Angels Of The North

by Ray Banks

  Kevin blinked. His face crumpled. He couldn't maintain the attitude under the full beam of Gav's glare, the bottling little prick.

  "I said, is that understood?"

  "Leave him alone, Gavin."

  This from Fiona, who also lacked the nerve to look him in the eye. "You what?"

  "It's okay. He was reading his comic. He's sorry."

  "He didn't say he was sorry."

  Kevin wet his lips and found his voice: "I'm sorry."

  "You see?" Fiona breathed out. She looked tired. "It's not important, Gavin."

  "You think?"

  "No."

  "You don't think discipline's important?"

  She looked at him then, one of those withering stares that might have worked a year ago, but which now emphasised all the wrinkles, the dark circles under her eyes, the loose skin around her neck, and which made her look more haggard than normal.

  Fiona shook her head and turned away. "It doesn't matter, Gavin."

  "It matters—"

  "I'm not going to get into it with you."

  "I'm trying to tell the kid—"

  "The kid?" Fiona let out a short, humourless laugh.

  "I'm trying to tell Kevin something, and what are you doing? You're undermining me."

  "I didn't mean to."

  Gav clattered his fork to the plate. "Course you fuckin' didn't."

  Fiona bristled at the swearing. "Gav, come on ..."

  "Come on what? What is it, the swearing?"

  "You know—"

  "I'll swear in my fuckin' house if I fuckin' want to."

  Sophie's face went pink, and her wide blue eyes were swift to follow. Fiona turned her attention away from Gav. "It's all right, love."

  "It's all right. Aye, it's all right. You keep on, Fiona." Gav turned to Kevin, pointed at him once more. "I see you reading at the dinner table again, I'll tan your arse."

  Kevin nodded, shivering at the thought. Andy mumbled something that sounded like more fucking lip: "... answer to everything ..." The lad had aimed it to come out quieter than it had, the bitterness inside jerking his words up in volume so that Kevin heard it and froze in his seat. Andy might have stiffened with fear himself if he'd had more than a second to recognise his mistake before Gav snapped the back of his hand across the lad's face. The impact was like a gunshot in the kitchen. Andy twisted away, one hand up to his stinging cheek, the other pushing away from the table as hard as he could. Gav heard the lad's shoes scuffing the floor as he got up and ran for the front room.

  Gav ignored him and massaged his aching hand as he regarded the remnants of his meal. He wasn't hungry anymore. He could feel Fiona staring at him.

  "Gavin—"

  "I don't want to fuckin' hear it."

  The television went on in the front room. A challenge. Gav pushed back his seat; the legs scraped noisily against the floor. Kevin flinched into a hunch as Gav started towards the door to the front room.

  "No." Fiona was up and nipping at Gav's heels. "No, you leave him alone."

  Gav jerked a thumb at the front room. "You hear that?"

  "He's watching the telly. Leave him."

  "He's not going to treat me like that. He's going to show me some fuckin' respect if it kills him."

  "No."

  "No?" Gav cocked his head. Flexed his fingers. She was in front of him now. He should've pushed her aside when he had the chance. His fingers throbbed. Andy had a bony fucking skull, all right. Gav cupped his aching hand and massaged the knuckles. "You're happy with him acting like that, are you?"

  "I'll talk to him."

  He smiled. "Aye, right. See how well that's worked out before, eh?"

  "Gavin—"

  He held up his aching hand. "It's all right. On you go. Talk to the boy."

  Gav moved away from the door and went out into the hall, where he grabbed his coat.

  "Where you going?"

  "Out."

  In the kitchen, he heard those tiny hitches of breath that meant Sophie was going to cry. Fiona swallowed. Her voice cracked: "What time are you going to be back?"

  "Why?"

  "I think we need to talk."

  "Me an' all, eh? Busy night for you." He shook his head and pushed out the door, slamming it behind him so hard the letterbox rattled.

