by Peter Cocks
Or Tommy, I thought. Saul looked at me for longer than was comfortable. And I was already wriggling inside, as uncomfortable as it was possible to be without having fish hooks stuck in my eyes. He punched me on the arm, as if to say in a manly way that my secret was safe with him. I wasn’t sure if I’d got away with it. Really not sure.
“We’re shipping out,” he told me. “I came to find you.”
We made our way back down the street, past the shops.
“I’ll just get a couple of presents for Sophie,” I said.
“What have you been doing with your time?” Saul asked. I shrugged.
“I’ve got to nip to the bank,” he said, slapping his briefcase. He stopped outside the Credit Kuna, or whatever it was called, and looked back down the street. “Nice bird,” he said. “Sure you didn’t know her?”
“No!” I protested. It must have looked bad.
“Look, Eddie.” Saul continued to glance down the street. “If you see anything … unusual, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”
“Sure,” I said. “Like what?”
“I dunno. Things you wouldn’t want to mention to Tommy. Anything you don’t like the smell of. People poking about, stuff you might see Jason getting up to… We can help each other.”
I began to get his drift. At least, I think I did.
“Mum’s the word,” he said. He squeezed my arm. “Meet you for a quick one in the bar on the corner before we go back.”
Saul went into the bank and I went into the shops, confused. I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure what all that had been about. I bought a sailor-striped vest for Sophie and a couple of soaps and bits for her mum. It didn’t even cross my mind to get anything for my own. But it did strike me that God-knows-what was being traded just offshore, illicit euros were being paid into the bank and here I was buying soap. I went by the newsagent and searched through the postcard rack for Anna’s drop.
It wasn’t there.
I searched every row of postcards in the rack. Nothing. I felt sick. I hoped Anna had been smart and doubled back to pick it up when she saw who I was with.
I went down to the café, where Saul was already gulping the last of his beer. Mine was on the table. I sat down and took a long glug.
“Get everything?” Saul asked.
“I think so,” I said. “Bits and bobs.” I held up the carrier bag to show him.
“It’s the thought that counts.” He pulled a roll of cash from his pocket and gave it to me. It was a good grand’s worth in euros. “Remember what I said.”
I refused the money and he put his arm around my shoulder, like a generous uncle, pushing the wedge into my pocket. “You did good on the pictures,” he said.
“Not that good,” I said, trying to force the money back into his top pocket.
“It’s nothing.” He gave it back again. “Got to keep everyone sweet.”
FIFTY-THREE
Donnie was sweating like a pig. He’d had a bastard couple of weeks, being employed exclusively to try and mop up after Jason. And now he was on the road again, at midnight, to clear up some more of his shit.
The kid had gone mad. There had been a big family row with Tommy and Cheryl the day after the fight, both of them screaming blue murder about how he’d shown them up. How they weren’t proud of his performance. Tommy had hurt him, telling Jason that he was no son of his. Donnie and Dave had shuffled around uncomfortably while it all went off. It was rare for the family to wash their dirty linen in front of them. Donnie saw it as another sign that the old man was losing his grip. The boss looked ready to pack it all in.
They’d never seen Tommy Kelly have to deal with a problem like this before, but then he’d never had a twenty-year-old son locking horns with him. Flesh and blood flexing its muscles. Jason had been a kid until now, but for the last year or so he’d been trying to establish himself in the firm. And the old man didn’t like it. Jason seemed to think he was going to inherit the business; Tommy didn’t.
Neither did Cheryl or anyone else, it seemed. Donnie could see she didn’t want her kids to have anything to do with the business. There was no need. Tommy had enough stashed away to keep them comfortable for the rest of. All invested and tied up, carefully laundered by Saul Wynter.
Donnie would be the first to admit, they were all getting a bit long in the tooth for this game. Tommy was mid-fifties, Saul Wynter late forties. He and Dave were getting creaky and lived in hope that their retirement plan involved a few hundred £k in cash and a bar in Palma Nova. If no one muffed up.
