by A. A. Dhand
‘Billy’s Peugeot’s outside the tunnel. You’ll sort it?’
Ronnie nodded.
Harry had lifted the child into his arms and was about to close the door when Ronnie called to him.
‘Your boy,’ said Ronnie. ‘Aaron. You … you … look after him, Harry.’
‘With my life,’ said Harry, closing the door behind him.
Harry told the staff he’d found the young girl comatose on the street. Then he went looking for Balraj. His friend was three hours from finishing his night-shift and looked as jaded as Harry did.
‘If it’s a competition to see whose night’s been shittier, I’d say it’s a close-run thing,’ said Balraj.
Harry rubbed his tired eyes, his vision blurring slightly. ‘This city is killing us both.’
‘We should leave. Before Bradford drags us down with it.’
‘Institutionalized,’ replied Harry. His eyes stung. Queensbury Tunnel had a way of leaching into every part of his body. He breathed a deep sigh before he locked eyes with his friend. ‘So?’
‘She’s got an A & E file,’ Balraj said, handing him some papers.
‘Stabbing?’
Balraj shook his head as his pager started to bleep.
‘Shit,’ he said, clicking it off. ‘I’ve only got a few minutes, Harry.’
‘Tell me,’ said Harry.
‘Self-harm. Two attempts.’
‘When?’
‘Back in 2014. She was nineteen.’
‘How?’
‘Wrists.’
‘Bad?’
‘Cry for help. Superficial.’
‘That’s all? Nothing more?’
Balraj shook his head.
‘Anything written about why?’
‘Psychiatry notes aren’t here. She was referred on.’
‘Can you pull those notes?’
Balraj shook his head. ‘Not quickly, and not without questions.’
Harry nodded. ‘Got it. That helps, mate. Just to be clear, there’s nothing in 2013 to do with lacerations across her neck?’
‘Nothing like it.’
‘Thanks,’ said Harry, and shook Balraj’s hand. ‘I owe you.’
‘I’ll add it to the list, Harry,’ he replied.
Back in her room, Sarah saw Harry pull up outside the New Beehive just before four a.m.
Handcuffed to the bed once again, Sarah had quickly spilled vodka on to her clothes and the bed, hoping Harry would believe she had fallen asleep drinking. As she heard a key collide with the lock, she closed her eyes.
Harry paused outside Sarah’s room. He felt light-headed, weak, his vision blurring.
Streetlights outside made the dark room appear amber. Sarah was asleep, her hand still cuffed to the bed frame, her bottom lip vibrating as she breathed deeply. The bottle of vodka by her side was empty.
Harry unlocked the cuffs and gently examined her wrists, seeing faded scars.
He picked up the empty bottle from beside her and set it on the floor, then grabbed a pen and scrawled on a notepad by the bedside cabinet:
Call me in the morning … Harry.
At half past four in the morning, Harry stood in his kitchen scrubbing Omar’s blood from his hands. He noticed the window was slightly ajar and a photo frame had fallen over. Saima must have left it open. She was sometimes so tired from being up with Aaron all night that she would have left the front door wide open if Harry hadn’t learned to go round and check these things. He closed the window and righted the photo frame.
Upstairs, Harry sat beside Aaron’s cot, watching the rise and fall of his little chest.
He had taken the stairs two at a time, desperate to see his son. The sound of Aaron’s snores restored his balance and was the perfect antidote to a city determined to drag Harry to its darkest corners.
Harry wanted change for Bradford, so his son might grow up in a better place than he’d known as a kid.
The thought kickstarted the familiar battle in his mind:
I haven’t turned. I’m not like Ronnie.
But if I turned, would Aaron have a better life?
Harry inhaled deeply. He got off the bed and lifted Aaron from his cot, cradling him and putting his lips to his son’s forehead.
‘My boy,’ he whispered, and thought of the times he had done this with Tara – on nights when Mandy hadn’t realized Uncle Harry had snuck into Tara’s bedroom for half an hour to revel in the warmth of his niece’s tiny form.
‘My boy,’ he repeated, sitting back on the bed and trying to wipe the last thirty hours from his mind. The tiredness felt like bricks in his pocket, pulling him to the ground.
