by Timlin, Mark
‘“Trouble is, it’s our deal,” says Johnny. And he says, “Come on boys, we’re all friends here – let’s put up the guns and see what can be done.” So we do, and it turns out that Johnny met Ali at some party months ago, and they’d sussed out that each of them was a bit of a chancer and that maybe sometime down the road they could do a bit of business. And it also turned out that Big City Blues are off to America for six months that very evening, to make an album and God knows what, so the tour manager fellah has done a bit of a double cross and arranged to sell our drugs to Ali and Tommo for twenty per cent more than we’d paid. I suppose he reckoned that by the time he got back to London we’d’ve forgotten all about him or maybe we’d be banged up out of the way.
‘As you can imagine, this doesn’t go down particularly well with Johnny Jenner. Say what you like about the geezer, and I’ve said plenty, he was always fair in his dealings. His motto was that to live outside the law you’ve got to be honest. A bit soft if you ask me, but then he’s on the out and I’ve been stuck behind bars for nearly twenty years.’
Terry decided it might be safer to make no comment about that remark.
‘You see, he’d paid up front to the Krauts who were bringing the hash into Europe. Gone over with a bag of our dough. Risky business, but we trusted the Germans, at least up to a point. We’d been doing business with them for a couple of years. Normally it was COD, but no way were we giving that cash to the tour manager, and the Germans weren’t parting with a joint until they got paid. They didn’t know the tour manager guy any more than we did, and as it goes they were dead right. So, Johnny and Ali go outside to have a pow wow about what’s to be done, and the rest of us are left in the shop with the bird and the two cunts who’ve tried to rip us off. And you can tell what rank amateurs they are as they’re babbling on about what a big mistake they’ve made, and how sorry they are, but to be honest I’m more interested in the hippy bird who you could tell got a bit excited when we all pulled out guns and it looked like there was going to be a massacre. She’s giving me the old eye and by Christ she’s not half bad, so I give her a wink and I reckon I’ll be in her pants, if she’s wearing any, by teatime.
Anyway, a few minutes goes by and Ali and Johnny come back and tell us what’s going to happen. In order to keep everyone happy, they were going to split the deal fifty-fifty. We’d take half and Ali and Tommo would do the same. The two Paki boys would pay us ten percent more than we’d paid, which gave both of us an instant profit, and besides that, we didn’t have to give those bastards from the band anything for their trouble, so we were quids in. Anyway, we sort the gear out, money exchanges hands as good as gold and everything’s sweet. “So what about these two?” says Chas whose been very quiet up to now. “We teach ’em a lesson,” says Johnny. “Just let us go,” says the tour manager, “and we’ll say nothing”.
‘“Dead right,” I says and shoots the driver in the foot. Bang! he’s wearing big platform shoes and the one of them just about explodes and he’s on the floor crying his eyes out and bleeding like a pig. Then Martin gets sent out to put our share of the gear into the motor and Johnny picks up a hammer that’s lying on the work bench and gets Chas to hold the tour manager, Mr Fucking Electronic Genius’s right hand, and he smashed every fucking bone in it, so that he wouldn’t be doing any delicate work for the next few months, if ever. And all the time I’m eyeing this bird up, and the more violent things get, the more she likes it. So we’ve got money and drugs and time’s getting on, so Johnny asks the Pakis to come up to the Palace with us and listen to the music. “Fine,” says Ali, “we were going up there anyway,” and I say to the bird, “Do you want to come too?” and fuck me if she doesn’t say yes, so we all had a right result and the only losers were those greedy buggers with the band.’
‘What happened to them,’ asked Terry.
‘Never heard of again, mate.’
‘Seems fair.’
‘Don’t it?’
‘And the girl?’
‘Gave me a blow job in the Jag whilst Jeff Beck was playing. Lovely.’
‘A good time was had by all then.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So why did you fall out with Jenner?’ asked Terry. ‘In the end I mean.’
‘Long story mate, I’ll tell you another time.’
