Guns of Brixton (2010)

by Timlin, Mark

  ‘Sure.’ She busied herself cleaning up the wound and got hold of the bottle of brandy. ‘This might sting,’ she said and splashed the spirit into the cut.

  ‘Fucking hell!’ Mark yelled, almost passing out from the shock. ‘Careful.’

  ‘Don’t be such a baby.’ And then, much more gently than Mark expected, she taped the wound together with butterfly strips of tape and bandaged his shoulder, running the fabric under his armpit. ‘That should do,’ she said finally. ‘Not Casualty exactly, but it’s the best I can manage with what I’ve got.’ She handed him a bottle of pills. ‘These are painkillers. A bit past their sell-by date, but they might help.’

  Mark undid the bottle and swallowed a couple of pills, washed down with brandy. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’d better find some clean clothes.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Martine, gathering up his bloodstained garments. ‘And I’ll get Chas to burn these.’

  ‘Thanks again,’ said Mark.

  ‘You know, we could’ve been magic,’ said Martine as she left the room. ‘But it’s your loss, you moron. You’ll regret it, I promise.’

  Maybe it is my loss, thought Mark, as he sipped more brandy from the bottle. And maybe I will regret it, but that’s life.

  When Martine returned with a shirt and sweater and helped Mark put them on, he said: ‘I’ve got to give Uncle John the bad news now,’ and got to his feet.

  ‘He’ll get over it.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘And you take care, darlin’,’ she said and jumped up and kissed him full on the mouth.

  ‘You’ll have me over,’ he said, grabbing the chair for support.

  ‘That’s always been my plan. Anyway, I’m off upstairs. I don’t want to be there if Dad goes into one.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ replied Mark. ‘But I’m afraid he might.’

  She looked at him one more time. ‘When will I see you?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Nothing new there then,’ she said and left him alone.

  Painfully he left the room after her and went up to find John Jenner and Chas. They were sitting together in the living room in silence as he entered and sat gingerly in one soft armchair.

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Jenner.

  ‘It all went wrong,’ said Mark and briefly filled them in on the events of the night.

  ‘You lost the money and the drugs,’ said Jenner when he’d finished.

  ‘And Eddie and Tubbs,’ said Mark.

  ‘But you killed the spades.’

  Mark nodded. ‘And the two women.’

  ‘So five dead niggers,’ said Jenner. ‘No loss.’

  ‘Six if you count Tubbs,’ said Mark.

  ‘You know I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘So what if you did. But I just left them. There was nothing I could do.’ Mark felt like crying but knew it was just a waste of time and tears both.

  ‘Those things happen,’ said Jenner.

  ‘But not to me. And I left the two motors and weapons and my DNA on the knife in the flat. It’s fucked, Uncle John.’

  ‘One of those things.’

  ‘No,’ said Mark. ‘I’ve got a really bad feeling. I’m going to split.’

  ‘In your condition?’

  ‘I can manage.’

  ‘Where are you going to go?’ asked Chas.

  ‘I’ll find somewhere. You’ve got my mobile number. We can keep in touch. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

  ‘I’d try and convince you to stay…’ said Jenner.

  ‘Don’t,’ interrupted Mark. ‘I’ll get my stuff and I’ll go.’

  Jenner nodded and Mark left the room, went upstairs and packed a few things in his bag. His back was killing him, but he knew he had to go and go that night. He closed his bedroom door behind him and went back downstairs. Chas was waiting in the hall. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ he said.

  ‘Yes I do,’ said Mark and went back to say goodbye to Jenner. ‘I’m off now, Uncle,’ he said.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Jenner.

  ‘You too. This isn’t going to go away.’

  ‘What the hell,’ said Jenner. ‘What can they do? Give me cancer?’ He stood and embraced the younger man, being careful not to touch his wound, and then, both with tears in their eyes, they kissed once and Mark went out to his car and drove away.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Mark spent the night in the Range Rover in a back street in East Dulwich. It wasn’t the first time that he’d slept in a car in his life, and he doubted that it would be the last. It had been too late to find a hotel or B&B without causing unwelcome interest, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He hardly closed his eyes all night, he just lay curled up in the back, with the radio tuned to a local news station. Reports of the killings in Brixton filled the bulletins, but shootings were so prevalent in London those days that, by morning, it was the second item after something about a pop star’s birthday party at a hotel in Park Lane.

