'Ohh.' Snakes laughed. 'Truth hurt a little… Stop fucking kidding yourself and get wise, Smiler… Also,' he moved closer and Smiler could smell the stink of fish on his breath, 'nobody gives a fuck what you do, they’re all too busy earning their own readies… Here, try this and chill. Come on man, you remember how good it is, don’t you, eh, don’t you? Course you do… It’s not that long ago that you were fucking begging for it… I swear, man, you are seriously gonna love this. Here, have the first one on me… Go on… It’s like what you’ve been chasing since your very first hit. The place you thought you’d never find again.'
Smiler stared at the small plastic bag in Snakes' hand. Yes, he remembered, missing days, missing nights, where the pain of living and the memories of horrendous abuse stretching as far back as I can remember, disappeared on a magic cloud. He hesitated. It would be good to forget.
To go away.
To the land of no pain.
Mesmerised by the small yellow pill, he slowly reached out.
CHAPTER FIVE
'You fucking dirty sly bastard.' Mike dragged the hitman up the stone steps, giving him a hefty shake strong enough for his teeth to jar together on every step. Into the police station, past half a dozen giggling prostitutes milling about, obviously waiting for their pimp to show, who would without doubt, with the help of a do-gooder, talk his way out of the thousands of pounds' worth of tax-payers money that it had taken to catch him and his stable. Then, still dragging the man behind him, he ran the gauntlet of a handful of drunks, all snarling and making threatening gestures to each other. Now that was something he wouldn’t like to sort out.
Sometimes Mike wondered if it was all worth it.
'Hey there, big boy, meet you later?' a tall leggy blonde shouted after him.
Ignoring her, Mike shoved the now protesting man into a side room and left, quickly locking the door, not trusting himself to be alone with him for a moment longer.
Hurrying down the corridor he barged in to the commander’s office, the door swinging behind him. Two other people were in the room, Detectives Tom Berriman and Anthony Driver. One had been a good friend, almost a brother, since they were boys with the same burning ambition. He had moved to London ten years ago and ranked with Mike. The other was not much better than the grey- haired bespectacled prat in front of him. The same prat who hid behind everyone in the department and managed to come out smiling each time he bungled things. Commander Ross Simmonds, alias Oliver Hardy.
Well, not this time, mate.
Throwing the holdall on to the desk and scattering papers every which way, Mike shouted, 'Clean sweep of the area, eh? Eh? That’s what you said, isn’t it?'
Commander Simmonds spluttered, but Mike wasn’t letting him have the chance to say anything and wriggle out of this one.
'Nice quiet little backwater you said, decent people earning a decent living. No one will know who or what you are, a safe cover…Yeah, right.'
The commander frowned, his small square gold-framed glasses slipping down his nose, the same glasses that Mike was itching to snatch off the pompous prat’s face and stamp on. 'I don’t understand, Yorke, what seems to be the problem? And aren’t you supposed to be out on a bust?' Shoving his glasses back up his nose, he glanced at the clock on the wall above Mike’s head.
Without mincing words Mike proceeded to tell him exactly what the problem was, demanding to know, in the process, what the fuck the man who had lived in the flat below him for the last three months, the very man who had pretended to be his friend, was doing with a fucking machine gun in his possession, and lying in wait for him to show.
CHAPTER SIX
Smiler grabbed the bag of goodies, held them up to the light, looked at them for a moment, then slowly studied Snakes. You could tell right off that this fool was addicted to the shit he sold.
Not so long ago I would have had the same look on my face, a look of pure worship.
'Go on, man…' Snakes' eyes glittered. He knew how much Smiler had been dependent on him before, how much money he’d cost him this last month or two, when he’d somehow managed to wriggle out of the net, and just how far Smiler would have gone in past times to get his fix. Marks like Smiler, you didn’t like to lose. 'I fucking promise you, kid, there’s nothing like it.'
'Nothing like it, eh?'
