by A. A. Dhand
‘At midnight? From where?’
Omar fell silent.
Harry’s temper started to fracture. ‘How old is she?’
Nothing.
‘How fucking old, Omar?’
‘Eighteen,’ he mumbled.
‘Bullshit.’
Harry fired the Taser into Omar’s neck. He slumped unconscious against the door. ‘I’m not done with you, pretty boy. Not by a long way.’
He handcuffed the big man’s wrist to the passenger door and went to Omar’s car. As he got into the driver’s seat, he startled the little blonde girl in the passenger seat.
‘Who’s you?’ she asked, slurring her words, alcohol ripe on her breath.
‘Omar’s friend,’ he replied, thankful the Peugeot had tinted windows, obscuring what Harry had done.
‘We just seen his friends. I’m aching. Get laid someplace else, bro. He said we was done.’
‘I’m mates with Billy too. You know Billy?’
‘Everyone knows Big Bee.’
‘You seen him lately?’
‘Why’s you askin’?’ She was squinting at Harry, her head bobbing drunkenly on petite shoulders.
‘He owes me. Said you owe him. Said we could work it out.’
‘Told yous, I’m aching. I done enough tonight.’
Harry gritted his teeth, afraid of the answer to his next question.
‘How old are you?’
‘However old yous want me to be.’
‘The truth.’
She shrugged. ‘Like, nearly fourteen.’ She lifted a bottle of vodka from the floor and clumsily unscrewed the top.
‘Where are you heading tonight?’ said Harry, taking the bottle from her. She didn’t protest.
‘Not wiv yous.’
‘Omar’s?’
‘Mmn.’
Harry nodded. ‘I got some business with him. Let me drop you home?’
‘Forget dat. My ma gonna bust my ass.’
‘So where?’
‘Shit, I don’t know.’ She leaned against the passenger door, closing her eyes. ‘I just chill here.’
Harry reached into the back seat and grabbed a coat, Omar’s presumably, and placed it protectively across the girl. ‘When you wake up, it’ll be better.’
Outside, Harry took a moment, hands in his pockets, head down, staring at the cobblestones, venting, his breath white in the bitter night air. Few crimes got to Harry as much as the kind Omar and Billy were involved in. These vulnerable girls would be damaged for ever.
Harry marched to the passenger door of Billy’s Peugeot and opened it. He uncuffed Omar, who was starting to come round, and dragged his body out of the car, letting it collapse on to the water-logged ground. Omar rolled over and stood up on unsteady legs. He swung a clumsy fist at Harry, who easily avoided it before ramming his elbow into Omar’s solar plexus.
Harry drew his weapon.
‘On your feet, dickhead.’
Omar was back on the ground, struggling to breathe. It took him a minute to get up. Blood was streaming from his nose.
‘I can get you girls!’ shouted Omar, raising his hands, afraid another blow was coming his way. ‘More white pussy than you ever dreamed!’
Omar knew it was a mistake as soon as he looked into Harry’s eyes.
It was all Harry could do to resist the urge to pull the trigger. He slapped Omar hard across the ear.
‘You think ‘cos we share the same skin colour I share your sick tastes?’
Harry spat on him and threw another slap, which missed its mark as Omar jerked away.
‘Pieces of shit like you keep this city down. Touching young girls, ruining lives. You deserve what’s coming to you.’
‘Please, I … didn’t mean it like that. What do you want?’
Harry towered over the cowering fool. ‘It’s not what I want, Omar, it’s what I’m going to get.’
The top floor of the Crabtree building was an unearthly space last used as a chicken farm. Harry grimaced as the rancid odour hit him.
He marched Omar to the far end of the floor, where most of the windows were nothing but jagged edges linked by huge cobwebs. This high up, streetlights attached to the building opposite were on a level with them, forcing an amber glow into the room. The wind channelled past, screaming a tortured melody.
Omar was naked. Recalling how he disliked the cold, Harry had forced him to strip outside. When they got to the end of the room, he ordered the big man to turn round. Omar’s teeth were chattering, his body shaking as he used his hands to preserve his modesty.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Harry raised his voice above the wind. ‘You need a thirteen-year-old girl to get you off? What happened?’ He waved the gun in Omar’s face as his anger rose. ‘You get some shitty arranged marriage and your wife won’t blow you? Think that justifies it?’