* * *
When Mark got home that evening, he could sense the atmosphere in the house. And it wasn’t good. Chas, Martine and John Jenner were sitting in the living room. The air smelt of dope and Jenner’s eyes were red rimmed and looked like they might pop out at any moment. It was then that Mark realised just how sick his adopted uncle was. ‘Had a good time?’ asked Jenner when he walked in.
‘Not bad.’
‘Well, while you were out with your bit of skirt we got some news.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. It was those fucking niggers.’
‘Exactly what fucking niggers are you referring to?’ asked Mark.
Chas took over the story as Jenner poured himself a liberal hit of dark rum. ‘A little firm that’s got a bit big for its boots since we started to take it easy.’
‘Black bastards,’ said Jenner and lit a joint. Mark could tell it was going to be a fun evening.
‘Yardies,’ said Chas.
‘Yardies, my arse,’ interrupted Jenner. ‘Just some black fucking chancers think they can operate on my territory. And kill mates I’ve had for years.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Mark.
‘There’s loads of ’em,’ said Chas. ‘But the main men are called Beretta, Karl and Moses.’
‘And how do you know it was them?’
‘We asked around. Apparently they were down some shebeen getting tanked up and smoking crack and they started boasting about taking out Ali and Tommo. They’re stupid, those cunts. Can’t ever keep their fucking mouths shut. The only reason they haven’t been nicked ages ago is that they’ll kill anyone they think is grassing them up without a second thought.’
‘But someone grassed them to you. Are you sure it’s legit?’
‘Sure we’re sure,’ said Jenner. ‘Now what are you going to do about it?’
‘Me?’
‘Am I talking to anyone else?’
‘I’m on my own. And they’re mobhanded.’
‘You scared?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then call up that old firm of yours and get them back in the saddle.’
‘I’ve lost touch with that lot.’
‘Then get in touch again.’
‘I don’t even know where they are.’
‘Then find ’em. You found Linda, didn’t you?’
‘You told me where she was. If you hadn’t talked about her I wouldn’t even have thought of her.’
‘It was that fucking brother of hers coming round here.’
‘Why not tell him?’
‘I’ve never been a grass.’
‘Piss off, Uncle, it’s not the fucking 60s. Get real, man. This is a new century. Someone’s obviously whispering about you. Sean and his mate made that bloody obvious, didn’t they?’ Jenner sat as still as a statue, but Chas nodded. ‘So spread a little happiness,’ said Mark. ‘Do the same to this mob. They’ll be off the streets and out of your hair in no time.’
‘I want them dead.’
Mark blew air out if his mouth in exasperation. ‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Kill them.’
’And if I won’t?’
‘Then the past could jump up and bite your arse,’ said Jenner.
‘Are you blackmailing me?’ Mark could hardly believe his ears. ‘Is this what you bought me back for?’
‘Whatever it takes,’ said Jenner.
‘Jesus,’ said Mark. ‘I could just get lost again. Walk away and vanish. For good this time.’
‘No,’ said Jenner. ‘Not this time. This time I’m calling in the favours you owe me.’
‘He’s lost it, Dad, look at him.’ For the firs
t time, Martine spoke. Mark said nothing. It was happening. Everything he’d feared when he and Linda had parted that afternoon. His life was falling apart again and there was nothing he could do about it.
‘Be quiet, Martine,’ said Jenner, and she jumped up from her seat and stormed through the door, slamming it hard behind her.
‘A woman scorned,’ said Chas.
‘All right, John,’ Mark said when the echoes from the slammed door had ceased. ‘Solve the mystery for me. What did you do to these people to get them so worked up at you?’
‘We made a bit of a ricket a couple of months back,’ said Chas, answering for Jenner who sat very still as if looking inside himself.
‘What kind of ricket?’ asked Mark, already fearful of the answer.
‘The worst kind.’
‘Tell me.’
‘We took on some muscle to sort out a little problem and everything went arse upwards.’
‘Chas. Are you going to tell me straight or what?’
‘We sold some coke on credit to a bloke called Jimmy Hop. A black geezer who lived on the Aylesbury estate at the Elephant. He was a good customer, always paid up, no worries. But then he took a big consignment and vanished off the face of the earth.’
