinked. His tongue lashed out sideways at a scrap of crisp in his beard.
“And how’d that make you feel?” he said.
“Fuck off.”
“Come’ ead, Azo lad. You can talk to me. When they said that. How’d it feel?”
I kicked my heels and played it all angry.
“Wanted to pan his head in, didn’t I. I did, didn’t I.”
Raz smiled to himself. He clasped his fists in a mace like he was praying. He was quiet for a bit.
“I know a lot of lads like you,” he said at last. “Jumped. Fired. Dicked on. Want to fight all the time. I understand that. Stick with me, la’. I’m going to help you.”
“I’m not some div who needs help.”
“Well maybe I need your help too.”
I nodded towards the front where Mossie was at the till. “He doesn’t like me. I’m not a believer.”
He shrugged. “Me neither.”
“Why’s Mossie here then?”
“He needs hard-knocks like you and me, la’. He’d not get far on his own.”
“But we’re not believers, are we?”
He sniggered. His sloppy toothy gob. His eyes sparkled.
“Speak for yourself, la’. I believe in lots of things. Stick with me. I’ll make you believe them too.”
I frowned at him. “Why do you want to help me?”
His twisted smile. “I like you, Azo,” he said. “Thirty years ago I was sitting where you are now. Lost. Angry.”
“How did you sort yourself out?”
He leaned forward, straightened his knees and stood up. “Went on a journey, la’. Learned to fight. Learned to think. Grew clever. Grew strong. Came back. Never the same.”
He opened his fist and let the screwed-up crisp bag fall to the carpet. He stuffed a hand in his pocket, brought out car keys and dropped them in my lap.
11
“So you’re his driver now?” Paterson said.
Midnight. I was in bed in my flat, under the blanket, holding the Nokia to my ear.
“He lost an eye. He needs someone to drive him.”
“Keep talking.”
I told him all about my day. I’d spent hours in Raz’s old white Astra. Drove him out to Warrington and sat at the wheel waiting while he called in on “friends”. Raz hadn’t told me what he was up to. Looked like nothing to do with the shop. I didn’t ask. Didn’t say nothing. Just fixed it all in my head till I could call Paterson. He lapped it up.
He wanted to know all about Raz. Where he went, when. Street names. Times. Was he armed? Not that I could tell.
“Well, keep an eye out,” Paterson said. “He will be.”
I gave him the number of the Astra.
“Thank you, squire,” he said when he’d noted it. “And well done on your backstory. Your man Mossie dropped by the old pizza place to check out if it was true. Seems it all stood up.”
“Mossie went there? How do you know?”
“A little pigeon cooed it into my ear.”
“Oh aye. Got a lot of them, have you?”
“All over town, though you wouldn’t know them. Don’t be jealous, Azo. That’s how this works.”
“So you’ve got a whole little slave army of twats like me?”
“There’s no one quite like you, Azo.”
I sighed. “So where’s all this leading?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you.”
“Can I see my boy?”
“You know the rules, lad. Stay where you are. Keep your eye on Raz. And stay in touch.”
I couldn’t stop thinking of Ali. I missed kicking the ball with him in North Park. Taking him to his swimming class. Every time I asked Paterson about seeing him, he farted us around.
Raz had said I could have Sunday off. That was Ali’s swimming day.
12
I got to the baths at quarter to eleven. Used to take Ali there myself. I’d stand in the water with him as he chugged around in his armbands. We’d sit at the poolside after and eat Nik-Naks from the machine.
I didn’t have a plan for when he and his mum came out. Wasn’t safe to go near Leanne. She might call the filth.
One thing I was even more scared of though. Seeing Ali. Scared he’d not remember his dad. Or he would, and he’d hate me. All those weeks away. God knew what she’d been filling his head with. I wondered if anyone had told him I was a killer. Wondered what a three-year-old kid would make of that.
There was a patch of grass round the side of the pool building. Couple of swings. I sat on one of them and lit a fag. Held the chain in one hand and smoked with the other. Kicked myself back and forth, keeping an eye on the path to the front gate. If anyone came out of the baths, I’d see them from behind.
I could hear the shrieks and splashes from inside the pool. The next class had started. Ali would be done.
Another ciggie to calm me down. I was grinding it out in the grass when people started coming out. Mums and dads and kids in pushchairs. Down the path and through the gate they went, peeling off left and right and lining up at the bus stop.
At last I saw him. Running down the path, fanning his coat out behind him like Batman.
I held my breath, waiting for Leanne to come out. But she never did. Someone else came instead. A taller figure walked slowly along the path and caught up with Ali at the gate.
