The Norway Room (7 page)

10

Call it instinct. The car turned the corner at Pinks. That's when Carrow knew. No time for language – a grunt alerted Toga. Nearside rear passenger window descending – fast slow motion. A gun barrel. A fucking shotgun. Two shots. Roaring through the streets. Roaring up into the sky. Everything shuddered. His ears burnt as the car squealed away. But – he was still standing. And so was Toga. Standing together in silence. The doors flew open and the guys piled out. Neville and Sylvester. The two Lukes. Matty Fallon.

He went away – for a minute. A high. I am not dead. He wanted to weep. Toga grabbed him. Rested his head on his shoulder. ‘Man.' He let his head touch Toga's. They had survived together.

‘Man,' Toga repeated. A whisper. Hoarse. ‘That was close.'

The other guys whipped about them, running this way and that. Toga crouched down. Touched the pavement where a bullet had struck. Felt the shape of the scar.

It's an empty club except for Carrow and Toga sitting at the bar with cigarettes and beer. A novelty – smoking inside. Against house rules, doormen smoking in the club. No music. Another novelty. No bass pounding away. Stretton told them to stay behind after he'd finished his little pep talk to the team.

He's got everything under control, he says. This won't happen again. ‘I'm taking the initiative from now on.' Neville looked as if he was going to say something, but didn't. Trudy came round with little envelopes. Her lips high-gloss pink. Her eyes swimming-pool blue. She looked only at the envelopes. ‘Carra and Toga, you two hold on,' Stretton said. ‘I'll sort you out myself. Pour yourselves a drink. I'll be back.' Everyone knows these two are in for a bigger divvy. And why not? Fair enough. They danced with the bullets, so why not?

Stretton turned up with two wads. Dropped them on the counter. Naked fifties held in a blue rubber band. He pulled himself a whiskey from the optic. ‘It's a grand each, lads. And like I said to the others, double time for the next few nights.' He knocked back the whiskey. Stretched to the optic for a refill. ‘Just till I can get some hardware in.'

‘Hardware?' Carrow was shocked.

‘Just a couple of straps lurking in the background.' The second whiskey went where the first had gone, just as quick. Stretton sighed. ‘I'll rent. From someone who'll put the word around. Let the Chinese know what they're taking on.'

Toga lifted his bundle of notes from the counter. Slapped it hard into the palm of his left hand. ‘This here's appreciated, Mr Stretton.' His voice was slow and deep. ‘But this,' he waved the notes, and the blue snake tattooed the length of his left arm slithered, ‘double time, treble, whatever. One of us takes a bullet in the eye – it don't mean a thing. I know what you said. And I know it's true. If they'd been out for a kill they'd have made one. This, tonight, sounds like it's just putting on the pressure. Step by step.' His finger ran across the top of the bundle of notes, fanning them. Making just the smallest breeze. ‘Yes. I'm sure that's true. But, what's also true, Mr Stretton, for me at least, is that that don't make me feel a whole lot better. When the bullets come flying in my direction.'

They'd taken a few bottles and a little weed back to Toga's place on the Mendy. Seventeenth floor of Elgar. Neither wanted to go home alone. Or sleep. Or be inside. So, sitting wrapped in overcoats on the balcony, with the booze and the weed to keep them warm, they watched the night. The scattered lights of the estate, chains and rings, and other shapes. The changing shade of darkness as behind the tower blocks the night progressed to dawn. Black became blue became a paler blue. Purple appeared, became red, orange, yellow. It wasn't dissimilar to a dawn sky Carrow had seen in Jamaica, or to one Toga had seen in Guyana. Here on the Mendy? In winter? A secret. Just these two guys in their tower block knew about it.

‘You thinking of turning it in then?' asked Carrow.

‘Tonight was close. But there's too much money starting to flow to quit. And things can change fast. Opportunities for the sort of dough we pocketed tonight don't come around every night. Stretton won't want to lose us. Tonight's hardly the sort of induction that's going to encourage new staff to stay.'

‘But what you said about the dangers.'

‘Sure. You have to weigh risk against money. But the Chinese aren't stupid. People start getting killed and the whole city becomes a crime scene. Everything tightens up. On all fronts. This is just manoeuvres.'

‘You talk like it's a war situation.'

