Guns of Brixton (2010)

by Timlin, Mark

  Eventually, as three o’clock struck from a church clock, he approached the old Victorian building with its sign: ‘Ali & Tommo’s Booze Emporium’. He could tell it had once been a school, the tall windows now either entirely covered with sheet metal or barred. The playground was a carpark/rubbish dump and he had to pick his way carefully through the garbage. Mark squeezed through the thick metal sliding front door and into a warehouse packed with boxes of cigarettes, wine, beer and spirits.

  A little bloke in a turban was minding the store and Mark approached him. ‘Tommo, Ali?’ he said.

  ‘Who wants ’em, geezer?’ the Asian replied in a cockney accent.

  ‘I got a delivery.’

  ‘All deliveries at the back. Can’t you read?’ and he motioned with his chin to a sign on the wall that said just that.

  ‘I can read,’ said Mark. ‘But I have to see them personally.’

  ‘Where you from?’

  ‘John Jenner.’

  The Asian’s face changed in a split second. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you say so, geezer?’ he demanded. ‘Come on. I thought it might be you, but I had to make sure. Can’t be too careful.’

  He slammed the sliding door shut and led Mark through the maze of shelves and halfopened boxes to an office in the back. Two middle aged Asians were sitting in front of a heater in a room that smelled of coriander, sweat and tobacco.

  ‘Geezer for you from Mr J,’ said Mark’s guide.

  The two Asians sat up and took notice at that. ‘You’re Mark?’ said the older of the pair. He looked like someone out of a 1970s sitcom in his flares, skinny sweater and patchwork bomber jacket.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’m Ali.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Same here. Mr J says you the bizzo. Come in. Wanna drink?’

  Mark shook his head and hefted the bag he was carrying. ‘I’ve got this for you.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘And you’ve got something for me.’

  ‘Sure,’ said the other man in a suit two sizes too small. Mark assumed he was Tommo. ‘Here.’ He shifted a pile of newspapers to reveal a scruffy suitcase. He hauled it on to the desk and unzipped it. Inside it was packed with cash.

  ’I’ve got to count it.’

  ‘No, geezer,’ said the Asian who’d brought him through. ‘It’s all there.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve got orders.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Tommo. ‘Take your time.’

  Mark started sifting through the money. It was in all denominations from tenners up. Some was loose, some was banded and at the bottom there were a whole load of fifties in bank bags marked ‘£5,000’.

  Even so, it took Mark what seemed like hours to count it all. When he was finished his fingers were stiff and his hands black with ink and dirt from the money. The Asians had long ago checked the contents of the bag Mark had bought and were celebrating by sampling the warehouse stock. ‘I thought you lot didn’t drink,’ said Mark when he was finished.

  ‘It’s God’s gift to us all,’ said Tommo raising a bottle of white rum. ‘Enjoy.’

  ‘I’ll pass for now,’ said Mark.

  ‘Is it all there?’ asked Ali slyly.

  ‘To the pound.’

  The trio all crashed their various bottles and laughed uproariously. ‘Told you. When Ali and Tommo make a deal it stays made.’

  ‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ said Mark, although he felt that somehow they were all enjoying a joke at his expense. ‘I’ll be off now.’

  Suddenly all business, Tommo put down his bottle and said. ‘Use the back way just in case.’

  ‘Just in case of what?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  Shit, thought Mark. If some fucker’s waiting outside…

  But there was no one. Tommo let him out into a dimly lit alley and Mark slid his hand into his jacket and felt the warm and reassuring butt of this pistol. And even his car, although out of time at the meter, was ticketless when he got back to it.

  Mark shoved the money into the boot and drove home.

  ‘Everything all right, son?’ asked John Jenner when he got back into the house.

  ‘Couldn’t be better.’

  ‘All the dough there?’

  ‘Every penny.’

  ‘Diamonds those two.’ Jenner opened the case and found one of the bags of fifties in the suitcase and tossed it to Mark. ‘You’ve done well. Go out and spoil yourself.’

  ‘Cheers, Uncle,’ said Mark. ‘Maybe later. Right now I’m going back to bed, it’s been a stressful few days.

