by Ols Schaber
‘Sure. Here…’ Rebwar handed him one, and took another for himself.
‘Been in there long?’ Graham asked.
‘Oh no, not really. Just came for a quick one.’ Rebwar devised himself a backstory.
‘Haven’t seen your face here before.’ Graham dragged on the cigarette. ‘Those girls, they can push my buttons.’ With his hand, Graham pretended he had a large set of breasts and laughed.
‘Are you married?’ asked Rebwar, which seemed to freeze the mood.
Graham turned to stare at him. ‘Me? Oh no, I’m more the solo gentleman. Yep, that’s me. Like to be in charge of my own destiny. Like a cowboy that rides into the sunset. Get my drift?’ He grinned and looked up at the name of the bar.
Rebwar smiled. ‘Straight shooter as they say.’
‘Well that would be saying too much there, stranger. I like to keep my cards close to my chest.’
Rebwar’s attention was grabbed by the oriental girl. From the pavement he could see into the bar and she was wiggling her nearly bare bottom. A thin G-string struggled to keep her modesty intact. ‘So what kind of game does she play?’
‘That’ll be Minty with the two-for-one boobs. She likes a bargain that one.’ From his smile and nodding, Graham had been here a lot. He probably had the platinum loyalty card if they had one. But Rebwar couldn’t properly grill him, it was too open. So he finished his cigarette.
‘See you back in there.’
‘Sure will, cowboy,’ said Graham, pointing his finger back at him and winking.
Rebwar sat at the bar and ordered another beer. He half expected the oriental girl to fly over to him and ask for his attention. But she didn’t; she had been told to keep off him. Like a sold object, Rebwar had been marked. It was a strange feeling. He was itching to ask his suspect more detailed questions, ones that he probably didn’t want to answer. Graham walked back in and made his way to the curtain at the back. Rebwar was hoping the act had finished. He drank his beer to the end of the glass, brushed his mouth with his sleeve and went in.
As soon as he had entered, his eyes took a moment to take in the sight. It was what he had been dreading: Tamar naked, her long legs spinning around the silver pole. He watched. Feeling stupid and angry. The crowd was loving the show, Rebwar couldn’t look any more and tried to understand his strange feelings. He tried to focus on why he was here – Graham. He wasn’t in the crowd and this made him a little nervous. He spotted a door to the toilet. He had to find him and confront him.
It was bleak as Soho toilets go. Three urinals in different cracked states and a little door to a cubicle. Graham was there looking down. Rebwar couldn’t bring himself to say something; it was a sort of unwritten rule not to talk to each other while you relieved yourself, a sort of sacred time. He could hear the low thud of the music and some muffled cheering for Tamar’s act.
Graham glanced to see who had come in and then looked straight back down. ‘Shooting straight,’ he said.
Rebwar didn’t feel like doing any more small talk. He grabbed his collar and pushed him hard into the toilet.
‘Hey! What the fuck! I’m pissing here.’
‘What’s with the pricing of women?’ Rebwar pushed Graham’s unsteady body so that he folded in a sitting position on the toilet.
‘Look I’m wet – you… you… Shithead!’
‘Why do you do that? Are you a doctor or something?’ Rebwar stared at Graham with eyes looking for some answers.
Graham looked up. ‘You’re fucking crazy. Let me go.’
Rebwar grabbed his tie. ‘Are you selling meat or something like that? Butcher? Or failed surgeon? Tell me?’
‘No, no. You got this wrong, I’ve done nothing of the sort.’
‘Yeah, a straight shooter. Are you a killer?’
‘What, me? You’re fucking crazy! Let me go otherwise I’m going to–’
Rebwar tightened the tie around his neck and lifted him. Graham’s breathing became wheezy.
‘Do what? Ask for help? You’re just a lowlife. Did you kill Vasiles?’
Graham tried to grab things around him but all he found was the toilet roll. It unrolled itself onto the floor.
‘Go on, confess. Tell me you did.’
‘I don’t even know the guy. He sounds foreign to me. Let me go, you shithead!’
