House of Birds: Forget who you were before... (The Azo Coke thrillers Book 2) Read online

  “Then this black Merc pulled up,” Becky said. “Some feller in a suit got out. Then the medics came.” She lit a fag for herself. “Sandra’s radio went. They called her back in.”

  I puffed away, staring up cross-eyed at the ceiling.

  “Something’s going on,” Becky said.

  Something called Paterson, I thought.

  “How did you find me?” I said.

  “Sandra got kept indoors that whole day but she knew others who were out. She heard about what happened at The Grace. That never got in the paper either.”

  “Did yous all have the flu that day or something?”

  She sighed. “We were covering attempted terrorist atrocities on multiple targets, Azo. We were stretched.”

  “I know how that feels.”

  “They sent me to cover the Transpennine train hit. In a field in Newton-le-Willows. I was partnered with the chief shopping writer.”

  “It’s a crap life.”

  “Now I’m going back over the missed leads,” she said. “On my own. Like always. I’m following up on what really happened.”

  “And what did?”

  She didn’t answer. She was staring at me.

  “I just know someone was shot in The Grace,” she said. “So I went along to talk to Gibbsy. He was scared. But he mentioned your name. Then he said I’d have to talk to Frank.”

  “And?”

  “Frank? He said I’d have to talk to you. Said he wasn’t fighting anyone’s battles for them.”

  “That sounds like him.”

  I smiled. She smiled. I stopped smiling. I never said she could join in.

  “He wouldn’t tell me where to find you though,” she said. “I had to follow him. And voilà. Next day he goes and picks you up from some clinic and drives you home.”

  I stared at her across the mess of placky bags on the table. A hack, she’d called herself. That was one name for it. Not the one I’d have used.

  I’d never seen this coming. I’d almost got used to dodging snoops and bizzies and bomb-bashing fucksticks. Now I had to deal with this smartarse too.

  She didn’t make me feel like I was in trouble the way bizzies do, though. She made me feel something else. Or she tried to. I could feel her trying. Could almost feel it working.

  She made me feel like she was a friend.

  The kind of friend it’s hard to say no to. The kind that gets you in trouble.

  “Why are you here asking?” I said. “It’s your pal who’s the bizzie. Why not her?”

  “She did do some asking,” Becky said. “She checked out the car for one thing. Tracked it down.”

  “Let me guess. It was stolen.”

  She looked down at her fag.

  “She tried to look into what happened at The Grace as well. They headed her off.”

  I pushed myself up sitting.

  “They didn’t want anyone asking,” she said. “Now she’s gone missing.”

  3

  She put some coffee on while I got in the shower. It was buggered. Just a crappy little cat piddle. I did my best to scoosh the fuzz out of my head.

  It didn’t feel much clearer when I climbed out. I put on a clean blue and white Fila shirt. A pair of navy Puma trackie bottoms. No. I still felt crap.

  She had the coffee ready, small mercies. I slurped it.

  “What did Frank and Gibbsy tell you about me?” I said.

  “Frank just said I’d have to talk to you myself.”

  I looked at her there, holding her coffee in both hands.

  “Who do you think I am?” I said.

  She thought for a sec.

  “I think you’re just a lad,” she said, “who wants to find his girlfriend.”

  Just a lad.

  She looked me in the eye. She seemed to really believe it.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because that’s what I want too.”

  I lit a Regal. “So you’re here to help?”

  She shrugged and nodded at the same time.

  “Where is Maya then?” I said.

  She sighed. “I reckon sooner or later they’re going to put her out on the streets again with a bomb on her. I reckon the cops are out of their depth. I reckon her rights have been trampled on.”

  “You make it sound well dirty.”

  “It’s filthy,” she said. “And I want to do something.”

  I gave a sarky smile. “You want to write about her.”

  She lit a fag and rubbed her temple with one finger.

  “I’ve read about girls like her,” she said. “She’s a slave. And wherever she is, there’s more like her.”

  She was smart, this Becky. But she only had it half right. Maya could dish it out too. Paterson hadn’t sent me after her because he liked her, or because he knew I liked her. He sent me because he needed to rein her in.

  We didn’t know what Maya was doing now she was off the grid. She could have been up to all sorts.

  She could have been liking it.

  I didn’t say so to Becky. I let her think it was all about saving some helpless girl.

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” I said. “Why don’t you just write all that in the news? Save yourself the risk.”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  She didn’t smile but she looked proud of herself.

  Great. She was one of those who loved her job.

  “So you want to help Maya,” I said. “And get your name in the paper.”

  “I already get my name in the paper, Azo. But you’re right about the first bit.”

  Even better. So she was well-known. There’d be no snapping her neck and leaving her on the tracks then. Just kidding.

  “But yes,” she was saying. “It would be a big story, if that’s what you mean. It would go national. Global.”

  The daft way she talked reminded me of Paterson. But the thought of him perked me up. If I got something out of this Becky Suarez I could tell it to him. He might like it. He might send someone round to fix the shower.

  “Alright,” I said. “I get what you’re after. What’s in it for me?”