  ‘Youngsters nowadays,’ said Jenner to Chas, who’d joined them. ‘No fucking stamina.’

  TWELVE

  Sean Pierce was summoned into his DI’s office the next morning. ‘Guv?’ he said.

  ‘You saw about this thing down on the motorway the other day,’ said Detective Inspector Alan Mobray once Sean was seated in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair in front of Mobray’s desk. The DI didn’t like anyone to feel too comfortable in his presence, including his own troops.

  ‘Thing, guv?’ The DI was known to be a bit of a poet on the quiet and didn’t always explain exactly what he was thinking about, rather hoping that his subordinates could read his mind.

  ‘Drugs exchange at a Little Chef near Basingstoke. It’s all in the morning’s orders. Someone told tales out of school. Local drug squad nicked a couple of krauts with the dough. Some kid got away with the gear and wreaked havoc on the M4.’

  ‘Yes, guv,’ said Sean. ‘I saw it. What’s it got to do with us?’

  ‘Maybe nothing. But a whisper came up from the nameless, faceless grass who’s been feeding the drug squad information and whose identity we’re not privileged to know.’

  ‘A whisper about what?’

  ‘Who. An old villain who’s been a bit quiet lately.’

  ‘Guv?’

  ‘John Jenner. Know anything about him?’

  Sean felt his stomach lurch. Of course he knew about Jenner. His father had been in his gang, and of course the father of Jenner’s adopted nephew, Mark, had been murdered by Jimmy. Then there was that business with Linda…

  ‘No, guv,’ he said.

  ‘Then you’re just about to. Take anyone who’s free and give our Mr Jenner a visit. Bobby Childs will probably be best.’

  This was the moment Sean had been dreading since he’d been transferred to Streatham nick. A face to face with Jenner.

  ‘Yes… Childs,’ said Mobray looking at his watch. ‘Dig him out of the canteen. That’s where he seems to spend most of his time lately.’

  Childs was a DC coming up to retirement. A good, solid, old fashioned copper which was probably why he’d been sidelined from promotion. Good, solid coppering was out of fashion in the new Metropolitan Police Service – as opposed to the old police force, which was what Childs continued to call it. Force being what he’d been used to wielding in the good old, bad old, days before PACE and when PC still meant police constable. ‘He’ll fill you in,’ Mobray went on. ‘They’ve had their share of run-ins in the past.’

  ‘Jenner got much of a record, guv?’ asked Sean, although he probably knew it as well as his own name.

  Mobray shook his head. ‘Slippery bastard,’ he said. ‘Never done a stretch. Time on remand is all. Then, before the trial, witnesses start forgetting such things as their own names or else relocate somewhere quiet and far away like the Hebrides.’

  ‘I know the type.’

  ‘Well, get to know this individual,’ said Mobray. ‘He may be a bit past it, but I’d still like to see him do some time.’

  Sean nodded.

  ‘Go on then,’ Mobray said when Sean made no attempt to move.

  ‘Sorry, guv,’ he said, and left the room closing the door quietly behind him.

  As Mobray had had predicted, Childs was sitting at a table in the canteen drinking a cup of something warm. ‘Bobby,’ said Sean.

  ‘Yes, young man. What can I do for you?’<
br />
  ‘John Jenner.’

  ‘Christ. That’s a name from the past.’

  ‘Could be current.’ Sean told him what the DI had told him.

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Childs. ‘That’s one fucker I’d love to see banged up before I go. Would make growing my sweet peas down in Kent even sweeter.’

  For their retirement, Childs had bought himself and his wife a free-standing caravan on a site near Canterbury. He often showed photos around the squad room of its interior, all swagged curtains and etched glass. Outside was a large garden that Childs intended to turn into a new Eden.

  ‘Let’s see what we can do then,’ said Sean.

  They signed out for an unmarked car and headed towards Jenner’s address. An address that Sean knew well, though he feigned ignorance. ‘Nice gaff,’ said Childs. ‘The wages of sin. Had it for years. Used to live there with his missus Hazel. Fabulous woman, I’ve got to say. What she ever saw in that bugger I’ll never know.’

