House of Lads

by Roland Lloyd Parry

  “I’ve seen you,” I said.

  I didn’t sit down. He handed me a plate and fork.

  “You have,” he said. “Last time, you had a right cob on.”

  “Sounds like me.”

  “Outside The Grace it was.”

  I stared at him.

  He’d been watching me outside Leanne’s that day. Then later as I headed to the pub. My last day of freedom. I’d seen him getting off the bus.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I thought you was a dodgy old sod.”

  “I know you did,” he told me. “I was on your side though.”

  “You were following me?”

  He nodded and grinned, shovelling beans in his gob.

  “I lost your trail that night,” he said. “One minute you was out and about. Next you was gone.”

  I put the fork in my mouth. The sweet sauce clung on my tongue as the beans went down.

  “Go ’ead then,” I said. “What do you want?”

  He wiped sauce off his beard and smiled at me as he chewed. That grin. It had made me want to gob him that first day. When I was all het up about Leanne.

  “Your dad sent me.”

  This sound in my head. Like birds flapping. That old balloon of sicky terror swelled in my stomach. I felt like flobbing my beans up.

  All these years I’d wanted to get closer to my dad. Now I was nearly there, it felt like getting closer to death.

  “I haven’t got a dad,” I whispered.

  “You have, Hami,” he said. “You need him and you know it. And he needs you.”

  I tried to calm the trembling in my arms and legs. Tried to play the part.

  “Needs me? That’s a laugh.”

  “Maybe. But he’s not scared to say it. He’s got plans, your dad. Needs good lads around him. He sent me because he wanted to see you.”

  “Who says he can trust me?”

  “That’s what I said. He’s old-school, your dad. He reckoned he could smack your arse into line if he needed to.”

  “He sounds like a dickhead. Where is he?”

  He didn’t answer. He finished his beans and put the plate in the sink with the pan. I stood there rocking on my heels while he washed up. He came and sat down again.

  “So you’re with the anti-terror bizzies now,” he said. Calm as you like. “How did that happen?”

  “I’m here to do bizzies.”

  “Oh. Right,” he said. He widened his eyes and pouted.

  “I am,” I said. “Pass me that gun and I’ll show you.”

  “So tell me, Hami. Who told you where to come looking?”

  “What do you mean? I live here.”

  “Right. That’s why your dad was coming.”

  “Eh?”

  “He was all set to see you. He’s been in Liberia. Finishing up the scummy work so Raz doesn’t have to. Now he’s here. Risky that, for a man like him. But here’s the thing: he wanted to see you. Wanted to get you out of this shithole country before we hit it.”

  I almost laughed. “Get me out of here? How does he think he’ll do that?”

  “Same way anyone does anything. On a ship. Forget it though, lad. He’ll scrap that once I tell him you’re a grass.”

  “Come here and say that.”

  I acted tough. But all that head-messing off the Yank had scrambled my brain. I didn’t know where all my bullshit was leading me.

  “Where have you been?” he said. “Who was that picked you up at the roundabout?”

  “One of Raz’s mates.”

  “We know Raz’s mates. Don’t know any that drives a Merc.”

  “Does Raz know my dad?” I said.

  He didn’t answer. He poured juice in a glass, sipped it and licked his lips.

  “The pigs brought you here, didn’t they?”

  I rubbed my eyes. Tried to work out who might know what and whether it would tie me to Paterson.

  He didn’t give me time to think. He put the glass down and picked up the Glock. I started backing away towards the sitting room.

  “You grassy pigdog.” He stood up, snapping the slide. “Did you think we’d lead you to him just like that?”

  I turned my back on him and stumbled through the doorway.

  Bingerly-Bangerly-bong.

  The round twatted into my back and hurled me forward. The floorboards rushed up to my face.

  I’d had my share of beatings. Been knocked the shit out of. Nose broken, lips split. Jaw and cheekbones bashed till my eyes watered. But it was the first time some twat had shot me.

  The floor sucked me in. Comfy enough. Something was tugging me back though. A voice. A thing. Inside. It wouldn’t let my mind go. Don’t slack off, lad, it said. Drop into the black now, you’ll never come out.

