The Norway Room (5 page)

There was confusion in Mrs Graham's eyes. She looked around. ‘The dogs. Where are they?' The woman's face seemed to grow. A monster. The giant's wife. Ashley could see the small lines around the mouth, pouches at the end of the lips, some tiny hairs beneath the make-up. When she opened it again he was sure he would fall in.

‘Nicked.'

‘Nicked?'

‘Yes. I'm sorry, Mrs Graham.'

Her hand reached for support, but she was further from the door than she thought, and she stumbled against it. ‘What do you mean? Nicked? Three Staffs, nicked?'

Ashley stopped trying to fight the tears and let them fall. ‘I'm sorry, Mrs Graham. Really.' He started to shake. ‘A bloke I see sometimes when I'm walking them down the canal. He's all right. Least I thought he was. Always stops and talks, plays with the dogs. Friendly. This morning when he was playing with them, two other blokes, well one was a kid really, jumped out of the bushes and got hold of me. The kid had a knife. He held me round the neck. The other punched me, twice, in the belly. They leashed the dogs and took them up the towpath a bit and through the bushes. The kid was saying things like—' Ashley started sobbing. ‘Things like could I swim. He pulled me to the edge of the canal and said, it's more difficult with a cut throat. I thought he was going to do it, Mrs Graham.' Sobs halted him again. His body shook. ‘I really did. I thought he was going to cut me. But he just pushed me in, and ran after the others.'

Ashley stood crying before Mrs Graham. He wanted her to reach out and forgive him. Tell him it would be all right. It wasn't his fault. Take him inside and be nice to him.

‘He pushed you in the canal? But you're not wet.'

‘I didn't know what to do. I went home and had a wash. I was covered in shit. Changed.'

The backhanded blow from the woman caught Ashley across the mouth. He staggered.

‘You stupid little bastard. Two of those dogs are supposed to be breeding this weekend. Two hundred quid each. And we can get more for Sergeant.'

Ashley could hardly see Mrs Graham through his tears. He didn't know what to say now. She grabbed his arm. ‘You'd better stay in the shed.' She started to pull him towards it. ‘I'll phone Benjy. Jesus Christ, he's going to do his nut. Murder you he will. Probably have another stroke.'

Ashley broke away. Ran. Mrs Graham was shouting at him to come back, shouting threats. He just ran.

The lake in Kinny Park was frozen. Smooth, and grey as gunmetal, the same as the sky. Ducks huddled together at the end where reeds grew. Today they looked like silver spears guarding the birds. But not very well. On the ice were a couple of dead ones, and there was another on the path. Ashley looked down at it, turned it over with his foot. Airguns; kids with airguns. He bet there would be a couple of squirrels around, and he was right, he found two, one taken right through the head, lying under a tree. A squirrel right through the head, that's not easy.

Ashley stamped into the grey frost-covered grass forming patterns: a zig-zag, a question mark. He started on his name, but got bored after the A. As he got closer to the small wall that edged the park he spotted Karl on the pavement beyond, walking at a pace, Blues scarf round his neck, head down, schoolbag bouncing against his leg.

‘Karl!' Ashley's yell disappeared into the frozen air unheard by Karl. He yelled again. Nothing. He started to run. Yelling, ‘Karl! Karl!' At last the boy halted, turned, saw nothing behind him, made to start again, then heard another yell from the park. He saw Ashley, stood and waited as he ran towards him.

‘Where you going?' Ashley asked.

‘School.'

‘Bit late aren't you?'

‘I've been to the doctor. About my verrucas. I thought you was in Ireland.'

‘You what?'

‘They said at school you'd gone to Ireland. To live with your uncle.'

‘Who told you that?'

‘Whittaker. Said they'd got a letter. Taken you off the register.'

Ashley was uneasy at this. Glad he was off the register, but unsure about the letter. Perhaps the school was just saying that so they could get rid of him. Forget about him. Or he wondered if his dad might have written it, if Kieran had told his dad he had stopped going to school. Or maybe Kieran himself. ‘I've got some money. D'you want a cup of tea? My bollocks are freezing off.'

‘All right then.'

Ashley drew a question mark on the steamed-up window they sat beside, then erased it into an irregular smear showing the world beyond the café, but with soft edges, like it was melting, oozing away. Both boys cradled their cups of tea, letting the warmth seep into the palms of their hands. ‘There's no point going back to school now. Let's go into town. Pick up some things.'

Karl blew across the surface of his tea. ‘No. I want to get my tech project marked.'

Ashley lit a cigarette. ‘What you done?'

‘The bird box. Level 3. He's grading today.'

5

Ashley didn't recognise the white van parked opposite his house in Cecil Road. There was no reason why he should. Just another van in the string of parked vehicles that always line roads of terraced houses. There were no front gardens in Cecil Road to be concreted and turned into drives, so there were always cars parked, even though half the houses in the street were let to students or gangs of Polish building workers.

