The Norway Room (15 page)

25

The Bamboo Garden opens between eleven and two for the lunchtime trade and then closes until five. It was at three o'clock in the afternoon that I paid my visit. After ringing the bell several times the door was eventually opened by Feiyang's grandmother, my Aunt Lu.

Family ties and traditions are respected properly now by only the oldest in our communities here, and it was a pleasure to see the delight with which Aunt Lu greeted my arrival.

‘I fear I may be disturbing the family's rest, Aunt Lu. Is everyone sleeping?'

‘It is nothing. Nothing.' She took my arm, pulling me into the shop. ‘It is a joy to see you. Everyone will be overjoyed.' The old lady locked the door behind me and beckoned me through the shop. ‘It is your cousin Shuko who visits us,' she squawked up the stairs. ‘Follow Shuko, follow. It is an honour that you are here.'

The staircase at the Bamboo Garden is narrow and steep and the old lady used hands and feet to mount each step, climbing like an animal or a small child. At the top of the stairs stood my cousin Tan, waiting to help her mother.

‘Cousin. You are welcome. Come through. Please.' The old lady now had my hand and led me through into the family's living room. ‘Please sit.' She collected the newspapers scattered across the table, folded them and laid them on a shelf under the large television where Sky Sports showed a soundless darts match. On the other side of the room, coloured fish swam languidly in their tank. ‘Sit. Sit. We will prepare tea.'

Feiyang arrived barefooted in vest and shorts, bowing before shaking my hand, and taking the seat beside me. ‘Uncle. It is good of you to visit us. To take the time.' It was only a few days since Feiyang and I had met at the dogfight but a visit in one's own home is very different. Here the ties of family are affirmed. Soon we were joined by Siyu, Feiyang's pretty young wife, bowing and smiling in a pink silk dressing gown. ‘Uncle, it is an honour and a very pleasant surprise.' She took the seat opposite her husband, reaching out across the Formica tabletop to touch his hand. The men who work for Feiyang came through in vests and sweatpants and took their places at the table. My aunt and cousin arrived with a tray for tea and a bowl of steamed buns.

‘I come to see you all and to enquire after the health of each one of you,' I said as tea was poured, ‘but most particularly to see how your wife fares, Feiyang. The pregnant state suits her for she appears more beautiful each time I see her.'

Siyu smiled shyly, casting her eyes down; Feiyang stroked his wife's hand tenderly. ‘The Western doctor tells us the child is due in three weeks, and the acupuncturist agrees, but the clairvoyant says it will come ten days before that.'

‘And what do you think?'

‘I feel the clairvoyant is right,' Siyu said. ‘I think the child will be ready soon.'

With the teas all poured, it was up to me as the guest to drink first. All then raised their cups.

‘I will take my tea into the bedroom, Uncle, then you can all smoke,' said Siyu.

‘Before you go, I have a small gift that I hope may prove useful in the days before the child is born. Get something you need with it. It is not for the child, that will come later. This is to assist with preparations. It should have been offered sooner.' I took the green gift envelope from my jacket pocket and handed it to Siyu.

‘It is very kind of you, Uncle.' She dug a fingernail painted with a gold flower into the side of the envelope and peeled back the top half to reveal a small wad of fifty-pound notes. ‘Such a gift!' Tan said.

‘Fortune smiles on you and your wife, Feiyang,' said one of his companions, ‘to have such a generous benefactor.'

‘Which must be lucky for your child,' said the other.

Siyu stroked her belly. ‘Will you excuse me, Uncle? I would like to lie down for a short rest before we open the shop?'

‘Of course. It has been good to see you. I will await your news with anticipation.'

‘Thank you for your gift. As all have said it is very generous.'

Tan said it was time to start her work in the kitchen and the old lady followed.

‘I will go now and let you get about your preparations for the evening.' But as I made to rise, Feiyang insisted I stay a little, smoke a few cigarettes – would I like to make up the four at mahjong?

