Civvies

by Lynda La Plante

  Dillon looked quickly at Susie, gawking a little. Susie smiled at the carpet, flushing.

  Later, as they were undressing in the lamplight, Dillon said, 'So you think you'll pass?' His feelings were at sixes and sevens, not sure whether he felt proud, or threatened, or what.

  'I don't know.' Susie crawled into bed and lay down on the pillow, eyes closed. 'I can still have lessons then?'

  'I'm sorry… he's an okay bloke.' Dillon sat on the edge of the bed in his jockey shorts, elbows on his knees. 'Things have been getting on top of me – well, Jimmy. He means well.' He sighed, shaking his head. 'It's just so easy for him, he's been out longer. Well, to be honest,' Dillon admitted in a rare moment of confession, 'he's arranged most of it…'

  'What about the others – Cliff, and, and -' Susie yawned.

  'Harry. Harry Travers. He's okay, and Cliff. It's just… Jimmy.' Dillon picked at some loose skin on his thumb. 'There was a night, in Northern Ireland, there were ten of us, me and my lads, and we were…'

  A soft snore made him look round. Dillon reached over and drew the bedcover up around his wife's shoulder. He gently touched her cheek. He said in a whisper, 'I'm trying, Susie.'

  By shoving the desk forward a couple of feet and pushing the chairs to the wall, Harry had found a space for his doss bag. With a chicken vindaloo, mushroom pilau and two brinjal bhajis keeping the lid on five pints of bitter and two large Jamesons, he was well away, snoring loudly. From above, the faint sound of Annie Lennox, the murmur of voices and laughter, but Harry slept on.

  Two shapes slid past the window, silhouetted in the streetlight. The clink of something metallic, the protesting groan of timber, and then a sharp crack as full leverage was applied.

  Harry stopped a mid-snore. His eyes came open. He held his breath, listening. The splintering of wood from the passage confirmed it; he hadn't been dreaming. In one movement he slid out of the sleeping bag, kicked it under the desk, rocked himself up. Barefooted, wearing his old maroon tracksuit with the blue regimental crest and the word 'Airborne' on the left breast, he moved to his bergen and from a side pouch slid out a nine-inch iron bar with a bulbous end.

  A slit of light appeared under the door as someone flashed a torch.

  Harry crept round the desk, flattened himself against the wall. Torchlight fanned out under the door. A floorboard creaked. Harry raised the iron bar. The knob twisted and the door slowly opened.

  Harry waited just long enough to check out there was more than one, and as the torchbeam swept the office, let the first man have it, downward smash, on the back of the head, knocking him cold. He swung round to face the second man, a big sod, framed in the doorway, and beckoned to him with a smile.

  'Come on, you bastard… come on!'

  The man lunged. Something glinted in his hand. Harry pivoted on the balls of his feet, chopped the wrist as the blade went for him, and heard a clatter of metal. The man stumbled forward under his own momentum. Harry clipped him with the iron bar, and the man collided with the desk, sending it crashing over. He was up fast, hurling the telephone, a chair, anything he could lay his hands on. Then it was Harry's turn. He saw the right hook coming, parried it with his left arm, brought up the iron bar and clouted the man across the ear. The man staggered, nearly fell, regained his balance. Harry followed in with a heel to the knee-cap and finished it off with a head-butt. It was a job well done, neat, tidy, professional, and Harry, softly rifting vindaloo fumes, felt quite pleased with himself.

  CHAPTER 25

  Cliff's jaw sagged as he took in the shambles. 'Bloody hell, does Frank know yet?' he asked, stepping over a broken chair. He looked round, shaking his head, and then saw the two figures hunched against the wall, shirts pulled up and knotted over their heads, arms between their knees, hands and feet tied together.

  Harry leaned against the overturned desk. One sleeve of his tracksuit was rolled up, his forearm bandaged and taped. He straightened up as Dillon walked in and stopped dead in the doorway, staring. Susie appeared behind him, peering round his shoulder.

  Scratching his head, Harry launched in, 'They broke in last night. I didn't even feel it,' pointing to the bandage, 'but one of 'em slashed me arm, so when I done the business… Hello, love,' he greeted Susie, 'I went to the hospital. I just got back.'

  'I'll go,' Susie said. She looked up into Dillon's face. 'I thought it all sounded too good to be true.'

  'Susie!' Dillon called as she stumped out. He half-turned to go after her and changed his mind. He looked at the wrecked office and then at the two men, trussed up like IRA suspects. 'You didn't call the police?'