; I swore softly to myself, with a big grin on my face. I saw the old blue anorak and yellow BMX cap.
Frank.
He never let me down, the soppy old twat. What would he say to me now, though? What would he do? Last time I saw him he was turning his back on me in that cell. I was wary of him now. You could never take him for granted. Frank and his code.
I hopped off the swing and followed them out the gate. Got to a few yards behind them, staring at the back of Frank’s anorak. His arm round Ali’s shoulder.
They stopped at the bus shelter and sat on the bench to wait.
I walked up to them. Frank was sitting, pretending to steal Ali’s nose. Ali was jumping up and down and laughing. They’d not looked my way yet.
I stood right by them and watched. My hands in my trackie pockets. Knot in my chest.
Time went slow for a second.
“Alright Frank,” I said. “Alright Ali, lad.”
Ali looked up at me and smiled. Shy. At least he remembered me. Least he wasn’t running away.
I met Frank’s eye.
He looked me up and down. Took his cap off and smoothed his tufts of hair. Looked me in the eye again and nodded.
I squatted down next to Ali.
“What you been doing lad?” I said. “Been swimming?”
He nodded quickly, smiled shyly. Looked the other way.
“Did this old knobhead buy you crisps?” I said, pointing at Frank. “Or shall we beat him up and take his money?”
I ruffled Ali’s hair and pulled his hood down. He gave a gurgly laugh.
“Come ’ead,” I said. “Let’s do it.” I stooped and tickled his tummy.
Ali chuckled and shook me off.
“We ’ad Nik-Naks,” he said.
“Well thank God for that.” I tickled him harder. “You going to give us a hug then?”
He put his arms round my neck. I wrapped my arms about him, lifted him off the bench and stood there squeezing. The sound of his breath. Clean bleachy smell of him. His wet hair on my cheek. Relief, plus something else. Happiness. Sadness. Don’t know. It felt boss.
I sat down beside Frank. Held Ali on my knee and tickled him again. He couldn’t stop laughing now. We watched their bus come and go.
Frank looked at me. Still suss. Waiting, like he did.
“Can’t stay long, Frank,” I said. “Got to keep my head down.”
“You on the run now?”
“Nah. I’m alright. But they don’t let me out much.”
“They let you out today. Whoever they are.”
“Day off.”
This miffed look on his face. “Day off from what?” he said. “You working?”
I’d never thought of it like that. “Yeah,” I said.
He kept his eyes fixed on me. “And?”
I lit another fag and handed one to Frank with the lighter. I’d known it was going to be tricky. But I owed Frank something. He’d kept up his side. He’d looked after Ali. Made sure I wasn’t forgotten. I was there now, wasn’t I. I’d broken Paterson’s rules already.
I took a big drag. “I’m working for the pigs,” I tell him. “I’m a grass.”
“You blagging me?”
“No.”
Frank frowned. “On who?” he said. “You don’t know anyone worth grassing.”
I’d told Frank more than I should.
“Come ’ead,” he said. “Who?”
“Don’t ask. You’ll get me in trouble.”
“Oh, right, yeah. Trouble.”
He glared at me.
“Are you on drugs?” he said.
I gave him my bicep to feel. I put Ali down, leapt up and did five chin-ups, hanging from the bus stop roof. Ali liked that. Wanted to do some himself. I lifted him up to the roof and helped him try. Grunting and chuckling, the two of us. Then I panicked, afraid someone’d see me. I put him down and we sat back on the bench.
Frank sat there, thinking. Bee in his bonnet.
“Alright, Usain Bolt,” he said. “No drugs. What then?”
“Told you. I’m working for the pigs. Undercover.”
“So which rozzer you grassing to? Mather? Dyson?”
“You don’t know him.”
“Don’t tell me it’s counter-terror.”
“Can’t tell you no more, Frank mate,” I said, and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’d have to kill you.”
He shrugged again and puffed his ciggie. “Least you’ve not lost your balls.”
Ali was standing in front of me, punching my knees. I grabbed him and hugged him to me.
We watched another bus come and go. Ali started play-fighting, hopping about and cuffing me in the kidneys. Frank leaned in and fixed his stance. Showed him how to balance and jab. Ali tried it on me but I tickled him till he gave in. I handed him the Nokia to play with but he didn’t want it. He was too used to his mum’s smartphone.
I chatted to Frank about this and that. The ring. The Grace. Leanne. I said should we go have a cup of tea or sit on the swings. Frank said no. Too risky. Leanne’s friends might be around. We stayed at the bus stop.