  I gathered all my strength and lurched up onto my side. I curled one hand up to my right pec and fingered the hole. Out under the tit the round had gone. Blood? Oh aye. Blood and goo.

  I put one hand on the floor and tried to push myself up. Breathed in as I did it. Fireworks of pain all through my chest. Fizzy Dolly Mixtures flashing in my eyes. I fell on my face again.

  I heard footsteps on the kitchen lino. Creak of the floorboard in the doorway. Then his hands grabbed my shoulders and rolled me on my back. My chest wrecked as I breathed in again. I hadn’t the strength to yell.

  I should be playing footie with Ali in the park, I thought. Having tea and beans. Playing darts at The Grace with Frank. Should, should. Had a taste of all that, didn’t I. Never lasted.

  That old twat’s face leaning over me now. His jaw-beard. Muttering to himself. Poking the gun in my eye.

  Say what you like about how you’re not afraid of anything. It’s all bollocks. You never know how you’ll take it until it comes. Here lies Azo. Born to trouble. Born to fight and lose, and die on the sitting-room floor.

  I wanted to start begging, but I couldn’t speak. Felt like I’d lost half my blood. I could hardly blink. A ball of puke clenched in my belly, ready to ram up my throat like a scuzzy fist and choke me.

  Something warm on my face. Hello. Tears? Fair enough. No one would blame me for having a bit of a blub now, eh. You’d have cried too. Yes you would. Why? Because it’s not fair? Because there’s people counting on you? Bollocks to that. It wasn’t about Ali anymore. Or Maya. Or Frank. Or my dad. It was all about me. It’s a selfish business, dying.

  Thin door between alive and dead there was now. Someone was waiting for me on the other side. I could feel him. It. Some kind of god or devil, whatever you call him. Some big black crow with a hungry mouth to peck me up and swallow. I’d seen him in my dreams, far off. I wasn’t ready to meet him.

  Couldn’t hardly breathe now. When I did it wrecked. My eyes went dim. I heard the feller muttering. Then a shot. And another.

  I lay there dribbling and oozing into the floor. Let my whole body go limp. Nice and hush like a good boy. Waiting for the end.

  I heard the feller trying to say something. Grunting. Then yelling. Shrieking. Louder. Madder. Then two more shots. Much closer than before.

  He shut up.

  I felt arms under my shoulders. My head lolled onto my chest. More hands on me. Under my ankles, lifting my legs. A door slammed. For a minute I was floating. Then my back touched something soft.

  A voice whispered in my ear as my mind slid under.

  “Don’t worry, Iggle Piggle” it said. “It’s time to go!”

  35

  One of those long fever dreams. The ones that seem to go on all night and day. It started in The Grace, only it wasn’t. The sign over the door said the Hugh Crow. I was drinking there with Frank when a bunch of fellers burst in and grabbed me. They chucked me in the back of a cart, drove me to the docks and put me on a ship.

  Some of the time I was up on deck, standing and spinning the wheel. But mostly I was shut up down below, naked on huge wooden shelves with the other slaves. Men and kids and grandmothers chained up all round me, pissing and shitting and dying. Some woman came in and fire
d brown sugar all over us. It got all under my manacles and melted, sticking them to my legs.

  The skipper came down and unchained me. He rolled me back up on deck and made me take the wheel.

  I looked ahead over the bow. We were heading up out to sea, mowing down all these little rowing boats that bobbed in front of us. I watched the sharp hull of our slaver carving up the folk in them.

  A big squid fizzed up out of the Mersey and thrashed against the hull. The ship listed. I heard a drum and chanting from below deck. The monster thumped its white jelly bollocks against the keel in time with the beat. The skipper jumped overboard. The squid opened and swallowed him.

  The chanting and drumming got louder. The slaves were singing. I’d had enough of their racket. Didn’t they know we were sinking? I went down and laid into them with a whip. It flashed out of my palm like Spider-Man’s web. I lashed them slaves to sloppy bits with it till my arms ached. I roared at them till the waves started lapping round my head.

