by Liza Cody
‘Don’t, Greg,’ said Simone. ‘Eva, tell him. For Christ’s sake, tell him what you told the detective.’
‘Nuffin,’ I said. ‘I don’t never say nuffin to her.’ Well, I don’t, do I? I couldn’t of. It’s against my religion, ain’t it?
‘It’s my religion,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘It’s like a religion,’ Simone said. ‘She wouldn’t tell. Honest, Greg.’
‘Honestly,’ said Greg.
‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ said Simone.
I can’t tell you what I’d of done if there wasn’t a shooter up me nose. Sweetheart?
‘Greg, she’s spent half her life in custody,’ Simone said. ‘She hates the police. You can believe her, honestly you can.’
‘But she drinks too much,’ Greg said. ‘She isn’t in control of her faculties. She runs amok – we saw that last night.’
‘That’s wrestling,’ Simone said. ‘That’s theatre, Greg. You said so yourself
‘I don’t think she knows the difference.’
‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘What I don’t know about wrestling you can stuff under your fingernail and scratch your bum-hole with.’
‘And she’d never do anything to hurt me, Greg,’ Simone said. ‘Would you, Eva? She’d never do anything to hurt me. If I told her that talking about you to the cops would hurt me, she’d go to her grave with her mouth shut. She would. Wouldn’t you, Eva. Wouldn’t you?’
She was trying so hard it almost made me want to bawl. And she was squeezing my hand so hard with her long fingernails – that almost made me want to bawl too.
I said, ‘I’d never let you down. You know that.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Greg? Please, Greg.’
He lowered the shooter. ‘I want to be sure,’ he said. ‘A lot depends on it.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’ll go with her. I promise, Greg. I promise, your name’11 never come up.’
‘Go where?’ I said. The shooter was lying across his knees and I was wondering if I’d have time to grab it and shoot his underpants before he blew my nose off.
‘To the yard,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to talk to the police, Eva, and you’ll have to tell them the exact same story you told me.’
‘Identical, Simone,’ Greg said. ‘Exact same is a tautology. She’ll have to tell the police a story identical to the one she told you.’
‘You’re incredible, Greg.’
‘Thank you. And she must remember it so that she can repeat it again and again in every detail.’
‘That’s why,’ I said. ‘They’re on to you like piss on a lamp-post if you forget. That’s why you never say nothin’.’
‘This time’s different,’ Simone said. ‘This time we want you to tell them what you told me. And, Eva, it’s going to be OK, because you can always say you’d had a little too much to drink so you can’t remember clearly.’
‘I’ll remember to sew the Enemy’s mouth shut with a rusty needle,’ I said. ‘Dobbing me in like that. She said she’d give me twenty-four hours. You can’t never trust a copper.’
‘Why did she, Eva?’ Simone said.
‘Dunno.’
‘How did she know to come to you in the first place?’
‘Dunno.’ I was trying to remember. ‘Oh yeah.’ Remembering’s a lot easier when you don’t have a shooter up your hooter.
‘Local traders, she said. She was working for some local traders who were all upset ‘cos someone gave them bad dosh. She said my name kept coming up.’
‘Ah,’ said Greg. ‘Now I understand.’
‘You see?’ said Simone. ‘I told you. My sister would never knowingly do anything to harm you. She didn’t know the money was wrong or she’d never have spent it.’
‘I got to eat,’ I said.
‘And you will,’ said Greg. ‘I can safely say that if you tell your story correctly, and are believed, I’ll make sure you eat well from now on.’
‘Oh, Greg,’ Simone said, ‘you’re so kind.’ Her fingers were digging into mine. So I kept my lip buttoned.
‘I understand about bad families,’ Greg said. ‘It’s no disgrace provided you make the effort later.’
‘Like you did,’ Simone said, before I could tell him how much he understood about my family.
‘Come on, Eva,’ she said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
She dragged me out of the car. We didn’t speak till we got round the corner and God Greg couldn’t see us no more.
Then she said, ‘This is the last time, Eva. I’m moving heaven and earth to drag your arse out of the fire and all you do is aggravate. You talk loud and show me up.’