  Gav strode up the front path. He thought about taking the cab out for a spin, maybe pick up a few dozen fares and make it a nice, long and productive night, but then he reckoned that he was in no mood to deal with a back-seat pisshead, and that was the only fare he'd get on a Saturday night. He diverted at the end of the street, headed for the Long Ship. If he didn't want to deal with the pisshead, perhaps he could be the pisshead. He pushed through the double doors and was greeted with the smell of yeast and cheap perfume in a warm gust. He went to the bar, ordered a pint of Carling with a double Bell's chaser, and forget the fucking ice. While the landlord set the tap open on the pint glass, Gav fished in his pocket for money and realised that he'd just pushed into a three-deep queue. He felt stares on him, but he didn't care. He paid for his drinks and left the bar, nudging through the crowd until he found a free spot in the corner of the pub. Gav sat down, sparked a cigarette and smoked it down in five drags. He killed the filter, then sparked another one. This cigarette, he took slowly.

  A year ago, if he'd pushed into a queue like that, there would've been words. Maybe the odd push, the odd shout, a broken glass and a broken face. Mind you, a year ago, he would've assessed the situation from afar. But six months ago, he thought, the queue would've been something that happened to someone else. Gavin Scott wouldn't be anywhere near the bar, because Gavin Scott wouldn't be paying for his own drinks.

  Well. Times had changed. Gav chucked a quarter of his pint down his throat and sucked his teeth. They didn't like him enough to get him drunk, but they respected him enough not to start any shit. Fuck it, at least they respected him somewhere. That was something to be proud of, even if he did have to buy his own drinks.

  48

  Brian didn't want to pick sides, but between Gav and Phil, he was always going to side with the workers against the boss, especially when there were more workers, and each one of them looked capable of breaking his neck. So of course he told Phil about Gav's suspicions, about how maybe Phil should think about easing off on the Dunston Park pick-ups for a while.

  Phil leaned in across the table at the Long Ship and gave him an open-mouthed grin. "Don't you worry about Gavin Scott, son. I've got him sorted out."

  "Oh yeah?" Brian looked around the table; Fat Bob and Viv Francis were also grinning and pissed. He was getting sick of being the last to know about stuff, but understood why. As much as he was part of the gang, he was the weakest member. And the fact that Gav had pumped him for information only confirmed it.

  "I've got friends in high places, kidda." Phil downed the rest of his pint and poked the table. "Tell you something, there's going to be some changes round there soon enough."

  "What's going on?"

  "He's had a visit from the police." Fat Bob nodded to himself. "I saw it the other day."

  "Police?"

  "Not about owt we've done." Phil waved a hand and buckled his lips. "We're safe on that score. Don't worry about him. He's not going to be in charge long. Our friendly neighbourhood copper wasn't on police business."

  "He was on some business. Should've seen him, Bri. Looked like a proper fuckin' yuppie."

  "That right?" Brian swallowed his beer but didn't taste it.

  "Pure fuckin' red-braces wanker, man. All that floppy hair an' that." Fat Bob pushed back a non-existent fringe like a woman in a shampoo commercial. Viv brayed a laugh. Brian underscored it with a forced chuckle of his own.

  "All right, I know he looks like a wanker." Phil nodded. "But he's a good lad."

  "Talked geet posh an' that."

  "He's got an education." Phil pointed at Brian. "Brian's got an education. You're not taking the piss out of him."

  "It's all right." Brian smi
led. He had to ask the question, even though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer: "So who's this friend of yours, then?"

  "I told you, he's a copper. He's an investor an' all."

  "Investor?" Brian hid behind his pint.

  "Puts money into businesses, proper yuppie like Fat Bob said. But he's a money man. He's not a proper boss. For him it's like putting a bet on, know what I mean?"

  "Like them bankers." Viv sipped his whisky. "They're all fuckin' gamblers, that lot. See them at the exchanges, it's like fuckin' Derby day, man."

  Phil pointed at Viv. "That's it. That's what I'm talking about. This lad's one of them. It's all about putting money into businesses and then getting a return."

  "How do you know him?"

  "He's invested in a snooker club I go to."

  Brian looked into his pint. "Right."

  "He saw the cab outside one night, he comes up to me, starts chatting on, like. Swear to God, I thought he was trying to pick us up."

  Laughter from Bob and Viv.

  "Then when he telt us he was a fuckin' copper, I was all like—"

  "Entrapment!" Viv broke into another wheezing, braying fit of laughter.