  But Mark knew that the cops wouldn’t lose interest so quickly. He drove to an all-night supermarket, purchased some toiletries and used their gents for a wash and brush up, then breakfasted at the diner attached to the store. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he had to eat. His wound was hot and sore, but if it hurt too much, he’d munch painkillers until the pain subsided. But what next?

  After eating, he drove up to Crystal Palace and booked into one of the very same hotels he and Linda had enjoyed afternoons of passion in, all those years before. It had been refurbished since and he hardly recognised the place, but it still brought back memories. Some good, some bad. Once inside his room, he drew the curtains, took more pills and fell into bed. He slept for hours and it was only the ringing of his mobile that eventually woke him. It was Chas. ‘Bad news, son,’ he said. ‘They came for your uncle this morning and he had a bit of a turn. He’s in hospital.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Mark. ‘What happened?’

  ‘A stroke. He’s in intensive care in King’s.’

  What more can go wrong? thought Mark. ‘I’ll go and see him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you. Your name was mentioned.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Shit’s right. And what happened last night is all over the telly and the papers. You’re famous again.’

  ‘Oh Christ, Chas. Can we meet?’

  ‘Sure. Course. There’s a pub near the hospital. O’Neill’s. It used to be the Station. It’s on the bridge over the railway at Denmark Hill.’

  ‘I’ll find it.’

  ‘Are you up to it? How do you feel?’

  ‘Like I’ve been hit by a bus, but I’ll manage. How’s Martine taken it?’

  ‘Not well. She blames you.’

  ‘She blames me for the war in the Middle East. But we’ll worry about her later. When?’

  ‘I’m at the hospital now. Outside, having a bit of a walk. I can see the pub from here.’

  ‘I’ll be there within an hour. Wait for me.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing else to do.’

  ‘See you then.’ He killed the phone.

  In the bathroom he looked at his face in the mirror. He was pale and drawn and looked ten years older than he had just a few days previously. But who could blame him? Old friends had died. He’d killed some people and had been injured. He turned and craned his neck to look at his bandage. There was a dark stain visible through the white material, but no blood had seeped all the way through. Maybe while I’m near the hospital, I can get it checked, he thought. Or maybe not.

  He left his few things at the hotel and motored down to Denmark Hill, found the pub and parked in a back street. When he pushed through the doors into the almost deserted saloon bar, he saw Chas sitting at a corner table, nursing a beer. ‘Want a refill?’ he asked once he’d walked over.

  ‘No,’ said Chas. ‘Don’t even want this one, really.’

  ‘Fair enough. But I need a livener. You woke me up.’ Mark went to t
he bar and ordered a Beck’s with a brandy chaser and took the glasses over and joined Chas who was staring gloomily out of the window. ‘What happened exactly?’ asked Mark once he was seated.

  ‘Cops came just after five and rousted the house. They wanted John for questioning about the shooting, and they wanted to find out where you were. That fucking Hunter’s son was there, the little shit. And they brought Customs with them. Something about Ali and Tommo importing duty frees from the Continent. And them seeing your motor parked up outside with French plates. They put two and two together and got seven, as usual.’

  ‘Is that how they knew about me, the motor?’

  ‘Dunno. They never said. But apparently Interpol or whatever it’s now called want to talk to you about some killings in Germany.’

  ‘Yeah. They would.’

  Chas nodded. He’d heard worse in his life.

  ‘So what happened to Uncle John?’

  ‘They took him up Streatham nick, stuck him in an interview room and he just keeled over. Course, they thought he was trying it on, but eventually they called an ambulance and the paramedics brought him to the cardiac unit here. Best in London, supposed to be.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he’s not good, Mark. Not good at all. They did some tests and the cancer’s spreading fast. He’s riddled with the shit. Liver, kidneys, lungs. The lot.’

  ‘What are his chances?’

  Chas shook his head. ‘Poor. You’d better be prepared for the worst.’

  ‘And Martine’s with him.’