‘How much?’
‘About ten grand’s worth. Then we heard he was hanging out at his brother’s in another block and we sent these blokes to sort it out.’
‘And?’
‘And it all went pear shaped.’
‘Who were these geezers?’
‘They’d been recommended. A little firm from Kent. Jed, Fish and Benny.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Well, as far as we can tell, they got a bit over-fisty.’
‘Tell me.’
So he did.
* * *
The trio sat in the car for a minute and Fish, who was driving, let down his window and took a deep breath of the warm October morning air. It was just before dawn and the birds who spent the night in the trees that grew on the public parts of the estate were just coming awake. Fish looked like a fish, with popout eyes and a mouthful of sharp, grey teeth. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘When we go in, we’re coppers, right?’
The other two nodded. Jed sat next to him. Jed was a big man. Brawny, he spent too much time in the gym and thought a day without anabolic steroids was a day without sunshine. Benny was in the back. He was small and mean and gobbled Valium to keep his meanness in check, except today he hadn’t had any and was feeling ready for some violence, ultra as possible.
‘Just like we’ve got warrants,’ Fish went on. ‘We make a lot of noise and sod the neighbours. When they hear us shouting they’ll just be glad that it isn’t them getting the early morning call.’
More nods.
‘Come on then. Let’s go.’
They left the car as the sun began to rise over the river behind them, turning the windows in the tower block they were heading towards golden. Jed took a sledgehammer, Fish carried a pump action shotgun loaded with six rounds and Benny held his Colt .45 down by the side of his leg.
They walked in single file to the entrance to the block and up the two flights of steps to the first floor. They saw no one, and as far as they could tell, no one saw them. The Aylesbury wasn’t a place of early risers. Late returners possibly, but that particular morning no one seemed about. It was ten past five by his watch when Fish tapped Jed on the shoulder and said, ‘Do it.’
Jed hefted the sledgehammer and whacked the reinforced door with all his strength. The metal boomed and he hit again, the door sagged and he kicked it open with the steel-reinforced toe caps of his boots. He dropped the hammer, pulled the Glock 20 out of his coat pocket and ran into the hall screaming, ‘Police! Everyone stay where they are!’
They slammed open doors as they went into the interior of the flat. Bathroom clear, kitchen clear, living room clear, but full of the detritus of a night on the toot. The glass-topped coffee table was smeared with white dust, a crack pipe made out of a coke can and the barrel of a cheap ballpoint pen lashed together with sticky tape, stood to attention amidst a scattering of rocks. There were roaches, beer cans and dirty cups and glasses everywhere, but no one was in the room.
The two bedrooms were in the back of the flat looking out over the courtyard and the trio thundered towards them, Jed hitting light switches as he went. There was a bedroom door on either side of the hall. Jed took the left hand one and Benny the right. Inside Jed’s, a black man was sitting up in bed and reaching for a pistol on top of the bedside table as the door hit the wall and bounced back. ‘Steady,’ said Jed and the man froze. The black woman in the bed beside him wailed as she pulled the covers over herself. ‘Police,’ yelled Jed again as he kicked over the table and the Browning automatic bounced across the carpet. ‘Don’t fucking move.’
The black man lolled back against the bedhead as if this sort of thing happened every morning. A sort of wakeup call if he forgot to set the alarm.
Simultaneously, Benny smashed the door opposite and found it occupied by a young girl, just a teenager, with a baby in a crib next to her bed. Of Jimmy Hop there was no sign. ‘Shit,’ said Benny as the baby started crying and the girl threw a hairbrush at his head.
‘Don’t be bloody silly,’ he said and dragged her from under the sheets. She was naked except for a pair of red knickers. He yanked her though the door and across the hall into the other bedroom where its two occupants were under the twin gun barrels of Fish and Jed. ‘Where is he?’ demanded Fish.
‘Who?’ replied the black man.
‘You know bloody well,’ said Fish. ‘Jimmy Hop. Your fucking brother. Where is he?’