Donnie’s mind drifted back to the summer he’d spent in Majorca after they’d got Patsy Kelly, Tommy’s brother, sorted out in southern Spain. Donnie had salted away his earnings over there, carefully paid in through various channels set up for him by Saul. Donnie and Dave agreed that the guy was a genius with money. Normally Donnie would have stuffed the mattress with it. He dreamt of a cold litre of San Miguel and a plate of calamawhatsit – squid – sitting on the beach, lapping waves, a nice Spanish bird…
The splash of rain on the greasy South London streets brought Donnie back sharply from the beach. In the meantime, there was work to be done. Some mess to be tidied up. Tommy had said it was time to put their shop in order. Donnie hit the brakes as he approached the speed camera towards Lee Green. Speeding tickets and photo evidence were one of Tommy’s big no-nos. He took a swerve at the Lewisham roundabout, down to New Cross to pick up Paulie Dolan from The Harp before they went to work.
***
Tommy had told me to take a couple of days off after our trip. I sensed that there was some business to sort out. Something that didn’t involve me.
Once I was back on home turf, relieved that I had made it back in one piece without being rumbled, I realized that I’d almost enjoyed it. It had been a break. One that involved forged paintings, cocaine smuggling and international criminals, that was all. I remembered what Anna had said about my moral compass, but to be honest, I didn’t feel all that bad. No one had been hurt, it was nice to be on flash boats in the sun and we’d actually had a few laughs. What’s not to like?
Anna’s words had sunk in, though. So in the afternoon I went back to the safe house and called Baylis.
“Hello, Nimrod. Elgar here.” Elgar was my code name – Edward Elgar: Eddie. They really thought about this stuff. Personally, I thought it was a bit naff, like something the Boy Scouts would make up. If that was their best, it was no wonder the crims ran rings around them.
I didn’t mention that to Baylis, naturally.
“Hello, Elgar,” Baylis said in his reedy voice. He always sounded as if he was taking the piss. “Better late than never.”
I told him that I’d made contact with Ysobel – Anna – in Skradin. He already knew.
“Where is Ysobel now?” he asked.
I didn’t know. I told him I’d last seen her in Skradin.
“What about the drop?” I told him it wasn’t there. He was silent for a moment. “What else?”
I told him about the paintings. The Schwitters had been microchipped, the Augustus John I thought was kosher. I knew Tommy Kelly had lined up something good to make the others look better. But the Francis Bacon…? Although I had made up and researched the background for it, Tommy had never explicitly told me whether it was real or something that Barney Lipman had knocked up.
“Did you tag it?” Baylis asked. I hadn’t. I’d never had the chance. “We think it’s right.”
“Right?”
“We think it might be a real one.”
“So you know about it?” I said. It hadn’t occurred to me that they might have already known.
“How much did he get for it?” asked Baylis.
I told him, and said that some money had probably been paid into a local bank in Skradin. There can’t have been more than a couple of banks in a town that size. I told him that I thought some cocaine had been traded, disguised as champagne bottles.
“You might have mentioned that first,” he said
. “Did you know about it beforehand?”
“No,” I said honestly.
“If you had, we could have nailed him for it,” Baylis said. “We could have been there.”
“I didn’t know anything about it,” I assured him. “They don’t mention that stuff to me. And we were in the middle of the sea somewhere in Eastern Europe.” I realized that I didn’t actually know where Croatia was on the map. Stupid.
“Listen to me,” Baylis said in his most serious voice. “We have ten years of evidence stacking up against Kelly. Businesses, transactions, killings, all with his name on. Sadly, none of them can be directly pinned on him.”
“I understand,” I said, trying to take on his serious tone.
“Now we have good surveillance and recordings, thanks in some part to you … when you’re not being a complete retard.”
Coming from Baylis, it was almost a compliment.
“What we need now is a slip-up. Some direct involvement. Anything with his fingerprints on. It could be shoplifting from Sainsbury’s. Don’t care, as long as we catch him with the Chicken Kiev in his hands. Get him to mug an old lady. Anything, and the rest will fall into place.”