‘What about you?’ I said. ‘Wha’choo calling that piece of crap-smear “sweetheart” for? When he had a shooter up me nose. You called him sweetheart. I heard you.’
‘I told you,’ she said. ‘That’s what you call a guy with a gun, you stupid cow.’
‘I don’t,’ I said.
‘No, you get your head blown off.’
‘I’ll blow his fuckin’ head off’
‘Shut up,’ she screamed. ‘Shut up shouting. Shut up with all this horrible talk. I’m sick of it. It’s all you do.’
‘Ain’t.’
‘Is.’
‘I’ll talk nice,’ I said. ‘Pardon me language – nicely. I’ll talk to the police nicely. And you can talk nice to fuckin’ God Greg – at visiting hours. Won’t that be nicely?’
‘You do that and I’ll never speak to you again,’ she said. ‘I swear to God, Eva – if you ruin this for me I’ll never see you again. Ever. I got a chance now.’
‘What chance?’
‘Security, Eva. Can’t you understand? He’s got money and power.’
‘Bad money.’
‘Oh that,’ she said. ‘That’s just a deal. Something he was doing for someone else.’
‘Bollocks, Simone. Bad money. Bad man.’
‘No, Eva,’ she said. ‘He could look after me. He’ll look after you too. You heard him. All you have to do is talk sweet to the coppers, just this once. He said he’d set me up in business, Eva. Think of it. My own business.’
‘Not yours,’ I said. ‘His.’
‘In my own name,’ she said. ‘In my own right. I won’t have to scrape and scramble ever again.’
‘Only to him,’ I said. ‘Only to God Greg.’
‘He isn’t so bad,’ she said. ‘I’ve met worse. Please, Eva, please. Don’t do it for him. Do it for me.’
‘What?’
‘Oh Christ!’ she said. ‘Tell them. Tell the police the story about the lottery ticket and the woman in Mandala Street market. The way you told me.’
‘Oh that,’ I said.
‘Wasn’t it true? I believed you.’
‘’Course it’s true,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t lie to you.’
‘Then you will?’
‘Will you be there?’ I said. I didn’t want to let her go.
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘I told Greg I would. But, Eva, don’t get me into any more trouble. I don’t like the police either – so please, please, talk quiet.’
We walked round the corner together, into all the crawling cops and blue flashing lights. I was too wrung dry to do anything else. Anyway, even if Simone wasn’t beside me, I’d of had to go in. ‘Cos of the dogs. They’re my dogs, see, and I brought Milo up since he was a pup.
Chapter 28
There’s laws about dogs. There’s sodding laws about every sodding thing on earth, and they’re wrapped around you so tight you’re like a fly trapped in a wire-wool pad.
Can you believe this one? You ain’t allowed to leave an unmuzzled, unrestrained guard dog alone in the place he’s guarding. In case he hurts the pillock who breaks in. Which is what he’s supposed to do. What’s he there for, I ask you? How’s he supposed to guard if he’s wearing a muzzle? You might as well train a goldfish to guard a yard.
‘Shshsh,’ said Simone. ‘Eva didn’t know. She’ll get muzzles i
n the morning. She only left the yard on urgent family business. She’s always here otherwise. She’s never left the dogs alone before, officer. Never.’
The politzei was really annoyed about the dogs, so I guess they put up a good fight. Didn’t I tell you – Ramses and Lineker are the meanest bastard dogs in South London, and Milo’s learning. I was proud of them.
‘Shsh, Eva,’ Simone said. ‘Eva’s in total control of the dogs. They’ll be much more trouble if you take them away.’
The dogs were in a politzei van. I couldn’t see them but I could hear them.
‘It’s all right, Eva,’ Simone whispered to me. ‘You’ll get your dogs back. Stay calm.’
Oh, she was a class act all right. I was so stone tired all I could do was sit back and admire her.
But the dogs was only the first stick they hit me with. The second one was stolen cars. Laugh if you like, but this didn’t have nothing to do with me. Besides I ain’t a thief. I don’t thieve motors. I only borrow them. And I don’t never bring them to the yard. Well, hardly ever. No, I park ‘em, all neat and tidy, with a load of other parked cars where whoever wants ‘em can find ‘em again.
