The Norway Room (13 page)

21

At least Kieran said he could leave the house in the evenings. It was doing his head in staying in all day. A fat woman carrying a bottle of wine held the door for him at Walton Tower. He could smell her perfume as he followed her to the lift. ‘If you breathe in deep there'll be room for two,' she said. ‘God, it stinks like a toilet in here.' She pressed 13. ‘What floor you want, love?'

‘Same.'

‘You going to Mel's? You a friend of Soph's?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Didn't think she knew any white lads. Ooh, I shouldn't say that should I?' The woman was nice. About thirty, with very big tits, like a shelf, and glossy white hair with dark roots. A lot of make-up. Glasses with fancy frames. She reminded him of someone. Off the telly probably. ‘What's your name, love?'

‘Ashley.'

‘Mine's Sharon.'

Mel was standing at the open door of the flat. As she left the lift and saw her, Sharon gasped dramatically, clasped her free hand to her chest and seemed to just save herself from stumbling. ‘God give me breath. Like a gas chamber in there. You'd be dead before you got to eighteen. All blokes should be fitted with catheters. The law.' She held the wine up to Mel. ‘Offering. A touch of Bulgarian magic for afterwards.' Mel took the wine. ‘Ta, Shaz.' As Sharon hugged her Mel noticed Ashley.

‘I was adopted.' Sharon nodded towards Ashley. ‘In the lift. This young man escorted me up. But it's your daughter he's interested in. Doesn't appreciate the older woman.'

‘Hello, love. I didn't know you was coming.'

‘I texted Sophie.'

‘Is she here yet? Jade?' Sharon's voice took on a whisper.

Mel lowered hers. ‘Been here since six.'

‘Oops! Last one to the party again. How is she?'

‘How d'you think? Not good.'

Ashley followed the women into the flat. Two others were sitting on the settee, both blonde, one with her hair tied back in a tail. The other had bruises all over her face; her lower lip was cut and swollen. Sharon pushed towards her. ‘Oh my poor darling.' She hugged her, nearly falling on top of her. ‘If I had a gun,' she said, steadying herself, ‘I'd shoot the bastard. I'd shoot all of 'em.'

Sophie was sitting cross-legged on a big cushion on the floor, her headphones in, watching the television. Mel nudged her in the back with her foot. She turned. Saw Ashley. Pulled the headphones down.

‘Hiya. Didn't know you was coming.'

‘I texted.'

Sophie rose slowly from the cushion. Sharon came to hug her. ‘How's my precious?' She tapped Sophie's belly. ‘Blooming beautifully I see.'

‘Yeah. I'm all right.' Then to Ashley: ‘Let's go into the kitchen.'

‘Don't let her smoke in there, love, will you?'

‘He's got a name you know, Mom. It's Ashley.' Ashley had never heard Sophie call Mel
Mom
before.

‘Sorry, love. Ashley. Don't let her smoke in there, Ashley, for Christ's sake.'

‘D'you want a milky coffee?' Sophie asked. ‘We've got tons of milk. Mel keeps buying it. Every time she goes out. I think she'd get a cow if she could.' Then she laughed. ‘She's got three of 'em in there with her now.'

There was a bottle of whiskey on the counter, still more than half full. Sophie saw Ashley looking at it. ‘D'you want a drop in?'

‘Ta.'

‘I'm not having any. Not yet. We're having a séance. That's why they're here,' and she nodded towards the other room. ‘Jade's bloke has given her a smack. Mel and Shaz want her to grass him. But she's not sure. 'Cause she loves him. They don't seem to understand that. She doesn't want to get him into trouble. And he'd probably dump her. So she wants to ask her nan what to do. You can't do a séance properly if you've been drinking. The spirits don't like it. Not respectful.'

‘D'you believe all that?'

‘Course. Well, I think so. Mel does. There's a bloke in Sheldon she goes to. Reads her palm. Every time she gets a new fella she goes. Gay he is. A lot of them are. Gays are good at that stuff. Sensitive.'