Frank looked at his watch. An hour had gone by. Leanne would be wondering where they were.
“When do you get a day off again?” Frank asked me.
“Don’t know. This time next week?”
“Meet us again.”
He winked at me. A rush of blood to my heart. A wink was all it took. He was still on my side.
I kissed Ali goodbye. Kissed Frank too, on his shiny noggin. He flinched, tried to block. Failed. Smiled. Slapped my cheek.
“Next Sunday then?” I said.
Frank nodded. “We’ll go somewhere no one’ll see you.”
“I can tell you more next time. About what I’m up to. Who knows, I might even be done.”
“We’ll have a retirement party for you,” he said. “You can take Ali swimming.”
“Nice one.”
“Careful lad. Wherever it is you’re going. I can’t help you.”
“Better learn to look after myself then, eh?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’d better.”
13
No sign of Mossie at the shop next morning. His Honda was gone. Raz let me in and handed me the keys to the Astra.
“Where to, then?” I said.
“Litherland.”
I shat myself.
Too close to my old place. God knew who I might meet. The pizza guys. The mates and rellies of the dead lad. Even Leanne sometimes popped up there. Paterson never told me what to do if that happened. It was for me to work out, he said.
We took Upper Parly then drove through town. Out again up Scottie Road and into Bootle. Up behind the Strand. I crapped myself whenever we stopped at lights. Watched people crossing, wondering if someone’d clock me. Breathed again when I turned off east, up the A-road, over a roundabout.
Litherland.
Raz made me turn left. Pocket of wealth. Trees lining the road. Big houses. He had me park by one. Big old red-brick job. Curly iron gate and bushy front garden.
“This your place?” I said.
“Ay.” He grinned. “Lord o’ the manor!” He chuckled and slapped me on the shoulder. Hopped out. Squeaked the gate and went up the garden path.
I stepped out my side and locked the Astra. Saw the red Honda parked across the street.
I walked after Raz through the gate. Ducked the bushes and ivy along the path to the front porch.
Mossie was there on the front doorstep. He was all dressed up for something. Long shirty dress under his cord jacket. Baggy trousers.
Raz patted him on the shoulder and slapped his cheek. Well done for something. He turned to me as I reached the porch.
“Alright Azo, la’. Me and Mossie going out.”
“Eh? Where?”
“Need to know. Need you stay here. Take care the lad.”
“Lad?”
“Hanzi.”
“You what?”
Raz pointed inside the house.
“Sit with him,” he said. “Watch telly. Make sure he don’t break anything.”
He’d never told me babysitting was part of the job. I didn’t whinge though. Thought of Paterson. Had to try and make the most of it.
“When are you back?” I asked Raz.
No answer. They were off down the path and crossing the street to the Honda.
I stepped into the house and shut the front door behind me.
Not much to it inside. High ceilings, old wooden staircase. No varnish. No carpet. Bare plaster on the walls. Hall with doors off it. Under the stairs, a smaller cellar door, locked.
I went in the back room.
He was sat there in an old armchair with the telly on. He wasn’t watching it. He was staring out the window at the trees.
Little lad. About ten, eleven. Anorak on, like he’d just got there. Bit of dried noodle down the front.
He turned and glanced at me when I walked in. Right glum look on his gob. He turned back to the window.
“Alright mate,” I said.
Nothing.
I sat down on the sofa. Crappy old thing with broken springs. I sank right down into it.
“You not hot in that coat?” I said.
He looked at me with round black eyes. Blank. He looked at my feet.
I said it again, pointing at my own jacket. He looked down. Brushed off the scrap of noodle. Kept his coat on.
I looked around me. Saw a kitchen through the door. Table, sink. Kettle. Spar bag with shopping.
“You want something to eat, mate?” I said. “Cup of tea?”
I found the gizmo and turned down the telly.
“Do you speak English, lad?” I said. “English?”
He stared at me for a sec then looked back at the window.
I went in the kitchen and looked in Mossie’s Spar bag. Tea, milk. Penguin bickies. I put the kettle on and washed out some mugs.
When the tea was ready I took it through to Hanzi. Put it down with a bowl of sugar lumps and a Penguin. He opened the wrapper. As he was munching it, I tiptoed out into the hall to have a look around.
The house was almost empty. Yellow Pages in the hall. Menu for pizzas. Same place I used to work for.
I walked upstairs. Four bedrooms on the first floor. Attic up top. Little Reebok rucksack in one of the bedrooms that must have been Hanzi’s. Pants and socks.
House of Lads Page 5