‘Harry?’ Saima stood half-silhouetted in the doorway. She crept into the room and sat cross-legged on the floor by his feet.
‘Just … needed a cuddle,’ he whispered.
‘You need to sleep.’
‘I know.’
‘Why don’t you sleep in here?’
Harry shook his head. ‘My dreams might infect his mind.’
‘Don’t be silly. It might help you relax.’
‘A shower will fix that.’
‘Any … you know … progress?’
‘Not in here, Saima. How was he? I’m sorry I missed bathtime.’ ‘He missed you. Kept looking at me, like, “You’re not my daddy.”’ She smiled and put her hand on Aaron, next to Harry’s.
‘I used to do this with Tara,’ he said, his voice unsteady. ‘We were all crazy about her, but I always felt like, I don’t know, she and I had a special bond? You know?’
Saima nodded. ‘She was precious, Harry.’
‘I wasn’t there for her, Saima.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
Harry didn’t tell her that Tara had tried to call him. That he hadn’t answered.
‘How can I help?’ said Saima.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Tea?’ she offered.
Harry smiled. ‘You and your “Indian tea fixes everything”.’
‘Always did in my mum’s house. Something bad happened, you put the tea on the stove.’
‘Mine too. My mum would be proud of you.’
‘Do I make it better than her?’
‘Not this again,’ he said, and smiled.
‘One day I’ll get to make her a cup,’ she repeated the line she had said for years now. ‘It’s a daughter-in-law’s rite of passage. And when that day arrives, it’s got to be the greatest cup of tea she has ever tasted. I want to be prepared, Harry.’
‘It will be.’ He leaned forward and kissed Saima on the forehead. ‘Get back to bed, it’s late.’
‘And you? You look ready to collapse.’
‘A shower, then bed,’ he promised. ‘When I wake up, that cup of Indian tea will be just the thing.’
Harry kissed his fingers and put them on Aaron’s face.
My boy.
In a bathroom full of steam, Harry’s mind was racing. Something was amiss, a whisper in his mind too soft to hear. It had been there all evening, but only now in the calm of his home could Harry try to focus on it.
Sarah was hiding something.
Why?
Harry got out of the shower, the rancour of Queensbury Tunnel washed away.
He climbed into bed and felt Saima roll over and slip her arms protectively around his body. All the doubts and whispers vanished from Harry’s mind as he fell into an exhausted sleep.
THIRTY-THREE
THE STEADY DRIP of water from Queensbury Tunnel was the only thing disturbing the silence as Ronnie Virdee stood in the darkness watching the cowering bodies of Billy and Omar.
Rule number one; no one dies.
Not his rule …
He held a Stanley knife, flicking the blade in and out, thinking.
Billy wasn’t going to talk. Ronnie had done this enough times to know. But Omar? He was frightened, out of his depth and vulnerable. Omar would talk.
What does he know?
Ronnie was glad for the
distraction of the tunnel. He couldn’t go home. His wife hadn’t yet said anything, but it was only a matter of time before he would have to face her accusation that he was to blame for Tara’s death; a father who allowed his daughter to face the streets of Bradford alone.
He felt it too.
The only thing left for Ronnie was revenge.
The rhythmic dripping was disturbed by the arrival of Enzo, accompanied by a brutishly built man they simply referred to as ‘Hobo’.
‘Got anything yet?’ he said, pointing at Omar and Billy.
‘Nope,’ replied Ronnie, still absent-mindedly toying with the Stanley knife.
‘You want me to?’ said Enzo.
Ronnie shook his head. ‘I’ll take this.’
‘You sure, boss?’
‘Yeah. In fact, you head home.’
Ronnie stepped into the path of Enzo’s torch and put his hand out.
Enzo handed his boss a clear bag filled with tablets of two different colours.
‘Blue and yellow. Up to you,’ said Enzo. He looked over at his friend. ‘Or, maybe up to him?’
Hobo stared back at them, dishevelled as always. He knew this tunnel, one of the few people Ronnie invited here and allowed to leave afterwards. Not quite one of the team. But a man who could be relied upon and had a certain sickness, one Ronnie only ever utilized in extreme circumstances.
‘And?’ asked Ronnie expectantly.