While I stuck to my unfiltered Chinese cigarettes my three companions smoked imported Benson and Hedges and Aunt Lu brought in a tray of beers.

We used a Wind suit and agreed on twenty-pound hands. The first throws of the dice gave me the East Wind, a direction that is lucky for me in mahjong. Feiyang held the North. I took the first hand with a chow, and repeated my success in the second round. The South Wind took the third hand with a pung.

When we had played the full sixteen hands it was time to leave and I asked Feiyang if he would walk a little way with me. It is possible to make a simple request like that in such a way as to endow it with more than ordinary significance. Feiyang understood, and once we left the Bamboo Garden there was for a time silence between us as we walked. I had asked him to come with me. He recognised I had something to say. He waited. And there was wariness. An atmosphere – which was as I wanted it. We both lit cigarettes. When I was ready I spoke in English: ‘I have heard you have a new business partner.'

Each of us moved our head a fraction, glanced at each other, then Feiyang took his eyes to the ground.

‘Who you do business with is up to you, Feiyang. But there are family ties between us. Crawford's outfit are not popular with the Ninth. I will be frank. There may be serious business disagreements between Crawford and the Ninth. These could become very difficult. Who knows what I may be called upon to do. Anyone who is part of that outfit…' I stopped. ‘Do you understand me, Feiyang?'

The streetlight behind him held Feiyang's face in shadow, but I could see as much of it as I needed. A touch of anxiety. Some defiance. ‘Uncle, I don't know what you have heard. But I am not part of Crawford's outfit. Never have been. No, I am certainly not in business with Crawford.'

‘But you are in business with Kieran?'

As neat as a hand taken in mahjong. One simple tile from the wall – the eyes narrowed and there was the slightest of intakes of breath, little more than swallowing.

‘So Walsh is starting to set up his own deals. That will upset Crawford. That could be dangerous for both of you.'

Feiyang opened his mouth, but did not have words ready.

‘Whatever Kieran Walsh and you are arranging is up to you. I wish you success. But if you're planning to take anything away from Crawford, make sure it is of no interest to the Ninth. Understand?'

Now defiance got the better of Feiyang's anxiety. But he needed a smirk to say it. ‘Business is business, Uncle. You know that. And as you said, we are family.'

The sound of an ambulance approaching stopped us. Louder and louder. Cars pulled over. A boy on a bicycle stopped and covered his ears. Then the flashing white light zoomed past. This was the moment when ideally I would have put an arm around Feiyang's shoulder, familiar and friendly, and offered some final advice. As he is taller than me a different tactic had to be employed. I threw my cigarette end into the gutter and spoke as we walked. ‘How is your Chinese history, Feiyang? You went to history classes as a boy?'

‘Of course.'

‘Then do you know your history well?'

Feiyang laughed and flicked his cigarette butt high into the air. ‘China's is a long history, Shuko, a long long history. No one knows it all. I know of the modern part. Some of that I know very well.'

Shuko
– the respect was gone.
I know of the modern part
– was that a reference to my father?

‘I think there are more valuable lessons to be learned from China's dynastic history. For what are dynasties, but gangs, family gangs fighting to retain wealth and power? Who founded the Han Dynasty, Feiyang?'

‘So now you are a quizmaster, Uncle. Will I get a prize?' His confidence was rising. ‘Gaozu was the founder of the Han Dynasty.'

‘You are right, Feiyang. But Gaozu was his temple name. His family name was Liu Bang, important I think, as so few of the dynastic fathers were of peasant stock. What is it in a man, Feiyang, that enables him to rise from a plough-pulling peasant to the founder of a great dynasty, Emperor of China? Do you know of the Treaty of Honggou?'

‘I've heard of it.'

‘The Treaty of Honggou divided China from the East to the West, and was entered into with Bang's ancient enemy Xiang Yu. I am sure you know of him.'

‘Yes.'

‘Bang governed the West and Yu the East, but both men wanted the whole country and so there were many fierce battles.'