Ashley watched her making the coffee. She looked properly pregnant now. Funny. Really thin, but with a bump. Like a cartoon muscle.

Sophie poured whiskey into Ashley's mug. ‘I want to see if we can reach Wesley? He might have a message for his mom. Or Karl.' Ashley said nothing. Sophie brought her face to Ashley's mug of coffee and sniffed. ‘Yesterday the smell of whiskey made me feel sick. It's okay today. Weird. Have you seen Karl?'

‘He came round yesterday.'

‘Me and Tyr took some flowers round this afta. There's a pile of them outside the house. You can't see the wall. And there's this big Union Jack. In the middle. Flowers all round it. Looks lovely. All the curtains are closed. Made me feel weird; curtains closed in the daytime. Like it was a crack house or something.'

‘Wake up.'

‘I'm awake.'

‘You don't look it.'

‘I didn't think we'd be going this early.'

Kieran grinned at the boy's grumbling. Tired like this, and curled into his seat, he looked very small; very young. Keeping his eyes on the road, Kieran reached inside his workman's jacket and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his shirt, dropping them in Ashley's lap. Bensons. A lighter followed. ‘Here, have some breakfast.'

He noticed the boy's right hand. Swollen fingers. ‘What you done to your hand?'

‘Tattoo.'

Keeping his right hand on the wheel Kieran used his left to bring the boy's hand towards him. Ashley curled the fingers, making a fist.

‘Jesus! What a mess. They've gone blue.'

‘That's the ink.' Ashley pulled the hand away. ‘Sophie did it? She's done lots.'

‘What she use? A fucking Stanley knife?'

Ashley said nothing.

‘What does it say anyway?'

‘Mom. M. O. M. One on each finger. And R. I. P. Underneath. Two letters on each finger. The middle one, O I, that stands for a Buddhist word. A prayer.'

‘And the last finger, M P, that stands for mad pratt. What you want to go and do that for, Ash? It's stupid. If you wanted a tattoo you should have gone and had a proper one. I'd have taken you.'

‘She had a séance. Her and her mom. She told me they got in touch with my mom.'

Kieran looked at the boy. ‘Ash. You know that's bollocks. She couldn't —'

‘That's what they said. Said they got in touch with her and she wanted me to have it done. To remember her.'

Kieran sighed. ‘But, Ash – You know—'

Ashley stopped him. ‘That's what they said. So I did it. What else could I do?'

Kieran drove in silence for a while. He knew he should talk with the boy, help him accept what had happened; see that this was all nonsense. But this wasn't the time or the place. ‘Just keep it as clean as you can,' he said, ‘or we'll be back up the ossie again, applying for a season ticket. Use TCP.'

It was just gone seven and still dark. The night's rain had left a damp black sheen on the roads. Streetlights, headlights, glittered and danced. Kieran was dressed like a builder. A fluorescent work jacket, jeans, boots.

They passed the Spotted Hippo.

‘That's where Crawford's got his office isn't it?' Ashley asked.

‘One of them.'

At the top of Bromsgrove Street a large construction site was coming to life. Kieran pulled up among a number of cars and vans beside it. A bloke was guiding a van as it reversed out. Kieran reached into the back of the car for a couple of hard hats. ‘Here, stick this on.'

‘It's too big.'

‘Shut it. Just get it on. We're blending in.' Kieran's tone had changed. ‘And this too.' He handed him a luminous jacket. ‘Right, this is where I'm going to drop you. When the time comes. On the day.' This voice was hard. Brittle. More than just businesslike. There was a force behind the words. Like he was driving them into Ashley's brain. ‘Get out and I'll take you through it.'

They walked up Bromsgrove Street turning left into a short street of dilapidated buildings that lay behind the clubs. The darkness was disappearing rapidly, replaced by a grey-blue sky, the colour of some girls' eyeshadow. The street was empty and the pad of their feet echoed a little. ‘Right, you come down to the corner, and then so long as no one's around you nip up here.' He indicated a narrow passage between two buildings. Ashley followed Kieran in. It was just wide enough for one person to get through.