Enzo hesitated.
‘Boss, you know—’
‘If I wanted a lecture, I’d have asked Harry to stay. Hand it over.’
Enzo fished a brown paper bag from his other pocket and gave it to Ronnie. ‘Sure I can’t stay?’
‘It’s almost five in the morning, Enzo,’ replied Ronnie, taking the bag from him. ‘I need you fresh for whatever the next twenty-four hours brings.’
‘What about you?’
Ronnie waved the bag of tablets at Enzo. ‘This won’t take long,’ he said. ‘Never does.’
‘You cold?’ Ronnie asked Omar, kneeling in front of his trembling body.
Omar nodded, his face undeniably blue now, eyes drowsy but wet with tears running down his face on to the gag across his mouth.
‘Here,’ said Ronnie, wrapping Omar’s coat around him. Beside them, Billy was watching closely, his mouth gagged, old blood crusting across his face.
‘Nonces? That’s what you both are? Right?’ Ronnie pointed behind him. ‘Same as my friend over there.’ Then he shook his head. ‘Well, similar.’
He opened the bag Enzo had given him and spilled a pool of yellow and blue pills into his palm. ‘Know what these are?’
Omar and Billy looked at them but didn’t respond.
‘I call ’em C5s and V50s, but you might know them as Cialis and Viagra.’ Ronnie smiled. ‘I make nearly a quarter of my money selling these. Amazing, huh?’
Omar looked at the bag, then at Ronnie. His eyes settled on Hobo.
‘I reckon there’s things that you’re not telling me about this Ali. And your boss. What I can’t work out is why you think they need protecting more than you do.’
Omar shook his head. Ronnie took the gag from his mouth. ‘Told you everything. Honest! I just get the cars!’
‘Come on, you do more than that.’
‘I never did nothing bad. I treat ‘em all good!’
‘Screwing a thirteen-year-old “ain’t bad”?’
‘They wanted it, I swear – they’re not like kids any more, you know?’
Ronnie scowled. ‘You got kids?’
Another shake of the head.
‘When my …’ Ronnie struggled momentarily, ‘when Tara was thirteen, she was still a kid.’
‘I wasn’t involved in that shit! I swear! I told you, I just get the cars—’ He broke off with a sob.
Ronnie looked over at Billy but continued talking to Omar. ‘The girl you helped take – Olivia Goodwin. What’s so special about her?’
‘There’s a buyer, that’s all I know!’
‘A buyer. That’s all? And you still think you’re not involved?’ said Ronnie, smirking. ‘You fuck little girls. You supply the vehicles to help with whatever this deal is? Selling some kid. And you think you’re not a player? You think you’ve got a clear conscience, you dumb fuck?’
Omar groaned. ‘Look, just hand me in to the police, yeah? I’ll do my time.’
Ronnie stood up and chose two pills from his hand, one blue, one yellow. ‘You know the difference between these?’
Omar shook his head.
‘Blue ones last maybe a few hours. Yellow? Shit lasts for days.’ Ronnie turned to Hobo. ‘Which one are you thinking?’
He stared greedily at Omar, then lifted the yellow one.
‘He likes you,’ said Ronnie, turning to face Omar and smiling.
‘No,’ said Omar, shaking his head, realization suddenly hitting him, panic clear across his face. ‘No! I swear, I told you everything! Billy’s in charge, not me!’
‘Don’t you worry about Billy – he’ll get his go,’ said Ronnie. He checked his watch. ‘Five o’clock,’ he said, yawning. ‘How long you want with them? Ten? Twenty?’
The man took his grimy coat off and threw it on the floor, grinning stupidly.
‘Tell them!’ screamed Omar to Billy. ‘Tell them I don’t know shit!’
Billy remained stony-faced, staring at each of them in turn. He tried to talk, but the gag was tight across his face. Ronnie removed it.
Billy shocked them all when he started laughing.
‘You’re dead,’ he said finally. ‘You want to know who you’re taking on?’
‘Amuse me,’ replied Ronnie.
‘They’ll be coming for you. No police, no military, not even God can save you. You hear, benchaud?’
Ronnie smiled. ‘Got it. You tell me if any of that shit matters when your kid’s been murdered.’ He turned to Omar. ‘Looks like your mate Billy wants to watch.’