  'No.' Harry moved across to them. 'I might have been a bit nasty, I gave 'em both a hell of a whack…' It sounded more apologetic than boastful. 'And then when I turned the lights on -' reaching down and yanking up one of the shirts ' – I recognised him!'

  So did Dillon. It was Newman's minder, Colin, the one with the widow's peak and the permanent five o'clock shadow, only now it was a nine o'clock shadow the morning after. His hair was matted with blood, and it had caked down one side of his face. There was a sock stuffed in his mouth, which was why his bulging-eyed fury was restricted to apoplectic gurgles and choking grunts.

  Dillon was puzzled. 'What did they want? Did they get our cash? I mean – why wreck the place?'

  'Ask him! Or whichever -' Harry tore off the shirt, revealing the other man's head, which had an open gash along the jawline and two bloodshot eyes separating a yellow bruise ' – you want!'

  Jaunty steps down to the basement and Jimmy breezed in, whistling. As the whistle died away to silence, the phone rang. Jimmy kicked the broken chair aside. 'What the hell's been goin' on?'

  Dillon threw his hands up. He snapped irritably, 'Answer the phone, Cliff!'

  'I'm lookin' for it, all right?' Cliff said, down on his hands and knees, crawling through the wreckage. He found the wire and traced it hand over hand to the corner behind the filing cabinet.

  Dillon pulled the sock out of Colin's mouth and narrowly avoided being spat in the face for his trouble. The man was berserk, frothing at the mouth, eyes rolling.

  'You bastards! I'll have this place torched! You bastards – crazy bastards -'

  'Hey Frank, Frank,' Cliff yelled. 'This is business, it's Shirley…'

  'Get rid of her.' Dillon clamped his hands to Colin's face. 'You shut it!' he snarled.

  Cliff was still yelling. 'Jimmy, can you get your hands on a roller for a weddin'? It's Mavis's sister, friend of Shirley's, she's been let… Jimmy?'

  'You make your soddin' weddin' plans another time,' Dillon shouted. 'Get off the phone!'

  'It's not my weddin – it's a job!'

  Jimmy whirled on him. 'Say yes, get off the phone!'

  'Order a hearse, you're gonna need one,' Colin muttered, dark murder in his eyes. Dillon used the back of his hand to smash Colin's head against the wall.

  Cliff had finished the call and hovered near the door. 'Burt it's tomorrow, Frank… they want a Roller.'

  With a glaze over his eyes Dillon grabbed Cliff by the collar, shoved him into the passage and slammed the door, screaming, 'Get off the fuckin' phone!'

  He turned back. Harry was swinging his leg. His toe thudded into Colin's ribs. Colin, already hunched over, hunched deeper, howling. Dillon said, 'You got ten seconds. What you after?'

  Colin's strained, agonised face came up. 'He just wants the bloody elephant back…'

  Dillon went down on one knee, gripped Colin by the throat, fingers digging in. His voice was lethal.

  'You tell that prick Newman – he wants somethin' from me, then all he had to do was ask!'

  He stood up, eyes glittering, yanked his jacket straight, and went to the door, jerking his head for Harry to follow.

  'What you doin'?' Jimmy asked, confused.

  Dillon said coldly, 'They're your friends, take ' em to Newman!' and went out.

  Shirley was doing the tricky bit round the window frame when Dillon and Harry showed up. Sh
e let them in and went back to her scissors, straight edge and paste brush. 'Did you get that Roller organised?' she asked Dillon, who was standing near the door, looking round the room. It took him a second to cotton on.

  He nodded, lifting a dust sheet. 'Cliff's handling that personally.'

  'Well that's all right then.' Shirley peeled away the edge of the wallpaper, snipped three times, pressed it back. '… Mavis is givin' me my dress at cost price, if Susie wants anythin' run up, shirts, blouses, she'll -'

  Dillon spotted it, under a sheet of newspaper on the sideboard. 'We've just come to pick up the elephant.' He grabbed it, stepped over paint cans on his way to the door.

  'Oh!' Shirley glanced round with a surprised smile. 'Can you change it?'

  Dillon looked at her and then looked at Harry, who shrugged. What's she on about? Down in the street, Harry opened the rear door of the security wagon and they climbed in. Sitting opposite one another on the steel benches, Dillon held the elephant in both hands and gave it a gentle shake, then a harder one.

