Heather's Busy Week Pt. 06

'That's what the doctor says.'

'What about finding her? Has she got completely away? Or could she still be somewhere in the hospital?'

'The doctor believes she's gone. They found her nightdress in a storeroom up on the second floor. It looks as if she just coolly walked out, using the main corridors and stairways.'

'What are they doing to get her back?'

'Nothing. They say it's a hospital, not a prison. They let her stay longer than they should have and she went of her own accord. As far as they are concerned, she's discharged herself.'

'Rats,' said Heather. 'What about the police?'

'They've logged her as a missing person, but I didn't get the impression they'd be looking too hard. They seemed reluctant to get involved.'

Heather did her best to console Carrie's mother and promised to keep in touch. After a couple more bites of baguette and a massive swig of beer she rang Rita.

'Alex really is going bonkers. Utterly looney tunes. We went home . . . to his place, I mean . . . and she wasn't there. But he reckoned he sensed her, even though she clearly hadn't been back since Sunday. He says she's drugged up to the eyeballs and being raped.'

'Rats,' Heather said again. 'Does Alex know where she is?'

'No. He's sure she's still in town. And he thinks she's with some dealer. Sex for drugs . . . that sort of thing.'

'That's not being raped, is it?'

'Alex says she's in danger. Like real, real danger. I know he's a turned into a crazy wimp, but he's got me fucking-well convinced.'

'So what's your plan?'

'We think she can't have got into town much before half past one. And she didn't have her mobile; Mother confiscated that along with her cards and cash. The way we see it, she was desperate to score and hooked up with a street dealer, probably one she didn't even know. There can't have been many of them around at that time in the morning. We're going to go out after dark and see what's what. Ask a few questions . . .'

Heather said she'd join them but rang off with misgivings. Street dealers were hardly likely to wilt under interrogation from the likes of them. And dark was hours away yet. If Carrie really was in danger, she might be badly hurt by then. Or worse.

If only I knew something about the local drug scene . . .

Flash and ker-pow! She didn't know anything useful, but maybe she knew someone who did.

'Naz Hussein speaking.'

'Hi Naz. It's your favourite bi girlfriend. I need to talk face-to-face. Where are you?'

'In the Union, four or five tables behind yours. Is there a pint in it for me?'

*****

Heather had met Naz back in the early days. That very first time had been in "Economics and . . ." when they sat next to each other, purely by chance. As freshers they automatically asked each other where they were from, what course they were doing and blah-de-dah. Heather had started to bond as soon as she found out Naz was from Bradford. A lot of folk living at her end of the Aire Valley hated being classed as "Bradmet", but Bradford was still close to home.

Except Heather hadn't really had a home anymore. The farm in Micklethwaite was long gone even then, buried under Lego-like houses. And she'd spent little time at the new family home in North Yorkshire. The closest she'd had to "home" had been her two rooms at The Manor, in deepest Cheshire: the one she'd shared with Tanya for her first year there, and the one she'd had all to herself thereafter.

In the five minutes it took for her to explain her roots they became friends. Naz's English was excellent (far better than some of Heather's expensively educated schoolmates'). She was only too obviously a nice person, and interesting with it. For that initial lecture she'd dressed conservatively and was wearing shapeless baggy trousers, a shapeless baggy top and a hijab. Heather had liked that hijab. It was an attractive light blue and, if it was meant to disguise the girl's femininity, it didn't work. It just highlighted her beauty and made her even more alluring.

How times had changed! And how quickly! A fortnight after that first meeting Naz had turned up minus the hijab, sporting a lustrous black mane that rivalled Heather's in length and luxury. Perhaps a month after that her baggy trousers were gone, replaced by something tighter and much more flattering. Then the baggy top gave way to a loose-fitting sweatshirt . . .

Heather hadn't always sat next to Naz in those weekly lectures, but she had always watched for developments. The very active, rebellious feminist in her relished every westernized step, even if some of them catered for perverted, goggle-eyed, westernized men.

By now, almost three years later, Heather had been in a countless changing rooms and team showers with Naz. She was well aware that the girl's beauty extended beyond her oh-so-foxy face. That much said, the sight of her today was breath-taking. Naz had somehow poured her lower body into bum-hugging jeans. Underneath her university hoodie her boobs strained against a particularly tight red T-shirt. She'd become another member of the ever-popular bra-less crew, too. Never mind her nipples, the barbells threaded through them were shouting out and waving.

'I bet the barman had a field day with you,' she said as Naz sat opposite her.

