by Mark Timlin
He turned round in the front seat with the Browning in his hand and switched on the courtesy light in the roof. It was yellow and dim, and occasionally fluttered as if there was a loose connection, but at least we could see Larry’s blood-encrusted boat. ‘OK, Larry,’ Robber said. ‘I’ve got some questions for you.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like who paid you to dump a body a few months ago?’
‘What body?’
‘The body of a mate of ours. Geezer called Harry Stonehouse. He turned up in a load of garbage bags all over the shop.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Larry.
‘Larry, Larry, Larry,’ said Robber. ‘Don’t be like that. Don’t be a cunt all your life. Take a day off. All I want to know is who paid you. I ain’t going to shop you to the coppers. This is personal.’
And involves twenty million smackers I thought, but said nothing.
‘I don’t know nothing,’ said Larry.
‘Was it a bloke called Lambretta? Tony Lambretta.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘I’m getting tired of this,’ said Robber. ‘And I’m wasting valuable drinking time.’ Then to me: ‘Give us your gun, son.’
I passed over the Colt and Robber gave me the Browning. ‘Keep an eye on him,’ he said.
‘Yes, Massah,’ I said, but I did as I was told as Robber popped out the cylinder of the revolver ejecting all six rounds on to the seat next to him, then put one bullet back, closed the gun, half cocked it and spun the cylinder. ‘Ever played Russian roulette?’ he said to Larry, then fully cocked the little gun and stuck the muzzle into the centre of the biker’s forehead.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Larry, and Robber pulled the trigger.
Larry and I both jumped as the hammer went down on an empty chamber.
‘Lucky boy,’ said Robber, half cocked the gun again, spun the cylinder once more, pulled the hammer back all the way and put the gun back on to Larry’s skull. ‘Want another go?’
Larry pissed his pants at that point and the smell of human urine joined that of cat’s inside the motor. I almost gagged.
‘If you’re lucky this time I’ll add another bullet, and keep adding them till the gun’s full and you’re bound to lose.’
‘No,’ said Larry. ‘I’ll tell you.’
‘Good boy,’ said Robber. ‘Come on, then.’
‘It was a geezer from the other side,’ Larry said. ‘North London. Not Lambretta. At least I don’t think so. He was a funny little fucker. Looked like one of the Marx Brothers.’
‘Groucho,’ I said.
‘That’s right,’ stammered Larry.
‘We’ve met,’ I said. ‘Name?’
‘Jules. That’s all.’
‘How do you get in touch?’
‘We don’t.’
‘How did you get in touch, then?’
‘A garage in Dalston.’
‘Whereabouts?’
Larry hesitated and Robber pushed the Colt harder against his forehead and said, ‘You want me to pull this trigger?’
Larry told us. He was very exact. By the time he’d finished I almost knew how much they charged to service a car.
‘All right, Larry, we believe you,’ said Robber. ‘You can go now.’
Larry gathered the tattered remains of his dignity around him and fumbled for the door handle.
‘Just one thing before you go,’ said Robber.
‘What?’
‘That hand. Does it come off?’
‘’Course.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘What?’
‘Get it off.’
‘Why?’
‘I want it.’
‘No.’
‘My mate’s got a fully loaded automatic stuck in your side, Larry. Now one thing’s for certain, if he plays Russian roulette with that you’re going to lose first time. So don’t fuck about. Get the hand off and then piss off. Mind you, you’ve already done that, ain’t you?’ And he grinned evilly.
‘Bastards,’ said Larry as he started fumbling with the fastening of the prosthetic. ‘I’ll get you for this.’
‘Sure,’ said Robber. ‘Just get on with it and me and my mate can get down the boozer.’
I pushed Crazy Larry out of the car as Robber started the engine, swung the motor in a tight U-turn and we sped back the way we’d come. I clambered into the passenger seat carrying the scarlet prosthetic hand in mine, dropped it next to the empty petrol can and lit a cigarette for each of us. ‘What shall I do with that?’ I said.
