Sirens

by Joseph Knox

  Until then she’d always been an idea in my head. A spark of life and a possible future. In the wake of Isabelle’s death, in the wake of Sycamore Way, it scared me to think of her as a person. Vulnerable as the rest of us. As if to emphasize this, as she crossed the room towards me a man walked into her, hard, almost knocking her down.

  ‘Hey,’ I shouted after him, walking to Catherine. I’d never seen him before but he had the same filthy look as the man Carver had head-butted at the Burnside. A Sider. His clothes were out of time, and he was older than most people in the room. Into his fifties, I thought.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah, fine.’

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking after him. The man had crossed the room towards the exit, slamming the door as he went.

  ‘Wait here.’

  ‘Aidan, please.’ She took my hand. ‘Can’t we just sit down?’ We walked back to the corner booth. Catherine saw me looking at her half-spilt drink.

  ‘Sprite,’ she said. I nodded but didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to acknowledge it. She saw that too, and went on quickly. ‘It doesn’t mean I’m—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I just don’t know what I’m doing yet …’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good,’ she said, looking up and then down again. ‘Bad. Happy. Depressed.’

  ‘Four of the seven dwarves.’

  ‘You really scared me that day at Isabelle’s place.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. You scared me too.’

  ‘I got that impression.’ She mock-punched me in the chest. ‘Never knocked up a stranger before?’ Her arm was half across the table now and our little fingers brushed against each other.

  ‘Actually, no.’

  ‘Worth it if you’re getting too much sleep at night.’

  ‘With your help I’m cutting it out entirely.’

  She shifted in her seat. ‘Do you need help, Aidan?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Are you in trouble?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Everyone else I know is.’ She smiled. ‘Including me. You just appeared out of nowhere one day with a black eye. I don’t know anything about you …’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Am I just something that gets you closer to Zain Carver?’

  ‘I don’t care if I never see him again.’

  She looked surprised. ‘And what about me?’

  ‘I hope this isn’t the last time we talk. We didn’t have a conventional start. We probably wouldn’t have a conventional relationship. I’d like to try it, though, if you would.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know anything about me?’

  ‘I’ll take it as it comes.’

  She looked even more surprised. ‘And tell me what you think about all this, really?’ She was talking about the pregnancy.

  ‘I think that, whatever you decide, I’m with you. It’s where I want to be.’

  She moved her little finger over mine, squeezed it lightly. ‘Actually never heard that one before.’

  ‘I wanted to get in touch sooner. I didn’t have your number, though. I couldn’t go to Zain’s after Sycamore Way, and—’

  ‘Sycamore Way,’ she said. Those words held so much power now that the room seemed to darken with them. Seven of the teenagers had died. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. I left Isabelle alone in Zain’s study. I think she stole the dirty brick. Then there was a whole day between me leaving her in the flat and finding her dead. I think she sold most of the stuff on and kept a sliver for herself. She used it. Those rich kids from West Dids used it.’

  ‘Zain said you were there when he found them?’ I nodded. ‘Were they the same as Isabelle? As bad?’

  ‘I think they all went peacefully,’ I said. There seemed little point in telling her the truth. She seemed relieved. ‘Has Zain said anything?’

  She looked up. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like what went wrong with that brick? Why people died?’

  She shook her head. ‘The stuff’s imported. Zain just cuts it. Everything else from that batch was fine.’

  ‘He’s sure?’

  ‘Tested it all after Sycamore Way.’

  ‘So whatever the brick was cut with is the problem?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And Zain said the cut was normal?’

  ‘Like he meant it. Like he really meant it.’

  ‘Then someone spiked it.’ She frowned. ‘You saw what it did to Isabelle. That couldn’t have been an accident.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Zain must have more enemies than he can count. Think about who benefits from him going down.’ I thought about it myself. Superintendent Parrs had his zeal. David Rossiter had his secrets. Sheldon White had his grudge. Even Grip couldn’t be counted out.

  ‘Is that what’ll happen? He’ll go down?’

  ‘I don’t know. They’d have him in already if they could.’