Omar shook his head, looking pleadingly at Harry, but if he was hoping for sympathy he was wasting his time.
‘Stop fucking crying. Take what’s about to happen like a man.’ Omar sobbed louder, his muscles shaking violently.
‘There’s some shit going down in Bradford tomorrow night and you know something about it.’ Harry took a chance: ‘Billy tells me you’re the guy to ask. Says you know where Ali lives.’
For the briefest of moments Omar stopped shivering, adrenaline exploding through his body, which told Harry everything he needed.
‘Thought that would get your attention. What is it? Surprised your mate Billy likes to talk?’ Harry smiled and opened the barrel of the gun, emptying the bullets into his hand.
‘Russian roulette. Know how to play?’
Harry didn’t wait for a response; he put a single bullet in the firing chamber. ‘Never did understand it – one-in-eight chance. I’ll give you a one-in-one chance.’
He raised the gun and Omar instinctively raised his hands, exposing his flesh to the cold air.
‘No! No!’
‘Good start. You want to live, Omar?’
‘Yes!’
Harry looked around the abandoned floor. The wind dropped suddenly, leaving them in an eerie silence. ‘Kids would have died young here, Omar. Factory work. Long hours. Sometimes, they dropped dead—’ Harry snapped his fingers. ‘Just like that.’
He stepped closer to Omar. Harry’s eyes were raging.
Unlike Omar, he wasn’t shivering.
He was on fire.
‘Now, you know something about my niece.’
Omar nodded eagerly.
Harry moved the gun away from Omar’s temple. ‘Open your mouth.’
Omar shook his head. More sobbing.
‘Open. Your. Mouth.’
Harry forced the tip of the gun into his mouth. ‘You taste that?’
Omar’s body was practically convulsing.
‘I like this place.’ Harry knew exactly what he needed to say to ensure Omar’s cooperation. ‘Every time I’ve killed someone here, it’s felt right,’ he lied. ‘Like this is the place to end lives that don’t matter. Now? With my finger on the trigger, I so desperately want to pull it, Omar.’ Harry leaned closer, his next comment perfectly weighted. ‘You see, this is my sickness. Like yours is the girl downstairs.’
He pulled the gun from Omar’s mouth. ‘I don’t do second chances. I don’t tolerate people lying to me. This is it.’
Harry thought about the list of names in Tara’s diary and the one he was yet to receive any information on.
‘Riz. Who is he?’
‘He’s a businessman. Runs forty taxis in Bradford. Manages the money.’
‘And the girls?’
Omar shook his head. ‘He just controls the money. Doesn’t get his hands dirty on the streets.’
‘Where can I find him?’
‘I don’t know! Honest! He’s careful! You think I’ve got his address?’
Harry stepped a little closer.
‘Did Billy kill my niece?’
Omar clamped his eyes shut.
‘Ali,
’ he mumbled. ‘It was Ali. He wasn’t meant to. He … I … I don’t know what happened. I swear!’
‘Ali what?’
Another shake of the head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know your mate’s name?’
‘It’s how it works, man! We only know what we need to!’
Sweat was pouring down Omar’s temple. He’d stopped shivering. ‘How what works?’
Omar started crying again. ‘Please,’ he said pathetically, ‘I’m not involved like they are! I just get them flash cars to impress the girls. Honest.’
‘You’re lying. You collected Lexi and Olivia Goodwin from their home on Friday night. Where did you drop them?’
‘Bradford Interchange, exactly like I told you. Billy took them from there.’
‘How do you know Ali killed my niece?’
‘I don’t.’
‘What?’
‘I just know you don’t fuck with Ali. Girls give Billy shit, Ali takes care of them – that’s all I know. I’m not really involved.’
‘No,’ said Harry. ‘You just fuck them?’
‘I look after my girls!’
Harry cocked the gun. Omar let out a sob and pissed himself.
