Liz Mistry - Last Request

The cat stretched its front paws out on the windowsill and yawned. The roof overhang was keeping him dry, unlike Nikki who was beginning to feel like a damn fish. The door clattered open, sending the cat in a yowl of meows skittering over the rubbish and into the next-door neighbour’s garden. Deano, all five-foot-one of sheer unadulterated nastiness, hunched over on the doorstep, lighting his cig. He took a few hard drags before stepping out into the rain, designer hoodie pulled up over his shaved head so that the swastika at his left temple was covered. Nikki was familiar with the artwork on his arm as well: a St George’s cross with the slogan Pakis Out underneath. What made it worse was that the stupid arse was half-Pakistani himself.

When he was younger – hell, he was only 18 now – she’d wondered if his stunted growth had made him a victim. If it was the bullying that had pushed him to the dark side. Now, though, she didn’t care. She just wanted him and his puppet master, Franco McNally, off her estate.

He walked down the path, phone held to his ear. ‘Come on, Kayleigh. For fuck’s sake pick up, will you? Need to know you’re okay.’

He flicked his half-smoked cigarette into the neighbour’s garden and kicked the gate, before dragging it open. It grated against the cement slabs as he walked onto the street, with a quick glance up and down the road.

Watching with interest, Nikki wondered who this ‘Kayleigh’ was, who was causing Deano such stress. If she ever met her, she’d be sure to buy the girl a drink. Stepping forward into the gleam cast by the streetlights, Nikki waited. He stopped, lit another fag, took a quick puff and then, using his thumb and index finger, he flicked it through the drizzle, to land in the gutter in a flicker of orange embers. ‘Aw for fuck’s sake. If it isn’t piggy, piggy, oink, oink.’

‘That the best you got, Deano? Losing your touch?’ She crossed the road, one hand stuffed in her pocket and gestured for him to walk with her. At five-foot-two, Nikki just topped the lad by an inch, but the way he walked, the way he held himself, still had her wary of him. She’d turned her back on him to show him she wasn’t cowed by him, but her entire body was on alert, her shoulders tensed, ears straining for any rush of activity behind her. Inside her pocket she gripped her Mace. In the other hand her car keys protruded from her knuckles ready to blind the little bastard if he chanced his luck. It was the only way to go with thugs like Deano. In fact, it was that same attitude that had earned Deano his reputation. His inability to back down, the way he bulked his small frame up to its maximum – Nikki used the same strategies in her professional life. It was the only way she knew to survive. Sometimes she wondered if she had that same look in her eyes too. The one that made people quickly glance away and cross the road. The one that looked like his soul had been ripped out through his throat and all that was left was a mulch of dark, bloody gore. ‘Having girlfriend trouble, are we?’

‘Eh?’

‘Kayleigh? Giving you a hard time, is she?’

Glancing round, Deano hesitated and then fell into step beside her. ‘You stalking me now, Parekh? Got an obsession with me, eh? Want a bit of my meat, do you?’ He thrust his hips out and cupped his groin with his hand as he walked.

‘Your meat still come with a side helping of chlamydia and crabs, does it? Think I’ll pass, if it’s all the same.’

At the end of the road, she stopped and leaned against the post box that stood on the corner. Cars drove by, their headlights sweeping past them, bouncing off the puddles and sending up a thin spray of water as they passed. On the opposite side of the road a Chicken Cottage was doing a roaring trade and Deano, if his glances in that direction were anything to go by, had been heading there.

‘Say what you gotta say and then fuck off back to your pigsty.’

‘Oh, Deano, Deano, Deano … originality isn’t your strong suit is it?’

‘Eh?’

‘Thing is, you’re not welcome here.’ Her tone was conversational, tired, bored almost. As if she couldn’t quite bring herself to be overly concerned with him. Of course, it was all an act. A squirm of emotions, like maggots on gone-off meat, wriggled inside her chest. Deano was only a kid, yet he was toxic and she would never forgive him for the things he was responsible for. Never. His presence on her estate was a scab that she couldn’t avoid picking.

‘Just visiting me mum. Nowt wrong wi’ that.’

Nikki shook her head and took a deliberate step forward to invade his space. A glance over the road told her Sajid was parked up in his car, as arranged. She relaxed a fraction. Not even Deano would knife a police officer in full view of CCTV and, if he did, Sajid would have him within seconds. ‘Thing is, Deano. That’s where you’re wrong. You being here puts Margo in danger.’

‘Humph, I’ve never hurt me mum.’

‘No, you haven’t, but your stepdad has. He doesn’t like you, does he, Deano? What with you being of dual heritage and all.’

In the streetlights, she saw his face flush, then his bottom lip curled, eyes darkening. Her grip on her Mace tightened and she released her keys from her other hand and pulled her hood down. Sajid would recognise her prearranged signal and be on high alert.

‘I’m not a fucking Paki – not like you, Parekh.’

‘Not sure your stepdad sees it that way, but hey ho, that’s neither here nor there. He’ll take it out on your mum and you know it. So, you need to shimmy back under whatever rock you’ve been living under and stay there. We had a deal, remember?’

‘You can’t make me go. This is my home.’

Nikki took another step forward, her chin jutted up, her face distorted in a scowl that betrayed her feelings. ‘You are a poison that we don’t need here. You will go. And you’ll go tonight. Tell Franco we won’t accommodate him here. Not then, not now and not ever.’

Bluster fading, Deano stepped back off the kerb, landing in a puddle, with a ‘For fuck’s sake.’ He jumped back onto the pavement, his mouth open in a snarl. ‘You can’t do this to me, Parekh. You just fucking can’t. I can’t move till Franco says.’

Nikki stepped back and twisted her mouth into a smile. ‘’Course I can. You know I can. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you just forgot what I have on you, eh?’

Deano kicked the post box. ‘He’ll kill me. Franco will kill me.’

‘Really? And I care about that because …?’

‘Give us a break.’

‘No bloody way. You had your chance. You blew it when you brought ecstasy and MDMA to our streets. Then you did something even more stupid when you double-crossed Franco. Wonder what he’d do if he found out you’d been skimming off the top, eh? So …’ Nikki smiled. ‘You pay the price. Get off my fucking estate and take your drug-dealing boss with you. This is non-negotiable.’

She turned to cross the road, pulling her hood back up over her sleek dark-brown hair, then, as if in afterthought, she turned back. ‘Or of course I could make sure that package is delivered. Up to you, Deano. Up to you.’

‘Why do we always need to come here?’ Sajid waved two fingers in the air signalling to Gordon, the owner, that they’d have their usual and followed Nikki over to a booth with worn but clean seating. Nikki grinned. He said this every time they came to The Mannville Arms, but the truth was he loved it – Saj just liked to moan.

The gleam from its buffed wooden walls caught the light from the vintage glass lamp that cast a yellow hue over the equally well-polished table. The faint smell of beeswax contributed to the old-fashioned feel of the pub. Nikki slid into the side facing the doorway. ‘You know you like it here. So stop moaning. It’s one of the few pubs left in Bradford where you can get real ales.’