Benny walked across the room dragging the girl behind him carrying the Colt in one hand. The woman in the bed was still squealing and the baby was crying and Fish knew that things could go very wrong at any moment should a bunch of real policemen arrive on the scene. Not that it was likely, he knew. A call from the Aylesbury being no copper’s priority, the response time wouldn’t exactly be record breaking.
‘Gone away,’ said the black man, almost seeming to enjoy the scene being played out in his bedroom.
‘Where?’
‘None of your business.’
Blimey, thought Fish, this isn’t going the way it was planned. So he clouted the black man around the face with the barrel of his gun. Some blood flew from the wound and dappled the sheets. The black man touched his hand to his head. ‘You ain’t five oh,’ he said. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘Never you mind,’ said Fish. ‘We’ve come for the gear.’
‘No gear here,’ said the black man.
‘Bollocks,’ said Jed, raising his gun. ‘Give it up.’
‘All gone,’ said the black man. ‘Just like Jimmy. Gone away.’
‘You’re lying,’ said Fish. ‘We want the dope or we want the cash and we ain’t got all day. What do you think this is? A fucking debating society?’
The black man sucked his teeth and shook his head.
‘Get that fucking baby,’ Fish said to Jed. ‘Let’s get this bloody show on the road.’
The girl Benny was still holding began struggling even harder and he threw her down on the bed. ‘Don’t make us,’ he warned.
Jed came back with the carrycot the baby had been sleeping in. He put it on the floor and Fish stuck his gun against the baby’s chest, which started it screaming even louder. ‘I’ll do it, you fucks, if you don’t talk.’
The girl in the red pants said: ‘There’s nothing here, honest.’
‘You don’t know the meaning of the word, love,’ said Fish and pulled back the hammer on his gun to emphasise the remark.
‘OK man.’ said the black man, ‘Leave the baby. What are you people anyway? Even I wouldn’t threaten a little child for a few quid.’
‘More than that, I think,’ said Fish. ‘Now tell us.’
‘In the kitchen, pull out the fridge. It’s all there.’
‘Jed,’ said Fish, �
��go see.’
Jed went back into the hall to verify the truth of the black man’s story. It only took a minute and he came back and nodded, carrying two ASDA carrier bags which sagged under the weight of their contents.
‘Now, that was wise,’ said Fish. ‘But we need the money too. Christ knows how much you’ve used out of this little lot.’
‘We’ve got no money, man,’ said the black man, but Fish knew that he was lying. Every black man lied, as far as he was concerned. That was a constant.
‘You fibbed about the dope and I know you’re fibbing about the cash. You’ve been selling gear out of here and I don’t reckon you take Barclaycard, so produce the cash, black boy, or the baby gets it.’
The young woman in the red pants was producing a keening noise from her mouth that was getting on Benny’s nerves. ‘Shut it,’ he said and backhanded her across the face. The keening increased in volume instead of abating and he punched her hard, which seemed to have the desired effect as she collapsed silently to the floor, piss running down her leg.
‘Leave her, man,’ said the black man. ‘Check the bathroom. The cabinet comes off the wall.’
Jed did as he said, ripping the glass-fronted cabinet from its screws and sending it crashing into the bath. Behind it, a cavity had been made in the plasterboard and inside that were blocks of money in plastic sandwich bags. Jed pocketed the lot, figuring it was about five thousand pounds. He went back into the bedroom and gave Fish the thumbs up.
‘Fine,’ said Fish. ‘We’ll be going now. Give Jimmy our regards and tell him we’re sorry we missed him.’
‘Who shall I say called?’ asked the black man, regaining his cool now.
‘Just a few mates looking for a line or two.’
‘OK,’ said the black man. ‘But I’ll remember you, my friend, and one day we’ll meet up again.’
‘You sure?’ asked Fish.
The black man nodded. ‘And I got a memory like an elephant. Believe me.’
Fish pondered for a second. Him and his mates weren’t local, but did a lot of business in south London, and who knew when the black man or one of his women might catch a glimpse? ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I do. I wish you hadn’t said that.’