‘Under here.' They ducked under what was left of a wooden fence into a piece of land that might once have been a garden. Now it was rough and uneven scrub, enclosed by the backs of buildings. Old buildings. Boarded-up windows. Fire escapes. A few bottles and bin bags lying about. Ashley could make out a couple of blue plastic crates stuck in a bush, like they were part of it. ‘Once you're here – you wait. Best to squat down I think,' and Kieran went down on his haunches. Ashley did the same. ‘If anyone should see you from up there, it'll look like you're taking a crap. And once you're here,' Kieran was whispering close in to Ashley's ear, ‘all you have to do is wait. Keep down. But no one ever comes in here. No point is there? So you just wait. And you stay. It might be ten minutes. It might be twenty. It might be a fucking hour. You wait. Rain. Snow. Fucking earthquake. You don't move until Pricey arrives.'

Ashley listened. It was not just Kieran he could hear; the thump of his heart was making a louder noise.

‘When he does, give him your schoolbag. He'll put something –' Kieran stopped, looked at Ashley. ‘He'll put the gun in it, give it you back and be off. You wait. Twenty minutes. Got it? I'll give you a proper watch. Twenty minutes. Then up you get.' Kieran rose. Like demonstrating. Ashley did the same. ‘And back we go to the street. But this way.' He made for a bush ahead of them, pushed through it to an even narrower passage, that led into another street of derelict buildings, old offices it looked like. Essex Terrace the sign said. ‘Right, Ash, this is the way you go.' They turned into Kent Street. ‘Keep going down this road. It's the long route to the bus stop but it's one with no CCTV.' At the bottom they turned into Wrentham Street. ‘See what we're doing here?'

‘Doubling back.'

‘You've got it.' Kieran walked Ashley up to the Bristol Road, past St Catherine's dome, over Pagoda Gardens and through St Jude's Underpass to the bus stops on Hill Street. ‘When you get here you phone me. Okay?' Ashley nodded. ‘You get off the bus at the ice rink and I'll be in the car park waiting for you. Understand everything?'

‘Yeah.'

‘You sure? We can do it again if you like.'

‘I'm not stupid. I know what to do.'

‘You worried?'

‘No.'

‘Right we'll go and have a cup of tea in the market and then you can walk me through it. Show me you know what you're doing.'

‘I'm starving. Can't we have a breakfast? A fry-up?'

As Kieran watched the boy wolf down a breakfast that would have satisfied any one of the navvies working round here, he explained to him the importance of his role. He went into no detail, just pointed out that he absolutely had to do exactly as he was told. If for any reason Pricey didn't turn up, he just stayed there until Kieran called him. He was completely safe. No one ever went in there. Why would they?

22

Ashley looked at the kid in the mirror. He could do anything. Like posh kids can. Anything. And get away with it. He flicked his head – and the fringe flopped. Cool. He did it again. Then turned his head to look at himself side-on. He picked up his schoolbag, felt the weight of books, football boots. Five minutes, Kieran had said when he rang. Be fucking ready, he said. That was ten minutes ago. Easily ten minutes ago.

He dragged himself away from the mirror and went downstairs to wait. Kieran hadn't said anything about money yet, except that he would be looked after – and Ashley hadn't asked. But he wanted a good wad. This must be big, whatever it was. They wouldn't be going to so much trouble if what he was doing wasn't an important part of it. So. He wanted enough to get a good laptop, and some clothes. He hardly let himself think it – like the posh kid would wear.

He heard the front door go. Kieran grinned when he saw Ashley. ‘Fucking hell, Ash. You look like you can read and write. The glasses look good. Right brainbox. How you feeling?'

‘Okay.'

‘Ready for this?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Here.' He handed Ashley a mobile. ‘Put this in your bag. You ring me on this. I'm keyed in.' He sort of smiled. ‘And you don't get to keep it afterwards.' And in that attempt at a smile Ashley saw that Kieran was on edge, and he was pleased to realise that he himself wasn't nervous at all, in fact he was excited, and looking forward to the job. It seemed more than just a couple of weeks ago that he had lain on the settee crying with fear at what he had let himself in for. Now he was different. If he did this well everything could change for him.

