The CWA Debut Dagger

WESTERN FRINGES

by

Amer Anwar

Chapter 1

Zaq knew something was up as he walked through the builders’ yard toward the offices. Normally he only dealt with the yard manager or the supervisor but this morning he had been called to see the owner of the company, Mr Brar. As far as Zaq was concerned, that could mean only one thing. Trouble.

Patting brick dust, plaster and woodchip from his work clothes as he walked, Zaq entered the main building through the rear door from the yard. Inside, the sound of Hindi music from the latest Bollywood blockbuster accompanied him as he made his way through to the stairs leading up to the first floor where Mr Brar’s office was situated.

Climbing the dimly lit stairway, flanked by bare, scuffed plaster walls, Zaq wondered what Mr Brar wanted to see him about. He hadn’t been working there long enough for a raise and there wasn’t any scope for career progression, so it wasn’t about a promotion either. That didn’t leave much. Shit, he thought, am I going to get sacked? He hadn’t done anything to warrant it, he was in fact very good at his job and unlike most of the other guys employed there he spoke fluent English. But he knew that if anyone had to go, whatever the reason, he would be the first one out the door.

He slowed as he neared the top of the stairs, steeling himself against the bullshit he was about to receive. Fuck it, he thought, if he does sack me maybe I’ll find something better. His optimism faded as he remembered just how difficult it had been for him to find a job. He had only landed this present position because his father had stepped in and asked a friend for a favour, the outcome of which had been to get Zaq a position with Brar Building Supplies.

He approached a cheap wooden door on which the words ‘Mr Brar’ were spelt using gold stickers with a bold black capital letter on each one. Fuck it, he thought again, this time ready to take whatever was coming his way. He knocked on the door.

“Haah? Ajaa”, responded a deep, loud voice. Zaq pushed open the door and entered. He had only been in the office once before, when he had first come to see Mr Brar about the job as a van driver, delivering building supplies in and around west London. The room hadn’t changed in the last six months. It still looked like the set from a bad 1970s TV sitcom. There was a garishly patterned carpet on the floor, while cream and brown striped paper covered the walls. Some of the second hand office furniture may actually have seen use in the 70s. Colourful religious images, intended to bring blessings and good fortune to the business, looked down from the wall on the right. A row of windows along the left allowed in the dull grey light from the leaden sky beyond, giving the room a thick, gloomy feel.

“Ajaa Zaqir”, said Mr Brar, using Zaq’s given name as he beckoned him into the room. “Ah ke behja”. He indicated a pair of cheap office chairs facing his large wooden desk, inviting Zaq to sit. Zaq took the one on the right.

Mr Brar was in his late fifties, a large, heavyset, barrel-chested man with wide shoulders and shovel sized hands that had certainly seen a lot of manual labour. His complexion was coarse, his skin a dark, molasses brown. The broad face was nailed in place by two dark, deep-set eyes, which regarded Zaq with little warmth despite the wide, tooth-filled smile that split his brown face. The teeth and eyes reminded Zaq of a documentary he’d seen recently about sharks. The thick black hair, smoothed back from his large forehead, only added to the impression.

“You wanted to see me?” asked Zaq.

“Haah, haah!” said Mr Brar, nodding. “How are your mum and dad?”

“They’re fine”.

“And the family? Your brother and sister?”

That was one of the problems with living in a tight knit community like Southall. Everybody was either related to, or knew, everybody else.

“Yeah, they’re fine too, thanks”.

“And the job? You like the job? It’s OK?”

Now we’re getting to it, thought Zaq.

“Yeah, it’s good...”

A momentary silence hung between them like a bad smell. It was clear that Mr Brar was working up to something and Zaq was ready now, to take the news, get up and leave. Just like that. No discussion, no fuss. Fuck the job and fuck Mr Brar.

A sound behind him, to his right, made Zaq look over his shoulder. Two men, he hadn’t noticed when he entered the office, sat in the shadows against the back wall, looking directly at him. They were about Zaq’s age, although slightly bigger and bulkier. There was something vaguely familiar about them...

“Don’t mind my boys”, said Mr Brar. “Have you met my sons?”

“No”

“Parminder and Rajinder”, said Mr Brar by way of introduction.

“Alright”, acknowledged Zaq, nodding to both of them. They nodded back but said nothing. Zaq looked at them a moment longer, before turning round to face their father. The resemblance was certainly there – to the shark family, Zaq thought. Parminder and Rajinder Brar had a reputation around town and it wasn’t a good one. What are they here for? wondered Zaq. Do they think I might take a pop at their old man? It seemed Zaq’s own reputation was dogging him.