'Yeah, man, they’ve only hit the streets this week, and already everybody’s raving about them… Going crazy for the little yellow fuckers… Don’t know how you haven’t heard, it’s all the buzz… Oh yes, been shacked up with your new friend, haven’t you.' He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
Smiler watched, then his eyes were drawn back to the packet.
Just one. That’s all, so I can remember.
One more time.
Seeing Smiler’s fascination and sensing his growing weakness, Snakes went in for the kill. 'Take some for him, why don’t you? Go on man, chill out together.' He threw his head back, exposing the filth in the creases of his neck, and laughed, 'You know it’s not a party on your own.'
He leaned forward smirking in Smiler’s face now, close enough for Smiler to see his manky green teeth and realise that’s where the smell was coming from. Quickly, trying not to gag, Smiler moved his face away from the smell.
Snakes laughed, confident that this fish was hooked again, and counting the quid’s already. He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. He got a shock a moment later though, when Smiler threw his wares back in his face, and the bag burst, scattering the contents all over the path and into the gutter.
'Thanks, but no thanks.' Wondering where he’d summoned the courage to walk away, Smiler turned and headed quickly back the way he had come, leaving a cursing screaming Snakes to pick his goodies up out of the gutter.
I owe Mike an apology. I’ve been stupid, bloody stupid.
He knew that Mike didn’t go for 'mumbo jumbo’ as he frequently called it, but Smiler knew the visions weren’t coming from the drugs. He’d been having them for as long as he could remember, and been terrified from the beginning.
He stuck his chin out, a stubborn look on his face. If Mike could only see inside my head, see what I see.
But it’s because of Mike that I had the strength to walk away. Without him I would have caved, and one more hit would probably see me in a straightjacket for life.
I owe him big time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mike was nearly at the safe house when his mobile rang. Pulling over to the side of the road, he opened it. Caller id said ‘Tony.’ Mike was amazed to find he was a little miffed at his old friend. He hadn’t given it much thought until now, but he’d stood there and said nothing the whole time he was in the prat’s office.
'Hmm.' He put the mobile to his ear. 'Yes, it’s Mike.'
'Hi, where are you?'
'Why?'
'Thought we might have a nightcap, seeing as you’re leaving in the morning.'
Mike hid a sigh. It would be churlish to say no. He guessed that Tony was probably aware that he was pissed off with him. 'OK, where?'
'The Clachan?'
'Right, ten, fifteen minutes.' Mike put his mobile away and, taking the first right, headed towards Soho.
The Clachan, a quaint Victorian pub with a lot of its main features still intact, was in Kingly Street. It still had its original ornate ceiling, rich woodcarving and pretty tiles in the entrance. It was a place Mike liked to relax in. Also it had the added attraction of serving real ales. When he got there he found Tony already seated at the back with two pints of ale in front of him.
On the surface Tony looked calm, his blond hair cropped close to his head, the usual pale grey suit and blue tie, always the perfect match to his eyes. He had dozens of them and demanded them for presents, and God help you if you bought the wrong shade. But Mike knew Tony well. He’d thought for weeks that something was bothering his old friend and had tried in roundabout ways to get it out of him, but nothing had worked. Sitting, he picked his pint up and to
ok a long swallow. As he put the glass back on the table, Tony said, 'So I guess that’s it, then. Back home tomorrow.'
'No thanks to you.'
'Look, Mike, I did everything I could to help. You just rubbed each other the wrong way.'
Mike raised an eyebrow, 'Strange, I don’t remember you ever being in my corner, even when you knew he was wrong… Which was, come to think of it, most of the damn time.'
'You didn’t know how to handle him. If I had stuck up for you in front of him, believe me, you would have been sent packing long ago.'
'So you’re saying you worked behind the scenes?'
'How do you think you lasted this long? I did my best, not that you made it easy for him to like you with quips like, “How about never, is never good for you?' ' Mike grinned as Tony went on, 'And “Your cry-baby whiny-arsed opinion would be?' And what about, “This isn’t an office, it’s hell with florescent lighting!' ' That one made Mike wince, as Tony carried on, 'And how about, “Wait a minute, I’m trying to imagine you with a personality.' ' Mike shrugged. 'But the humdinger just had to be, “If I throw a stick, will you leave?'… Jesus, Mike! Simmonds has about as much a sense of humour as an upside-down tortoise.'
