by Timlin, Mark
‘’Fraid not, love,’ replied Mark, and he winked at her. ‘Be good.’ And he walked out into the freezing night, opened the yard doors, aimed his remote at the Vogue, got in, started it up and drove off in the direction of London, leaving them open behind him.
Bloody hell, he thought. What am I getting into?
It was late by the time he got to London and the roads were slick with ice, making driving dangerous, even for a 4WD, but he was in no hurry. He knew that as soon as he walked through the door of the house in Tulse Hill, nothing would ever be the same again for him or for its occupants.
When he reached the top of Jenner’s street, he stopped, selected the number on his mobile and the phone was answered in a second. ‘Let down the drawbridge, Uncle John,’ he said. ‘I’m just up the road.’
‘Flash your lights at the front,’ came the reply, which Mark did and the gate swung open. The black Mercedes, or one similar, was still parked across the street, its windows misted by the occupants’ breath, but they made no move. Mark parked his car, grabbed his bag and walked to the already open front door and went inside. The gate closed behind him with a clang of metal on metal. Could be the condemned cell, he thought briefly, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.
John Jenner was waiting in the hall and they embraced and Mark felt such a wave of nostalgia sweep over him that he had to swallow hard. ‘Welcome home properly, Mark,’ said Jenner with a catch in his voice. ‘I knew you’d come.’
‘You know me too well.’
‘I don’t really know you at all these days, Mark. But that’ll change I hope. Come inside and get warm. Everyone else is in bed. I’ve been waiting up for you.’
Mark did as he was told, leaving his coat in the hall, and he sat on the couch in front of the fire as John Jenner poured two large brandies. He passed one to Mark, sat opposite him and they toasted each other. ‘So where do we start, Uncle?’ asked the younger man. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I’ve got an easy one for you first,’ said Jenner. ‘A little pickup job.’
‘Fair enough. On my own, or with Chas?’
‘All Chas wants to do is cook these days, whatever he says. He’s getting old. He’s all right as a driver, but anything else…’
‘He sorted out Martine’s old man, didn’t he?’
‘This is a bit different.’
‘All right, Uncle, I know. A bit dodge, is it?’
‘Could be.’
‘Shit. Talk about throwing me in at the deep end. What is it I’m collecting?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Course it does. I’ve got to know what’s what.’
‘The usual. Just a bit of gear.’
‘Smack?’
‘Coke.’
Mark nodded. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘Little Chef on the the A33 towards Basingstoke.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon. One o’clock.’
‘Christ, that soon. You were pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you?’
‘No. Just hoping.’
‘And what would’ve happened if I hadn’t come back?’
Jenner shrugged. ‘I’d’ve found somebody.’
‘What, overnight?’
‘Or I’d’ve gone myself. It don’t matter, does it? You’re here now. You’ll go, won’t you? We could use the readies. The old firm’s a bit boracic. Those fucking minders outside are costing me a small fortune.’
‘Yeah, I’ll go, Uncle, but I’m not happy about it. Sounds like you know something I don’t.’
‘Everybody knows something other people don’t.’
‘How will I spot them?’
‘Silver Mercedes van with a black stripe. German plates.’
‘Fair enough. How’ll they find me?’
‘They know what motor you’re using.’
‘Which is?’
‘Dev’s got you a Ford Cosworth. Don’t look like much apparently, but it drives just fine.’
Dev Murphy had been Jenner’s mechanic for as long as Mark could remember, a bad-tempered Irishman who could charm any engine to do exactly what he wanted. He’d taught Mark early on how to steal cars, which had been priceless information in later life. And Dev had been Mark’s only point of contact in London during his time away. They were friends, and Mark had discovered that friends were few and far between.
‘Sounds all right. Where is it?’
‘At his place in Herne Hill.’
‘I can’t believe he’s still there after all this time.’
‘He’ll be buried there.’
‘He’s not the only one if what I’ve heard’s true.’
Jenner smiled. ‘Now you’ll need something to keep you company in case there’s any trouble. Can’t be too careful,’ he said.