“You wanted to see me about something...?” prompted Zaq.

The remnants of the smile faded from Mr Brar’s face. “OK Zaqir, I will come straight to the point.”

Zaq exhaled but said nothing.

“I have a little problem”.

Zaq waited, anticipating some lame reason for being let go.

“I need you to do something for me”.

“Huh?”

“I would like you to do me a small favour”.

“Oh...” It wasn’t what Zaq had expected to hear. What Mr Brar was asking for wasn’t really a favour. Zaq was in no position to refuse such a request, not if he wanted to keep his job. “What sort of favour?”

“I would like you to find someone for me”.

“Who?”

Mr Brar paused, his face as impassive as a block of stone.

“My daughter”.

Zaq was surprised, although he didn’t react in any way.

“If she’s missing shouldn’t you tell the police? Let them handle it?”

“This isn’t a matter for the police. It seems she has run away and we don’t know where she is. We just want her to come back home. No police, no fuss”.

A daughter running away from home, especially in the Asian community, was a big deal, bringing shame and dishonour to the family in question – if you bought into stuff like that. If it got out that a daughter had run off it would be very bad for the family’s reputation and the subject of gossip for months.

“Isn’t this is a family matter? I mean I don’t even know your daughter. Shouldn’t one of your boys be looking for her?” suggested Zaq, indicating Parminder and Rajinder with a nod in their direction.

Mr Brar’s gaze shifted momentarily to his sons before coming back to rest on Zaq.

“It seems Rita had an argument with her brothers and perhaps that is why she left home. I don’t think she would be so happy to see either of them right now”.

“Surely there’s someone else in the family who could look for her?”

“Zaqir, sometimes things like this are better kept quiet. We don’t want the whole family to know about it, as I am sure you can understand”. Zaq got the reference to his own recent past.

“So we will keep this matter just between ourselves”, continued Mr Brar.

“Sure, OK... but I don’t even know where to start looking for your daughter... Rita, is it?”

“Yes, it’s Surinder but we all call her Rita”.

“Well, where would I...?”

“We can give you some help”, Mr Brar interjected, beckoning toward his sons.

One of them, Zaq thought it was Parminder, walked over and handed his father an envelope. Zaq glanced at him as he returned to his seat. He was tall, muscular and seemed to have inherited his father’s physical characteristics. Mr Brar opened the envelope and took out two items, which he glanced at before leaning over the desk and dropping them in front of Zaq. One of the items was a photograph of a hot looking Indian girl, the other a piece of paper with some scrawled notations on it. Zaq eyed the photograph but didn’t say anything. “This is a photo of Rita and a list of her friends and workmates, with some telephone numbers. Maybe someone will have an idea where she is”.

Zaq picked up the sheet of paper, looking at it for a second or two before folding it up and looking back at Mr Brar.

“Even if I do find her, I’m not sure that I can convince her to come home. I mean she doesn’t know me, why would she listen to me?”

“Don’t worry about that Zaqir. Once you find out where she is, just let us know. We will go and talk to her, sort everything out. For now, we just want to make sure she is safe”. He sat back in his big leather office chair, the only comfortable chair in the room, and bared his teeth in a smile.

Something didn’t seem quite right to Zaq but then so what? This was family shit and he didn’t need to get too involved. Besides, he had his own worries. All he had to do was a little digging, find out where this Rita was staying and then let her old man know. That was it.

“I’ll be very grateful if you find my daughter”, said Mr Brar, still smiling his shark smile. Any warmth in the smile was lost long before it reached the cold, dark eyes. Zaq could read between the lines. ‘Grateful’ meant that he would keep his job.

“OK. I’ll be glad to help”.

“Fan-tastic”.

“When do you want me to start looking?”

“Huun, right now”.

“What about the deliveries today?”

“Don’t worry. Bittu and Ram will take the deliveries. This is more important to me.”

“I don’t have a car and I might need to get around...?”

Mr Brar opened a desk drawer and retrieved a set of keys.

“Yeh le,” he said, throwing the keys to Zaq, who caught them. “You can take the small van”.

“Thanks”.

“Chunga phir”, said Mr Brar, letting Zaq know that he could go.

Zaq stood, picking up the photo of Rita from the desk and slipping it, along with the list of names and phone numbers, into the back pocket of his jeans.

“And let me know whatever you find out”, said Mr Brar.

“I will”, Zaq assured him, turning to leave.

Parminder and Rajinder stared at him as he walked toward the door. Zaq looked back at each of them in turn, meeting their gazes and not backing down. He had learnt the rules of this sort of game the hard way but he had learnt them well. Were they trying to intimidate him? He had faced intimidation and violence before now and had confronted it head on. These two would have to do better than this if they wanted to put a scare on him.

