I knew only too well. It was one of the things that united the two of us, superficially so different, but underneath disturbingly similar. And time passes a lot faster on the outside than it does behind those walls, I said, half to myself.
Dont you believe it, Debbie said bitterly.
In silence, I navigated my way through the city centre, catching every red light on Deansgate before we passed the new Nynex arena. Its an impressive sight, towering over the substantial nineteenth-century edifice of Victoria Station. Unfortunately but predictably, it opened to a chorus of problems, the main one being that the seats are so steeply raked that people sitting in the top tiers have had to leave because they were suffering from vertigo.
I swung into the visitors car park and stared up at another impressive sight the new round-topped wall containing Her Majestys Prison. The prisoners who destroyed half of Strangeways in a spectacular riot a few years ago ended up doing their successors a major favour. Instead of the horrors of the old Victorian prison three men to a cramped cell without plumbing they now have comfortable cells with latrines and basins. For once, the authorities listened to the people who have to run prisons, who explained that the hardest prisoners to deal with are the ones on relatively short sentences. A lifer knows hes in there for a long time, and he wants to make sure that one day he sees the outside again. A man whos got a ten-year sentence knows hell only serve five years if he keeps his nose clean, so hes got a real incentive to stay out of trouble. But to some toerag whos been handed down eighteen months, its not the end of the world to lose remission and serve the whole sentence. The short-term prisoners also tend to be the younger lads, who dont have the maturity to get their heads down and get through it. Theyre angry because theyre inside, and they dont know how to control their anger. When cell blocks explode into anarchy and violence, nine times out of ten, its the short-term men who are behind it.
So Strangeways has got a gym, satellite TV and a variety of other distractions. Its the kind of regime that has the rabid right-wingers foaming at the mouth about holiday camps for villains. Me, Ive never been on a holiday where they lock you in your room at night, dont let you see your friends and family whenever you want to and never let you go shopping. Whatever else Strangeways is, a holiday camp it aint. Most of the loudmouths who complain would be screaming for their mothers within twenty-four hours of being banged up in there. Just visiting is more than enough for me, even though one of the benefits of the rebuilding programme is the Visitors Centre. In the bad old days, visitors were treated so atrociously they felt like they were criminals too. Its no wonder that a lot of men told their wives not to bring the kids to visit. It was easier to deal with the pain of missing them than to put them through the experience.
Now, they actually treat visitors like members of the human race. Debbie and I arrived with ten minutes to spare, and there wasnt even a queue to check in. We found a couple of seats among the other visitors, mostly women and children. These days, a Visiting Order covers up to three adults, and small children dont count. With every prisoner entitled to a weekly visit, it doesnt take long for a crowd to build up. Nevertheless, we didnt have to hang around for long. Five minutes before our visit time, we were escorted into the prison proper, our bags were searched by a strapping blonde woman prison officer who looked like a Valkyrie on her day off from Wagners Ring Cycle. Then we were led through anonymous corridors and upstairs to the Visitors Hall, a large, clean room with views across the city from its long windows. With its off-white walls, vending machines, no-smoking rule, tables laid out across the room and tense atmosphere, it was like a church hall ready for a whist tournament.
We found Dennis sitting back in his chair, legs stretched in front of him. As we sat down, he smiled. Great to see you both, he said. Business must be slack for you to take the afternoon off, Kate.
Christies got a cross-country trial, Debbie said. Kate didnt want me coming in here on my own. There was less bitterness in her voice than there would have been in mine in the same circumstances.
Im sorry, doll, Dennis said, shifting in his seat and leaning forward, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on Debbie with all the appeal of a puppy dog. But Debbie knew only too well what that cute pup had grown into, and she wasnt melting.
Sorry doesnt make it to parents night, does it? Debbie said.
Dennis looked away. No. But youre better off than most of this lot, he added, gesturing round the room with his thumb. Look at them. Scruffy kids, market-stall wardrobes, you know theyre living in shitholes. Half of them are on the game or on drugs. At least I leave you with money in the bank.
Debbie shook her head, more in sorrow than in anger. Havent you got it through your thick head yet that me and the kids wouldnt mind going without as long as wed got you in the house?