‘I thought everything was going to be cool.’
‘It will be.’
‘Are these people all right?’
‘Always have been before.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Better not to ask.’
‘I don’t like this, Uncle…’
‘You have to take some risks in life,’ said Jenner.
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘So, you want something?’
‘I’d better I suppose.’ They both knew what they were talking about.
‘Let’s take a look then,’ said Jenner.
‘Still the same place?’
Jenner nodded. ‘Come on,’ he said.
They went down into the cellars that stretched underneath the house. It was cold down there, and damp, and smelled faintly of cats. Both men had to stoop to get under the beams that supported the floor above. At the far end there was an area that was going to be converted into a sort of den, but it had never been finished. Jenner had lost interest after Hazel had died. Part of it had been partitioned off, and the walls had been clad in dark pine. Jenner pressed one section and it popped open to reveal the face of a large combination safe. He spun the dial and pulled open the door. Mark remembered the first time his adopted uncle had shown him the safe.
‘What do you see?’ he’d asked when he’d opened it.
The teenage Mark had peered inside. ‘Some readies,’ he replied. ‘Some papers, and some jewel boxes. Are they Hazel’s stuff?’
‘Yes,’ John Jenner had replied. ‘Her best tom. A couple of rings and necklaces I’ve bought her over the years. Is that all?’
Mark had looked again and nodded.
‘Check this,’ John had said. He’d pressed something inside the safe and the back had opened inwards, a tiny light had come on and Mark had drawn in his breath sharply. Inside the hidden compartment had been several handguns hung up on pegs, plus boxes of ammunition and a couple of leather holsters.
‘Cool,’ Mark had said. ‘Very cool.’
He felt much the same that winter’s night as John did the business again. ‘Open sesame,’ he whispered.
Inside the front of the safe was a large canvas bag that John Jenner tugged out and dropped on to the floor. ‘The dough,’ he explained.
‘How much?’ asked Mark as he hefted the bag. It was heavy.
‘Two hundred K. All old notes. Nothing consecutive.’
‘I thought you were skint.’
‘That’s it, Mark,’ said the older man. ‘That’s my net worth apart from the house and the car and all the toys. And I had trouble raising that. That’s why I need someone I can trust to do this.’
‘I hope your trust isn’t misplaced.’
‘It’s not. I trained you too well.’
‘Yeah,’ said Mark, but it sounded hollow even to himself.
Jenner grinned, showing his teeth and opened the back of the safe. ‘Now what do you fancy?’ he asked. ‘Revolver or semi?’
‘Semi will do me,’ said Mark.
‘Prone to jamming.’
‘But flatter. Less bulky.’
‘You’re the boss. Colt or Browning?’
‘Got a Browning nin
er?’
‘Of course. Weapon of choice on the mean streets of Brixton.’
‘That’ll do me then. Whatever the brothers go for is OK by me.’ John Jenner withdrew a metallic blue Browning nine-millimetre semiautomatic and gave it to Mark. He checked that the magazine was out and the chamber was clear before dry firing the weapon. John passed him a clip and a handful of bullets. ‘Got a cleaning kit?’ asked Mark.
‘It’s clean,’ said Jenner.
‘I prefer to do it myself, Uncle,’ said Mark. ‘No offence, but if I’ve got to carry it…’
‘Sure, son,’ said Jenner. ‘That’s what I like to see, a man who respects his weapon.’ He reached in again and came out with a boxed cleaning kit and a container of gun oil. ‘Holster?’ he asked.
‘Why not? They always stick in my spine when I put them down the back of my pants. Especially when I’m driving. Now I’m tired. If I’m working tomorrow I’d better get some beauty sleep.’
‘No worries.’
Jenner shut the hidden compartment, put the bag of money back into the safe, closed it and they went back to the living room, Mark carrying the gun and accessories. They swallowed the remains of their drinks and went to bed.