  "I was thinking I was in trouble, like." Phil opened his hands. "I mean, fuckin' hell, it's not like we weren't famous for a bit there, eh? I thought this fucker's looking for an easy collar, like. So I was a bit cool with him. I telt him nowt." He half-closed one eye. "Well, turns out he wasn't interested in our extra-curricular."

  "Good fuckin' job an' all." Fat Bob finished his pint, held up the empty glass. There were nods around the table, apart from Brian, and Fat Bob hauled his bulk to the bar for another round.

  "Turns out he'd heard of Puma Cabs, heard it was all about the community an' that – you know, the patrols – and he wanted a piece of it, didn't he? He asked us, did I know the man in charge?"

  Viv nodded. "And you telt him you was the man in charge."

  "Nah, but he's not blind, is he?" Phil attempted a self-effacing smile, but he was too drunk. "So he asked if I could introduce him to our fearless leader, maybe arrange a meeting or something, he had one or two things he wanted to discuss. And I said, 'Well, you know, there's going to have to be something in it for me, know what I mean?' And he was like, what did I want?"

  Brian watched him. The drunkenness had leached from his system. "And what did you tell him?"

  "I telt him I wanted Puma Cabs."

  Viv let out a roar and started clapping.

  Fat Bob came back over with a trio of pints and set them down in front of Phil, Viv and himself. "What'd I miss?"

  Viv pointed at Phil. "He's going to take over the fuckin' business."

  "You what? You're never."

  Phil looked sheepish. "Not yet, no. But it's in the works."

  "How?" Brian couldn't see Gavin Scott handing over the reins to someone he actively distrusted. "I mean, it's not that I don't think you can do it ..."

  "Gav's after expanding." Phil supped the head off his lager. "I heard him talking about Five Star. Idea is he'll manage that, I'll be office manager here."

  "Fuck off." Fat Bob looked around for support. "He's never going to let you do that."

  "He won't have a choice. It'll be one of the conditions. He wants the money, he'll have to delegate." Phil snorted. "Fuckin' arsehole wants to be big time, man. He doesn't want to stick around here with us plebs. Fuck him. Let him do one, and then we can do whatever we want."

  Viv cheered and held up his new pint. They clinked glasses and downed their pints, and then ordered more. And by the time Brian felt good again, he was being carried out of the Long Ship by two singing men.

  The next afternoon, he arrived at work feeling sick. He felt sicker the moment he saw Crosby's champagne Mercedes parked outside the Puma Cabs office.

  Of course he'd known, even without Phil saying the name. Because it couldn't be anyone else, could it? Nobody else would be as adamant to ruin Brian's life the way Crosby was. And sure enough, there he was, coming out of the office with Phil at his side, the pair of them chattering away like a couple of old mates. Brian stood stock still, watching Crosby say goodbye and then cross to his car.

  Brian waited until Phil had disappeared before he spoke. "What's going on, Michael?"

  Crosby stopped, looked distracted. "Brian. Good to see you. How are you?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I was just—"

  "You looking for me?"

  "No, I was here on business."

  "Police business?"

  "Business business. The kind of business that's none of yours ..." Crosby looked away and smiled. "Actually, no, tell a lie, it's going to become your business, so it's probably best you find out now." He rolled his shoulders as he approached Brian. A smug expression his face. "You're looking at the new part-owner of Puma Cabs."

  "I heard." Brian kept his face straight. Didn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction. "Why?"

  "Because it's a good little company."

  "No, really. Why?"

  "That's really why."

  "Come on, Michael." Because it wasn't a good little company, was it? And he wasn't investing because he thought he could make it a great big company. He wasn't looking to help Gavin Scott expand across the water. He was investing because it got him closer to Brian. And he wanted to get closer to Brian so he could ruin him. He'd already taken the wife, brainwashed the daughter, and now all he had to do was wreck his job. Brian's mouth was dry. He wiped his lips. There was white stuff on his hand that smelled of alcohol. "I never did anything to you, did I?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You're going to sack me, aren't you?"

  "This isn't about you, Brian."

  "Really?"

  "Not everything's about you, all right?"

  "Fucking looks that way from here."