‘Come on then. Time to go.'

Ashley looked at the new watch Kieran had given him. It was two-thirty.

‘I'm parked-up down here,' Kieran told him, ‘on the corner. The Megane; nothing too flash today.'

It was as they were crossing the road to the car that Geezbo turned the corner. Still in his shorts, he was wearing a zebra-patterned hoodie. He tossed his head so that the hood fell back, revealing his side-on baseball cap. He looked straight at Ashley. Ashley froze. Kieran looked from Ashley to the boy in the long baggy shorts. It took Geezbo a moment to convince himself that the boy before him was actually Ashley. He looked at Kieran. At the car. At Kieran again. ‘Fuck man! Whaz goin' on? Wha' you dressed up like thiz for, man?'

Ashley didn't know what to say. ‘I'm going to school,' was the best he could manage, and he knew how stupid it sounded before Geezbo came back with, ‘Two a clock in dee fuckin' aftanoon? You gonna school? Time-keepin' might not be your ting, man,' he sneered, ‘but you ain't goin' to no school at two in dee aftanoon.' All of Geezbo's instincts were at work, and both Ashley and Kieran recognised this. He was almost sniffing the air, as if, like some sort of wild pig, he recognised that he had stumbled across something.

‘To register,' Kieran said across the roof of the car. And he was talking in his Irish accent now. Cool and smiling. ‘To register at his new school. Private. Going to get him educated if it's the last thing I do. Get in Ash, or we'll be late for Mr O'Connor.' And ignoring Geezbo's attempt at further questions the two got into the Megane and were away. Geezbo stood watching the car disappear into Hobson Road.

Ashley could feel Kieran's tension. He was trying to control himself. Ashley knew. Not let his anger show. It wasn't the time. Ashley thought it best to remain silent. Eventually Kieran could speak. ‘So. Who's that monkey?'

‘Just a mate.'

‘Looks like he should be in a cage. What you knock around with kids like him for? Total trouble.' He pressed the CD player. Rock music filled the car. Loud. When he had calmed down, he lowered the sound so he could talk over it. His eyes on the road ahead. ‘Ash, I thought I told you no one was to come to the house. Just you.'

‘You can't stop your mates coming round.'

‘No one is supposed to know you're there. I told the school you was in Ireland.'

‘He's not from school.'

‘I could tell that. Looks like he came in from the fucking ark. Crawled off it.' He turned the music up again. It filled the car, completely filled it. Like water. Ashley could hardly breathe. And Kieran was driving too fast. Overtaking. He shouldn't be, Ashley knew this, not when you're on your way to an important job. Then as they approached the city centre, Kieran pulled into Speedwell Road opposite the synagogue and killed the music.

Here Kieran went through everything with Ashley. And again. And as he answered Kieran's questions Ashley realised that despite what had happened with Geezbo, he still wasn't nervous, was still excited, wanted to do a good job, do it properly. And he knew that Kieran recognised this. It was a good feeling. He was part of this. He tried to see himself in the wing mirror, but could only catch a bit of his hair. ‘What we going to do about Geezbo?' he asked.

‘Is that his name? Sounds like somebody bringing up phlegm. Suits him.' Then Kieran looked hard at the boy beside him, took in the question that had been asked, the way it had been asked, without fear, recognising the problem, no longer the whining, defensive little kid he so often was.

‘Dunno yet. See how things go. Might have to sort him out if he plays up.'

Ashley nodded. ‘Yeah.'