  ‘Children?’ asked Sean.

  ‘Strange one,’ said Childs. ‘One daughter. Martine. Like her mum. Then there’s the lad.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. One of our own.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The son of a copper. Billy Farrow. DS shot dead in Brixton way back in the early eighties. The boy was brought up by his mother. But she fell in with a bad lot. Started on the sauce, got married to a right bastard. Then she died and he disappeared. Meanwhile…’ He let a moment pass. ‘Meanwhile, the boy – Mark I think his name was – was being looked after by Jenner and Hazel and some old lag who drives Jenner about. Part of the family. Seems there was some history between Jenner and Farrow. Boyhood friends. I think the Met tried to intervene but the kid wanted to stay at Jenner’s. All sorts of lawyers got involved.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The boy.’

  ‘Dunno. He took it on his toes too. Years back. All very strange.’

  ‘So what about this Jenner then?’ asked Sean, still feigning ignorance. ‘What’s his story?’

  ‘What isn’t? He’s been a face locally since the 60s. Into everything. Drugs, protection, armed robbery. The whole nine yards.’

  ‘But you’ve never been able to get him.’

  ‘No. He had some help for a while from a bent copper named Sharman. Kept him one step in front of us for years until the bastard got found with his fingers in the drugs cupboard at Brixton nick and slung out. He was still around ’til recently, pretending to be a private detective. But now he’s gone missing too.’

  ‘A lot of people go missing round Jenner.’

  ‘You can say that again. Vicious bastard. Here we are.’ The car drew up outside John Jenner’s house and the two coppers got out into the cold morning air. The black Mercedes was parked opposite with two up. Childs nudged Sean. ‘What do you reckon about that?’ he asked.

  ‘God knows.’

  ‘Maybe we will too. I’ve got the number.’ Childs rang the bell next to the gate.

  ‘What?’ a voice demanded after a minute.

  ‘If that’s Chas,’ said Childs. ‘Be nice now.’

  ‘Who is it?’ the voice asked.

  ‘DC Childs from Streatham nick and DS Pierce.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To come in?’

  ‘Got a warrant?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Just a chat. Nothing heavy.’

  The speaker was silent for half a minute and Childs pulled a face. Then, without warning the gates swung open. ‘Welcome to the house of fun,’ said Childs and they walked up the drive past the cars parked there.

  The door was opened by Chas, who stood like a statue with a sneer on his face. ‘Childs,’ he said. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘Hoped more like,’ said the detective.

  ‘If the cap fits.’

  ‘This is Detective Sergeant Pierce,’ Childs said. ‘New in the manor. Come to make your acquaintances.’

  Sean just nodded.

  Chas pretended that he didn’t know the younger man, but he would’ve recognised him in a crowd. He was the spitting image of Jimmy Hunter at the same age, and it took all of his self control to keep his hands off him. Billy Farrow had been a friend of his, and Chas was a firm believer that the sins of the father should be heaped upon the son unto several generations.

  ‘Come in then,’ he said. ‘Mr Jenner’s in the living room.’

  John Jenner was sitting in his armchair, a rug around his knees. ‘I’d stand,’ he said as the two policemen came in. ‘But I’ve not been well.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Childs.

  ‘Course you are.’

  ‘This is DS Pierce,’ said Childs, introducing Sean. Jenner gave him a look that could have frozen meat, and Sean had a sudden intuition that Jenner knew exactly who he was. But how could he?

  ‘Sit down,’ said Jenner. ‘You’re making me dizzy.’ The coppers sat on the sofa and Jenner said: ‘So what brings you here?’

  ‘Your name came up,’ said Childs. ‘With regard to a drugs deal. You might’ve seen it on TV or in the paper. Day before yesterday down near Basingstoke. There was a car chase…’

  ‘Can’t say that I have,’ said Jenner. ‘Don’t read the papers much these days, the news is too depressing. And I prefer nature programmes on TV.’

  ‘Yes, John,’ said Childs. ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘Mr Jenner will do nicely,’ said Jenner. ‘I’m not your mate.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘So what do you want?’