Ashley was listening through his headphones to music Sophie had given him.
DJ Ironic
. He didn't see Benjy getting out of the van until it was too late. Benjy was mouthing something at him, shouting it looked like. His mouth open wide, half his head it looked like. Like Jaws coming up for the kill.

Ashley made a dash for the front door and managed to get it open before Benjy reached him. Grabbed for him. Caught the headphones. They slipped to Ashley's neck. ‘You little cunt.' Benjy caught his shoulder, shoved him into the house. Ashley ran down the hall to the back room. Tried to slam the door in Benjy's face, but the man was through, banging the door behind him before the boy could stop him. ‘You stupid little bastard.'

He seized Ashley one-handed by the collar, dragged him so his face was up close. Benjy's face was red and sweating. Ashley couldn't breath. He whimpered, ‘I'm sorry Benjy. It wasn't my fault. There was three of them. It was too quick to …'

‘Not your fault!' Benjy bellowed, flecking Ashley's face with spit. Ashley squirmed in the man's grasp. ‘Course it was your fucking fault, ya cunt. Whose fucking fault was it? Mine?' And he nutted the boy, who fell away from him toppling a chair, knocking a cup and a radio from the table.

‘I should kill you, ya little fuck.' Benjy pointed at Ashley. ‘You were responsible for those dogs. I trusted you with 'em.'

Ashley was crying. ‘I've got some money. Nearly thirty quid. I can get some more. I can give it to you now.'

‘Thirty quid. I get two hundred before one of those dogs gets a hard-on.' He kicked out. His boot hit Ashley's ribs.

‘Please. Benjy.'

Benjy kicked again. Ashley squealed. Benjy kicked again. Ashley curled up to protect himself. His arms wrapped round his head, knees into his chest.

‘I'm sorry, Benjy. Really I am.'

Benjy bent over him. ‘Shut up, you little cunt.' Ashley sobbed, blood and snot seeping into his mouth. His body shook. Benjy kicked at his knee. ‘Listen.' He was panting. ‘Tell me exactly—' The door behind Benjy opened. Benjy turned. Ashley turned his head, looked up. Saw legs. Benjy straightened up. There was silence. A man stood in the doorway. Suited. Booted. No tie, just an open-necked shirt. Smart though. He was Chinese. Ashley turned to see properly. The man held a gun. A small silver pistol, no bigger than a fist. Benjy was panting. Wheezing.

‘Open your mouth,' said the Chinese. The mouth stayed shut. Benjy was confused. Scared to shit. He couldn't keep up. A gun. A Chinese bloke. In a suit. Here. The kid's place. The Weasel's place. Where had he come from? What was happening?

Ashley didn't care where he had come from. ‘Let him have it,' he shouted. ‘Blow the bastard's head off.' Benjy's appalled face turned to Ashley. Turned back to the Chinese bloke. Now he began to shake.

‘Open your mouth.'

Nothing.

The Chinese took a step towards Benjy and lifted the gun a little, no more than a tilt really. ‘You had no trouble opening it a moment ago. Mouth. Fist. Feet. All in working order.'

‘I'm sorry.' Benjy whimpered.

The Chinese guy moved. Grabbed the neck of Benjy's shirt, bunched in one hand. The gun came to Benjy's temple. The man whelped. The Chinese spoke. Right into Benjy's ear. ‘I'm going to let you live. It's more than you deserve, but I am. But that mouth.' The gun pushed against it. Ashley saw Benjy's legs shaking like shit. He'd probably piss himself in a minute. ‘You open your mouth, breathe a word of anything you've seen here and you're dead. Get it?'

Benjy tried to nod, but the gun prevented him. ‘Yes,' he said to the barrel of the gun. Just a flutter of the lips, like he was praying. As they stilled, the gun rested against them. Benjy flinched. The lips tightened.

The Chinese whispered some more. ‘You keep your mouth as shut as it is now. Forget all about whatever brought you here and never come back. Never come anywhere near this kid. That way – you will live. But that's the only way. Got it?' He moved the gun far enough away for Benjy to nod. ‘Now fuck off.' The Chinese lowered the gun, let Benjy stumble away. They heard the front door bang.

Free of Benjy, Ashley's relief was gone in an instant, as he looked at the man with the gun. Now it was he who was trying to make sense of it all. But he wasn't shaking like Benjy. He noticed he wasn't shaking. Then Kieran appeared in the doorway. ‘You little tosser,' he said to Ashley, ‘didn't I tell you stay out of trouble? A right fuck-up you've made now.'

SHUKO

6

My name is Shuko, in the English tongue
Bonebinder
. It is an ancient name, given to healers. There is no word in Chinese for irony.