  'Is it hollow?' Harry sucked at the fringes of his moustache. 'You don't think it's drugs, do you?'

  'It's not hollow, doesn't sound hollow.' Dillon snapped the trunk off where Cliff had fixed it and tapped the solid part with his fingernail. He held the elephant up, turning it this way and that. 'Can you see joins?'

  Harry had a brainwave. 'Ivory, it's illegal – he's bringin' in ivory! Is that ivory, the tusks?'

  'Harry,' said Dillon wearily, 'the tusks are an inch long – he'd need twenty tons of them. Come on, let's get back to camp.'

  Harry reached for the handle that wasn't there; the inside of the door was smooth welded steel with a horizontal slit near the top.

  'Ohhh shit! You can't open the doors from inside,' Harry suddenly remembered. 'It's a security device…'

  Dillon closed his eyes.

  'It's okay,' Harry said, peering through the slit. He whistled. 'Oi… Oi, Shirley!'

  About to dump a black plastic bag in the bin at the garden gate, Shirley looked round. Harry's eyes squinted at her through the slit.

  'Can you just open the door, Shirley… we're locked inside.'

  Shirley doubled over, shaking with laughter. 'Call yourselves a security firm…!'

  There must have been ten thousand items in the warehouse. Rack upon rack of carved wooden figurines, brass ornaments, beaded cloths, ashtrays, beaten copper tea trays, ebonite letter openers, brass wind chimes, pregnant fertility goddesses, tigers, elephants and snakes of baked terracotta with bits of coloured glass for eyes. The peoples of the Indian sub-continent were paid starvation wages for churning out the stuff. Barry Newman imported it by the container-load and slapped on a mark-up of twelve hundred per cent. It was what was known as enterprise initiative.

  Newman moved along the racks, his gaunt, hollow face as stiff as one of the carved heads. Jimmy walked behind him, stepping lightly as if he were treading on eggshells. 'Frank said you gave it to him!' Jimmy protested, not liking the wheedling tone of his own voice, especially after the third or fourth time.

  Newman stopped. Seized by a sudden fit of rage, his bony hand shot out, sent one of the metal racks toppling, hundreds of cheap and nasty artifacts and ornaments crashing to the concrete floor.

  'I am gettin' tired of repeating myself, Jimmy,' Newman said flatly, not even raising his voice above the clattering echoes. 'He was given one from the first shipment, but the missing one came from the second! What did he do? Switch them?'

  Jimmy backed away, hands raised. 'It's just a mix up, leave it with me and I'll sort it. You'll have it tonight!' he promised.

  He turned and hurried out as two of Newman's men started to clear up the debris. What bloody game was Dillon playing? Messing with Newman, he wanted his bumps feeling. Newman had been mates with the Krays and had picked up one or two of their nice little habits. And added a few neat twists of his own. Like carving his initials in people's faces, using knee-caps for target practice. Dillon wasn't part of the Maroon Machine any more, he was in civvies, and if he didn't wake up quick to that fact, he'd soon wake up dead.

  'Go on,' Dillon urged Harry, who was standing over the elephant with a hammer. 'Smash it!' Jimmy walked in and saw the elephant on the desk. He said in a relieved voice, 'Frank, you got it!' and then saw Harry, hammer raised high. 'No! Wait…!'

  Horrified, he watched as Harry clouted it one, smashed off a chunk and knocked the elephant to the floor. Dillon picked it up, set it back on the desk. 'Hit it again…'

  'Come on, don't mess around,' Jimmy said, frantic. 'Give it me!'

  Harry brought the hammer down, this time the arse-end and one of the back legs fell off. 'It's solid, Frank,' was Harry's considered opinion.

  The phone rang, over in the corner. Distracted, Jimmy looked round and saw it was on top of the filing cabinet where Cliff has left it. He snatched up the receiver, eyes fixed on Harry, who was hefting the hammer for another crack.

  'Yeah?' Jimmy almost snarled into the phone. 'What? Shit…' He covered the mouthpiece. 'It's a geezer wantin' a cab to Gatwick… Don't smash it, Harry!'

  Jimmy flapped his arm desperately. 'Harry – wait!'

  Too late.

  'I need it by eleven in the morning, but it's got to be white,' Cliff said to Fernie. They were standing outside the main workshop doors, a weak sun playing hide-and-seek behind some threatening clouds.