Rebwar felt it too. Graham wasn’t the killer. Rebwar let go of Graham’s tie and he slipped down with it. Rebwar looked down and, for a moment, felt sorry for him. Graham took the opportunity to hit him with his fists, both were lucky hits. Rebwar’s nose took the impact and drops of blood fell onto the floor. Then Rebwar saw Graham’s eyes swell up, he stepped back as if he had seen something truly horrible. The eyes rolled and Graham fainted. Rebwar couldn’t believe it: Graham had just fainted at the sight of Rebwar’s blood. He ripped a few sheets of toilet paper to blot his nose bleed. Then fished out his rotten tooth. Graham’s second punch had dislodged it. It was like a burst of pain relief. Rebwar held the tooth like it was a piece of jewellery and blood dripped down his hand. He wrapped it in some toilet paper and put it in his pocket. He checked Graham’s pockets. The door opened and a tall, dark-suited man walked in. His earpiece gave it away; he was the bouncer.
‘Hey, not a move, mate! Stay where you are!’ He used his radio to get backup. ‘Need some help here, I’ve got a Code Seven.’
After a few slaps from the bouncer, Graham came around. He used the situation to his advantage and blamed it on Rebwar, saying he had been mugged. Both were now by the emergency back door in an alley.
‘I’m a doctor and he was trying to mug me.’
‘He’s a compulsive liar. That’s what he is,’ said Rebwar.
‘I’m a regular here.’ Graham pointed at Rebwar. ‘Unlike this thief. You should arrest him.’ The bouncer looked down at Graham who held his hand out. ‘Graham Hicks – sorry Dr G. Hicks.’ The bouncer ignored his outstretched hand.
‘Gentlemen, calm down. We don’t tolerate any fighting at the Sunset. And this gentleman has a bloody nose.’
‘Self-inflicted – self-defence. You need to call the police. This is a police matter. Are you listening to me?’
Rebwar watched Graham nervously shaking.
‘Sir, were you trying to steal this man’s wallet?’
‘It fell out and I was picking it up. He fainted.’ Rebwar was giving the bouncer a chance to walk away. They weren’t going to involve the police, it was too much trouble for them. They might lose their licence. They were going to sort it out themselves.
‘Will you call the cops? I want justice. I am a respectable citizen. Otherwise I am going to make a citizen’s arrest.’ Graham was getting more agitated.
‘Graham, I don’t think you are understanding the situation here.’ The tall black-suited bouncer held him against the wall. ‘You’re not welcome here any more and you will now walk away without a fuss. And I don’t want to see your face here again. Understood?’
‘But, but…’
The bouncer looked down the alleyway for him to use.
‘This applies to you too, sir. I don’t want to know what all this was about.’
Rebwar nodded and looked for some smokes in his pocket. The three men returned into the Sunset Strip and closed the emergency exit. He knew this line was a dead end. He dragged on his cigarette and watched Graham stumble down the alley, trying to find his balance on the greasy alley walls. Rebwar took his rotten tooth out of his pocket. At least now he didn’t have to find a dentist, and he was hungry.
Twenty-Four
Geraldine had tracked Rebwar down. Her phone showed that he was by Belvedere Road just behind the Royal Festival Hall. He was picking up some couple, the man was in a black tie, his round belly held in neatly by a cummerbund. It reminded Geraldine of her dad, when she was allowed to help him put it on. The woman had a free flowing purple silk dress. It was a little risqué for her age and Geraldine wondered if he had made her wear it. She had squeezed her feet in some black velvet sh
oes and was now grumbling that they didn’t fit. Her husband who shone his dress shoes behind his trousers, tried to tell her that she looked like a million dollars. She replied that it wasn’t enough for a divorce.
Geraldine finished her cigarette and approached the car. Another man had already stepped into the back seat.
‘This cab stinks. You smoke in here?’ said the man.
It wasn’t the time to play musical chairs. She grabbed the rear passenger door. ‘If you don’t like it, then get lost. This is my cab.’
‘Excuse me?’