‘Shuko, I don't know—'

‘No you don't, so listen.' And now I spoke in Cantonese. ‘Before one battle Bang learned that his enemy had captured his family: wife, mother, children, all. The following evening an envoy arrived from Yu's camp with a message for Bang:
You have until dawn to surrender. If you do not, as the sun rises I will wring the necks of your wife and mother like hens, cut the heads off your children and a meat stew will be made of them.

I wonder if you know how he replied. I think it tells us much about the man. From peasant to emperor. The message Bang sent back was this.
Please, take pity on your hungry enemy and when you have prepared your stew send him a bowl to eat.'

CARROW

26

Up on the roof. That was a song wasn't it? Up on the roof. That was where he had taken to having his cigarette breaks now. Better not to be out on the street alone; you have to move along a bit if you want a ciggy –
No Smoking Anywhere Near The Door
– Stretton's instructions.
Gives The Wrong Impression
– what sort of fucking impression did he think Chinese gangsters with shotguns give? One of the artillery team Stretton had brought in was up there too, and Carrow needed to know what was going on – he hadn't forgotten he was on Crawford's payroll, and he was sure as fuck that Crawford wouldn't have either.

The door to the roof needed a hefty push. It was steel-panelled up on the outside with a whole selection of bolts and mortises on the inside. ‘Sergei. It's me, mate. Carra.' The Bulgarian was huddled in his thick combat jacket on the remnant of a defunct chimney that enabled him to peer down into the street at the front of the club. Binoculars on his lap, a flask of hot coffee at his feet and by his side a Kalashnikov that every time Carrow saw it made him feel as though he was going to have an asthma attack.

A voice in Carrow's head kept telling him that for most of his adult life he had been a cop. He should either be reporting this, or getting as far away from it as possible. And quick. But that's as far as it went. Listening to the voice. Agreeing.
You're right.
But action? Nothing.

The team included two guys working the inside of the club who you wouldn't know from normal doormen except they kept to themselves. Stretton wasn't doing things by halves. This must be costing him a fortune. Carrow had picked up that this was an out-of-town gang with a growing reputation. Run, as he had suspected, by a London firm, but based in Stratford-upon-Avon; the cover was these guys were agricultural workers, out on the farms of Warwickshire pulling spuds from dawn till dusk. The caravan parks surrounding Stratford were full of teams of Eastern European agricultural workers. All working for a pittance. Perhaps these guys did do some spud-pulling now and again, to keep their cover, but they certainly had other skills. Very disciplined. The men inside never got chatting to the girls who gave them the eye; always distant, their mind on the job. And Stretton seemed to have called it right with this one. Everything had been as quiet as you like since they arrived. It looked as if the Chinese had got the message.

Sergei was undeniably a man with a head for heights. Carrow had seen him bend so far forward to observe door activity that he had been convinced he would lose his balance and topple into the street. Other times, belly-flat like a soldier, his head just peering over the edge, he gazed down like a gargoyle, observing all.

‘How's it going, mate?' Carrow sat beside him. The cold immediately hit his arse; a shock, but it was so hot down in the club that the chill up here felt good. Though perhaps not for more than ten minutes. Sergei looked pretty cold.

‘Good. Quiet.' Sergei only had a few words of English, but these were two Carrow liked to hear from him. He passed him a cigarette and the two smoked in silence, looking out at the lights of the Birmingham night, pinched and pale in the winter cold.

Sergei pointed to the column of lights to their right. ‘Row tund.'

‘Rotunda,' Carrow corrected him, and Sergei repeated the word accurately. The electronic throb of the music in the club pulsed the roof beneath their feet. ‘Shit music,' Sergei said. ‘Every night. Shit music.' Every night he said this.

The thought of trying a conversation on music always seemed too much like hard work, so, although Carrow wondered what the man would regard as good music, he said nothing. A car turned the corner below them. The two men rose. Sergei leaned over. The car slowed, but continued. ‘Nothing,' Sergei said returning to his seat on the wall.