  ‘Been there all day.’

  ‘Any Old Bill about?’

  Chas shook his head again. ‘They put a copper on the door at first, but they tugged him off a couple of hours ago. John ain’t going nowhere, mate.’

  ‘That bad?’

  Another nod and Mark blew out a sigh and downed his brandy in one. ‘What about Customs?’

  ‘Dunno. They sloped off sharpish when there was no sign of your motor.’

  ‘It’s all gone to shit, Chas.’

  ‘I know. So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Not go to Germany is top of my list. But I’m going to have to leave the country, and I want to see Uncle John first. Do you think I can get in?’

  ‘Don’t see why not. Security’s not up to much and, like I said, the Bill’s gone walkabout.’

  ‘Did they charge him?’

  ‘No. Just helping with enquiries. They only had to look at him to see he wasn’t wandering the streets the other night killing folks.’

  ‘And Martine blames me?’

  Yet another nod.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Mark. ‘I don’t want her starting a scene in there. Drawing more attention to us. Can’t you do something?’

  ‘I’ll go over and suggest she come home and get cleaned up, maybe sleep for a bit.’

  ‘Do you reckon she will?’

  ‘She’s taken it hard, Mark. She loves the old man.’

  ‘I know she does. So do I.’

  ‘So do we all.’

  Now it was Mark’s turn to nod. ‘Give me a few minutes and I’ll see what I can do,’ said Chas and, leaving his glass, he walked out of the pub.

  Mark sat where he was until his phone rang.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Chas.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m dragging her back home to get changed and have something to eat. We’ll be gone for a bit so you can get in. She’s in the loo… No, she’s coming. See ya.’ And he cut the connection.

  Mark gave them a few minutes before he finished his drink and went over to the hospital. ICU was on the third floor and he took the lift, keeping an eye open for anyone who looked like a copper. Once there, he found a nurse and inquired about John Jenner.

  ‘Are you family?’ she asked.

  ‘Nephew,’ he said. ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘Let me look,’ she replied. Then: ‘I’m afraid it’s not good.’

  ‘I heard,’ he said. ‘That’s why I came.’

  ‘He’s been sleeping a lot,’ she said. ‘I’ll speak to the doctor.’

  She vanished in a swish of starch, and Mark stood by the enquiries desk trying hard to look like he belonged.

  ‘You can go in and see him now,’ said the nurse. ‘But don’t be too long, and don’t let him get excited. He’s awake but very woozy from the drugs we’ve administered.’

  ‘I won’t be long,’ said Mark. She nodded and she led him into the private room. John Jenner lay very still and there was an oxygen mask over his face. His skin was the same colour as his pillow, tubes and wires were attached to every inch of skin, and machines bleeped and whirred beside him. Mark knew deep inside that his uncle would probably never leave the hospital. He pulled up one of the two chairs in the corner and sat by the bed. Jenner turned his head and reached up and pulled the mask off his nose and mouth. ‘Mark,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’

  Mark ignored his comment and said, ‘Uncle John. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Not too clever. How do I look?’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Not too clever.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He looked round. ‘So this is what it all comes to,’ he said. ‘If I’d known all those years ago I don’t think I’d’ve bothered.’

  ‘Yes you would.’

  ‘I don’t know so much, son. I mean, is this all there is? The sum total.’

  ‘You’ve done loads. Dragged yourself up and made something of yourself.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? Do you know what I am?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mark. No one ever knows anyone else. Well maybe me and Haze.’ He smiled. ‘God, but I wish she was here.’

  ‘Perhaps she is.’

  ‘Perhaps. You know never a day goes by without me thinking about her. Talking to her. She was the only one for me from the minute I laid eyes on her.’

  ‘I know, Uncle.’

  ‘I had other birds, you know. It was all there on a plate. Tarts. And ladies too, sometimes. She always knew but she never made a fuss. Just treated me so good I forgot about them. I wish now I hadn’t though.’

  ‘We always wish we were better than we are.’

  ‘And we are, you know, son. We’re all better than the worst things we’ve ever done.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that.’

