by John Dalton
‘Quite a woman in her way. Went to seed, of course, but she still had – what you call it? – “sexual charisma”. Charm the pants off most men. Bet you had a fair taste.’
‘Of course, you were immune.’
‘The fuck I wasn’t! I ended up in the nick because of her! Still, that’s dead and buried now.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it. I mean, you did bump off her daughter.’
‘Don’t slip that shit in, man! She might’ve wanted to stitch me up for any number of reasons, but I don’t reckon she will any more.’
‘Huh-uh, you reckon?’
Ross suppressed a smile. ‘Ever tried cleaning windows on the third floor?’
‘What you on about?’
‘Nothing, man, cept we’ve chewed the fat long enough and it’s time we sorted this deal out.’
Des was beginning to wonder whether he could pull it off. Ross was the type who led with his mouth but nothing he said held any substance. Oil on seawater slopping around rocks and then slipping away again. But that was words for you, something to drown in, something to obscure action.
‘So what are the basics of this conversation then, Ross?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Wainwright, when I first broached the subject, he seemed happy with a cash deal and maybe a bit of information too, but then he got peeved. Some victims of his own stupidity trashed his house, so then he says it’s the photos or my neck. Not a good thing to say in the circumstances. I feel quite touchy about my neck.’
‘Understandable,’ Ross agreed. ‘Threats of physical violence, they rub people up the wrong way. But, you know, Wainwright’s an amateur. He loses his cool and you have to make allowances for that shit.’
‘I don’t want to make any allowances for that shit.’
‘I know, but what the fuck, that’s why I’m here and I can’t see why a few thou your way shouldn’t sort this problem out.’
‘Sounds better. And a bit of information maybe, just to satisfy my own curiosity, you understand?’
‘Come on, McGinlay. What information? My client, understandably, just wants to keep a few photos out of the public domain. There’s nothing more to it than that.’
‘That’s got to be the understatement of the year.’
‘That’s the b-bloke!’
‘You’re sure, Stray?’
‘I f-fucking well am! I saw him d-down the Lime, ponytail and p-part of a f-finger missing. M-Mary pulled him. She said he was m-more interested in whether she took d-dirty p-pictures than he was in her.’
‘He certainly looks a slimebag, like one of those ageing rock stars from the seventies who thinks he’s done it all.’
‘Yeh, well, this b-bleeder probably has.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got surprise on our side. It’s the black guy who worries me. Must be the minder. Don’t know how we’ll get round him.’
‘D’you think we’re b-being t-total idiots?’
‘Ha, probably, but it’s exciting. I feel totally aroused, Stray.’
‘N-Not again.’
‘Don’t be so miserable. We’re involved, right with the action and we have a righteous target standing out there.’
‘And I b-bet that’s as far as it g-gets. I hope McGinlay’s g-going to do something about it.’
‘Doesn’t look like it, does it? Let’s face it, Stray, that guy’s just out there for the dosh.’
‘Like everyone it seems.’
‘God, you’re such a bloody defeatist! Feel, for fuck sake! Feel the anger. Let’s bleedin well do something for once!’
‘I’m t-trying, Mouse, I really am t-trying.’
*
‘OK, Ross, let’s take this in easy stages. You said a few thou, how much exactly is that?’
‘A deuce, and pretty good for you since it’s a bonus. But I don’t mind. You’ve seen an opportunity to play the market, you have a rare commodity and it’s plain business sense to make as much as you can. But get this, McGinlay, that’s as far as it goes.’
Des took a glance up at the towerblocks that surrounded them. As the meeting had progressed, the number of lights in the towers had diminished. People switching off, clocking off and going home. He briefly thought he’d like the certainty of that. To turn off the wire, grab his two thou and head for home. But then, where was that?
‘OK, Ross, you’re right,’ he said. ‘This is a bonus for me and I’ll settle for that, but, well, there is an edge in this for me too, like Scobie Brent’s claws around my neck.’
‘Come on, McGinlay, you got your own back.’
Des then noticed big Gus stepping forward. He seemed irritated as he loomed over Ross’s shoulder.
‘Shit, boss, dis guy im jus stringing you along, an you know we gotta get places t’night.’
