I was having an evening in. The news was finishing and I was waiting for Match of the Day. The comedian Billy Connolly had once said, given how iconic it was, its theme tune should become the new national anthem, and given what a dirge the real anthem was, I was in agreement, though Smitherman, an ultra-traditionalist patriot, would gag at the thought.
I’d just opened another cold beer and sat down when the landline rang. I answered.
“Hello, Rob; how are you?”
I knew who it was. His voice was clear and he sounded positive and upbeat. In that moment I was initially unsure whether I was pleased to hear his voice again or whether, if he were standing in front of me, I’d chin him.
“Hello, Michael,” I said neutrally.
“You can try tracing the call if you want but I’m on a secure line and it’s untraceable. I’m not even in the country. I’m in Italy.”
“How’d you know I’d be home?”
“You always used to watch that football highlights show Saturday nights if you didn’t go out, so, as it’s Saturday and after ten, I hoped you’d be in watching it.”
A logical assumption. I briefly remembered him and me watching football before we went off to some party or to meet a couple of girls.
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me how you got out of England, do you? Police were watching airports and docks looking out for you.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you. Someone I know drives for a coach firm. I stayed at his depot the night you chased me through Soho and, two days later, I was on one of his tourist coach trips to the Isle of Wight. The firm’s legit and police don’t bother them, so I got out of London easily. I was met by a fishing boat south-west of the island, by the Needles, and taken to France. A car picked me up from there. And here I am.”
“Ingenious.”
“I think so. We’ve had this escape route planned for a
while now and it was the first time it’s had to be used. You can see it worked.”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t sure how I was feeling hearing his voice. “Look, Robert, I’ll be honest with you. I owe you that
much. The main reason I returned to England was to see if I could buy you off. I already knew you were Special Branch, even though you’d not told me. Another police officer on the payroll would have been great. That’s what I was going to try for. I realised you’d know what I was involved in but you still came along to meet me that night, so I thought, I wonder if he’d be amenable to some extra cash. I really did think long and hard about trying to get you onside. But, you know what? Within a few minutes of being with you in the pub, I just knew it’d be a futile effort. You’d no more take our money and turn the other cheek than you would decapitate your own mother, so I didn’t even bother asking.”
“Yeah, I heard you’d been thinking that.”
“You were the same old Robert I used to know. Honest as
the day’s long. And that’s a good thing, it really is. You probably won’t be surprised to know there’s police who’re happy to pocket extra money for services rendered. A sad world indeed.”
A few seconds’ pause.
“While you were getting drinks, I made a quick call saying
it’s not gonna work, let’s close up the shop. Of all the police in London, why’d it have to be you, man?” He sounded as though he were laughing.
I paused for a moment. I was trying to imagine my reaction had he asked me to help out Red Heaven for financial gain.
“Close up the shop,” I said. “You mean taking out Bradley and Ritchie, using Post Poe?”
No answer.
“Bradley’d got greedy, hadn’t he? Siphoning money off for himself. Evidence of money laundering had been found by an investigative reporter and he was going to blow the whistle. Poe killed him as well, didn’t he?” My voice was neutral.
“You’re well-informed, Rob.”
There was silence for a few more moments. I changed tack.
“What would you have done if I’d caught you running last week?” I asked him.
“I’ve asked myself that. You probably didn’t see it but I was actually laughing as I was running. It seemed unreal I was being chased by you. You’re faster than I remember. I was expecting to be caught but I saw you talking to a couple of police, so I dived into some shop and went out the back door.”
“So, what would you have done if I’d caught up with you?” I was curious.
“I’ll be honest, Robert: I don’t know.” He paused. “What would you have done?”
“I’d have taken you in.” I hoped I sounded positive saying this. Did my answer sound to him like I meant it?
“Well, we’ll never know, will we?”
“No, probably not.” I noticed the football had started.
“Whatever. I’m just calling to say au revoir and to hear your voice one last time as I won’t be coming back to England any time soon. No reason to. My business and everything’s out here now. Whatever you think, Rob, it was really good seeing you that Monday in the pub. Just like old times, wasn’t it? I’ve not had such an enjoyable night for quite a while.”
I wanted to agree with him but I didn’t respond. I waited
a moment before I spoke again.
“I suppose I ought to ask why, shouldn’t I?”
“Yeah, that’d be the logical question, but that’s a question
for another day. It’d take too long to explain and I don’t think you’d appreciate my reasoning either.”
“At least say your father’s not involved. Please tell me I
heard it wrong.”
He didn’t respond. Another four-second gap. “Anyway, as I just said, I wanted to hear your voice and say
goodbye. Whatever you think of me, Rob, and you probably don’t think too much of me right now, we’re soul brothers. Remember that. You’ll always be my brother, man, no matter what.”
I took a deep breath hearing this.
“At some point I’d really like to meet up again, maybe
when all this is behind us,” he said.
I was feeling very confused and psychologically
disoriented.
“Thanks. Take care, Michael.” Something stopped me
calling him a brother.
“You too, man. Love to your folks. Please don’t judge me
too harshly.” He rang off.
I sat back on the couch and attempted to watch the football but I turned the volume off and just blankly stared at it. I was thinking about my years as Mendoccini’s friend, when I could truly call him a brother, when we were probably closer than brothers.
I remembered the hurt when I’d first lost contact with
him. I remembered missing him a lot. I remembered many things we’d done and the laughs we’d had. I remembered how good I’d felt after that night in the Chinese restaurant when we’d reconnected and before I’d discovered what he was doing now. I remembered the brief hope we could be close again. Spurs scored a goal but it failed to register with me.
A wave of pure depression poured into my very soul. I could feel my emotions shutting down on me and I couldn’t think straight. I began to bitterly regret not calling him a brother when I’d had the chance because, no matter what he’d just said, it was now unlikely I would ever see him again.
I felt like I’d suffered a bereavement. An extraordinary wave of pure sadness engulfed me completely and I sobbed like a baby, burying my face in a cushion, for nearly three minutes at the loss of my old friend, my soul brother, the only man apart from my father I had ever truly loved, and when I stopped, I drank myself into oblivion, blacked out and slept the sleep of the emotionally dispossessed.
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Mendoccini Page 24