  I blinked and slowly woke up, trembling. The blood was churning and booming in my ears. My right shoulder and chest ached.

  Someone held the back of my head in their hand and tipped sugary water in my gob. I swallowed and let it wet my throat, washing the skank and dryness away. Bit of strength. I moved my lips and jaw. Peeled my eyes open.

  Dim light. Colours and shapes. Someone was sitting next to me. A big blotch of red. My eyes sharpened. I made out white letters.

  Liverpool shirt.

  “Welcome back, la’.”

  “Wool twat,” I muttered, as I passed out again.

  Raz squeezed my good shoulder. I blinked in the light. Saw the red shirt tucked in his camo belt. Big baggy combats on his legs. I tried to sit up. Wicked sting in my chest.

  I eased myself back down. Tried just lifting my head. These two tubes coming out of me. Bloody water in one of them. I coughed. The water moved up and down. A white bandage covered my chest.

  My head flopped back down. I twisted it from side to side.

  He’d laid me in one of the first-floor bedrooms. The one at the back where Rodney had slept. White walls. Old wooden wardrobe. Peeling paint on the ceiling. Washbasin in one corner.

  I looked at the tubes, the bandage, then up at Raz.

  “Who’s done all this?”

  He winked and jerked a thumb towards his own chest.

  “Shouldn’t I be in the hossie?”

  “Doctor in the house, la’. Still got the old magic. You got it through the lung but you’re alright. It missed the big pipes.”

  “What have you done to me?”

  “Not much. Flap seal. Chest drain. Dressing. No blood to give you. No surgery for the wound. You’ll be feeling woozy for a couple of weeks. You’ll want to sit off in bed.”

  He had a strap round one shoulder. Holster with a handgun under his right arm. A Klashni leaning against the wall by the basin.

  I was weak, but not just from the wound. I was cacking myself inside. I wondered how much the feller had told him.

  I forced my voice out again. “Where’s that dickhead?”

  Raz raised his eyebrows. “Uncle Bulgaria? He’s gone.”

  I was on my guard. Or as much as I could be while laid up with a hole through me. He was being too nice.

  “Gone?”

  Raz looked me straight in the eye. “Tea or coffee?” he said.

  “Tea.”

  He went out and came back with a tray. Pot and glasses. He poured out this hot green brew.

  I chuckled. It set the bloody juice bobbing in the chest-tube. A twinge in my chest. But I couldn’t help it. It was funny really. Some people would say I’d had a hard life. Not me. Working for Raz’s gang? It was just one tea party after another.

  He held out a glass. I pushed myself up on one elbow and took it. Put it to my lips and blew on the scalding tea. Sweet minty whiff. I sucked it in through my teeth.

  “Gone where?” I said.

  He pursed his lips and held up a finger to them. Hush.

  “Rest, la’.”

  He picked up the rifle and went out.

  I started to move a bit. My hands. Jaw. Had to be careful not to wriggle around or my chest would sting.

  I drifted in and out of sleep. Raz came and went, changing my dressing, giving me jabs for the pain. He took those tubes out after a couple of days when the bleeding in my lung stopped. He brought me ready meals and helped me limp to the bathroom.

  I could stand up but my chest felt weak. I still had the dressing on. A few evenings later I was sitting up in bed with this plate of chicken and rice when he came in.

  He sat cross-legged against the wardrobe and watched me eating.

  “You’re ready to be up for good,” he said.

  I finished the rice, leaned over and plonked the plate on the floor. Big placky bottle of Evian there. I unscrewed the top and swigged from it. Raz looked at me.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Eh?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Nothing. He just started shooting.”

  “After you’d both eaten your beans.”

  He sat there gripping his knees in his fingers and stared hard at me.

  “I’d been having beans,” I said. “He just came in with a Glock.”

  “So you offered him some?”

  “He made me. He was messing with my head, wasn’t he? Winding me up before he slotted me. He didn’t say nothing. He was waiting for something.”

  “For me?”