'Tony, you mean?' Naz turned up her pretty little nose. 'Trust me, he's hardly worth bothering with.'

'You say that about all your blokes. Why don't you just bite the bullet and try a girl? You know, one who knows exactly how to please a woman?'

'I'm sure there is a reason, I just can't think what it is. Maybe one day soon. And where's that beer you promised me?'

Heather bought two more pints and went back to the table, getting there in time to find Naz finishing off the cheese and tomato baguette.

'Sorry,' Naz said insincerely. 'It jumped in my face yelling, "Eat me! Eat me!"'

Heather couldn't stop herself grinning at the possible answers to that.

'Whoa,' Naz laughed, getting in ahead of her. 'Don't go giving me more of that girls know best routine. One day, remember?'

'Yes. One day soon.'

The shared (knowing?) smiles were warm indeed. So were Naz's eyes. Heather managed to forget about baguettes and barbells for a moment. Then Naz went and broke the spell.

'So what's with the face-to-face? Can't you sleep without me?'

Heather snapped out of her semi-trance and gave a concise version of Eleanor and Rita's story, seeing her friend's face scrunch up as she listened.

'Why me?' Naz finally demanded.

'You seemed to know so much yesterday. And you are from Bradford.'

'So are you.'

'Micklethwaite's different to the big city. We don't even have street corners, never mind drug dealers on street corners. I don't live there anymore, either. And before you ask, Kettlewell's even more innocuous.'

'I thought you didn't like Carrie.'

'I don't. But I like her brother. And I like her mother, too. I also hate the idea of any drugged up girl being systematically raped, bitch or not.'

'Is that what you believe is happening?'

'That's what Alex says. And he's her twin. I know this sounds far-fetched, but . . .'

Naz held up a placating hand. 'It's not far-fetched. I know. I'm a twin myself.'

'Oh, I didn't know. Is your sister here at uni as well? Or is "she" a brother?'

'"She" was a she, and she died young. But I know how it is between twins. If Alex says that, he's almost certainly right.'

'Oh Naz. I'm so sorry.'

'So am I. But I'm as over it as I'm ever likely to be. Let's go do something positive.'

'Like what?'

'I can be mouthy, sometimes. In reality I know eff-all about drug-dealing, but I know someone who does. Come on, lass, sup thar drink.'

*****

Naz led Heather through a maze of backstreets, some recognizable, others not. Naz had said the walk was "only ten minutes", but it was more like twenty when they arrived at a run-down, almost ramshackle building. A set of dodgy-looking wooden steps led down from street level. Higher up, on the wall, a sign proclaimed Koh-i-Noor.

'The diamond that's unlucky for men,' said Heather.

'It'll be unlucky for Alan if he pisses me around.'

'Alan?'

'He's Amir, really. He just goes by the name of Alan. Always has. It's his Indian way of fitting in.'

'Indian? I thought . . .'

'My family moved to Pakistan in 1947. By forced march. His stayed in India and suffered less from the riots than ours did crossing the new boundaries. We're still family, though. He's more of a believer than I am. Much more. He's also the biggest gossip in Lancashire. He doesn't do drugs himself, but he'll know who does. Trust me.'

Naz went down the rickety staircase and Heather followed, holding the wooden rail . . . as if that would help if the whole contraption collapsed. Heather had used this eating place before, but not in a while. She didn't remember ever seeing the sturdy metal door at the bottom of the steps. Then again, it probably only featured when the restaurant was closed.

'Hoi,' Naz called, banging on the metal. 'Get your arse out here!'

Nothing happened so Naz banged again. This time an angry voice responded in Urdu.

'Never mind "fuck off",' Naz replied in English. 'It's me, your sexy half-cousin. Open the door before I kick it in.'

Heather looked at the Asian girl in admiration. Mary Rose would have said something like that, if not quite so politely.

Polite or not, the message got through. Bolts were withdrawn and the door eventually opened.

'Naz,' a large, twenty-something man said, grinning at her. 'You're looking as good as ever!' His eyes drifted over Heather then shot back, fixing on her face. 'Who is this? She's looking better than good.'

'She's my girlfriend,' Naz replied. 'So hands off. And invite us in.'

'Girlfriend!'

'Get out of the seventh century and let us in.'

Alan laughed as he stepped aside. 'I'm Hindu, me. The seventh century has no relevance.'

'Tell that to your great grandma, if you dare.'

The restaurant hadn't changed inside. Unlike many of the "Indians" in town,it was low-key and basic. Cheap, tasty food washed down with water and no alcohol allowed. Hindu or not, Alan hadn't invested in a licence.