Toga took his big arms up behind his head. Looped his fingers to a cradle. Spread his legs. Like he was taking his ease, looking at the sunrise. Like he was far away from the Mendy watching the sun come up in Georgetown. He smirked. ‘No, this ain't no war. Not yet anyway.'

11

With some real money in his back pocket for the first time in ages, Carrow intended his first job to be to look for a decent flat, get out of the Hockley dump he was in. But since the night of the Chinese attack he had gradually moved in with Toga on the seventeenth floor of Elgar.

Perhaps it was going home alone in the early hours, but inevitably as they made to leave at the end of their shifts at the Norway Toga would ask him back for a drink or a smoke, or both, and he would end up crashing there for the night, sometimes two or three nights in succession, leaving stuff there –
I'll collect this next time
– until eventually it was obvious that he should give notice on his own place and bring his stuff over. Not that there was much of that. He had learned to travel light.

Travel? He thought he had come home. Leaving Jamaica after a final visit to his mother's grave, a final drink in Jake's Place looking out at the sea and the sun, looking forward to going home – coming home – here to Brum. But now he wasn't so sure. Did it feel like home? As much as anywhere could, he guessed.

So, why the restlessness? After the gun attack Stretton had brought in an armed team, which seemed to have done the trick. There had been no trouble from the Chinese since. But there was still a lot of tension, everyone alert, waiting for something to kick off, wondering what would happen if it did. The tension extended to off-duty time too. Made you watchful, wary. He and Toga were keyed up, checking everything, ready.

Carrow joined the gym Toga went to on the Mendy. Industrial Training was located in an old factory shell on a unit down by the Pooch. Some boxing but mainly heavy-duty weights.

Carrow called Crawford to let him know he was still on the case. ‘All's quiet. No sign of anything going down since they took their pot shots at us. Stratton's got a firm in – all nicely tooled up. Four of them.'

‘Who's he using?'

‘Don't know. Thought you might. Not local. And he's not keeping it a secret. Wants the Chinese to know he's not rolling over. They're all foreign, hardly a word of English between them. Bulgarians. Run by a London mob probably.'

‘Okay. Well, keep me posted. And Carra, that girl I showed you, Ruthie Slayte, she hasn't turned up recently?'

That girl. That girl. No, she hadn't turned up recently. And he was sure of that because he looked for her every night at the Norway. Scanning girls swaying on the dance floor, girls drinking in the bars, searching the faces in the weekend queues. And no, she hadn't turned up.

It took three trips, sitting patiently outside the Gables Nursing Home, before he saw her. He knew that if he turned up often enough he would catch her leaving after a shift. He had seen other uniformed women walking down the long drive of the home to collect cars parked on the roadside, or to make their way to the bus stop beside the church at the top of the hill. He knew that sooner or later she would be among them. And when she was? He wasn't sure. Perhaps just to see her would be enough. Just to watch her for a minute. And if she saw him? Who knows. He'd have to play it by ear. Maybe she'd just say in her cool way,
Come back with me.
And? He'd be there – he knew he would. In a shot.

Then, there she was. An Audi A7 drew up on the other side of the road and Ruthie was in the front passenger seat. He was sure it was her. No. Yes. This was stupid. He shouldn't be doing this. He could hear his heart, and his hands were clammy on the steering wheel. Yes. It was her. Ruthie. About to start her shift. She leaned across to kiss the driver goodbye, then got out. She patted the skirt of her uniform, pushed the strap of her bag up on to her shoulder. Some of the nurses he had seen wore trousers as part of their uniform, but not Ruthie. The car turned. Carrow saw the driver. It was Kieran Walsh. Ruthie waved to him. The horn blared as the car raced away.

She saw Carrow almost immediately. Didn't seem surprised. Walked towards his car. Walked slowly towards his car – deliberately slow. He watched. Then he got out. Rested his arm on the roof. ‘Hiya.'

She smiled. That was nice. ‘I thought you had gone off the radar.'

‘Same here. Crossed the Norway off your list these days?'

‘It's getting a bad reputation. A girl might not be safe there any more.'

‘There's some good men on the door. You don't have to worry.' He stopped himself from saying,
Not like the piece of shit that just dropped you off
. Instead: ‘Who was that?' Carrow's head indicated the direction the car had taken.