  "Then maybe you need to stand somewhere else." Crosby narrowed his eyes. "You been drinking?"

  "Fuck off."

  Crosby nodded – pegged him for drunk – and started towards his car. Brian grabbed his arm.

  "Hey. What d'you think you're doing?"

  "I'll tell Lynne. I'll tell her what you're doing to me."

  "Get off me." Crosby tried to prise Brian's fingers from his arm. "You're pissed. Go home."

  Brian held firm. Leaned in. "I saw you. I saw you take that money. I know what you're doing, Michael."

  "What money?"

  "You're on the fucking take."

  Crosby wrenched his arm out of Brian's grip. "You want to watch what you're saying, Brian."

  "I saw you at the snooker club—"

  "Have you been following me?"

  "You came out with money. What's the story there, then? You taking protection or what?"

  Crosby laughed. "I don't have to listen to this." He turned back towards the Merc.

  "No, you'll fucking talk to me."

  Brian launched himself at Crosby, threw an arm around his chest. Crosby spun around. His fist shot up, caught Brian in the jaw. The punch rattled Brian's teeth and put him three steps back before he saw nothing but sky.

  "Sorry, Brian. But I don't have time to deal with pissheads right now."

  Brian rolled over on the gravel. He put two fingers to his lip. He tasted blood but he didn't know where it was coming from. He heard the sound of a car door slam and looked up to see Crosby behind the wheel of the Merc. He wanted to haul himself up and run at the car. He wanted to hurt something, even if it was only himself. But by the time he managed to get himself sitting upright, the Merc was halfway down the road.

  Brian stood and walked to the office, his head down.

  "What the fuck was that about?" Phil was standing in the doorway, frowning at him.

  "Nothing."

  "You know him?"

  Brian pushed past. "Yeah. He's a prick."

  "What's he done?"

  Brian didn't answer. He entered Gav's office.

  Gav was tense and hunched at his de
sk, brooding about something. He didn't appear to notice Brian until the sound of the door closing jarred him alert. Gav glanced at his watch and attempted to massage what looked like a ferocious pain out of the bridge of his nose. "What do you want, Brian?"

  "What happened?"

  "What do you mean, what happened?" Clearly irritated. "Listen, I'm kind of busy ..."

  Brian nodded at the paperwork on Gav's desk. "I can see that. You been talking to Crosby?"

  Gav didn't answer. He looked uncomfortable.

  "I know him."

  Gav sighed. "Aye, I thought you might, like." He gestured to the seat in front of him. "I think we need to have a talk, Brian."

  "I'm fine standing." He didn't want to sit in a chair still warm from Crosby's arse. "You're going to sack me, aren't you?"

  "What?"

  "That's what all this is about. You wouldn't know the background, not unless Michael told you, but I don't know why he would. He's buying into this place so he can have me sacked."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "Because he hates me. You remember when I was talking about my wife? How she had a boyfriend? That was him."

  Gav frowned at the closed door. "Right. Well, he wasn't talking about you. Not really."

  "Not really means he was."

  "No, he just happened to mention the licences."

  "What licences?"

  "You need a— Lookuh, d'you not want to sit down, Brian?"

  Brian shook his head. "You said I didn't need a special licence."

  "I know what I said. And you know what, normal circumstances, I wouldn't give a shit, all right? But it's been a weird year – hectic, know what I mean? Things have happened, they shouldn't have happened, people were supposed to do things they didn't do, there's been all these rumours, allegations ... The police." Gav's eyes were wide. "You see what I'm saying, don't you?"

  Brian thought he did, but he didn't want to commit to an opinion just yet.

  "Listen, I'll tell you straight. Me, Puma Cabs, everyone involved – we're being watched. We're under surveillance." Gav nodded. "Aye, I know. It's fuckin' mental, isn't it? But that's the craic. Police are watching us, everything we do, because of Phil and his band of merry arseholes out there. Now the police might be a right bunch themselves, but they're only doing their job. And I've got plans, Brian. Big plans like you wouldn't believe. So I need a bit of police support, don't I? A bit of credibility. But in order to get that credibility, I have to make sure everything's shipshape and Bristol fashion, don't I?"