So I was clean. I was laundry fresh about stolen motors in the yard. See, even with wrecks, you got to have papers and proper records. And the politzei couldn’t get the wrecks and the records to match. So they started to look at the second-hand motors with reconditioned engines. Then they tried to find the yard owner. But, surprise, surprise, they couldn’t. So they got the foreman and the manager out of bed and brought them to the yard. And they got me.
And, surprise, surprise, none of us knew diddly-piddly. I swear I really don’t know diddly. Honest. What they get up to in the daytime ain’t none of my business. I don’t even see it, do I? I’m asleep. I’m the security guard so I work at night, don’t I? How’m I supposed to know?
‘Take it easy, Eva,’ Simone said. ‘Don’t get so excited.’
But I couldn’t help it. They was crawling all over everything like maggots. They was even in my Static with their maggot fingers in all my things.
They had their maggoty noses in all my cupboards, even in my bunk. They said they was looking for car stereos and speakers.
‘What’s the point?’ I said. ‘I ain’t got electricity. You can’t run a CD player off a torch battery.’
But the maggot detective didn’t say nothing. He just went on turning over all my bits and pieces with his creepy-crawly hands.
Then he faced me and said, ‘Turn out your pockets.’
‘What for?’ I said. ‘You think I’m hiding a reconditioned engine in me pocket? Or a kalashnikov? Or a BMW?’
‘Sshsh, Eva,’ Simone said. ‘Just do it. Then he’ll see you’ve got nothing to hide.’
They can make you do it. They can make you take all your clothes off, and they can even stick their maggot fingers up your arse if they want to. They can make it so you got nothing of your own, even your own arse. Free country? Bollocks.
So I turned out my pockets, and Detective Sergeant Maggot went through everything.
Would you like it? Well, would you? If you’ve got to explain every little ball of fluff in your pockets or your handbag or your home? They can make you if they want to. It’s up to them, if they decide they want to. It’s your turn. So they give you a tug and they make you explain every sodding item in your possession. It ain’t up to you. You can’t decide. Oh no. And you’re lucky if you get away with your arse intact. Believe.
There it all was, on the table – my skinning knife, the sheath, my tobacco tin, money, snot-rag, torch, keys, Swiss Army knife, short-handled screwdriver, tin of flea powder.
‘Why’ve you got two knives?’ Detective Sergeant Maggot said. ‘What’s the skinning knife for?’
‘Hush,’ said Simone.
‘Fresh meat,’ I said. ‘For the dogs.’
‘Have you got a receipt for it?’
‘No.’
‘Show me all the locks these keys fit. Every one.’
See, he was saving the best till last. That’s what the politzei do. They pretend they’re interested in what’s in your tobacco tin, and they’ll go on and on about it till you’re climbing the walls. It’s only when they’ve scraped you off the ceiling that they’ll start talking about the money.
And all the time Detective Sergeant Maggot was asking me about the matches, candle stub, stock cubes I keep in the tobacco tin, his little assistant maggot, Detective Constable Oily-Rag, was rummaging through the rest of my belongings. And every now and then she’d bring something else and put it on the table – like another torch or my sponge-bag or a box of tampons.
You can’t concentrate. DS Maggot’s firing questions, questions, questions while you’re trying to see what DC Oily-Rag’s up to. That’s how they try to trick you.
‘Let me get this straight,’ DS Maggot said, ‘you keep a wire saw, waterproof matches, et cetera, in this tobacco tin because you’re afraid of a nuclear accident or an earthquake or something. Am I hearing correctly?’
‘I ain’t afraid of nothing.’
‘It’s OK, Eva,’ Simone said.
‘The SAS manual says it’s a good idea,’ I said.
‘You’re winding me up,’ he said.
Then DC Oily-Rag threw my dirty old jeans on the table and said, ‘There’s something in the pockets, Sarge.’
That gave me an awful fright. I was scared I’d forgotten one or two of those dung squillions when I changed to my brand-new zippy strides.
What they found was my lucky piece – the ten pence that old lady dropped for me when I was waiting to ask Harsh to be my personal trainer. Except he wouldn’t and he just gummed off about toothbrushes, so it wasn’t lucky after all. The other thing they found was the lottery ticket. The real one. And that was lucky because it reminded me of my story. And it proved to Simone I was telling the truth. ‘Cos now she could see with her own eyes I was the sort of person who went in for the lottery.