Geraldine sat in the back of the cab next to the man. ‘Sorry, but I ordered it. It’s my Uber. I think you’re mistaken.’ Geraldine watched the suited man with a mole on his nose. His already baggy eyes were reddening with irritation. ‘Out! Didn’t you hear me? Get lost. I need this cab.’
‘Excuse me! Mr Rebwar, I ordered you. Look…’ He leaned forward and pushed his phone at Rebwar.
‘Out! I’m in this fucking cab,’ Geraldine said.
‘Sorry, but language, lady!’
Geraldine grabbed the phone off him.
‘Hey, that’s my phone, lady. Give me my phone back. I ordered this cab and this is harassment.’ He tried to grab it back from her.
Geraldine could see Rebwar’s face, there was a hint of despair.
‘I don’t care, you’re getting out now.’ Geraldine had had enough of him. She stepped out, went around the cab and dragged him out of the back. He fell onto the wet ground. Geraldine dropped his phone on him.
‘Hey! You’ve lost it! Crazy! Whoa! Man! Mr Rebwar! Do something about this! This is your cab! I’m your responsibility! Duty of care!’
‘Get lost! Find another cab,’ Geraldine said. She sat down on the warm seat and fixed her seat belt.
The man picked himself off the ground. ‘On principle, I’m going to complain. No star for you! Actually, I’m calling the police. Look.’ And he showed her the number on the screen.
Geraldine closed the door, watched Rebwar sigh and looked at the man outside still shouting at her, trying to rouse some passers-by to join in his plight. ‘Show me the sights, Rebs,’ she said. ‘Show me some beauty.’
Rebwar slotted the car into gear and it moved silently away from the screaming man.
He drove over Waterloo Bridge and Geraldine watched the patchwork of lit landmarks, each one flashing for attention. She tried to name as many as she could see: London Eye, Cheesegrater, Shard, Gherkin, Walkie Talkie. The glowing river linked them all together. A few minutes’ drive ahead was Kennington. About a year before, she had been sitting at her local, The Dog House. Her marriage was on the rocks. Her career had hit rock bottom. She had given a false alibi for Rachel, lying about her sister’s whereabouts. Geraldine had said she was at the movies with Rachel. As well as disposing of a stash of coke that Rachel had been caught with, Dr Carver helped her dispose of the bags. Geraldine still thought that he had taken it and sold it on. Somehow (internal affairs) found out and she was now suspended awaiting a board of inquiry.
The Dog House was an old-school corner pub, full of characters as worn and colourful as the wooden decoration. Some were toothless, others posh. It was a melting pot of locals that liked to forget. She was there to join them. She was on her fourth Guinness when a bloke she had never seen walked in. He was casual, could have been a bouncer going to his shift. He walked up to the bar next to her. His face was a forgettable one. It was odd as she was in the corner of the bar. Generally people stood in the middle to order. He asked her if the Guinness was good.
‘It’s popular,’ she replied back. ‘Guinness needs to flow to be good.’
He asked if she wanted one, to which she agreed. They exchanged names, he rubbed his fat nose and looked around.
‘You’s a copper?’
‘Is it that obvious? Not my day.’
‘Suits you, gal. Like authority.’ He looked around again. ‘I was in the force, too, like.’
‘Really? Not MI6?’
‘Nah, seven years. Sergeant.’ He stuck three fingers like he had earned them. ‘What’s your angle?’
Geraldine showed him her wedding ring, just to keep him off.
‘Yeah, nice rocks. Well, heard you’s in trouble, know what I mean?’ He winked.
Geraldine looked around, wondering if this could have been a stick-up or something.
‘Mike, right?’
He nodded.
‘Say that again?’
‘I have a proposition.’
‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘Nah, nah it’s… hear me out.’ And he leaned so close, she could smell his cheap aftershave; it reminded her of her grandfather. ‘Right, there’s an outfit. Not gangsters or nothing like that. They want to help you. They know you’s in trouble.’
‘Right? And what’s the catch?’ Geraldine let doubt slip for a moment.
‘It’s not about a catch, we simply help each other for a common cause, right? We can sort it out and you just don’t ask questions. We give you little jobs. Nothing too taxing and we start from there. Get my drift?’