It was cold, but the sun was shining. But not here in this quiet, shadowy place filled with shrubs and ivy. This is it, Ashley told himself, I am here. And he wondered if fear would come, but it didn't. He felt fine. Calm. He looked around. It was about the size of a cell. He thought about his dad and wondered if he would be proud of him. A couple of clumps of snowdrops were out. It reminded him of the cemetery; there were tons of them up there. There were buds on some of the twigs that overhung the broken fence. Brown ones. Green ones. Some small, black, pointed and tiny. Little black spears. He remembered the story of
Gulliver's Travels
. Tons of tiny arrows being fired into Gulliver's huge body. And no effect. He used to love that film.

He looked above the fence to the back of the old buildings that enclosed this space. Derelict by the look of them. The sun shone on milky brown bricks and black ironwork fire escapes; he counted four of them, just on that side. All with boarded-up doors and windows. Some shuttered with metal, others with pieces of wood. It was like looking out into a ruined world.

He crouched down carefully. He didn't want to get his trousers dirty but he wanted to follow Kieran's instructions exactly. To the letter. All he had to do now was wait. He smoked a cigarette. His thighs started to ache, so he stood up, in close to the fence.

One of his fingers had gone septic and that was aching too; the one with the Buddhist word. The
I
was just a bulge of pus. He sucked at it. Spat.

Waiting. Like in a secret garden. Like in – He heard a noise, just a small sound, from above. A boarded door had opened. A fat man came to the edge of the fire escape. Vest and trackies. He scratched his belly and looked out at the world below him. Ashley pushed into the fence. Became one with the shrubbery. He was still calm. Still very calm. This was the job. You deal with events. You cope. He loved the way he was feeling. It was him and it wasn't him – quietly watching the man on the fire escape smoking a cigarette. Like a spy. Calmly watching the man on the balcony smoking his cigarette. Waiting. Part of the job. Doing the job. He loved the way he was feeling.

The man threw his nub over the metal balustrade. Scratched his arse. Looked around again. But Ashley was invisible. He knew he was. Just part of the stuff in this place. The man's gaze never faltered, just moved on. He turned and went back. Ashley looked at the empty space where he had been.

Then the waiting again. Listening to the small sounds of the city that surrounded him. Until – a closer sound – in the passageway. The shrubbery moved. Ashley thought of jungle films, wildlife, a tiger tracked in the jungle, the creature breaks cover. The word was in his mouth.
Pricey
? But it stayed there. He wasn't stupid. The tiger emerged and it wasn't Pricey. A Chinese bloke. Not Feiyang. But Ashley recognised him. One of the men from the Bamboo Garden. Picking winners. Smashed-in nose and roses on his arm.

Ashley was wary. Had something gone wrong? ‘Where's Pricey?'

‘Give me the bag.' His Chinese accent was strong. Ashley handed the schoolbag over. The man removed his jacket. Beneath it a shoulder holster with three pouches that he slipped off and held in his mouth as he pulled his jacket back on. He took a mobile phone from the bottom of the three pouches and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then crouched to the schoolbag. He scooped books, football boots, shorts, to one side and laid the holster at the bottom of the bag. Pulled off the leather gloves he was wearing and dropped them in. A balaclava from his pocket. Pushed the books back. And he was on his feet again.

‘Twenty minutes. Don't move for twenty minutes.'

It was hardly English, just a jumble of sounds, but Ashley understood, nodded. ‘I know.'

Then he was gone. Seconds. It could only have been seconds. Ashley was sweating, a trickle down his back. But he loved how he was feeling. It had been so quick. So good. He looked at his watch. Now all he had – the man was on the fire escape again. Another followed. Younger. Leather jacket and jeans. They were talking, the younger man smoking. Ashley concentrated. Studied them. If they had seen anything he should be able to tell. If they were looking out for anything he should be able to tell. No. If they had seen something they would keep looking back towards him. He'd seen stuff like this in films. They were just talking. When the cigarette was finished they turned and went back to the building. Banged on a door that looked as if it was boarded up. It opened. They went through. No backward glance. They couldn't have seen anything.

Ashley realised he had been holding his breath. He exhaled. Crouching down again as he did. Like gym exercises. He checked the watch. Start the twenty minutes from now.