‘Chuck it out or keep it as a souvenir,’ said Robber.
‘Souvenir, I think,’ I said. ‘You never know when you might need a hand.’
‘Very amusing,’ said Robber dryly.
‘You took a chance with that bullet, didn’t you?’ I said. ‘I never thought you’d pull the trigger.’
‘Spin the cylinder of a revolver with one bullet in it, and generally gravity pulls it down to the bottom. Not always, but mostly. It was a calculated risk.’
‘A calculated risk for him, but not for you. Would you have kept on putting bullets in?’
‘Sure. I had to make the cunt talk, didn’t I?’
‘Sometimes you scare me, Robber,’ I said.
‘Me too.’
We headed towards London, and on the other side of Croydon Robber said, ‘Let’s have that drink.’
He pulled into the car park of another pub and stopped the motor. When he got out he looked round and when he was satisfied there was no one about he went to the front and back of the car and removed a set of number plates that he’d taped over the genuine ones. ‘Just in case our boy has a good memory and some way of finding out where the motor’s registered,’ he explained. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone popping round to see the widow woman when I’m not there.’
‘You think of everything.’
‘I try.’
We went into the boozer which was mid-evening busy and Robber went straight to the bar and ordered large scotches for both of us, and paid. Playing around with the pistol must’ve been more traumatic than I’d thought. We took our drinks to a corner table. ‘Result time,’ said Robber after he’d downed half his whisky.
‘Jules from Dalston,’ I said. ‘Know him?’
‘Not yet. But you do.’
‘Yeah. And I’d love to see him again.’
‘You will.’
‘What next, then?’
‘They know both of us, that much is certain from the other night when Jules and his mates visited you. So we can’t just turn up and ask them for a quick MOT. We’re going to have to have a shufti round on the QT. We need another car. We can’t use either of ours. Any ideas?’
‘I can get a motor or two. No bother. A phone call’ll do it. First thing.’
‘Good. Tomorrow’s Saturday. So get a car and we’ll take a trip up Dalston way. They might not even be open. But it’ll be worth it just to have a look-see. I still reckon Lambretta’s at the back of all this. The area fits if nothing else. Then if we come up with nothing within a few days I reckon we’ll have to go inside one dark night and see what we can find. You up for that?’
‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘A bit of B&E. It’s every boy’s dream.’
He winked at me and said, ‘Your round, I think.’
After a few more drinks Robber dropped me back at home. I left him the 9mm and took the now fully-loaded Colt with me. I kept it in one hand as I went up the stairs. If there were any more late-night uninvited callers, at least I wanted to be on equal terms with them.
But when I got up to my flat it was empty and undisturbed, and I stuck the revolver back into my waistband as I put the kettle on for tea.
I’d also brought Crazy Larry’s prosthetic hand with me. I had just the place for it. By the window I kept this monster cheese plant that was threatening to take over the whole flat. I stuck the hand in the earth, fingers up, so it looked as if someone was trying to dig themselves out of the pot. I wondered what Judit
h would make of it, but the weird way her brain’s beginning to work, I reckoned she’d think it was cool. Our minds work similarly, and I feel a bit sorry for her on that front. But at least we laugh at the same things.
I went to bed with the gun under my pillow.
The next morning I called up Charlie, my mate who works in the motor trade, early. ‘Hello, Charles,’ I said breezily.
‘Don’t tell me. You want to borrow a car and not pay for it.’
‘And a very good morning to you, Charles. How is every little thing?’
‘Every little thing is fine. It’s the big things like you that’s the problem. What kind of car do you want?’
‘Something discreet.’
‘With bullet-proof glass, no doubt.’
‘I think I’ll pass on that particular optional extra. Just an ordinary car will do.’
‘What about that heap of yours?’
‘No good, mate. This is just for a bit of surveillance and mine’s cover’s blown.’
‘More nutters with guns, I suppose.’
‘Just a little watching brief.’