‘Yeh, you’re right, man. Come on, McGinlay, let’s do the exchange and get the fuck out of here. You’re wasting time.’
‘OK, but you know, just for me, Scobie was the one who killed Claudette, right?’
‘Jesus, McGinlay.’
‘It’s no big deal for you, is it? You said the guy had to go.’
Ross stood back a little and put his hands on his hips. He looked around briefly at the straggling passengers heading for the station.
‘OK. Let me put you straight about Scobie, right. The geezer’s an arsehole, but occasionally in the past I have used the guy, as an errand boy, a bodyguard – for shipping cash to the bank, delivering cars – you know. He’s a tough nut and provides good protection.’
‘What is all this shit?’ Des couldn’t help but notice that Gus was edging closer. Like clouds approaching the sun, Gus was a shadow blotting out streetlight.
‘What I’m saying, McGinlay, is that Scobie is a casual. He did work for lots of guys, maybe even Wainwright.’
‘That sounds total crap to me.’
‘You said you wanted information. Fuck knows whether he killed Claudette. All I know is I heard Wainwright cussing Scobie off, said he shouldn’t leave his spunk up a dead girl’s cunt.’
‘I bet Wainwright would be interested in you saying –’
It was the full eclipse. Des suddenly lost sight of light as a half-smiling Gus leaned over. There was malice in his eyes and garlic on his breath.
‘Reckon I owe you one, arsehole.’
‘Piss off.’
‘You got one over me the udder night. Man, I reckon it’s repay time.’
A slab of hand attached itself to Des’s jacket. The Perspex cover of the timetable board shuddered as Des backed into it. Another slab hand began to delve roughly into places Des regarded as private.
‘Call this lump off, Ross, and let’s finish the bloody deal.’
‘You’re too curious, McGinlay, that’s your problem.’
‘Fuck me, you were dead right, boss. Dis guy’s gotta lickle black box.’
‘OK, get the photo stuff and let’s split, and quick before anyone else comes!’
Gus’s slab hands found brown manila but they couldn’t quite get a grip. Something else made a connection. A kneecap got uppity and crushed into a groin. Gus’s great shadow swayed back just a little, Des saw a brief flicker of streetlight but not enough. There was no room to swing a punch. It was arms around each other time, vindictive hugs. Like a drunken sumo dance, Des and Gus staggered together, straining for imbalance and a decisive trip. Ross Constanza saw immediately that he didn’t carry the weight to sort out such a tangle. He quickly stepped back to the Bentley, put his hand inside and brought out the gun.
The battered blue van revved up raucously. The gear stick had a violent fit until Mouse’s podgy hand calmed it down. Jerry put his hands up to his ears. He looked around in panic before putting his own hand over Mouse’s.
‘W-W-What are you d-doing?’
‘This is our chance, Stray.’
‘B-But, w-what d-do you m-mean?’
‘Look, they’re all over the shop. They won’t notice us.’
‘B-But w-
what are we g-going t-to d-do?’ Jerry almost screamed out the words, and he knew he was shaking far more than the gear stick. Sweat slicked his brow, and he had a dreadful feeling inside, one that he’d felt only twice before.
‘Justice, Stray, it’s fucking out there staring us in the face, and we’re going to take it, grab our destiny, vent our bloody anger!’
With those words, Mouse wrenched the gear stick into place and slammed her foot down. The van lurched forward, slewed reluctantly to the right, banged into a parked car, mounted the pavement and then went straight for the fracas ahead.
‘M-Mouse, I’m gonna be sick. I’m g-gonna p-pass out.’
‘Here comes retrib –!’ Mouse shouted.
The van slammed straight into the back of Gus. He and Des shot forward and crashed against the timetable board. Ross, having a few seconds warning, dived to the side. The van missed him by inches but the wing mirror didn’t. A solid crack on the head, the mirror bent backwards and Ross slumped forward into the open door of the battered van. A shocked Jerry saw the ponytail drape over his shoe and he felt nausea well up once again.
‘Is that the bastard who got Mary? Is that him?’
‘Y-Yeh.’
‘Pull him inside!’
‘Wha –?’