‘Yeah, but there must be a catch. Nothing is for free in this world and if it sounds too good to be true it must be. Why would I do that? I’m already in the shit.’
‘We can make things right, trust me. We’ve done it before. All I can say now it’s called Plan B. And we look after our own.’ He drained a third of his pint. ‘Your other option is jail. That’s what is going happen to ya.’
Geraldine grabbed her pint like it was something reassuring and safe. Looked at the blackness of it.
‘OK, love… you’re twenty-eight, born the twentieth of May in Kent. You have a sister, Rachel, who’s now in jail. Mum lived in Borehamwood, divorced. Like–’
‘Enough. What do you want?’
‘Work for us and we’ll sort your little mess.’
‘And the catch?’
‘You do as you’re told, no questions, no snooping around behind our backs. Look, love, I don’t think I need to spell it out. You’re a clever little… woman. All right?’ Mike drank another third of his pint and ordered a chaser. He asked her if she wanted one. Geraldine nodded, she needed some help. He held a large roll of cash which she hadn’t noticed before. His left hand had five tattooed dots by his thumb.
‘Do I have to sign anything?’ Geraldine smiled and gave out a nervous giggle.
‘We’ll be in touch.’ Mike downed the rest of his pint and the shot. He left a twenty-pound note on the bar and winked. Geraldine watched him leave, his denim jacket as wide as a door, his heavy steps clonking on the old polished wood. She still looked back at that image, it was like the devil had left her in purgatory – only it was called Plan B. It had been rebranded.
‘Boro digeh,’1 shouted Rebwar as he honked a pedestrian out of his way.
‘You know, when I see that view I can forgive – even if underneath this glitz it’s full of scum, filth and corruption. Put on some Heart FM.’
Rebwar tuned the radio to her favourite station. Geraldine listened silently, held back her thoughts as he drove around like one of those sightseeing buses, making sure he slowed down at each location. She asked him to stop along the river close to the monument to the Special Operations Executive agents. A strip of bricked off grass and some trees ran along the embankment to the swollen Thames. She went over and sat down on one of the wooden benches that faced a scaffolded parliament. The river glowed from the live white reflection, she searched for her brandy bottle. ‘Hey, Rebs, give us a cuddle.’
Rebwar sat down.
‘Only joking, don’t see you as a cuddling type. You love your job, don’t you?’ She pulled back and looked at his eyes.
‘You mean police work and not taxi? Yes I do.’
‘It never leaves us. It’s like a disease. A fucking curse.’
Rebwar looked, nodded and smiled a little. He did listen well.
‘I just can’t let it go. They told me to but I can’t.’
‘Are they going to send me back?’
‘No, no they still need you.’ Geraldine grabbed his hand to reassure him, even if it wasn’t up to her, but she could pretend. She enjoyed his warm hands, strong and reassuring. ‘Did you see anything at Bijan’s house?’
He got his hand back to rub his thumb and index finger, a sign for money. ‘Sad old man. Very rich but not much else. What do they want with him?’
‘No idea. You know the drill. But you need to talk to the site manager. He hired Stefan. Even if the case has been passed on to the murder squad.’
‘Why?’
Geraldine watched his disappointed face; she had been dreading the moment.
He looked away and spat on the ground. ‘They have found another body, haven’t they?’ he said, nearly smiling. Some tourists walked by taking photos of the view. ‘How?’ He clicked his tongue.
Geraldine smiled. ‘Good guess. Yes, but… of course it’s related – similar MO.’ She offered Rebwar a ready mixed can of G&T.
He passed.
‘I’ve done some moonlighting, and I think our killer has been disposing of his bodies in rubbish bags. Butchers’ rubbish bags. He likes to cut them up and scatter the pieces on various sites. We found another one on its way to an incinerator, and one of those bags fell out of a barge.’
‘So those were mistakes. He’s not gloating, is he?’
‘No, I can’t think of the motive either. He’s not going to be easy… Can’t we talk about something else? Something stupid – the weather? It’s shit…OK, OK.’ Geraldine looked across the river. ‘How about a story? Tell me a nice story.’