As he looked at them in turn, each of the brothers broke eye contact first. Zaq could tell they didn’t want to and didn’t like doing it, but they were unsure about him. Zaq had a reputation of his own. They had certainly heard about what had happened, all those years ago. Other stories would have done the rounds since, some of them true, some not. If they helped him avoid any more trouble, Zaq didn’t care what the stories were, or who believed them.

 

Back outside, Zaq headed toward the rear of the yard, where the company vehicles were parked. Inside the metal-barred double gates, the 7.5 tonne lorry was being loaded with building supplies, for several large drops that day. The guys loading up called out or nodded in greeting to Zaq, who acknowledged them with a wave as he continued past toward the small van parked in the far corner. He was thinking about how the hell he was going to find this goddamn Rita girl, when he heard a shout behind him.

“Arrey, Zaq.”

He turned to see a short, squat man, with a thick black moustache, striding towards him. He might have been athletic looking, if it wasn’t for the large potbelly straining the fabric of his polo shirt.

“Kidhaah Sid?” said Zaq, as the man came closer.

Jatinder Singh ‘Sid’ Sidhu, was the yard supervisor, responsible for all the goods in and out of the builder’s yard, as well as for making sure the staff were working hard and not slacking off.

“Phir? What are you doing?” he asked Zaq in his heavily accented English.

“I’ve got to do a job for Mr Brar”.

“Haah, haah, ‘special job’, he told me. Ki karnah? What’s so special?”

“Ask him yourself”, Zaq told him, indicating towards Mr Brar’s office with his thumb.

“Achaa? Bouthi special job howga. Blow job tha nahi?” asked Sid with a leer. “Maybe you sucking his cock, huh?”

“No, your mum’s already taking care of that’, replied Zaq with a grin.

There was laughter from the guys loading the lorry nearby.

“Theri bhen dhi...” muttered Sid, drawing his fist back as if to punch Zaq, before his face too, creased up in laughter. Such an exchange was part of the usual banter of the yard, similar to other yards that Zaq had done time in. “Chal, duffa hoja”, said Sid, waving his hand in a shooing motion, encouraging Zaq to piss off and do whatever it was he was supposed to be doing for the boss.

Zaq raised a hand in farewell, turned and continued on toward the tiny Nissan van, which was normally only used for running errands. It was several years old, battered and badly in need of a clean but at least it was a set of wheels. Taking out the keys Mr Brar had given him, Zaq turned off the alarm and got in. He started the engine and let it idle, as he sat considering what he should do first.

He pulled the photo and the list he’d been given from the back pocket of his jeans and took a better look at the picture. Rita Brar was a good-looking girl with a fair complexion and good skin. She’s fit, thought Zaq. Must take after her mother. She had a small, straight nose and her chestnut brown eyes were almost as bright as the dazzling smile, which showed off her perfect white teeth. The hair framing her face was highlighted and cut fashionably, rather than tied in the braided plait that more traditional parents made their daughters wear. She could quite easily have been mistaken for someone of Mediterranean origin instead of Indian. He couldn’t see anything remotely shark-like about her. She’d been fortunate enough not to inherit any of her father’s physical attributes. The photograph was only a head and shoulders shot and Zaq wondered what the rest of her body looked like.

Dragging his thoughts back to the task of finding her, he scanned the piece of paper in his hand and saw that the first name was Rita’s, with her mobile number written next to it. He didn’t recognise any of the other names, so went back to hers. Shifting in the seat, Zaq fished his own mobile phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and tried calling her number. He let it ring for some time but no one answered so he hung up. Obvious maybe, but he’d had to try it. She probably wasn’t answering calls from any number she didn’t recognise.

So what should he do now? Where should he go? The answer came to him almost immediately. Looking at his phone again, he navigated to his contacts menu, pressed ‘J’ and hit the call button, dialling the first number in the resulting list. The phone at the other end rang several times before it was picked up.

“Alright Zaq?” answered a male voice.

“Jags man, what you up to?”

“You know, same old shit.”

“Are you at work?”

“Sort of. I’m working from home today”.

“So you’re dossing?” said Zaq.

“Nah, I’m working, straight up.”

“Listen, I need to talk to you about something. Can I come round?”

“You been sacked?”

“No.”

“Ain’t you supposed to be working too?”

“ I am. I’ll explain when I see you.”

“OK, come over.”

I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Oh, and Jags...”

“Yeah?”

“Stick the kettle on.”

– end of excerpt –

© 2008 Amer Anwar
Used with permission
All rights reserved.