The bag was there before him. He touched it.
There is a gun in this bag
– the words in his mouth, not out loud. And now his hand was moving across the bag. His legs were aching again. He stood up and rubbed his hamstrings. Checked all the fire escapes. Nudged the bag closer to the hedgerow with his foot. Stooped and opened it. Pushed the books aside. Lifted the holster. Looked at it. Looked. Undid the stud on the middle pouch. A box. He lifted it a little. Ammo. Pushed it back. Closed the stud. Then the gun. He rose quickly, looked around, checked again, slowly, carefully. Down quickly and then the pouch was open. He looked. He felt in the bag for the gloves. Put them on. He had never felt like this in his life. Never. He had a gun in his hand. A real gun. Beautiful. He weighed it; light, really light. Looked at it. So small in his hand. So small, but beautiful. Stainless steel barrel, stainless steel sights. Matt, not shiny. He looked at the letters embedded in the steel.
MK9 KAHR
. He sounded them. Put the sounds together. Made a word. A language. Said it again. Said it again. He would have liked to remove the gloves and let his skin feel the metal, the polymer grip in the palm of his hand. He lifted the barrel to his nose, and sniffed. Deep. Yes. Sniffed again. His chest lurched. Like a ride at Alton Towers. He had never smelt this before, this faint acrid odour, but he knew what it meant. It had been used. By the Chinese bloke. He put it back in the holster. But then took it out again. He wanted to hold it, properly, like a gun. He remembered Feiyang's gun hard against Benjy Graham's lips – very similar to this one, but Ashley knew it wasn't the same.

He wanted to hold this gun like a proper assassin. He stood, held it two-handed. He pointed. Imagined squeezing his finger against the trigger. He made an arc. Went down on one knee. He wanted to squeeze the trigger, but didn't. He pointed it at the balcony where the two men had so recently stood. He waited. He had never felt like this in his life. Like sugar in his mouth. If they came out again. Now. And looked down at him – what would he do? He thought about people he would like to be on that balcony. Benjy Graham. Maddocks. He recovered. He had a job to do. And this reaction pleased him. Professional. He repacked the holster in his bag. Checked the back of the buildings. Nothing. Lit a cigarette. Checked his watch. Waited. He recalled a documentary he had seen on television, last year probably, about Africa. Boy soldiers. In this one country they had kids his age as soldiers, mercenaries really, and they were really feared. More dangerous than the men. Ruthless.

Essex Terrace. Empty.

Kent Street. Empty.

Gooch Street. Big open car park. Cars parked in bays along the road. No people.

The long way. As he has been told. Up Wrentham Street. Past blocks of maisonettes. The blue gates of the breaker's yard. No people. Then, a man in white overalls with a ladder. He props it against a wall. Disappears up an entry. Past the White Lion and the Fountain. Both closed.

Bristol Street. He hears it before he reaches it. Traffic. Tons of it. Buses. Lorries. Cars. Motorbikes. You name it. No pedestrians. He passes St Catherine's dome. Still no people on the street. Until Thorpe Street. Then people. Not many at first. Smokers outside offices. Window cleaner at the kebab shop. Groups of kids. School's finished. A group of Asian lads in hoods and trackie bottoms look at him, smirk. And all the time, the thought in his head –
There is a gun in this bag. I have a gun. I am walking through the streets of Birmingham with a gun.

Ashley headed for the underpass into Queensway. Dark and dingy and smelling of sicked-up cider, of piss. Up into the Pagoda Gardens. And down into St Jude's Underpass. Just as dark and dingy and stinking as they all are. The Asian kids were coming through the other end. The way they were walking. Filling the underpass, blocking him off. The penny dropped. If he turned and ran they would get him. He'd have to blag his way through. Then the penny dropped. School uniform. Clean face. Floppy hair. A schoolbag. They think this is me. And then they were upon him. Quick as a stabbing. Shoulders banged against the wall. A clout across the gob. The bag gone. Pockets frisked, emptied, the watch pulled from his wrist. And with a whack to the belly that floored him they were away.