'Hmm. Well, all I can say in my defence is, it seemed like a good idea at the time.' He looked at Tony. A second later they both burst out laughing.
'Guess I’m better off up home… And,' he pulled a face, 'an upside- down tortoise?'
Tony nodded, 'Picture it… And I guess you are… Better back home.' He picked his pint up and took a good long drink, smacking his lips, a habit Mike remembered from their school days. Tony used to do the same whenever they got their hands on a glass of pop.
Putting the glass down, Tony said, 'OK, he’s a prat, you’re right. But better the prat you know than the one you don’t… He only got promoted to the top spot because of his connections.'
'The old boy network?'
'Something like that. One of his cousins is a count or an earl, what you might call very highly connected.'
'Huh.'
Tony shrugged. 'It’s the way of the world, Mike. You should get used to it.'
'Huh.'
'Are you gonna sulk all night?'
Mike sighed. 'Guess not.' He did believe that Tony would have protected his back. They’d looked out for each other for as long as he could remember, the three of them, him, Tony and Dave, the three amigos. 'OK.' He smiled, drained his pint, and put the empty glass on the table. 'It's your turn, mate.'
'Er, I don’t think so, didn’t I just get them in?'
'Yeah, but I’ve been very upset,' Mike laughed.
'You’d make a damn good conman, Michael Yorke,' Tony said, as he got up and went to the bar.
When he returned Mike said solemnly, 'So what do I tell her? You know she’s gonna be hounding me for news.'
Tony frowned. Looking genuinely regretful, he said, 'Tell her I’m sorry but I will be up north soon, I promise.'
'Yeah, really?'
Tony couldn’t disguise the look of guilt as he said. 'I do phone often, you know, and I never ever miss a birthday.'
Mike turned his head and looked Tony full in his face. 'It’s not the same though, is it?' But the thing that bothered Mike the most was that Tony had said, 'up north', and not 'up home'.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mike switched the TV on in the hotel bedroom. Half a dozen policemen had been sent to his flat to collect his belongings. He’d left them packed. No sense in unpacking for one night, he was on the nine o’clock train home in the morning.
And personally he couldn’t wait. Most of the guys down here had been pretty much all right. A couple of them had even taken him home to meet their families and provided a cooked meal, more than once. And it had been great meeting up and spending time with Tony, whose visits home lately had been rare, as well as working on the same job as him. But, like everywhere, there were always tits and prats and the commander was the biggest cock-up he’d ever met.
He laughed at himself as he channel-hopped. He watched the depressing news for a minute wondering if commentators were brainwashed to ignore anything good that ever came over the wires, instead choosing the worst shit they could find to depress the world.
He threw the remote on the bed. Inside he was still seething, though he’d never let on to Tony. Three months' work down the drain, and that bastard downstairs had my number all along.
'Nice night, just going over the common with the dog, fancy tagging along?' Mike mimicked, then growled, 'The cheeky twat… Oh, shit, the dog!'
Jumping up, he shrugged into his jacket. He’d been told to keep away from the area for his own safety, but the idea of the dog left to starve he couldn’t live with. It could be days before they got round to searching the flat. He could phone it in, but the dog was no cutie that would easily be rehomed. And he knew that he would only be kept so long before they put him to sleep.
It took a few minutes to climb down the fire escape at the back to avoid the patrol car outside, then twenty minutes to drive back to his old place. Parking two streets away in a dark patch where some toe rag had conveniently smashed the street light, he quietly made his way to the flat. There was only one house light on in the whole street, and that was an old lady who lived alone in the middle. Rumour had it that she’d been a big star in the fifties, though no one knew what name she’d used. Mike thought she’d probably started the rumours herself. She always smiled and said hello very regally when Mike bumped into her in the corner shop on a morning. She also reminded him very much of his Aunt May. Now, she would be quite capable of concocting something like that.