  ‘I saw her when she was dead,’ Jenner said. ‘They had a special room in the hospital. It was bloody horrible. She still had one of those pipes in her mouth. Have you ever seen anyone you’ve made love to, dead?’

  Mark shook his head.

  ‘It’s bloody horrible. You don’t want to.’ He looked at him suddenly. ‘I know you saw your mum dead,’ he said. ‘And I know what that must’ve been like, but I think this was different. I slept with her for so long. I used to watch her asleep sometimes.’ He smiled. ‘I knew she’d never tell me to piss off again. Or that she loved me. Or even ask me what I wanted with my eggs. It was over. Finito.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Uncle,’ said Mark.

  ‘Is my wallet here?’ Jenner asked suddenly.

  Mark saw it on a side table. ‘It’s here,’ he said.

  ‘Show.’

  Mark leaned over, picked it up and put it on the bed. Jenner found it, opened it without looking and pulled out a photo of his late wife. ‘I’ve carried this with me for ten years,’ he said. ‘Put it on the table where I can see it.’

  Mark did as he was told, and Jenner turned his head painfully, then smiled. His lips were white and Mark offered him a drink. He sucked at the straw greedily, then lay back. ‘That was good,’ he said. ‘You know, when she died a bit of me died with her. It’s never been the same since. I tried other women afterwards too, but they never knew what I was talking about. Not like Hazel. So I gave up. Christ, but I was lonely, but you can’t force things like that. Did you ever read a story called The Ice Queen?’

  ‘When I was a nipper.’

  �
�It frightened me when I read it when I was a kid,’ said Jenner. ‘The fact that someone could have their heart replaced by a sliver of ice. I hated that. But when Hazel went, it happened to me. It’s still there. Sometimes it’s so cold in my chest, it hurts. So you see, I’m not scared of dying. I’m scared of being in this place, but dying, no. In fact, I rather look forward to it. Do you believe in heaven and hell, Mark?’

  The young man shook his head. ‘No, Uncle. I don’t think so.’

  ‘People who do, say there’s many gates to hell,’ said Jenner. ‘And I’ve looked at some of them. I’ve killed people, Mark. Looked in their eyes and just blown them away. I wish now I hadn’t done that too. But I could never have stayed in the job I had, all those years ago. I was always a wrong ’un. Your dad got it right. He joined the police to make things better.’

  ‘It didn’t work though, did it?’

  ‘Maybe not. But he tried.’ John Jenner lay back on his pillow and his eyelids fluttered. ‘You won’t leave me, will you?’

  ‘No, Uncle.’

  ‘Where’s Chas and Martine?’

  ‘He took her home for a bit. She blames me, you know.’

  ‘No, she don’t. She loves you, Mark.’

  ‘Not any more, Uncle. I think I spoiled that, like I spoiled so many things.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re a good boy, Mark.’

  ‘I doubt the cops would agree with that.’

  ‘Bloody coppers. What do they know? They done me up in the end, didn’t they though?’

  ‘Yes, Uncle John. They did. But I didn’t help.’

  ‘Forget it, son. I love you. Always have. You’ve got the same eyes as Billy. He always was my best mate. Apart from Hazel, of course. I’m tired now, son. I want some kip. Will you stay?’

  Mark nodded.

  ‘Hold my hand, son and I won’t feel so lonely.’ And his eyes shut and he slept, and the only sound in the room was the gentle bleeping of the machines he was connected to. Mark leant over and replaced the mask on his mouth and sat with his uncle’s hand in his.

  John Jenner dreamt of his ex-wife as he lay there. In his dream it was that first Friday night at the Bali Hai in Streatham. He was all done up in the latest King’s Road fashions. Sharp suit, flowered shirt and tie, and zip up boots with a slight heel. And Chas was there. And Chas’s sister too, and her mates. And one of them was Hazel. Red hair in a bob, the shortest skirt he’d ever seen. Bare legs because it was a warm night, and high boots with stiletto heels. He’d never seen anyone like her before or since. The minute he clapped eyes on her she had to be his. And the feeling was mutual. He’d bought her champagne and they’d ended up on the back seat of the big old Pontiac he’d been driving that year. He never could get the stains off the leather. Jenner smiled in his sleep. And the machines kept up their bleeping.