  “Maybe.”

  He stared. Hands-free lie test. Like he had that time when he nearly throttled me on the garden path. That bit about the beans didn’t look good, eh. I didn’t reckon he believed us.

  I slumped back knackered on the pillow. I tried my helpless whingey act. See if it would work like last time.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Raz. I don’t know what’s been going on. I just ducked off and hid. I come back here cos I was starving. I thought the pigs had got you.”

  He cackled. “Ah! Them pigs,” he said. “Your old mate they kept in. Me they let go. Why they do that?”

  “They’ve got nothing on you.”

  “My arse,” Raz said. “They’re watching me.”

  I’d cacked myself with that bit about the beans. Now I calmed down a tad. It sounded like he was more worried about himself.

  He lit up a Regal and held it out to me. Not too smart that, in my state, but I had other things to worry about. I took it. Enjoyed the taste. Coughed. Didn’t see any smoke coming out of the hole in my chest. I must have been healing.

  “What you going to do?” I said.

  He lit his own ciggie up. “They think they’ve got me covered. But they’ve not got my fridge. We’re going to work.”

  “Where?”

  He looked at me. “The hour that the ship comes in,” he said. “You. Me. The lads.”

  “What you talking about? Ship?”

  “We shout from the bow: ‘Your days are numbered.’”

  “Something’s happening down the docks?”

  He nodded and winked. “Something coming over on the ally-ally-o. Last bit of the recipe. The other bits are in my fridge.”

  “So what did that twat with the beard want?”

  “He’s one of the bunch over from Syria.” He slurped the last of his tea down in one. “They think I’m a leaky boat.”

  He raised his hand and lashed the tea glass across the room. It hit the wall at the foot of my bed and shattered.

  He took a deep breath. “They’ve paid me,” he said. “To do a job for them.”

  “So do it. Show them. I’m here.”

  “Oh I will, lad. Just one hitch.”

  He picked up a bit of glass and braced the point of it against his thumb. The soft pad of skin turned white and dimpled.

  “There’s a scum,” he said.

  My wound stung.

  “Someone’s robbed dough from us. Hacked us. That’s why that twat come after us.”


  He fixed his green eyes on me.

  “It’s She-Ra.”

  “Eh?”

  “She’s screwed us over.”

  “Maya?”

  “Princess of Power,” he said. “Clever girl. She been in my laptop.”

  “How do you know?”

  He winked. “She’s the only one been in my room. She’d made a copy of my key. I found it in her knickers.”

  I blinked and felt the blood surge to my chest. But I stayed in the part.

  “I’ll do her for you, Raz,” I said. “Where is she?”

  I dropped my ciggie in the tea glass. It fizzed out in the wet sugar. I sat up and tried to move my legs. A shock of pain hit my chest. My head swam. I wanted to spew.

  Raz squeezed my shoulder.

  “At ease, la’,” he said. “I got plans for her.”

  36

  He left me to doze. I lay there dreaming of ways to get hold of Paterson. I’d stashed the Nokia up in the gutter. I’d have to eat a shitload of spinach to climb up there.

  I tried to rest and get my head sorted. By night time I felt ready. I ripped back the bedcover and forced my feet onto the floor. Creaked myself upright.

  “Namaste.”

  My knees buckled. I was back on my arse on the bed. Raz was stood there in the doorway.

  “Fighting fit, la’?”

  He held out a hand. I gripped it while I stood up again.

  “Good timing,” he said.

  “Now?”

  “First thing tomorrow.”

  I looked at the alarm clock by the bed. It was nearly midnight.

  He held my arm while I limped up and down the room. Got the blood pumping round my legs again. After a bit I was standing on my own. My head felt light but my mind was there. I just had a dressing on my chest but Raz had taken the stitches out. My right arm and chest were stiff.

  He went out and came back with a duffle bag. He undid the zip and pulled clothes out. One of my old trackies and my blue Fila shirt. He’d had them washed and ironed.

  “Have you sewn my socks an’ all?”

  He grinned. Pulled my trainies from the bag and chucked them to me.