‘All right. I’ll take your word for it. As it goes I took a late-model Audi on the bounce last week. You can have that. How long for?’
‘Couple of days.’
‘Usual deal. You sort out the insurance and pay for any damage.’
‘No probs.’
‘It’s here when you’re ready.’
‘Cheers, mate. You’re a friend.’
‘So are you. But do you always have to be a friend in need?’
‘Very amusing. Listen, I’ll be up in a few.’
‘I’ll be here.’
After I’d talked to Charlie I called up Robber on his mobile. ‘I’ve got a motor,’ I said. ‘What time shall I pick you up?’
‘It’s nine-thirty now. In about an hour. People like Jules don’t generally like to be out until the streets are aired. Specially on a Saturday.’
‘’K. I’ll see you then.’ And I rang off.
I made myself a desultory breakfast and at ten I took my BMW up to Charlie’s used car lot. There was a shiny black Audi waiting on the forecourt. Charlie was leaning on it talking to one of his mechanics. ‘Hello, Nick,’ he said. ‘Here it is, mate.’
‘Looks nice, Charlie,’ I said.
‘Keep it that way, willya. I’ve got quite a few grand tied up in this little item.’
‘Trust me.’
‘I have before, and look where it’s got me.’
I got behind the wheel and the car started on the button. ‘Sounds good,’ I said.
‘Got time for tea?’
‘Sure.’
‘Organise a couple of teas, Tom,’ said Charlie to the mechanic.
I chatted to Charlie about not much until the tea arrived, and we drank it together, and I smoked one of his Benson’s. Then around ten twenty-five I gave the keys to my car to Charlie and took the short run to Robber’s lodgings in the Audi. The car was fully loaded and ran smoothly, and if it hadn’t been for the uncomfortable lump the Colt made stuck in the back waistband of my jeans, I might’ve thought I was on a pleasure trip.
We drove over the river, and following Crazy Larry’s instructions we found the garage easily. ‘He didn’t lie,’ said Robber. ‘At least the place exists.’
‘It’s the power of Mr Colt,’ I said, and Robber grinned.
The garage was small and scruffy, and on the corner of a main road and a cul-de-sac. There were three cars parked outside, including a bright red N-reg Ferrari. The only sign of humanity was a greasy-looking mechanic in dirty overalls working under the bonnet of a Vauxhall Cavalier. I parked the Audi opposite, on the corner of another side road two turnings down, so that we could see the garage, but we weren’t obvious. Robber had brought along a pair of binoculars, and the widow had made up a big pack of sandwiches and filled a jumbo thermos with hot, sweet coffee.
It was just like a picnic.
Nothing occurred all morning, and Robber and I listened to the radio, nattered about not much, and ate and drank and smoked. At lunchtime Groucho, or Jules, or whatever his name was, came strolling down the main drag and went into the garage. He was still wearing his long overcoat. He had a few words with the mechanic who rolled the Cavalier under cover and they locked up. The mechanic got into one of the cars on the small forecourt and Groucho took off his nanny, chucked it into the back of the Ferrari, got in and drove off too.
‘Nice wheels,’ said Robber. ‘Let’s follow him.’
When the Ferrari pulled on to the street I fell in two cars behind, and although the Italian motor was very low-slung it wasn’t difficult to follow its progress because of its bright colour and the fact that Groucho was a slow and careful driver.
He headed west and ended up outside a block of flats in Hampstead – the nice part of Hampstead – retrieved his coat and went inside.
‘That’s either his place, a mate’s or his bird’s,’ said Robber. ‘But at least we’ve got somewhere. We can hang around here all day on the off-chance, or split.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I said.
‘I think it’s enough for today. Let’s call it off until Monday. At least we know Larry was telling us some of the truth. And we know where to find Groucho if we want him. We’ll watch the garage again Monday morning, see if any more of your mates turn up.’
‘Good enough,’ I said. ‘What you doing tomorrow?’