Time for me not to be here. I stood up and took the orders for the vending machines. There were enough kids milling around for it to take me a good ten minutes to collect coffees and chocolate bars, more than long enough for Dennis and Debbie to rehash their grievances and move on. By the time I got back, they were discussing what A levels Christie was planning on taking. She should be sticking with her sciences, Dennis insisted forcefully. She wants to get herself qualified as a doctor or a vet or a dentist. People and animals are always going to get sick, thats the only thing thats guaranteed.
But she wants to keep up with her sport, Debbie said. Three science A levels is a lot of homework. It doesnt leave her a lot of time for herself. She could be a PE teacher no bother.
Dennis snorted. A teacher? Youve got to be joking! Have you seen the way other peoples kids are today? You only go into teaching these days if you cant get anybody else to give you a job!
What does Christie want to do? I cut in mildly as I dumped the coffees in front of us.
Dennis grinned. Whats that got to do with it? He was only half joking. Anyway, never mind all this bollocks. No point us talking to each other when weve got entertainment on tap, is there, Debs? Tell us what youve been up to, Kate.
Debbie sighed. Shed been married to Dennis too long to be bothered arguing, but it was clear that Christies future was occupying all of her spare synapses. As Dennis turned the headlamp glare of his sparkling eyes on me, I could sense her going off the air and retreating into herself. Suited me, heartless bastard that I am. I didnt mind that Debbie was out of the conversation. That way I could get to the point without having to explain every second sentence. So I gave Dennis a blow-by-blow account of my aborted attempt to nail the gravestone scammers as a warm-up to asking for his help.
He loved the tale, I could tell. Especially the bit where Richard walked through the door with the takeaway and the Celtic cartoon characters. It was a short step from there to outlining Dan Druffs problems with the saboteurs. Dennis sat back again, linking his hands behind his chair with the expansive air of a man who knows his supplicant has come to the right place.
Flyposting, isnt it? he said as if delivering a profound pronouncement.
Well, yeah, thats one of the problems theyve been having, I said, wondering if his spell behind bars was blunting Denniss edge. I had already explained that the Scabby Heided Bairnss posters had been covered up by other peoples.
Flyposting, isnt it? he said as if delivering a profound pronouncement.
Well, yeah, thats one of the problems theyve been having, I said, wondering if his spell behind bars was blunting Denniss edge. I had already explained that the Scabby Heided Bairnss posters had been covered up by other peoples.
No, thats what its all about, he said impatiently. This whole thing is about staking out territory in the flyposting game.
Youre going to have to give me a tutorial in this one, Dennis, I said. Aint too proud to beg, and there are times when thats what it takes.
Happy that hed established his superiority despite his temporary absence from the streets, Dennis filled me in. Illegal flyposting is mega business in Manchester. Think about it. Everywhere you go in the city, you see fly posters for bands and events. The city council just dont bother prosecuting, so its a serious business. The way it works is that people stake out their own territory and then they do exclusive deals with particular clubs and bands. The really clever ones set up their own printing businesses and do deals with ticket promoters as well. Theyll do a deal with a club whereby theyll book bands for them, arrange the publicity and organize the ticket sales at other outlets. So for a band to get on and nail down a record deal, best thing they can do is get tied in with one of the boss operators. That way, theyll get gigs at the best venues, plenty of poster coverage on prime sites and their tickets get sold by all the key players.
Which costs what?
Dennis shrugged. A big slice, obviously. But its worth it to get noticed.
And you think whats going on here is something to do with that?
Must be, stands to reason. Looks like your lads have picked the wrong punter to do business with. Theyll have chosen him because hes cheap, silly bastards. Hes probably some kid trying to break into the market and your bands getting his kicking.
I made the circular gesture with my hand that you do in charades when youre asking the audience to expand on their guesses. Gimme more, Dennis, Im not seeing daylight yet, I said.
Hell have been papering somebody elses sites. If the person whose site hes been nicking doesnt know which chancer is behind the pirate flyposting, hell go for the band or the venues the chancers promoting. So your band are getting picked on as a way of warning off their cowboy promoter that hes treading on somebody elses ground.
I understood. So if they want to get out from under, they need to get themselves a new promoter?