  ‘I don’t really want to be around when it happens …’

  I squeezed her finger. ‘Where would you go?’

  ‘London? Sometimes it’s sad, being around all these things that are just …’ she hesitated, ‘just ending.’ I realized then I was probably the last person she hoped to run into that day, that she had already decided about the baby.

  ‘You sound like you’re saying goodbye.’

  ‘Just don’t get to know me.’ She looked away. ‘It’ll be easier if you don’t get to know me.’ There was always an edge of performance with Catherine, but when I think of her, when I think of the real her, I think of that night. Her hair up, that jacket, that skirt, that conflict. I felt the second drink working on me. Putting the beat back into the music, the shine back on every surface. I didn’t know what she was thinking. I didn’t know what she was trying to say. I never really got to know her.

  5

  I was sitting with my back to the main entrance, but saw Cath’s eyes widen. Before I could turn, a man sat heavily beside her. The same man who had shoved her, over at the bar.

  He smelled of motor oil.

  The sight of him sitting by any girl, much less her, was offensive, nearly comical. He gave me the broad, ugly parody of a smile and put an arm round Catherine like she was nothing, working one finger beneath an exposed bra-strap.

  She hadn’t been looking in his direction when her eyes widened, and I knew there was someone else standing behind me. I thought I even knew who it was. Her eyes were on mine now, with the same cornered expression I’d seen a week ago in Isabelle’s room. The first man, still wrapped around her, cleared his throat:

  ‘Why don’t ya take a seat, Neil?’

  I turned to see the barman I had run out of the place a couple of weeks earlier. Still running. Still using his fake name. I gripped my glass tightly. I wanted to break it in his fucking face.

  He was wired. His barrel chest still heaved out in front of him but the designer stubble had grown out of all shape. Thick black bags hung beneath his eyes. He sat down beside me, sliding sideways, pushing me into the wall. It was an aggressive movement but I thought he’d just misjudged the space. He looked worn out, capsized by too many cocaine nights in a row.

  I saw sparkling drops of moisture in my glass, smelled alcohol in the air, half-heard conversations around the table. Rubik’s had got busy without me noticing. The room went on as normal, not knowing or caring about us. It was getting late and people were already deep into their evening drinks. I wondered how often I’d been drunk, oblivious, while something ugly happened in the same room.

  ‘Should probably introduce meself,’ said the man with his arm round Catherine’s shoulder. He wore his scowl like a mask. The kind that becomes permanent when you live a hard life. Here, now, he was at his most reasonable, but he couldn’t quite pull off the expression. It gave his face a look of concentration that made him seem simpler than he probably was.

&n
bsp; ‘Name’s Sheldon White,’ he said, holding out his free hand for someone to shake. Neither Catherine nor I did. Glen, Neil, the ex-barman, sat beside me ripping up a beer mat.

  ‘Good to meet you,’ I said. ‘Can you find him a gram of something? He’s stressing me out.’

  Sheldon tried another smile. He must have seen one once, from a distance. ‘Y’already know Neil.’

  The barman came to attention at the sound of his fake name. ‘Yeah,’ he said, answering for me. He kept making quick, cokehead movements, his eyes following a fly the rest of us couldn’t see.

  ‘Now, I know you kids’ve got some history, but we’re putting that to bed now.’ I didn’t say anything. Catherine didn’t say anything. ‘What’s your poison, lad?’

  I nodded at the fidgeting barman. ‘Whatever he’s having.’

  Sheldon stopped smiling.

  ‘Jameson’s and soda,’ I said.

  ‘Double?’

  ‘At least.’

  ‘Think I’ll join ya. And for the lady?’ When Catherine didn’t reply, he flicked her bra-strap.

  ‘Red,’ she said, looking at the wall. Sheldon heaved himself up. He was a big man, older than Zain Carver and going to ruin.

  ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he said.

  The room was bustling with people, and all I could see around the table were bodies jammed together. Sheldon pushed through them towards the bar. Once he’d disappeared I got to my feet, nodded at Catherine.

  She didn’t move.

  The barman, still fidgeting, still blocking my way, didn’t get up either. Instead, he showed me the hand that had been under the table.