  She’d dropped her cocky bit now. She was looking at me with the big eyes.

  “You want to know what happened to your girlfriend, Azo. The ones who should be helping find her are hushing it up. I reckon that narks you off. It would me.”

  She poked her fag out in the ashtray.

  “So you don’t just want to write about Maya,” I said. “You want to write about me.”

  “It’s your story too.”

  “No way.”

  She sighed. “But it’s your...”

  “I hate the papers. Hate the telly. Hate phones.”

  “It’s about what happened to your girlfriend, and how you’re going to find her.”

  I liked the way she kept calling Maya my girlfriend. We’d had our little thing. But we’d never called each other that. She was good at charming you, was Becky. And she was right about one thing. I did want to find Maya.

  “It’s about the cops too,” Becky went on. “And how they didn’t help.”

  She knew I’d like that last bit. She’d started off looking awkward. Now she looked sad.

  “Sandra got me into all this,” Becky said. “Now she’s gone.”

  She stared into space and shook her head. Her eyes went wide. She was nearly crying.

  “No leads?” I said.

  She shook her head. She fumbled another fag out of her packet. I lit it for her and watched her calm herself down.

  I’d finished my coffee. The bag of cider was still lying on the low table. I picked another bottle out and twisted the top off.

  “Sorry, Becky,” I said. “I’m not going in the paper.”

  She sucked on her ciggie, harder than before. She was getting anxy again.

  “Alright,” she said. “If you help me, we’ll make the story just about her. You’ll be deep background. I won’t put your name in the copy.”

 
; “Speak English.”

  She sighed and still didn’t smile. She was loving her job again. I wondered how much it paid.

  “Azo, what I’m saying is, if you do end up in the papers, it won’t be because of me. But we can’t be sure it’ll never happen.”

  I trusted her about three-fifths of the way. I knew how much they’d love to put someone like me in the news. But I wasn’t too worried anymore. I’d got her to give in a bit. I could do it in other ways if I needed.

  I could handle her.

  “Well?” she said.

  “So you’re not going to write about me. Why do you still want me?”

  She shrugged. “It’s rough round Tocky. Frank says you know how to take care of yourself.”

  I saw her hand in my mind, on Sanky’s wrist where he held the gun.

  “I needed you to take care of me today,” I said.

  Becky took the bottle from my hands, leaned over and screwed the top on. She carried it into the kitchen.

  “You know your way round,” she said when she came back. “You know Maya. You’re the fixer from heaven.”

  “You talking dirty again?”

  She got a phone out of her cardie pocket. This white Samsung Galaxy. She had a photie of a car on it.

  “Sexy,” I said.

  I should know. It was the Mazda. The red one I drove to Tranmere that last summer. When Raz had me pick up his guns and test tubes.

  He’d had me dump it by Rimrose Valley after. Now there it was again, that day Maya went missing. In a side-lane off the school road.

  I made her wait down in the street while I called Paterson.

  4

  “Stetson!” he said when he picked up. Ponce. I had no clue what he was on about half the time. But I could tell he was taking the piss.

  “Wankshaft,” I replied.

  “Bard, scholar, gentleman: Azo Coke.”

  What was he so chuffed about? It couldn’t have been about me, we hadn’t spoken in a week. He must have had some other little game that was paying out. I tried not to let it make me feel small.

  “You never told me about that bizzie,” I said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Rodney knifed one at Saint Rock’s. How come no one talked about it?”

  “Why, Azo? Are you a born-again bizzie-lover?”

  “Just seems like a big deal. They let Rodney slip through their fingers. And not a squeak about it in the news.”

  “What you did that day was a big deal too. Want to see that in the news?”

  “Don’t joke. It might happen.”

  I told him about Becky Suarez. Not about how I met her. Just what she’d told me.

  Paterson went quiet for a bit.

  “She’s a pain in the arse,” I said. “But right now she’s all I’ve got.”

  I told him about the car. He didn’t cream himself. He still had the number plate on file from all those months back after the night I drove it to Tranmere.

  Stolen.

  “Your new girlfriend’s lead is worth sod all,” he said. “On top of that you’ve got the papers on your tail.”

  I’d messed up his good mood alright.

  “I’ll give her the slip,” I said.

  He sighed. “Hold on. Let’s see if she can’t be useful.”

  “Here we go.”

  “You go look for that Mazda.”

  “Where do I start?”

  “I don’t know. Why not the last place it was seen?”

  “Saint Rock’s.”

  The bastard. He knew that was Ali’s school. It was a way to keep me on my toes. Make me think about what was at stake for me. Like I needed reminding.

  “The bizzies will move me on,” I said.

  “Sounds tricky.”

  “Get them to look for Maya.”

  “Sorry, Azo. We’re on our own with this one.”

  “You can get the coppers running around for you when you want to. You did last time.”

  “Right. And what happened? One got knifed. We’ve got to tread carefully.”

  “So the bizzies don’t look for missing girls anymore?”

  “Not this one. It’s above their pay grade.”

  I snorted. “They get paid more than me.”