I serve Hsinshu, Emperor of the Ninth Dragon. For him I fulfil many roles. There is nothing he could ask of me I would refuse. And he sets me many tasks. At their tribunals all seven Lords of the Ninth Dragon assemble in the red room above the casino, seated three each side of the long table, Hsinshu at its head. I stand behind and to the left of him; this is my honour and a statement of my servitude.

The energy that drives my nature belongs to the element of Wood, and I, like each tree of the forest, stand alone. When meetings are concluded and the first six Lords of the Dragon have left the room I remain in position. I stand and watch the hours Hsinshu sits in silent thought – his responsibility is great. The principal energy of his nature is Metal; it is the source of his strength. He sits. I stand. The sounds of the casino beneath us belong to another plane, the voices beyond the great door of the red room to another world.

The element of the Ninth is Fire. For this reason we kill with guns. It was wise of Hsinshu to choose me to serve the Ninth – it is in the order of things for Wood to serve Fire.

Sometimes even Metal must move. When an important decision is close, Hsinshu will rise from his seat at the head of the table and collect three arrows from beneath the dartboard that hangs on the wall at the back of the red room. He will pace back to the line and stand, focused on the board. This is often the way when he is making big decisions, and I love to see it. He did this before the order on the Norway Room was given. It was the only subject on the agenda that evening:
Should the Dragon Move to Take the Norway Room?

Some around the table were against. One club, they sneered, however successful. An immediate decision became necessary when Ding Chuang informed the Dragon that there were now others intent on taking the club: some legitimate, operating in the British way, others not. Ding Chuang has humour in his character and showed this when he referred to those others as
our friends we love to hate.

But Reng Zan was not convinced. ‘It is only one club. Why get involved in what may become a turf war? We know Mr Stretton, the proprietor, doesn't wish to sell. We know there are those who will try to make him, or take the club anyway. Why involve ourselves? It is only one club. It will make no difference to the Emperor's personal reputation in this city or beyond, or to that of the Dragon. The success of the casinos, the dogfighting, and our import business are all well known and admired, as is the Emperor's facility for fearless and ruthless action.' Reng Zan should have stopped there. ‘If the Dragon attempts to take the club and fails, that would be damage indeed, not just to the Dragon's standing in Birmingham, but also to the Emperor's reputation beyond.'

The word
fail
should not have been used. It was offensive to the assembly of the Dragon, and particularly to its Emperor. Ding Chuang paused, sensitive to the unease that had been created, before speaking. ‘It is not just another club. The Norway Room is the most fashionable and profitable of the clubs in Birmingham. Most importantly it is in the Eastern triangle close to Chinatown and the only establishment here of any importance that we don't control.
But
of equal importance – at least in my opinion and experience,' and at this point there was the smallest of bows towards Hsinshu, a humble gesture and a clever one, ‘if we don't take it others will. And soon. If someone, Crawford for example, with his ambitions, were to take the club, enter our territory, it could not be tolerated.' Sensing the feeling of the table was with him Ding Chuang went on to urge the Emperor that the business be completed before the Year of the Boar started in just a few weeks. It is unlucky to leave business unfinished as the year turns.

When all had offered their thoughts to the Emperor the Lords left the room. Hsinshu sat for a long time, considering. Twice he lit and smoked an American cigarette, but these actions were executed with such exquisite slowness they hardly seemed like movement at all. The smoke seeping from each cigarette snaked languidly up above the Emperor, to curve and rest for a second like a crescent moon before fading.

Eventually Hsinshu rose. He stood uneasily for a moment, as if his spirit were returning from a trance – this is not uncommon among those of the Metal element – and collected his darts. When he was ready he turned to face his target and placed his left hand inside his shirt to rest on the Chinese character for power tattooed in black inside a blue circle in his lower jia, just beneath the umbilicus. Taking his energy to his right hand, he breathed deeply, breathed again, then fired the arrows one by one. All three reached the House of Twenty and stood quivering together in the board as close as Siamese brothers. Hsinshu relaxed; he was a true leader.

He returned to perch on the corner of the table, and taking a third cigarette from his silver case he offered me one. American cigarettes are not to my taste, they are too smooth, too sweet, but this was an honour. I lit Hsinshu's cigarette and then my own. Then a further honour: I was to be the first to learn of his decision.

‘I think Ding Chuang is right, Shuko.' Hsinshu spoke now in English. ‘If Crawford should take the Norway Room it will not be good for us. Ding Chuang is right – it makes economic sense. It was weak and foolish of my predecessor to let the Lopez brothers have the protection rights on the Southside clubs when they were already losing their grip in the city and Crawford was waiting in the wings. Stretton is no longer contracted to anyone; he claims he will pay no one. If Crawford intends to move then we should go before him.'

I nodded. There was nothing useful I could say, so I said nothing.

‘I will put you in charge of this business and will talk with you tomorrow about how we will proceed.' The words were a joy to me, as such words always are. It is not boastful to report that he places many responsibilities upon me.