  The knife.

  Through the crowd I saw blank, bored faces turned in our direction. I thought I recognized the two goons that Carver and I had seen at the Burnside. Others, similar in size and leers, were all around us. I sat back down, tried not to think about it.

  I looked at Glen, Neil, whatever. ‘Was it you I saw outside my flat?’

  He didn’t answer directly but the pressure of the knife against my stomach said it all.

  ‘You don’t need that,’ said Catherine.

  ‘Truth serum, innit. You should’ve stayed away from him.’

  Her eyes moved on to mine for a second. ‘Why?’

  ‘Tell her why, Aid.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Doesn’t know which lie he’s been caught in. Let’s start with what happened to Izzy.’

  ‘She was dosed with bad Eight.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘By herself or someone else.’

  ‘You took her home that night, dint ya? Where were you when all this happened?’

  ‘My flat. Where were you?’ He pressed the knife into me. I thought it had gone through my shirt.

  ‘That’s not how this works.’

  ‘I found her the next day. I called the police. Why would I have gone back if I killed her?’ As I explained myself, I tried to think: the barman’s emotional state meant he probably had nothing to do with Isabelle’s death. He sounded as confused as I was.

  ‘You might’ve stayed the night. Or just gone back to clean up.’

  ‘He was with me,’ said Catherine. ‘We found her together, I swear. I swear on my life.’ I thought her hand went to her stomach. ‘And I think it’s a fair question to ask where you were, Neil.’ I could feel the knife pressing into the skin of my stomach.

  ‘Fair question.’ He laughed. ‘Was with Mel.’

  ‘Mel?’

  He nodded across the room at the Australian barmaid. ‘Aid flushed a few grand of coke. Left me to hang for it.’ He spat out the words. ‘Knew I couldn’t stay at mine, so she put me up.’

  ‘Why would Aidan—’

  ‘It’s true,’ I said.

  ‘What. . . ?’

  ‘I was trying to look out for Isabelle …’

  ‘Bullshit,’ said the barman. ‘Looking out for your fucking self. Your kind always do.’

  ‘What do you mean, his kind?’ said Catherine.

  ‘Tell her, Aid.’ I felt the knife slip into my skin.

  ‘I’m a detective,’ I said. For a second her eyes moved on to mine, then back at the wall again. All the colour went from her face and I thought she was going to be sick. The barman watched closely.

  ‘Surprise, surprise, you didn’t know. Aid sets me up and takes Izzy home. Next day, she’s dead. Then them Sycamore Way kids. Then Zain in the shit for it all. Think about it,’ he said. ‘They all separate things or one fucking big one?’ Catherine’s eyes came on to mine again, lingering longer this time.

  ‘Who’s he?’ she said, nodding at the empty seat beside her.

  ‘Sheldon White?’ said the barman. ‘Old school Burnsider.’

  She closed her eyes.

  ‘Not like I had a choice, was it?’ he went on. ‘And I wasn’t gonna walk out on this prick.’ He pressed the knife into me again. This time, I could feel the blood seeping into my shirt. ‘Told the Siders I could set ’em up in here while Zain gets back on his feet. Played ’em …’

  His hands had started to shake and he looked down at them. There was no need to interrupt, to say that it was him who had been played. It was all there, exposed, in his own version of events.

  I wondered if he’d been fed more than cocaine, though. Scared, stupid and running for his life, the Siders had probably looked like a good bet. Some protection while he worked out what to do next. Then they’d just strung him out on drugs for days and gleaned every detail they could about the Franchise’s trade.

  I thought, bitterly, about flushing the drugs. I could have had him arrested, but I’d had my revenge instead.

  ‘Gotta do what ya gotta do,’ he said vaguely. ‘Zain understands that.’ We sat in silence until Sheldon reappeared with the drinks. Four glasses in two giant, tattooed hands.

  ‘Don’t stop on my account, kids,’ he said, sliding the glasses on to the table and slumping down beside Catherine. He put one hand back around her shoulder and drank with the other. ‘Name’s Cath, innit?’