‘A friend.'

‘Boyfriend?'

Ruthie nodded.

‘What about your man inside, Howie?'

‘Can't wait forever. Time to move on.'

‘I thought he'd only got a few weeks left.'

‘He'll be all right.' She made to move away, then stopped. ‘So? How come you're here? Visiting your granny?'

There was no point in messing about. ‘Hoping we might pick up again. Where we left off. Decided I was a bit hasty dropping things.' He waited. ‘But I can see now that there's no chance of that.'

There was a pause, but only a slight one. ‘No. No, there's not. Sorry.' Her tone was difficult to read. It might have been regretful, then again it might not.

He sat in the car and watched her walk away; make her way up the long drive. Did she look back? Of course she didn't.

SHUKO

12

I took the lift to the seventeenth floor of Nimrod House and descended the stairs. As I did so I heard urgent whispering. On to the landing two young black men were about to enter the flat next to mine. Taken by surprise, one, of sturdy build and wearing long baggy shorts, attempted an aggressive stance, waiting for a challenge.

‘No one lives there,' I said. ‘Just some plants.'

He was startled by this. ‘Who you, man?'

‘Their neighbour. I live next door. I haven't seen you here before. Other gardeners, but not you.'

‘I bin 'ere,' the boy said, ‘lotsa times, man.' The key connected and released the lock, the boy held the door.

‘I must have missed you.' I walked past him to my door and opened it. ‘I'll probably see you again sometime.'

‘Yeah' he said. ‘Yeah man, you probably will.'

Inside I took the vodka from the fridge and poured myself a glass, lit a cigarette, lit the ancestors' candle at the shrine beside my bed, and settled down to consider my report. Following the refusal of our offer for the Norway Room Hsinshu called me to the red room. I saw three darts in the House of Twenty and knew he was ready to give me further instructions. ‘We have tried to do business with Mr Stretton in the conventional way, but despite your best efforts, Shuko, it has not worked.' He lifted his cigarettes from the long table, but held the pack. ‘It was expected of course. The surprise would have been if Mr Stretton had accepted it. No, it was always unlikely that these proceedings would be resolved through negotiation. Also far too expensive. We were merely going through the motions.'
Going through the motions
. It is one of my favourite English expressions. There is, to my way of thinking, something very Chinese about it, very respectful.

‘It is time, I think, to use the strength of the Dragon, it's energetic element – Fire. Statements of intent, I think. It is time for statements of intent. Let's try two of them, close together. What is the phrase the President of the United States, Mr Bush, likes to use –
shock and awe
– that, I think, is the reaction we should seek to achieve. But no blood spilled at this stage. Just shock and awe.'

Mr Stretton is a stubborn man. It is the nature of his energy, the element of Wood. Drop a flat stone on a planted seed and it will still seek to grow. The seed will push out around the slab, seeking out light, opportunity. It may become twisted, deformed, less than its natural form. But the urge to grow drives it – and there are two possible outcomes. A deformed and weakened plant that survives a short time and dies, or a thriving plant made stronger and healthier by its struggle.

I wanted to convey to Hsinshu my thoughts on the situation in writing. I felt this was appropriate for such a major Dragon project. In the army my role had been to monitor Australian and Canadian newspapers. From very early in my schooldays I had shown an exceptional ability for languages and I was selected at nine for intensive instruction in English. In the army I wrote reports on articles that dealt with social or political issues. It was work I enjoyed although, looking back, unlike my comrades of that time I never believed in the value of the contribution I was making to the Party. It was in the act of translation that I found satisfaction.

On my way back to Nimrod House I had purchased a notepad. This is what I wrote:

FOR THE PERSONAL ATTENTION
OF HSINSHU –
HONOURED EMPEROR
OF THE NINTH DRAGON

As you are aware Sir, there have been two statements of intent successfully carried out on the Norway Room. The first, eight days ago, when a doorman taken at gunpoint led me to Mr Stretton's office. Here I issued your ultimatum. This was reinforced six nights later by shots at the front of the building. On neither occasion was anyone hurt.

For Mr Stretton, I regret to say, the point has not yet been reached where he can see the inevitable. I hear from sources within the Norway Room that he is looking to recruit – on a temporary basis – a firearms team, four or five men, through one of the eastern European syndicates.