“I take your point,” I said. “But Kelly never gets directly involved with the dealings. He makes himself scarce. It’s like nailing a fart to a wall – he’s elusive.”
“Bit like you.” I realized that was true. “Keep in touch,” said Baylis. “More.” He rang off without thanking me.
I’d taken a beating from Jason Kelly on their behalf. I’d stuck myself in the middle of the sea with people who could have chucked me to the sharks at any moment. And there wasn’t a word of encouragement from the man.
I thought he was a wanker.
I walked back to the high street flat. Sophie was going to call round early evening to welcome me back.
She arrived at eight. I had ordered a takeaway curry, which was keeping warm. We had a couple of beers and ate saag aloo and prawn korma watching the telly. She asked me about the trip, asked if her dad had said anything about what was going on. I said that I really didn’t know, other than he’d been a bit stressed out before we’d left. I tried to get more out of her. She thought it had something to do with Jason but wouldn’t be drawn further. She acted really pleased with the vest I’d bought her.
After we’d eaten, we kissed and whatever on the sofa. I dragged her by the hand through to the bedroom. I was really pleased to see her and she seemed quite glad to see me. We messed around on the bed for a bit, and at around eleven she looked at her watch and said she had to go.
I walked her downstairs and on to the street where the Mini was parked. It was raining, so we hurried over to the car. I was just about to kiss her goodnight when a drunk lurched towards us out of the shadows.
“Son,” he slurred. “Buy your old dad a cuppa tea.”
Sophie pulled away from me and we looked at the bedraggled figure swaying in the streetlight in front of us. Sophie turned to me, confused.
“Not going to introduce me?” he said. He waved a grubby finger towards Sophie. I took her by the waist and opened the door, helping her in.
“You get off,” I told her. I helped her into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be fine.”
“It’s my son!” he shouted. “Don’t you remember me?”
I was beginning to panic. I went over to him, pulled a twenty out of my back pocket and stuffed it into his hand. “Eff off and buy yourself a drink,” I hissed into his ear, pushing him away. He slowly registered the note and staggered backwards. I walked back to Sophie’s window.
“Local nutter,” I said. “Won’t leave me alone.” I patted the roof as she wound up the window. “Night, babe.”
Sophie waved at me through the closed window and drove away. I watched the Mini disappear down the street, then turned to watch my drunken old man weave along the wet pavement.
In my experience, his turning up was never a good sign.
FIFTY-FOUR
Paul Dolan was waiting for Donnie outside The Harp. He was wet and Donnie could sense his mood as soon as he got into the Mercedes. There was always a buzz of uncontained energy about Irish Paul, like he was permanently wired. Dangerous, but a good man to have on your side in a row. And he’d been in a few.
“So what’s the score?” Dolan asked. He lit a cigarette and offered one to Donnie, who took it.
“It’s a right bleeding mess,” said Donnie. He pulled away into the stream of traffic. “Young Mr Kelly is trying to carve out his own pitch. He’s taken over the Chilli Peppa like it’s his own. And now that he’s got used to having Jason around, Tyrone Brown or whatever he’s called – the twat that used to run the gaff – likes the idea of being in the firm.”
“He’s not, is he?” asked Dolan.
“Not a bleeding chance,” Donnie said. “He hasn’t realized he’s only breathing fresh air because we let him. He’s just the mug who runs it for us. The one who’ll be getting the grief if it goes tits up.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Jason’s drawing attention to the place. There’ve been fights … the place is swimming in charlie. There’s been half a dozen visits from the filth in the last week. They’re beginning to take an unhealthy interest in the comings and goings.”
“Just shut it down,” Dolan said.
“We will,” Donnie told him. “But this tit Brown, the manager, has been poncing himself from Peckham to Brixton saying he’s Special K. That he’s doing our deals and is protected by us.”
“Cheeky.” Dolan shook his head.
“Too right. He’s all cocky dick, talking about Kelly this and Tommy that, like they were mates, and all the time he’s knocking out weed and trips – and our Es – and trousering a slice of the proceeds. Unsanctioned.”
Dolan tutted.