Once inside his room, Mark saw that the Bros duvet had been replaced by one of plain navy blue. He sat on the bed and laid out the cleaning kit on the beside table, cleaned and loaded the gun, stashed it under his pillow and went to bed. After he’d undressed he locked the door. He didn’t want any visitors tonight.
Sweet dreams, he said to himself, before falling quickly asleep.
The next morning Mark lay in bed until he heard movement, then waited for the front door to slam and he assumed Martine had left for work. He got up then and went to the bathroom. Afterwards he went downstairs and found Chas in the kitchen. ‘Morning,’ he said.
‘Morning, son. I hear you’re back for good.’
‘For good or evil, one of the two,’ replied Mark, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. ‘Uncle John about yet?’
‘I took him up a cuppa. He’s awake.’
‘Can I go see him?’
‘Course. He’s expecting you. Breakfast?’
‘Not hungry, mate.’ In fact Mark’s stomach felt like his throat was full of cement and he had to force the coffee down.
‘I’d come with you today,’ said Chas. ‘You know that.’
‘I know. But Uncle John’s got this earmarked for me.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Right. I’ll go and talk to him. See you in a bit.’
Mark left the kitchen and went up the four flights to his uncle’s room which took up what had used to be the whole attic space. He knocked and his uncle called, ‘Yeah?’
Mark went inside and John Jenner was sitting up with a cup of tea, the day’s papers spread around him, and Lily asleep at the foot of the bed. ‘Mornin’,’ said Mark.
‘Good morning,’ replied Jenner.
‘How you doing?’
‘Not too bad. All the better for you being here.’
‘Thanks. Can’t say as I feel the same.’
‘Butterflies?’
‘Feels like bloomin’ carrier pigeons as it goes.’
They both laughed. ‘One o’clock, you say, the meet?’ said Mark, peering through the curtains at the outside world. The sky was black towards the south, but the temperature had risen slightly overnight, and there were only scraps of snow left on the ground and the bare branches of the trees dripped icy water.
‘S’right.’
‘Silver Merc van with a black stripe.’
‘Got it.’
‘I reckon to allow a couple of hours for the trip, just to be on the safe side. I want plenty of time to look around.’
‘Whatever.’
‘And Dev’s got the motor.’
‘No danger. It’s waiting for you.’
‘OK. I’ll shoot over to Herne Hill about ten. I’ll walk there. Go across the park. Then I’ll take a slow wander into the country. Have an all day breakfast maybe. I might be hungry by then.’
‘Whatever you want, son. You’re the boss.’
‘No I’m not. Anyway, I’ll leave you to get up.’
‘See you in a minute.’
‘You will.’
Mark went back to his room, checked the Browning again, put on a sweater over his shirt and the shoulder holster over that. He pulled his clothes straight as they’d go and holstered the gun, then slipped on his leather jacket and a pair of thin leather gloves and checked himself in the mirror in the bathroom. Even with the jacket unzipped, nothing showed. Fucking Dirty Harry, he thought as he drew the gun that came easily out of the oiled leather. When he went downstairs his uncle was in the kitchen with the bag of readies.
‘You’ll take care of this, won’t you?’ he asked.
‘Course I will. I just look like I’m going away.’
‘Let’s hope not,’ said Jenner.
‘They’ll have to catch me first.’
By ten he was ready to go. ‘Dev’s expecting you,’ said Jenner. ‘Good luck, son.’
‘Later,’ said Mark and left.
Outside the temperature was plummeting again and he took off at a brisk pace for Brockwell Park and Dev’s garage beyond. The walk took about thirty minutes and Mark enjoyed seeing the old landmarks, and he almost forgot the trepidation he felt about what he was about to do. Suddenly the thought of the many places he’d stayed in over the past eight or so years didn’t seem so bad compared with the prospect of a prison cell. The sky was still dark, but the snow was holding off. When he reached the garage under the railway arches next to Herne Hill station where he’d spent so many days being taught about car engines, the sliding door was slightly ajar and he squeezed through. A partitioned-off section at the back acted as an office and he pushed open the door to find Dev sitting at a paper-strewn desk next to a space heater that blasted out hot air.