  Fernie wiped his hands on an oily rag, looking round the yard. 'That's all I've got,' he said finally, pointing a black-rimmed fingernail. Cliff goggled. It was a hearse. Chromium-plated cherubs supporting the coffin guide-bars in the long rear window.

  'I can put seats in the back,' Fernie offered helpfully.

  The portable phone beeped on the Granada's dashboard. Cliff reached inside to answer it. 'Who? What? Gatwick?' He frowned into the phone. 'But I'm out of gas! Hang on…' He patted his pockets, pulled out an Oddbins receipt, and turned to Fernie. 'Can you lend us twenty quid till tomorrow?'

  Fernie just stared at him.

  The last of the stragglers were heading off home when Susie arrived at the schoolyard. She went through the gates, struggling with two Tesco carrier-bags laden with shopping, a skirt she'd just collected from the dry cleaner's in a plastic wrapper under her arm. Stupid woman had got the tags mixed up, which was why she was late. The last of the kids had gone by now, the yard empty except for two boys aimlessly kicking a football about.

  She went over to them. 'Do you know Phil and Kenny Dillon?' One of the boys shrugged, while the other simply ignored her, balancing the ball on his instep.

  The caretaker came out with a bunch of keys. Same question, and pretty much the same response. Susie trailed back to the gates, a breathless, fluttery sense of panic in her chest. But they couldn't have gone far, they'd been told time and again not to wander off. They were good kids really. She looked worriedly up and down the street… just wait till she got her hands on the pair of them!

  One of the boys called out, 'They were picked up, 'bout fifteen minutes ago.'

  Frank? But he was working. Then who? Susie started running.

  CHAPTER 26

  The pressure was on. Dillon felt he was in the middle of a Marx Brothers movie, not sure whether he was Groucho, Chico, Harpo, or Karl. First Cliff rang in: transport for tomorrow's wedding job sorted, which was one headache less, at least. The instant Dillon put the phone down it rang again. Marway. Appointment with the bank manager fixed up. Could they make it for ten in the morning, on the dot? 'Yeah!' Dillon was excited. 'Yeah, we'll be there…'

  With the elephant under his arm, Jimmy was halfway to the door.

  'Wait…!'

  Harry, who was on his way out, came back in.

  'Not you, Harry, go on, get out – put that back!' Dillon said to Jimmy, pointing at the desk. He spoke into the phone. 'Sorry, Mr Marway… yes, okay, and thank – thank you very much.'

  He banged the phone down and darted for the door, yelling, 'Harry! Harry – wait!' and caught up w
ith him in the passage. 'We got an appointment at the bank with the manager.' Dillon counted the tips of his fingers. 'Now, we'll need all your deeds, an' all our commendations from the Army, an' -'

  The phone rang. Jimmy shouted from the office, 'Frank, it's Susie!'

  'Ask her what she wants,' Dillon called, not quite through. He was still on his third finger, trying to remember what it was. Somebody knocked on the door, making him forget completely. 'See who it is, Harry,' Dillon said, turning back.

  'Bloody hell, what you think I am, a yo-yo?' Harry grumbled, opening the door. 'Tell me one thing, then -' Two engineers in trim grey overalls, British Telecom logo on their breast pockets. 'Frank!' Harry yelled over his shoulder. 'Hey, Frank, better come out here…'

  Halfway through the door, Dillon swayed back from the hips, got a peek, and dived into the office. Jimmy was saying into the phone, 'He's just comin'… what? No, we bin here all afternoon.' He held out the receiver to Dillon with one hand and picked up the elephant with the other.

  'Put that back!' Dillon ordered, grabbing the phone off him. He jerked his thumb. 'There's two blokes out there from the GPO, take care of them!' Jimmy opened his mouth as if to protest or perhaps explain, but Dillon wouldn't give him the chance. 'I warned you about connecting the phones – just sort it out.'

  Reluctantly, dawdling, Jimmy turned away.

  'Sue?' Dillon said. And then through his teeth: 'Give that here, Jimmy!'

  Sighing, Jimmy put the elephant down on the desk. The engineers were just outside the door, looking up at the electric box. One of them unclipped a pencil torch. 'Is there a problem, mate?' inquired Jimmy heartily. He glanced behind at Dillon and pulled the door shut. 'Only we just moved into the premises…'

  Dillon sat on the edge of the desk, frowning at the elephant, what was left of it, with its decorative head-covering of tiny beads and glass baubles, vaguely trying to concentrate on what Susie's agitated voice was saying.