‘Taking the widow to the pictures and out for a ruby.’
‘Watch yourself,’ I said.
‘Sure. What about you?’
‘I think I’ll see if my widow’s about. I should report in.’
‘What are you going to tell her?’
‘Not much.’
As soon as I got back home I called Nancy Stonehouse. ‘I think we should get together,’ I said.
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘To talk about the case.’
‘What else?’
‘What are you doing tomorrow?’
‘Not much. Come over for lunch.’
‘Sounds good. What time?’
‘One suit you?’
‘Terrific.’
‘See you then.’ And we made our farewells and hung up.
I was on her doorstep at the prescribed hour, a bottle of decent red and another of white in a Thresher’s bag. I was wearing a new pair of Levi’s, a checked flannel shirt, my disreputable leather jacket and the official boots from the Grand Ole Opry that I’d bought from a shop in Covent Garden. I looked the business and I knew it.
She was wearing jeans too. A thin and faded old pair that showed her backside off to its best advantage, and a T-shirt sans bra that did the same to her tits.
‘Hello, Nancy,’ I said.
‘Hello, Nick,’ she said, and I realised that after all this time we were finally friends.
I grinned and offered her the bottles. ‘Something towards lunch.’
‘Best offer I’ve had all day.’
She showed me into the living room and poured out huge gin and tonics for us both. ‘Sit down,’ she said.
I took the armchair and she sat on the sofa opposite. ‘Anything happening?’ she asked.
I took out my cigarettes and offered her one. She refused but said, ‘You go ahead. There’s an ashtray behind you. So,’ she said when I’d lit up.
‘We’ve made some progress.’
‘We?’
‘I’ve taken on a partner for the case.’
What I didn’t tell her was that he’d done most of the work. It was me that felt like the partner. And a junior partner at that.
‘Anyone I know?’ she asked.
‘You might. He’s an ex-copper. DI Robber as was.’
‘Sure I know him. Dirty teeth and shirt.’
‘He’s cleaned up his act. Or at least his sister cleaned it up for him. He retired and went to stay with her. She banged the drum and he did the dance.’
‘Good for her. So what progress?’
‘Can’t you tell me now?’
‘It’s not come together properly yet. Trust me. Soon.’
‘So why did you want to see me?’
‘Because I like you, as a matter of fact. And there was no one else I’d rather see. And it was Sunday, and I was all alone. You don’t mind, do you?’
She smiled. ‘Not at all, Nick. I get lonely here by myself too.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘But I bet you’re not by yourself much.’
I thought of Diane. ‘Not all the time. But enough for it to get to me. I just fancied seeing you. And you’re a good cook.’
‘Always the same Nick.’
‘I try. What is for lunch by the way?’
‘Roast beef and Yorkshire.’
‘Sounds all right to me.’
‘And if you’re lucky there might even be some afters.’
We gave the gin bottle more of a caning, and Nancy kept vanishing into the kitchen and bringing back the most delicious culinary smells when she returned. Finally, at about two-fifteen, she came back for the last time and said, ‘Luncheon is served.’
And it was well worth the wait. The woman could cook up a storm. The meat was pink and tender, the potatoes were crisp on the outside and like mush beneath. The half-dozen or so vegetables she’d baked or boiled were just perfect. And the peach pie. I won’t bore you with the details, but I had three slices.
‘That was the business,’ I said when every plate was clean.
‘There’s plenty more,’ she said. ‘I still always buy for two.’
‘Couldn’t manage a thing,’ I said. ‘Except perhaps some of your coffee and brandy.’
‘It’s ready in the living room,’ she said.
‘You’re a marvel.’
We left the dishes and went back to where we’d started. The room was very quiet and I could feel the tension mounting. ‘Is there any football on TV?’ I asked.
She gave me a really dirty look and I just grinned, and suddenly she caught on and started to laugh. We both laughed then, but hers took on an edge of hysteria and I thought she was going to throw a wobbly, before tears came and her body was racked with sobs.