  “Sliding scale.”

  I sighed.

  “They’re there at the school round the clock,” I said. “With rifles.”

  “Well spotted, Azo,” he said. “You’re getting good at this.”

  “Thanks for nothing. And what about this Becky Suarez?”

  “Leave her to me.”

  I wanted another shower after talking to Paterson. No time though. Becky was ringing at the door again.

  I didn’t know how to get rid of her.

  I took her for brekkie.

  It was a while before she’d stop asking who I’d been talking to. Then it took another while to make her get that it wasn’t worth running off to the home of whoever that car was nicked from. I was mopping up the brown sauce with the last of the fried bread when she shut up at last.

  I chewed slowly and tried to think.

  I had no more clue than she did how to find Maya. I was no better off than before she’d shown up. Well, maybe a little. I wasn’t being shot by some Tocky gangster lad. I had Becky to thank for that. She’d given me a kick up the arse. I was back on the case.

  I knew she’d not leave me alone though. I needed to get a step ahead of her.

  “I’ll make some more calls,” I said. “Come round again tomorrow. We’ll go looking together.”

  She glugged her latte. “Why not now?”

  “The car’s no good on its own, but it’s made me think of something. I just need time to look into it.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  I gave her my look.

  “Alright,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

  She swallowed that easy. I’d stared her out, but I didn’t believe that’d scare her. Not after seeing her take on that lad. Maybe she’d worn herself out talking. Maybe she had other stories to write. Or maybe she was planning something.

  I stood up and dropped a tenner on the table.

  “They’ve closed down Crow Lane baths,” I said. “You should write about that.”

  She licked the foam off her lip.

  “I have,” she said. “Don’t you read the papers?”

  5

  Out of the train stop, I crossed the main road and turned off down the street with Saint Rock’s at the far end.

  I thought of all the times I’d sneaked off to see Ali when I wasn’t meant to. Keeping it hidden from Paterson until he found me out and screwed me over. Now I was coming close to Ali on his orders, and the sick thing was that this time I wouldn’t get to talk to the lad.

  It was eleven thirty when I turned down the street, past the trees and houses and parked cars. I heard the babble of playtime in the school yard ahead.

  I spotted the bizzies’ yellow jackets from halfway down the road.

  I’d tarted myself up with Paterson’s first payslip once I was out of the hossie. January sales. I was wearing a big Berghaus and a fleece under it. These boss Cat boots. No good here, though. I wasn’t on the list.

  I was a hundred yards from my boy, and I couldn’t go and see him.

  It wasn’t fair.

  I set off for the gate anyway.

  I walked to the end of the road and peered between the railings.

  “Sir.”

  The bizzie’s voice.

  I said nothing. Didn’t look. I stared through the rails.

  I saw him.

  I felt grateful. To Leanne for having Ali. To Frank for looking after him. To Becky Suarez for saving me at the offie. To God. To my mum. All that soppy shit. I felt glad to be alive. To see his floppy back fringe and his smile with the teeth. Staring from a few yards away I felt further away from him than ever. But I was happy just to see he was there.

  “Sir.”

  Ali was playing tig with a bunch of girls. Either
that or he was just a randy sod like his dad. He was running around after them and hugging them when he caught up.

  “Sir, can I help you?”

  “No.”

  “Sir, you can’t stand there.”

  I’d get nowhere like that. I stepped backwards and made to walk away.

  “Sir. Come here, please.”

  I was turning to make off when I saw someone coming through the gate.

  Short feller with white hair. Puma top and blue work pants.

  I smiled at the bizzie. “Here he is,” I said. I turned to the caretaker. “The man himself.”

  The caretaker glanced at me and strutted off down the road like he had somewhere to be. Black smartphone in his hand. I walked by his side, leaving the bizzies behind. I made like I knew the feller. I chatted away like a div. He looked miffed. He kept walking. That was the English way. If someone tries to talk to you, just walk.

  I asked him about that morning back in September.

  He looked over his shoulder back up the street. We were halfway along it by now. The road had bent out of sight of the gate. The bizzies had dropped out of view.

  He was suss.

  “Were you there?” I said.

  “Why?”

  “My boy goes to that school.”

  “You on the list?”

  I shook my head. “His mum doesn’t want me on it. I just want to know he’s safe.”

  “Bizzies are there, aren’t they?”

  “I was in the hossie at the time. I just want to know what happened.”

  He stopped.

  “I’m Ali’s dad,” I said.

  His face softened. “You look like him.”

  I held out my hand.

  “Azo,” I said.

  He shook it. But he shook his head and all.

  “Sorry, Azo,” he said. “We’ve had press round here and everything. I’ve been told to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Who said? The bizzies?”

  He nodded.

  “They can’t do that.”

  He shrugged.

  “I’m not press,” I said. “I’m just a little lad’s dad.”

  He looked at his boots. Nodding. He looked sad.

  “What about you?” I said. “Are you alright?”

  He sighed. He leaned his arse against the wall. He lit a ciggie and slipped the pack back in his overall pocket.

  He shook his head.