‘Come on! Grab him! There’s people coming! Grab his belt and hold on!’
Once again a podgy hand hit the gears, a Doc Marten stamped down with rage and the battered blue van hurtled off into the night.
25
The nurse was nice. It was as if she really cared, that Des was special, that he could reach out from his lousiness and hug that uniform which was so sexy because it wasn’t supposed to be. As he eased his way down the corridor with her holding his arm, he almost believed this was his true reward and they were on the way to Las Palmas.
‘You want me to call you a taxi?’
The downer. Come up for coffee, yes, but don’t expect to stay. Des heaved a big sigh. Just like always . . . what she’s paid to do.
‘It’s OK, a friend’s gonna pick me up. Park me in the waiting room and I’ll be fine.’ And he was fine. A little winded, a bit groggy, but not a broken bone or scratch on his skin. Big Gus had been a buffer, a human airbag, and after the check-up, Des was declared unharmed. Sad for Gus that he had a broken pelvis and severe concussion. But maybe not too sad. Des felt the van might’ve fared worse. Errol was already in the waiting room. He gave Des a ‘here we go again’ look and strolled over.
‘I can take over from here, nurse. Is he OK?’
‘Just shaken up that’s all. He needs rest and should watch out for signs of delayed reaction.’
‘Well, I guess I can handle that for him.’
Des groaned to himself. He somehow thought he was in the doghouse.
*
‘So how is it then, Errol, the state of things?’
‘Messy, real messy, of the bucketful of shit kind.’
‘Thought it might be.’
Errol eased his Audi into the traffic crawl that led to Argent Street. Rain was beginning to fall. The windscreen became a gleaming gem-case and the city outside was a slurry of light. Des eased back in his seat. He didn’t want to talk about the case, he didn’t care any more. All Des wanted was some soul slush from the CD, a few thoughts about Pearl and a nice joint so that the lights outside would make music too. Errol wasn’t going to oblige.
‘Come on, Des, what d’you know about the Ross abduction? I mean, him and that blue van have disappeared into thin air.’
‘They took him away!’
‘What d’you mean, “they”?’
‘I didn’t get much of a look, but I guess it was Jerry Coton and some of his anarchist friends.’
‘What?’
‘You know, the guy who was having it off with Mary.’ Des looked over at Errol and didn’t like the view. He quickly went on talking. ‘Well, this Jerry guy, he did stutter something about revenge. I reckon, some drop-out gits from the squat he’d shacked up in, they did some sort of guerrilla attack on Wainwright’s place.’
‘Eh? Des, why do I always get totally lost when I talk to you about this case? How would some spoilt white trash end up at the meet we had arranged? What the hell’s going on, Des?’
‘I did sort of mention it. They’re just half-crazy dopeheads that’s all.’
‘Je-sus!’
‘Don’t worry, they’ll turn up.’
‘Yeh, they’ll possibly turn up dead.’
‘Nah. Ross’ll probably thank them for rescuing him. He’ll probably give them the money I almost had my fingers on, the bastard. Shit, you haven’t got a spliff, have you, Errol?’
As they drove on, silence commenced, and accumulated. The calm-before-the-storm kind of silence that, as Des knew, the longer it went on, the greater the inevitable outburst. Des tried some pre-emptive charm.
‘Yeh, can’t agree with you more, Errol. It was a balls-up. Ross was slippery and well clued up; he was covering himself all the time. What could I do? But there was some loose talk surely, enough to get them all in for questioning?’
Errol kissed his teeth and stayed silent for a few minutes longer.
‘All right, Des, the wire wasn’t so bad as far as it went,’ he said. ‘A finger was put on Scobie and we can do all the forensic stuff and maybe nobble the shit. But the rest is totally dicey, Des. I told you, Wainwright has influence. They’re not going to act on that, especially with the way it all turned out. And I ain’t gonna push, man. There’s already a big dent in my promotion.’
‘Yeh, well, I guess I expected that, which is why I sent off some stuff to the local paper.’
‘What?’
‘Put all the blame on me, Errol. A loose cannon, an unregulated free enterprise PI, a stubborn and stupid dickhead. Feel free. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m thinking of fucking off to the Canary Isles anyway.’