Heather sniffed at the smell of curry. Why did it smell so good at two in the morning yet iffy at two in the afternoon? Was it the fresh cooking or her being fresh from drinking?

Hmmm . . .

'So,' Naz began. 'Favour time.'

'Favour?'

'You scratch mine, I'll scratch yours.'

'Sounds good,' said Alan. 'Why don't you go first?'

'Our friend is in trouble . . .'

To Heather's great surprise, Naz produced a stack of photographs. They were stylishly black and white and covered a recent cup final.

'That's Carrie celebrating a goal,' the beautiful Asian said. 'And that's her in the middle, with the winners' trophy. Recognize her?'

Alan shook his head.

'She's doing coke,' Naz enlarged. 'Big-time. She's supposed to be getting clean, but it's going badly for her. She was out on the street last night, looking for a supplier. Who would she have found?'

'Fucking hell, Naz, how would I know? I hate drugs as much as you do.'

'I told Heather you know everything. Every feather that falls from a sparrow's tail. Yeah?'

Alan paced up and down a bit. He'd been interrupted mid-cleaning. Dusters, mops and cans of Mr Sheen were very much in evidence. Not that Mr Sheen had any chance. When it came to the battle of stinks, garam masala ruled okay.

'When was she out?' Alan asked finally.

'Half one. Maybe later.'

'What does she do?'

'Coke, like I just told you.'

'Is that all?'

Naz glanced at Heather. Heather nodded almost automatically.

'So far as we know.'

'Not many coke dealers out at that time,' Alan said thoughtfully. 'Late Wednesday and pissing it down, on and off. Was it a phone job?'

'Very unlikely.'

'Okay. Shut your ears.'

Heather exchanged glances with Naz as Alan dialled out. She was surprised when the Asian girl's hand fastened on hers. Not that she was about to reject the contact. She gripped back even tighter.

Alan spouted off again, this time in a different language. Naz nodded, indicating she had the hang of it, so Heather left it at that. If she couldn't trust Naz the job was . . . well, fucked.

'Okay,' Alan announced, breaking his connection. He smiled at Heather before turning back to Naz. 'You need to speak to our cousin, Imran. He was out last night. And he does know about sparrows and feathers.'

'And he lives . . .'

'Same place.' Alan gave an address and Naz nodded again.

'Thanks ever so,' she said. 'Keep mum, yeah?'

'Absolutely. And don't worry about my source. He's even more discreet than I am. Er . . .'

'You'll have to wait for your favour. We're in a hurry. But don't worry, I won't forget I owe you one.'

'Perhaps . . .'

He was gazing lustfully at Heather. Before she could fob him off or give him a grateful smile, Naz dived in.

'I told you, Alan, she's my girlfriend. Keep your hands to yourself.'

*****

It was overcast outside but the rain was still holding off. With Naz in charge of navigation, the two girls set off through another maze of backstreets, each more run-down than the last. The roads and pavements became increasingly uneven. They had to weave around several large puddles.

'Imran is the black sheep of the family,' Naz said. 'He's not bad at heart, but he doesn't have any work ethic at all. That's a bit of a handicap, because he likes flashy cars. I suspect that's why he's turned to dealing. Assuming he has.'

'Don't you know for sure?'

'Frankly, no. Last I heard, he was going straight. He had a year in a youth custody centre for nicking one car too many.'

Heather scowled. She didn't like the sound of Naz's cousin at all. 'Are you on good terms?'

'I've only ever met him twice. We got on fine both times. But that was years ago.'

Suddenly the streets were becoming less commercial, more residential. The puddles weren't so bad anymore. Not that they'd dried up on their own. The roads and pavements in this bit of town had recently been given a serious makeover. Freshly cleared drains gurgled tunefully as they carried surplus rainwater away.

'This Imran,' Heather said cautiously. 'Has he got violent tendencies?'

'Not that I'm aware of. But if he's dealing, I suppose he can look after himself.'

'Look Naz, the guy's obviously changed since you last saw him. You don't have to go in with me. I'll understand.'

'Understand this, Hev: He's family. He'd never raise a finger against a well-respected female relative. If he did, he would die a very messy death, very soon. If anyone's going in there on her own, it's me.'

'We'll go in together then.' Heather paused. 'Is he another Indian?'

'No, he's a Pakistani by every definition. He shouldn't be drug dealing. Not that religion stops anyone nowadays.'

A change of subject seemed to be in order. 'There's tension between you and Alan,' Heather said. 'Sexy tension, I mean.'