“It’s only a matter of time before the place is busted or Brown’s collared,” Donnie said. He turned left, over Telegraph Hill. “And when he is, he’ll squeal like a stuck pig.”
“So he needs shutting up,” said Dolan.
Donnie nodded. “But the guv’nor doesn’t want Jason in the same city when it’s sorted.”
“Kneecaps?” Dolan asked, as if it was an item on a shopping list. Donnie knew that Irish Paul could kneecap in a number of different ways, depending on the level of damage that was required. It was his area of expertise.
“He’s had fair warning,” Donnie said. “I think it’s gone beyond that.” Donnie thought about the samurai sword he’d put in the boot earlier and drove across Hilly Fields, down towards Catford and the Chilli Peppa.
They pulled up outside the club. Jason’s Audi TT was parked there, as it had been most nights in the past few weeks. Next to Hyrone Brown’s black SUV. A few people were leaving. It was a quiet weeknight and the place was generally empty by one. Donnie checked his watch: five to. He told Dolan to go in and make sure any stragglers were out, then get Jason off the premises and back to his flat. Paul seemed a little disappointed he wasn’t going to be around for the action.
Donnie waited and watched as Dolan went in and the last few punters left. He took a good snort from the bottle in the glove compartment, turned on the wipers and watched as Dolan came out with Jason Kelly. Jason was glassy-eyed and staggering. Off his tits. He wouldn’t think anything of a Kelly driver coming to pick him up. It was a regular occurrence. Dolan took Jason’s keys from him and the remote on the Audi squeaked and the hazard lights flashed. Unnoticed by Jason, Paul nodded to Donnie before getting into the Audi and driving Jason away.
Donnie took out his mobile and speed-dialled a cab firm. He ordered a car from Deptford to Catford in an hour’s time. “Use the kid,” Dave had said. “Tommy wants him involved.” Donnie got out of the Mercedes and opened the boot. He held the sword close to his leg as he approached the club. It made him walk a little stiffly across the wet gravel. A couple of the club’s barmen were loitering just inside the doorway.
“Fuck off,” Donnie said. They
took one look at him and did.
Hyrone Brown was in the back office as usual. He was watching a music channel on a flatscreen TV and had his feet up on the desk, a spliff in one hand and a drink in the other. Donnie stood in the doorway and saw Brown’s watery eyes widen and his mangled fingers tighten on the glass when he caught sight of him.
“Evening,” Donnie said.
Hyrone swung his feet off the desk and stood up. “Jason’s gone,” he said. “Someone else picked him up.”
“I know.” Donnie smiled. “I told them to. It’s you I’ve come for. Your good friend Mr Kelly asked me to call on you. Apparently you’ve been dropping his name around. I thought you’d had the rules explained clearly.” Donnie looked at the man’s maimed hand.
“No, no, no…” Hyrone Brown shook his head.
“Oh, and selling our gear without anyone’s say-so.”
“I can explain. Jason said…” He couldn’t find the words.
“You don’t work for Jason.”
“Have a drink.” Brown pushed a bottle of vodka across the desk towards Donnie. “We can talk.”
“No, thank you,” Donnie said politely. “I need to keep a clear head while I’m working. Driving, aren’t I?”
“Where are we going?” Hyrone Brown’s voice trembled.
“Nowhere,” Donnie said. “Not just yet, anyway.”
Brown took a swig from the vodka bottle and then threw it hard at Donnie’s head. It missed, and he ran for the door. Donnie stopped him with his bulk and a punch to the stomach that had Brown on his knees.
“Open him up like a bag of crisps” had been the order. Donnie kicked the door shut behind him and pulled the long, curved sword from its scabbard. Then he did as he’d been told.
My phone went at two. I switched on the light and looked at the number. It was blocked. I answered the call. There was a pause and at first I didn’t recognize the deep growl.
“Eddie? Donnie Mulvaney. I’ve got a bit of a job on. The guv’nor said you’d help me if I needed you.”
I searched my brain. I couldn’t remember Tommy saying anything about helping Donnie out, but then I couldn’t exactly call him up to check at two in the morning.