‘Not just yet, brother. You’ve got to help me find Ross. Those little innuendoes on the tape? Bertha Turton is dead, Des, and that bastard seemed to know it!’
* * *
Someone had wiped the names off the map. Jerry didn’t know where he was. Several hours they’d been driving and he’d finally managed to get Mouse to take a break. All he could see was darkness, and the dots and threaded lines of lights on a black page. Jerry had ceased to believe in landscapes. All he knew was he stood outside and a lousy wind blew in his face. He looked uneasily back to the van. The ‘bad guy’ was in there. They had to decide what to do with him. Mouse’s idea was to drive to the sea and dump the guy in. ‘Simple,’ she said. Like hell it was. Mouse had a thing about the sea. A complete opposite to the city. A deep and wild place where the curve of the planet can always be seen. A place that makes you feel small but never downtrodden. Fine, but where was it? Whichever way you drive in England, she said, you always reach the sea. Yeh, great, unless you drive around in circles. Jerry lit a fag and made his own mark on the black page. He knew what was happening, he knew he wanted to back out. He kicked his feet restlessly. His hardly smoked fag fizzled into the hedge like a shooting star. Back to a black page. He went to the rear door of the van and opened it. Ross was splayed out on the mattress with arms and legs tied to the sides of the van. Jerry looked at the sack that covered his face and guessed he could probably be seen through it. But Ross didn’t move and he couldn’t speak because his gob was taped. What now? Jerry sighed and then reluctantly went to Mouse in the front cab.
‘I just looked in on the b-bad guy.’
‘I heard.’
‘He didn’t move a m-muscle.’
‘Maybe he’s had a heart attack.’
‘I d-didn’t think of that.’
‘I hope he hasn’t. Not after coming this far.’
Jerry sighed again. Mouse was counting out the money they’d found. The gun was stuffed in the waistband of her leggings and a half-smoked joint balanced on her lower lip.
‘So? Come on then, what wonderful ideas did the fresh air give you?’<
br />
‘C-Can’t say I g-got m-many, M-Mouse.’
‘You got some, though?’
‘I dunno . . .’
It wasn’t fair, Jerry thought. Mouse, she was just like any other down-and-out really, but she was so bright. She had a mind like a knife. He was all right with her most of the time, could ease along nicely and make believe that he didn’t stutter. But then, when she unsheathed her blade, he was stumbling over his tongue like a blind man on rocks.
‘I m-mean, well, you know I hate the shit, d-despise him. I m-mean, I’m really g-glad we’ve got this far . . .’
‘Got cold feet eh, Stray?’
‘I dunno, I c-can’t . . .’
He tried to hold his own and look her in the eye. Blue eyes, clear and lucid, they sat in her face like jewels in a battered casket. Yes, Mouse was showing signs of wear and tear. Worry lines and the beginnings of a double chin. Suddenly, Jerry began to feel horny and he thought that it wasn’t such a bad idea.
‘So what is it then, M-Mouse? What is it that m-makes you so – v-vindictive? It’s l-like you want to get your own b-back m-more than me.’
Jerry eased in close and rested his hand on the dome of her belly.
‘I don’t think you’d understand.’
‘C-Come on, I’ve t-told you stuff about me.’
Jerry began to edge his hand down her belly. Like always, it was exciting and Mouse didn’t seem to mind.
‘A lot of people say I’ve got a chip on my shoulder, a mean streak or whatever. I usually say back to them that it’s hardly surprising given the shit that’s around.’
Jerry moved his hand down to her legs, the bad guy and the crappy van fast disappearing from his thoughts.
‘I don’t understand it myself, cept I feel some sort of fear and want to kick out all the time. There’s this image I keep seeing, a darkened room and a tall dark shadow coming towards me. I don’t know who or when or what but I know that shadow means pain.’
As Jerry’s hand began to move between her legs, Mouse suddenly grabbed it.
‘Don’t do that!’ Her eyes narrowed and she began to bend his fingers back.
‘M-Mouse, I w-was only – ow!’
‘Shall we try and sort out what to do?’
‘OK, OK.’