‘That’s mine,’ I said. ‘You ain’t taking it.’
‘Shush,’ said Simone. ‘No one’s taking it.’
‘Haven’t you checked the numbers?’ said DS Maggot. ‘Maybe you’ve won a million.’
‘Not with my mojo,’ I said. ‘If there was any good mojo going I wouldn’t have you bastards crawling all over me.’
‘Eva,’ said Simone, ‘shut up. Just answer the questions. I’m exhausted.’ She was talking to me like I was a baby. And the politzei was letting her do it. They never told her to go away. They thought I was so stupid I needed a responsible adult along to hold my hand. Which shows how stupid they are.
Simone wasn’t the only one who was totally butchered. As the night went on DS Maggot and DC Oily-Rag got more and more tired too. It was their own silly faults. They was trying to wear me down so that I’d crumple when they got to asking about what really interested them. They forgot they was dealing with a trained athlete. They forgot that I’m used to being up all night.
So when Detective Sergeant Maggot decided to talk about the bent money I could of laughed, ‘cos actually he knew less than nothing. I knew he didn’t know piddly-pooh because of the questions he didn’t ask. He didn’t ask about God Greg. He didn’t ask about a red Carlton. He didn’t ask about a Puma sports bag.
What he had was one measly twenty-pound note which he said I bought a burger with, from John’s Burger Bar. That’s all he had.
I said, ‘You turned me place upside down ‘cos I bought a burger? One stinking burger. I s’pose if I bought a pizza you’d of sent me to prison.’
He and Simone said, ‘Shut up,’ together.
He didn’t know about the rest of it. He didn’t know about Hanif and Value Mart. That’s what surprised me. The Enemy wasn’t the one who dobbed me in. If she’d dobbed me in he’d of known about Hanif s and the army surplus store and Value Mart. But he didn’t. So she wasn’t the one and I was amazed. It must of been Burger Bar John. The sod – he can swing before I eat another of his smel
ly old burgers.
So it was morning before I got to tell the story Simone and God Greg wanted me to tell. I thought I told it pretty bloody well. But DS Maggot was scratching his stubble, and DC Oily-Rag was yawning, and Simone was rubbing her eyes by the time I finished.
‘Keeping you up, am I?’ I said.
‘Shut up,’ they all said together.
‘’Cos I got to feed my dogs,’ I said. ‘They ain’t ate since yesterday morning, and they’ve spent the whole night cooped up in your van. I ought to get the RSPCA on to you. I don’t s’pose you even gave them any water.’
‘Shut up.’
That’s a fine way to talk to someone in her own home. I was almost as knackered as they was but I wasn’t letting my guard down. For one thing, I was rageous. I mean, it was my home they was trashing. It wasn’t Simone’s. It wasn’t DS Maggot’s or DC Oily-Rag’s. It was me they was tearing open with their questions. Not Simone, or Maggot or Oily-Rag. Who the hell did they think they was telling to shut up? When all I was doing was answering, answering, answering their stupid questions.
Maggot said, ‘This woman in the market? She gave you money for luck? You expect us to believe that?’
‘You lot never believe anything,’ I said.
‘How much?’
‘What?’
‘Money.’
I looked at Simone. I’d forgotten.
‘How much?’
‘Dunno,’ I said.
‘Don’t ask her,’ Simone said. ‘She can’t count.’
‘Can,’ I said. ‘What d: you mean I can’t count?’
‘So how much?’ said Maggot.
‘Er …’
‘Come on.’
I looked at Simone again. I couldn’t remember what I told her.
‘Sixty-seven?’ I said.
‘Sixty-seven pounds?’ said Maggot.
‘A hundred?’ I said. ‘Um. And sixty-seven?’ I was looking at Simone and she was looking back, but she wasn’t telling me if I was right or wrong.
‘A thousand?’ I said. They was doing my head in. ‘Could of been fifty-seven thousand. No. A thousand and fifty-seven. I mean sixty-seven. I mean, a hundred.’
‘Christ,’ said Maggot.