‘Jesus,’ whispered Harry, backing off. ‘What do you know about Olivia Goodwin?’
‘She’s … she’s … the one!’ said Omar. ‘Never been touched. They … got plans for her.’
‘Plans?’
Omar started crying hysterically. Urine pooled around his bare feet.
‘Do I look a patient man?’ shouted Harry, raising the gun again.
‘They selling her, man,’ he said, crumbling to the ground as if he had been shot. ‘But I don’t know how it goes down.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Harry, stepping away from the urine snaking its way across the wooden floorboards.
‘I’m sorry,’ sobbed Omar.
Harry gritted his teeth and shook his head.
Sarah had been right. The fuckers.
‘I’m sorry,’ repeated Omar, his voice nothing more than a whimper.
Harry stepped to the side of his sobbing body and crouched to his knees.
‘Not yet, Omar.’
He put the safety on the gun and slid it into his jacket pocket, glancing around at the destitute space.
‘But you will be,’ he whispered. ‘You will be.’
THIRTY-ONE
SARAH ARRIVED AT the Cow and Calf Rocks and parked beside Percy’s car. She’d changed out of her bloodstained burka and left it with Yasser’s body in a corner where he wouldn’t be found until they redeveloped Conditioning House – likely not for years.
She took the bag he had given her and began the quarter-mile walk to Percy and Victor, grateful for a bright moon to guide her path.
‘Hey,’ she said, climbing into the back seat behind her granddad.
‘You OK?’ asked Percy, his eyes still on the farmhouse in the distance.
‘Fine,’ she replied, closing the door. ‘Is he out?’
Victor was snoring heavily in the driver’s seat.
‘Old fool needed a kip.’
‘What time are you leaving?’ she asked, pushing the bag further along the back seat.
‘You checked it?’ Percy asked, ignoring her question, turning to inspect the bag.
‘Obviously.’
‘I’ll give him a couple more hours’ kip. You sure he can go when the sun rises?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Too risky to stay here on the day they complete.’
‘He hasn’t been spotted so far.’
‘They’ll be on high alert before the boss arrives, and they’ve got all day to prepare for his arrival.’ Sarah patted the bag then looked at Percy, concerned. ‘You sure he will take care of it?’
‘I’ve fought wars with the man. And look how much time and money he’s put into this operation,’ replied Percy. ‘Are you’re sure they won’t move on the farmhouse until evening?’
Sarah shook her head and reached for the handle of the back door. ‘Trust me,’ she said, opening it. ‘Bad things only happen after the sun sets.’
Sarah didn’t get into her car; instead she hurried past it. She knew this place well. The rocks were the perfect vantage point to look out over the place where her torment had begun eleven years ago. The farmhouse. She could clearly remember her mother, lying in the upstairs bedroom with needles dotted around the floor.
Sarah scaled the larger rock, confidently navigating the natural toe-holds until she reached the summit. Panting heavily, she walked to the edge and lay down.
Being able to stop them selling Olivia, to keep that young girl from going through everything that Sarah had been forced to endure, everything she had fought so hard to escape was … a bonus. It wasn’t her motivation.
Sarah was here for revenge.
Tomorrow night, she would take out every player in the chain.
And there was nothing they could do to stop her.
They couldn’t fight what they didn’t know existed.
She checked her phone; the GPS signal from Harry’s car hadn’t moved. He was still at Bradford Royal Infirmary. What was he doing there with Billy?
Tomorrow night, Sarah would end all this.
Not just the boss and his chain of lowlifes. She was going to take Harry Virdee with her too.
She knew everything about him. His dark secrets, the secrets that had killed Tara.
Tara would still be here, if it wasn’t for Harry.
Tara.
Sarah got to her feet and stood tall, raising her arms, feeling the wind rush past her body. She was angry and she was free.
She stared out towards the farmhouse.
A reckoning, eleven years in the making.
Tara had been innocent; just like she had once been.
‘I’m coming for you,’ she whispered, the wind whipping her words away. ‘Every last one of you.’
THIRTY-TWO
HARRY HADN’T EVER spent so much time at Queensbury Tunnel.