  She nodded. She seemed suddenly very young.

  The man looked at me. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Aidan,’ I said.

  ‘Right, right, Aidan Waits. Live off Newton Street.’

  I glared at the barman. ‘It’s no secret. Are we neighbours?’

  ‘Nah, mate, I wish. I’m further out than that. Round Burnside way.’

  ‘Nice place.’

  ‘That’s right. You an’ Zain paid us a visit the other week.’

  ‘Kept hearing such good things.’

  His forehead creased into an ugly, tectonic frown. ‘You fuckin’ gob like that to him,’ he said, nodding at the barman. ‘Gob like that to Carver. Gob like that to this bitch, if you want. But don’t gob like that to me. Clear?’ I nodded. ‘Yeah, Burnside’s a nice place. Untapped, let’s say. Bit like here, tonight.’

  We waited.

  ‘All these people,’ he said, looking around us. ‘All this money, all this gash.’ He breathed it in. ‘Just cryin’ out for a bit of oblivion. And no one selling it? That’s criminal.’

  ‘Zain’s selling it,’ said Catherine.

  ‘Used to, darlin’,’ said Sheldon. ‘Think we can all agree the golden age is over, though.’ The barman nodded, like he was thinking deeply about it. I think it was dawning on him what he’d done. ‘His taste in skirt hasn’t changed, though, has it, sweetheart?’ Catherine didn’t say anything. ‘You might be his best yet.’

  ‘I work for him.’

  He laughed in my direction. ‘That’s how it starts, though, eh, Aid? That other tart just worked for him, too.’ Catherine didn’t say anything, and he kept on pushing. ‘What was her name again?’

  I didn’t know if it was out of fear or loyalty, but Catherine’s voice broke. ‘Her name was Joanna,’ she said.

  ‘Jo-anna,’ repeated White. ‘That’s the one. Before your time, though, surely?’

  ‘I never met
her,’ Catherine said quietly.

  White looked at me. ‘Slag’s buried in cement, somewhere. Not much of a retirement scheme, eh?’

  ‘Fuck you,’ said Catherine.

  ‘What’s that, sweetheart?’

  She turned and said it to his face.

  I gripped my glass tighter. I thought he was going to hit her. From the look in her eyes I think she did, too. I saw the massed faces in the crowd, watching us. It felt like the hinge of the entire conversation, the entire night.

  ‘You wanted to talk to us about something,’ I said. ‘I’m guessing it wasn’t the past.’

  ‘Look at that,’ said Sheldon, smiling. ‘Aid couldn’t give a shit about the he-said, she-said. Straight to business. Good stuff.’

  ‘I just want to get on with my night.’

  ‘So you fucking shall, mate, so you fucking shall. I wanna borrow you for a bit first.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Call it peacekeeping.’

  I waited.

  ‘Can’t just rock up here without letting Carver know about it, can I? This is his place, after all. You can put something to him for me. An opportunity. Way Neil tells it, the Franchise runs from Rubik’s these days. Stuff comes here, gets sold here, gets farmed out to other places. That’s right, innit?’ The barman nodded down at the table. ‘But with Zain’s rep in the shitter and Neil here on the lam, everything’s stopped.’

  ‘And you can get it restarted.’

  His fingers pressed into Catherine’s shoulder.

  ‘I can keep it warm for him, yeah.’ I shook my head and he went on. ‘That’s not the offer. Want ya to tell him I’m prepared to pay.’ He smirked. There was thick, shining sweat on his upper lip. ‘One per cent of all profits.’

  ‘There’s only one way he’ll take that.’

  ‘Lying down,’ said Sheldon. ‘He’s fucked six ways from Sunday. Hasn’t got a choice.’

  ‘He’s got his pride, though. I can put it to him that you sell here, but that’s humiliation enough. You offer him one per cent and his ego won’t let him take it. You get a war instead.’ Sheldon looked bored. ‘He hasn’t got a lot left to lose,’ I said. ‘Offer ten and he can call it a business decision. Swallow it with his pride.’

  He sucked his teeth, pretended to think about it.