‘You want to be more careful,’ said Mark. ‘You never know who’s going to sneak in here.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ said the white-haired man at the desk with a start. ‘Mark. How the devil are you?’ Dev spoke with an Irish accent that fifty years in London had hardly changed, though in other ways he had changed plenty. As he came round from behind the desk Mark closed the door and saw that Dev had a acquired a bad limp and that his hands shook slightly. His uncle’s firm are all growing so old, he thought. No wonder he wants some new blood.
Dev hugged Mark hard. ‘It’s been too long, boy,’ he said. ‘We’ve all missed you.’
‘I missed you too.’
‘You know it was hard keeping our letters and phone calls secret. John gave me a right bollocking when he heard I’d known where you were.’
‘That was the deal, Dev. I’m sorry I made you lie to him.’
‘I never lied, Mark. I was just a wee bit economical with the truth, as the politicians say.’
‘Whatever.’
‘But I tell you, we’re all glad to see you back where you belong.’
‘I’m glad to be back.’
‘Cuppa tea?’ asked Dev.
‘OK. But let’s make it a quick one. Places to go, people to see, you know what I mean.’
‘Indeed I do.’
Dev plugged in the kettle and put tea bags, milk and sugar into two shabby mugs before adding boiling water, passing one to Mark and taking the other back to his chair. Mark perched himself on the edge of the only other seat in the room, a stained and sagging armchair missing one leg and propped up by a pile of back copies of Auto Trader. ‘I see you’ve got the customer service part of the business sorted, Dev,’ he said,
‘Ah fuck ’em. They come here to get their motors fixed cheap. That’s all they care about.’
‘So what you got for me?’
Dev gave him a sly smile. ‘A right little goer. A Cosworth Sierra. One of the last ones made. Permanent four-wheel-drive, power brakes and steering. All in all a sweet little motor.’
> ‘Nice. But you don’t have to sell it to me, Dev.’
‘Sorry. I get carried away.’
‘I know, mate. I remember. Kosher, is it?’
‘Well, not quite. You know they were they most nicked motor in the country once.’
‘So I heard.’
‘Well… this one might be a bit, you know, iffy.’
‘Not a cut and shut, promise me that. It ain’t going to split in two if I put my foot down.’
‘As if. It’s all one motor, but with a few bits of some others bolted on, if you know what I mean.’
‘Great. But then, as I’ll only need it for the day, I don’t suppose it matters.’
‘It looks a bit scruffy too, but it goes great. That I can guarantee.’
‘As I remember, your guarantees last until the motor’s off the premises and the cheque’s cleared.’
‘Never take cheques. That’s for mugs. You’re family. For you, it’s only the best.’
‘Let’s see it then. Where is it?’
‘Out back. I didn’t want anyone getting too busy. I still get the occasional visit from Old Bill, believe it or not.’
‘No, really? I can’t imagine why.’
‘Cos they’re nosy bleeders, that’s why.’
They finished their tea and Dev followed Mark out into the garage, then through a small door that he unlocked, and led into a yard at the back. Under a tarpaulin that cascaded water when Dev pulled it off was a white Ford Sierra Sapphire Cosworth on an ‘L’ plate. The paintwork was dull and the leather interior needed some work, but it still looked like a ravenous shark about to chew up some hapless swimmer. Out of his pocket Dev pulled a set of keys big enough to choke a horse, flipped through them, selected one, pulled it off the ring and gave it to Mark, who unlocked the boot – which was empty apart from the spare wheel, a jack and a plastic petrol can – and dropped in the bag of money. He went to the driver’s door and settled into the bucket seat behind the wheel, fired up the engine which rumbled into life on the first try and soon settled down to a powerful-sounding burble. ‘Sounds all right,’ he said.
‘I’ve done the brakes,’ said Dev, ‘Checked the levels and filled the tank. You’ll be all right with this one, I promise.’
‘I’d better be,’ Mark said.