He shoved Omar on to the uneven ground, firing a brutal kick into his back.
‘Where’s the rest of his clothes?’ asked Ronnie, staring at Omar’s semi-naked, cowering body.
Harry threw a bag on the floor and heard the scuttle of rats.
‘What’s he know?’ asked Ronnie.
Harry was looking at Billy, bound to a rickety chair, bleeding heavily.
‘Said the same as him,’ he replied, kicking the chair. ‘This Ali is our guy.’
‘How do we find him?’
‘Dunno. It’s how they protect themselves. Apparently,’ Harry said.
Ronnie threw down the baseball bat he had been using on Nash that morning.
Who knew about it and was it worth killing for?
Nash’s words flashed into Harry’s mind.
Harry shrugged and rubbed his eyes. ‘I haven’t slept in …’ he checked his watch, ‘… twenty-four hours. Not sure how much more I’ve got in me.’
Did Ronnie know about Tara visiting the Candy Club?
Did it make a difference?
‘He been crying like that all night?’ said Ronnie, pointing at Omar.
‘Pretty much. If he knew anything, he’d have spilled. Already pissed himself.’ Harry nodded at Billy: ‘What about him?’
‘Night’s young.’
‘Nothing?’
Ronnie shook his head. ‘More afraid of whoever he works for than me.’
‘That’s not good,’ said Harry, looking at Billy’s battered, bleeding face. ‘Doesn’t this place break everybody?’
‘Until tonight.’
‘Guy he’s protecting has to be a big fish,’ said Harry, rubbing his eyes again, the thick air of the tunnel stinging his eyes.
‘Not big enough to stop me,’ said Ronnie.
‘Where’s Elmo? You taken your hand out his arse?’
Ronnie frowned. ‘Gone for supplies.’ He turned his back to Harry. ‘You hear that, Billy? My night’s just g
etting started.’
‘I’m done,’ said Harry. He wanted to press Ronnie and see what he knew about Tara, but this wasn’t the time or place. ‘I need a lift back to BRI. Got a plus-one too,’ he said, and put his hand in his pocket, checking he still had the key to Sarah’s room at the New Beehive. ‘And my night’s not over – let’s move.’
‘Plus-one?’
‘Young girl in Omar’s car.’
Ronnie raised his eyebrows.
‘Thirteen.’
‘What was she—’
The look on Harry’s face answered Ronnie’s question.
‘She’s comatose on vodka. Hopefully, she won’t remember a thing. I’ll hand her in to A & E.’
‘Bind him,’ said Ronnie, nodding at Omar. He handed Harry a roll of duct tape.
‘You think he raped the girl outside?’ he asked.
‘Him and others.’
‘You a rapist, Omar?’ asked Ronnie.
There was no response, just a soft resigned sobbing.
‘Built like a shithouse and cries like a baby,’ said Ronnie.
‘Not sure you’ll get anything out of him. He’s as scared as I’ve ever seen anyone.’
Ronnie grunted. ‘He’s a vain lad. He’ll want to protect that face of his. Trust me, he’ll talk,’ he said, smiling devilishly, ‘don’t you worry about that.’
Harry didn’t push for details. Truthfully, he didn’t want to know. He removed the .357 revolver Ronnie had given him, wiped his fingerprints from it and handed it back to his brother.
‘Go,’ said Ronnie, pulling up outside Bradford Royal Infirmary and turning his car off. Harry hesitated in the back with the little girl lying unconscious by his side. ‘She all right?’ asked Ronnie, genuinely concerned.
‘Paralytic, damaged, vulnerable. Aside from that?’
‘Fucking cockroaches.’
Harry still didn’t move. ‘There’s something big at play here,’ he said eventually.
‘Yeah.’
‘You think they know who they’re protecting?’ asked Harry.
‘Billy does. Omar? I’m not sure.’
He looked at the little girl. ‘She going to be OK?’
Harry pointed towards the hospital. ‘Best possible hands.’ He dropped his voice, now unmistakably laced with venom. ‘These bastards … You get something, you ring me.’
‘Oh, I’ll get something, don’t you worry,’ Ronnie said.