  ‘Just to see if you had any idea why someone would mention your name.’

  ‘No idea.’ But Jenner was very interested. Very interested indeed. He wanted to know who’d put his name in the frame so that he could deal out retribution. If not personally, at least through a third party. Mark Farrow to be precise. A whisper had reached him that the word was out about the exchange and the word had turned to to have been correct.

  ‘So who was it?’ he asked, hardly expecting an answer.

  And he wasn’t to be disappointed. Childs grinned and almost laughed out loud. ‘Never you mind, Mr Jenner,’ he said. ‘Just let’s say that someone doesn’t like you.’ Of course, he didn’t add that neither of the coppers knew who the informer was either. But Childs had always pretended to know more than he did.

  ‘Nothing new there then,’ said Jenner.

  ‘Fair enough. Mind if we take a look round?’

  ‘Mind if I look at your warrant?’

  Childs smiled again. ‘No warrant. But as you’re an upstanding citizen we thought you might like to help.’

  ‘I’d like to help you leave,’ said Jenner. ‘All my life people like you have been coming here on the off chance. And what did you ever get to show for it? A few months on remand. I’m a businessman. My name is known. People don’t like my success. They get jealous. They try and stitch me up.’ He shrugged as if to say: ‘What can you do?’

  ‘Your name’s not as well known as it used to be,’ said Childs.

  ‘Just as well. Keeps you lot out of my face.’

  ‘Nice car,’ said Childs, changing the subject suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Bentley. Nice motor.’

  ‘They’re famed for it,’ said Jenner.

  ‘Expensive.’

  ‘I can see you don’t miss much. What are you driving these days? A Nissan or something?’ Childs ignored him.

  ‘And the Range Rover. Whose is that?’

  ‘Mine. I took it in payment for a debt.’

  ‘Something from Basingstoke, was it?’

  ‘You’ve got bloody Basingstoke on the brain. No.’

  ‘And who’s in the Mercedes parked opposite?’

  ‘Friends.’

  ‘Not good enough friends to invite in?’

  ‘Look, Childs,’ said Jenner. ‘And you, whatever your name is,’ he added in Sean’s direction. ‘Come to the poin
t or do one.’

  Childs could see that they weren’t going to get much from the interview and all Sean wanted to do was leave. Jenner had been giving him stony looks from the off.

  ‘Well,’ said Childs. ‘Thanks for all your help, Mr Jenner. We’d better be on our way. We’ll see ourselves out.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ said Chas from the doorway. ‘You wouldn’t want to take the wrong turning, would you? Who knows what you might leave behind. Incriminating evidence. That sort of thing.’

  ‘As if,’ said Childs.

  He and Sean got up and Chas shepherded them to the front door.

  ‘Your mate don’t say much, Mr Childs, does he?’ he said as they left. ‘Cat got his tongue?’

  Childs said nothing and Sean ignored him too. Chas watched as they walked down the drive. He opened the gates for them to leave and closed them again firmly once they were through. ‘Bastards,’ he whispered when they’d gone, making a point of giving the Mercedes another look on the way.

  He went back to where Jenner was sitting. ‘What was all that about, boss?’ he asked.

  ‘A fishing expedition. Somebody talked about what was happening the other day just like we thought. But they’ve got nothing.’

  Mark Farrow came quietly down the stairs. He’d been waiting for the police to leave, not wanting anyone to know he was back until he was ready. He heard his uncle and Chas talking and when he joined them he said: ‘I was bloody lucky doing that pick up, wasn’t I? They definitely knew it was going to go down.’

  ‘They did. It goes with the territory these days. Fuckers will grass you up for the price of a packet of fags these days.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Mark, not convinced. ‘But it should never have happened. I could’ve been captured, easy.’

  ‘Plod from the sticks,’ said John Jenner. ‘No match for you, my boy.’

  ‘But those two weren’t plod from the sticks, were they?’

  ‘No,’ agreed Jenner. ‘They weren’t. Far from it. Did you recognise the quiet one?’

  ‘No,’ said Farrow.

  ‘Jimmy Hunter’s son.’