The sound of a belt unbuckling, a zip lowering filled the tunnel.
Omar started to scream.
Ronnie snatched the coat from Omar’s body and threw it across the tunnel.
‘What the—Please! Look, you can’t do this – the girls, they wanted it, I looked after them, I never did anything to your daughter. Look, I—’
Ronnie slapped him, sending Omar’s head thudding into the wall.
‘Not my usual thing this, Omar,’ said Ronnie, softening his voice a little. ‘It’s important you know that. Certainly not the sort of stuff my brother would condone. But the punishment needs to fit the crime. That’s my world. Now, last chance before my friend here gives you nightmares you’ll never wake up from,’ said Ronnie coldly. ‘He’s dirty. The things he’s got crawling all over his skin? Shit, even this tunnel’s got more chance of salvation.’
‘Ali! Ali! I … I … dropped him off one time,’ shouted Omar.
‘Where?’ said Ronnie.
‘I … don’t know exactly, he’s … he’s … really secretive. Really weird, never shows his face. Doesn’t want anyone knowing anything about him.’
‘So where’d you drop him?’ asked Ronnie, noticing the way Billy’s body had suddenly tensed.
‘Off Leeds Road.’
‘Fucking hell,’ said Ronnie. ‘Leeds Road? That’s not an address, that’s an area.’
‘It was outside Mughal’s. There’s some houses at the back of the restaurant … I’m sure he headed towards one of them. I tried to look, but it was dark so I didn’t see properly … I swear,’ he said, gasping for breath between his sobs. ‘I swear, that’s all I know!’
Ronnie believed him. Omar was about as afraid as anyone he’d ever seen.
‘Tell him to stop,’ shouted Omar, flinching. ‘Tell him to stop!’
‘That what the girls say?’ asked Ronnie, his voice thick with contempt.
‘Please,’ sobbed Omar. ‘I … I … don’t deserve this.’
Ronnie grabbed his coat and a spare torch and stepped away from the trio. �
��I don’t like this, you know,’ he said to Omar. ‘Not one bit. But you brought it on yourselves.’
Ronnie switched on his torch, the beam lighting up the dark route which would lead him out of the tunnel. ‘Before I go, I’ll give you one last chance, Omar. Who killed my daughter?’
‘Ali, it was Ali,’ he sobbed.
‘Olivia Goodwin, where is she?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Who’s the boss of your gang?’
More of the same.
‘What time does this shit go down tonight?’
‘Eight! Eight o’clock – I know that much! I heard them talking about it. I swear, that’s all I know.’
‘You know what I’m looking for,’ Ronnie said. Hobo nodded. ‘See if you can jog his memory.’
Ronnie took the brown paper bag he had got from Enzo out of his pocket, removed the bottle of bourbon and walked into the darkness, listening as Omar started to scream.
THIRTY-FOUR
FOUR HOURS AFTER Harry fell asleep, he opened his eyes to find Aaron standing unaided by his bed, grinning broadly and mumbling.
‘Bah?’
Harry froze, savouring the sight of his son standing alone.
Aaron then took his first step.
And another.
‘Bah!’ he said, waving his hands excitedly and arriving by Harry’s bed, throwing his arms triumphantly on to it.
‘My boy,’ whispered Harry, shuffling out of bed and scooping Aaron into his arms, kissing him repeatedly. ‘Show me again.’
He placed him back on the carpet, a foot from the bed, leaving him standing. Aaron teetered unsteadily, then sat down, then crawled rapidly away towards the bedroom door.
‘Hey,’ said Harry, going after him, ‘where’s your mum?’
Aaron’s chubby arms and legs ate up the ground as he entered the spare bedroom, where Saima was on her knees praying and whispering in Arabic. He raced towards her, head down, bum swaying until he head-butted his mother, who continued undistracted.
‘Leave your mum alone,’ said Harry, taking him back into his bedroom and getting into bed.
Harry was surprised to see Saima praying, she usually only performed Friday namaz worship.
‘Nine a.m. prayers,’ said Harry to his son, resting him on his chest, ‘what have you done to make that happen?’
‘Bah,’ said Aaron.