He reached his flat and went down the basement steps. Silently he opened the letterbox and put his ear to the empty space. He heard a snuffling then a thumping noise as Tiny’s tail beat off the wall.
'Shh, boy… Get back,' Mike whispered as he straightened up. Turning sideways, he caved the door in with his shoulder. A moment later he was pounced on by one of the biggest German shepherd-cross-Irish wolfhounds he’d ever seen, his face soaked in moments by dog kisses.
'Come on,' Mike whispered, as he wiped his face with his hand and reached up for Tiny’s lead from the hanger on the back of the broken door.
Two more minutes and they were in the car. As Mike pulled away, a car with three very unhappy-looking men pulled into the street. Jumping quickly out of the car, two of them ran up to Mike’s flat. The other one headed towards the basement flat.
Stopping at a twenty-four hour Tesco, Mike bought dog food, let Tiny out of the car and fed him. As Mike watched the dog wolf the food down, his thoughts turned to Smiler, wondering how to let him know he would be gone tomorrow. It doesn’t seem right to just up and go. I would at least like a chance to talk to him again, maybes get him to come up north sometime for a holiday. It would be good to keep in contact with him.
Opening a bottle of water, he filled a flask top to the brim. When Tiny had drunk his fill, he walked him round the car park, noticing cars leaving and cars arriving. It seemed as if a hell of a lot of people shopped on a night. He shrugged. This was in a busy part of London. He put Tiny back in the car, where he sat regally on the front seat next to Mike. Mike opened the window and Tiny hung his huge head out. Having scanned the car park repeatedly, Mike drove off and went to look for Smiler.
He tried the Embankment first. No one had seen him for days, but Mike got the feeling that even if they had, he would be the last to know. As he was walking away from a bunch of black kids, a stunning young woman in a very short skirt and high heels, blonde hair piled Amy Winehouse-style on top of her head, pouted at him and offered him a very good time in a deep masculine voice. Mike smiled, and muttered, 'No thanks.'
'You sure, you beautiful man?'
'I’m sure.' Still smiling, Mike walked on.
Behind him he could hear the kids greeting the transvestite. 'Hi, Rita.' Mike turned his head to look at them, a hint of amusement on his face, as a police car pulled up.
; A huge policeman with a barrel chest jumped out of the passenger side, as a smaller bored-looking policeman got out of the driver's side and rested his arms on top of the police car. Shaking his head, he let his chin fall on his arms.
'You bothering these kids, Rita?' Barrel-chest asked, glowering at the transvestite.
'Like you’re really, really bothered,' one of the kids quipped.
Barrel-chest took a step forward as the other copper lifted his head and, catching the kid’s eye, shook his head in a warning. Getting the message, the kid had the sense to back off. With a satisfied smirk, Barrel-chest turned his attention back to Rita.
Mike knew he should move on, not get involved. He had too much going on at the moment, but he’d never been able to walk away from a bully. If Rita wanted to dress like a woman that was his business, nothing to do with this Neanderthal dressed as a policeman.
'What’s the matter, Mr Cop?' Rita asked, 'Trousers too tight? Dying to try a skirt on, is that it?'
'Ohh shit,' Mike muttered. 'Wrong thing to say, Rita, wrong thing to say.' He slowly started to walk back to them.
The cop leaning on the car put his head down again and resignedly shook it, as his partner launched a huge fist at Rita’s chin.
Rita wobbled on his high heels, and the kids jeered and booed at the copper.
'That’s enough.' Mike shouted as he reached them.
Barrel-chest turned, a snarl on his face. 'If you know what’s best for you, you’ll piss off and mind your own fucking business. This perve was about to molest these innocent kids.'
'No, she wasn’t,' one of them plucked up the courage to shout, and was quickly echoed by the others.
Mike took his badge out. 'I think it’s best if you piss off, don’t you?'
The bored copper quickly jumped into the patrol car as Barrel-chest backed off. 'I… er… I was only doing my job,' he spluttered, getting into the car.
'If I ever find out that you’ve come back and bothered this lot again, I’ll personally make sure that you’re out of a job. Got it?'
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