May I respectfully share some thoughts: I feel that despite his determination, Mr Stretton is no fool and given sufficient pressure he will agree to our terms, but for the moment he apparently intends to meet fire with fire, guns with guns.

Something that has been on my mind since my first visit to the club is the rapport that exists between Mr Stretton and his assistant Trudy. He insisted she remain during our meeting. ‘Trudy is my assistant. She knows everything about the business. I wouldn't make any decisions without discussing them with her.' On my second visit, when guns were out, his first action was to get her out of the room – out of harm's way?

I have been told that there are stories among the staff of the club, that there was at one time, and may still be, a romantic link between the two of them. This is something I am investigating further.

Mr Stretton is a hard man, and one whose feelings and emotions are not easy to read, but he has a reputation for knowing all of his staff, being liked by them and treating them well, so someone with whom he works as closely as he does with Trudy, literally side by side, is likely to be able to exert some influence on him, especially if there is, as I suspect, a romantic association.

There are two ways you might consider using Trudy. One is for me to make contact with her, and attempt to get her to use her influence for our benefit. This could be done by offering her a sum of money, a senior position in the club under our ownership, both, or leading her to fear for Mr Stretton's safety.

Having given the matter a lot of thought over the past few days, however, I have come to the conclusion that the more effective route would be to take her for a time. An abduction always gives a sense of urgency to a situation, and as we know can lead to quick results. If the Emperor should feel this is a route he wishes to explore further I can prepare a detailed plan for your consideration.

I am your obedient servant,

Shuko

That night it took a long time to fall asleep and when sleep did come I was assailed by dreams. When one dreams of both the past and the future, then momentous events are imminent, or at least that is the wisdom of the generations.

For three nights before the Great Earthquake of 1610 the Emperor dreamed of his late mother the Pearl Empress. In the first dream she was a child, in the second a bride to the future emperor, in the third, aged, she lay on her deathbed. These dreams are known as
The Three Dreams of the Pearl Empress
. For the following three nights the Emperor dreamed of a carpet, as fine and magnificent as any in China. Woven into the beautiful carpet in fine silk threads was a design of his palace and lovely garden. On the night of the first dream he himself walked the carpet, looking down at the palace, at the acacia and laburnum trees of the garden, the ancient ginkgo trees, the hydrangea bushes. In the second dream he walked again, this time accompanied by his wife, the Empress. On the third, he watched, as from a distance, his wife and two eldest sons, the princes Zhu Changluo and Zhu Youjian, walk the carpet without him. These dreams are known as
The Three Dreams of the Emperor's Carpet
.

The Emperor dreamed of such things no more. On the seventh night after his final dream, an earthquake took the Imperial City. A thousand buildings fell, seven thousand of his Majesty's subjects. The Imperial Family was spared.

On the morning after the earthquake, Wan Li watched as his wife, the Empress, and their two eldest sons walked slowly through the Royal garden, picking their way through the rubble of the fallen palace. This story is known as
The Realisation of the Prophesy of the Emperor's Dream
and since that time seven has been known as the number that separates triumph from catastrophe.

In my dreaming that night I first saw Jimmy Slim sailing through the night air. In reality it was a very windy night but in my dream all the trees were still. I dreamed of his smashed face, first looking up at me as it did when Yangku and I went to collect him from the tarmac beside Nimrod House, then looking down on me, as if it were I who had fallen. Then I saw his broken face again, this time raised among a crowd of faces looking up to a tightrope, healing and becoming whole as he watched Tai Yuan fall from the rope. The next time Jimmy Slim entered my dreams he was standing on a hillside watching a white van tumbling from a cliff. When the twisted van came to a halt it was not, as I expected, Tai Yuan who emerged from the vehicle but Trudy, unscathed and unperturbed, her lustrous blonde hair gleaming, dressed in a red silk Chinese shift, a red flower blooming in her hair.

I woke and lay breathless for a while. Sleep would not return so I rose and went to the fridge for another slug from the bottle of vodka. When eventually I was able to fall asleep Trudy came again into my dreams. She was in my arms, my head in her hair. I struggled to see her face but she kept it turned from me, so I kissed her hair.