Carrow had been trying to suppress images of Ruthie all evening, one in particular – but now it broke through and he saw it again: her being dropped off at work, leaning across to kiss Kieran Walsh goodbye. Kieran Walsh. He told himself it didn't matter who it was – she'd got herself a new bloke, even if it was just to tide her over until the man Howie's release.

And would he really want that role anyway – tiding her over? He didn't let himself answer that question. Instead he rose, and made his way back down into the club.

So, when a couple of nights later she turned up at the club with a group of girls, he was cautious. Or at least he tried to be. But – there was just something. He watched her dancing. First with her friends, then with a couple of guys who joined them. But the next time he passed she was gone. Then he saw her chatting to one of the Bulgarians, her arm resting for a moment on his, saying something into his ear. Perhaps she would succeed where others had failed, but a moment later she was dancing with her friends again. When he saw her heading for the bar he caught up with her. ‘How's the new boyfriend?'

She waited. Smiled. Teasing. He knew it. She knew he knew it. ‘Gorgeous.'

‘So, it's love?'

Then, a curious way she had. Her face changed. Something fell away – the humour, the bravado. Leaving something lovely, something vulnerable remaining in the empty face. ‘Love? I wouldn't say that. It's just – life. Do you want to buy me a drink?'

‘Only if it's an investment.'

The spirit was back in her face.

‘I'll have a vodka and lime. A double.'

Each time he saw her she was dancing. Each time he saw her she spotted him immediately. Like she was watching for him.

There was a small smile for him as he passed her, still dancing with her friends, on his way up to the roof for a smoke. He winked. On the roof he just nodded to Sergei before moving across to the other side to light up. He ought to kick this habit. Like he had promised his mother.

He stood leaning on the cold iron rail of the fire escape looking down into the black no-man's-land behind the club. He wanted to think. He needed the cold air and the smoke burning in his chest to do so. Give up? Not for a while anyway. He checked the slide in his memory, watched her kissing Walsh as she got out of the car. Just like a girl does: kisses her boyfriend as he drops her off at work. She didn't know Carrow was there, watching. She didn't know he knew who Walsh was. It was a genuine act. So, what was he to make of tonight? Maybe she had got tired of him.
It's just life
.

It was the guy inside, Howie, she was really interested in, that had got to be the truth of it. Others, including him, were just to get her through. He remembered that lovely look on her face. Don't be fooled, he wanted to say to himself, women can do that.

Then she was gone! There's a perfume ad that uses that line. Comes on every Christmas. Beautiful woman. Expensive perfume. She runs up a golden staircase and disappears –
then she was gone
, a voice says. The man following left bewildered.

The most embarrassing time Carrow ever had on the force was coming down from a flat in Vaughan Williams on the Mendy to find that his squad car had gone.
Nicked – nicked before he could get it back to the nick
. He was to hear variations of that joke a hundred times. But of course it wasn't a joke, and he'd stood looking, staring, at the empty space where his vehicle had been just twenty minutes before. His mind refusing to accept that it had been stolen. He must have made a mistake. So he walked round the building cautiously, as if the car were engaged in a game of hide-and-seek with him, and if he were careful, he would be able to creep up on it without being noticed.
Got ya!
Helplessly he scanned the area, looking back to where he had looked a few seconds before. Probably, he even looked up.

It felt like that now. Wandering round the club. Round and round. He couldn't see the girls she had been with. Perhaps they had all gone. Why would she leave without telling him? Had she just been teasing him? Up one staircase, down another; nothing golden about these. He checked the street. He asked the Bulgarian he had seen her talking to. He even went up to Stretton's floor. Then up another level to pop his head round the door to the roof.

When all was done and there were just a few staff left around the bar, having a drink as they waited for taxis, he went back up to the roof. Sergei was gone now. He had the space to himself. Thin shavings of snow were trying to fall. He lit up. Inhaled deeply, but that didn't shift whatever it was that was stuck in his chest. So what was the problem? He had been turned down by women before. Something close to a sob took his chest. He held on to the rail of the fire escape. What was happening? This wasn't him.