'We had a near miss once. A very near miss.'

'And he wants another go?'

'Correct. That's why I kept saying you're my girlfriend.'

'And I thought I'd got lucky!'

'You might do. Sometime.'

'What about Alan? Is he going to get lucky?'

'With me? Not likely. The near miss was near enough. Right, this is it.' Naz pointed. 'And that will be his motor, at a guess.'

'Very flashy wheels.' Heather looked from a fancy Mercedes to an apartment block. Whilst by no means a towering nightmare,it wasn't very appealing. Gill's and Ruth's smart buildings left it for dead.

'Not so flashy digs,' Naz said, peering upwards. 'He's on the fourth floor. Let's go do it.'

There was a lift with buttons from G to 6. Unfortunately it only worked as far as 2, so they had to get out early and climb the steps to 4. The apartments were lined up to their left. Waist-high railings to their right guarded them from an otherwise open drop.

'Just a second.' Heather caught hold of Naz's arm, making her turn and come close. Kissing close. Resisting the temptation, Heather went on. 'There has to be a chance he has Carrie in there with him. Have you considered that?'

'Of course I have. If she's in there we find out if it's voluntary or not. If it's voluntary, we leave her and tell her mum where she is. If it's not, we break her out.'

'And how do we do that?'

'Imran's only small. You can use your kung-fu on him.'

Heather snorted. 'What if he's got others with him?'

'You get to beat them up as well.'

The only sign of life up here was a young boy. No older than three, he was singing tunelessly as he played with painted wooden cubes. He was sitting on the concrete walkway, perilously close to the railings. Heather checked to make sure he couldn't fall through the gaps while her friend knocked on Imran's door.

No response.

Naz knocked again.

'Yeah?' a voice finally replied from within. 'Who is it?'

'Naz Hussein. Your cousin Naz. Remember me?'

'What the fuck you want?'

'I'm visiting.'

'What?'

'I'm visiting you.'

'What for?'

'I've been here for three years. Here at the university. I'm finishing soon. And I can't go back to Bradford without seeing you. Imagine what the dinosaurs would say.'

Imran grunted and began unlocking and unbolting what sounded like a lot of security. At last, part-opening the door on its chain, he looked out suspiciously.

'Who's she?'

'My lovely girlfriend, Heather. Are we coming in for tea and biccies or what?'

Imran didn't seemed to be overly swayed by feminine appearances. 'If you must,' he grunted.

Heather quickly satisfied herself that Carrie was not inside. Starting with small and getting progressively smaller, the apartment had four rooms: a lounge, a kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. Putting them in perspective, through the half-open bedroom door she could see scarcely enough space for the small single bed.

'Tea and biccies, eh?' Imran laughed harshly. 'How do you like it, ladies?'

'Strong, milk but no sugar,' said Naz.

'Ditto,' Heather agreed.

She watched Imran as he went into the kitchen and noisily filled a kettle. Naz was right; he was only small . . . but he was wiry with it. And, no doubt thanks to his year in custody, his eyes never stopped moving. She reckoned he could be dangerous and was glad there was no breaking out to be done.

Imran brought in the biccies while the kettle boiled. Best he could run to, it seemed, was an already opened packet of Rich Tea. Naz examined them while he went to mash up.

'Dunking material only,' she whispered. 'Don't eat them dry, whatever you do.'

Heather was struck by the incongruity of the situation. Sitting here, having a matey cuppa with a dealer who, up until five minutes ago, she suspected was also a kidnapper and rapist.

This time Imran returned with three steaming, mismatched mugs. 'So,' he said, plonking them on a battered and ring-marked table, 'just passing, were you?'

His snotty, snarky tone was unmissable. Skipping the small talk, Naz got on with it. 'One of our friends is in trouble. We want to know if you've seen her.'

'Why should I have seen her?'

'Because she was out in town, late last night.'

'I repeat: Why should I have seen her?'

'She was desperate for coke.'

'Coke?' Imran's latest laugh was particularly unpleasant. 'She should have tried the railway station. There's a machine there. Fifty pence a can, I think.'

'I'm talking about one o'clock in the morning and a different kind of coke. As you well know.'

'Yet again I repeat: Why should I have seen her?'

Heather was beginning to be annoyed by the guy's attitude. Naz carried on patiently, getting out her stack of photos again. 'This is her scoring a goal.'

Imran scarcely glanced at it. 'Don't know her. But she's got a nice pair, hasn't she?'

'This is her crunching some poor lass.'