Find My Way Home

by Mark Timlin

‘How?’

  ‘He came back.’

  ‘He was just doing it part time, you mean? The witness protection. Like a Saturday job?’

  ‘That’s right. He told me that he couldn’t leave me. Not for good.’

  ‘So why didn’t he take you with him? Into witness protection, I mean.’

  ‘I don’t know . . . oh, I do. I was having another affair. This time I thought it was for real. He thought it would be the perfect time to make a clean break. But he couldn’t stay away.’

  ‘So he blew his cover.’

  ‘Yes. And then he was grabbed.’

  ‘By Lambretta?’

  ‘That’s right. He was one of the planners. The police knew about him but they couldn’t prove anything. I think they pulled him in a couple of times. But they had to let him go. He’s got friends. Important friends.’

  ‘I imagine he would have. So why didn’t you tell the police? After Harry turned up, I mean. Why involve me?’

  She licked her lips, stubbed out her cigarette and lit another one straight away.

  ‘The money,’ she said.

  I had a horrible feeling I knew what was coming next.

  ‘What about the money?’ I said.

  ‘It was never recovered, and Harry knew where it was. That was part of his job. Keeping it safe until the split.’

  ‘He had all the money?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And he didn’t give it up when he informed on his fellow criminals.’

  She nodded.

  ‘And when they eventually found him they tortured him for it.’

  Another nod.

  ‘This doesn’t make sense,’ I said. ‘Unless . . .’

  ‘Unless?’ she said.

  ‘Unless he fell in with some bent coppers.’

  She made a face.

  ‘Bell?’

  She nodded yet again and I had a flash of intuition.

  ‘He wouldn’t by any chance be the bloke you were having it off with – the one you thought was the real thing?’

  Yet another nod.

  ‘Christ, Nancy,’ I said. ‘What the fuck were you playing at?’

  She shrugged this time.

  ‘And why are you telling me now?’

  ‘I split with Phil. Philip Bell. He wasn’t the person I thought he was.’

  ‘They so rarely are. But wait a minute. I’m confused. How did Lambretta suss him out? Find him, I mean.’

  ‘I don’t know. He got careless, I suppose. The stupid wanker.’

  ‘He was your husband.’

  ‘What husband? He was no husband to me. He was weak. You were more of a husband to me than he ever was.’

  ‘You bitch.’

  ‘No. I deserved something for all the time I wasted with him.’

  ‘But you did get something, didn’t you? You told me you had money when you first got me involved. I should’ve fucking known.’

  ‘It was peanuts compared with what they got away with in that robbery. Chickenfeed.’

  ‘So you just sent me in blind to see what I could see, and to fuck with the consequences.’

  ‘Nick. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry. So you fucking should be.’ I could hear the tone of my voice rising and I stopped. The barman was looking at me oddly again. I had to be careful.

  ‘I didn’t know what to tell you,’ she said pleadingly.

  ‘Lies. Obviously. Like everything else you’ve told me.’

  ‘So let me get this straight,’ I said, when I’d got another couple of drinks and some cigarettes from the machine, and I’d felt Nancy’s eyes on me for every second I was absent from the table. ‘Lambretta knew Harry when he was in the job. Correct?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And after Harry went to 4F, Lambretta put some pressure on him to supply information about the transport of old notes.’

  ‘Anything valuable, really. Gold bullion. Cash. Anything.’

  ‘So why did Harry give in? He was known for being straight.’

  ‘He didn’t at first. He just laughed at Lambretta. Then later he wanted money too. He wanted the pair of us to start again. A new life.’

  ‘And he would need a lot of dough for that, wouldn’t he?’

  She nodded. I didn’t think that Nancy spoke or understood irony.

  ‘To keep you in the manner you could fast become accustomed to.’

  Another nod.

  ‘But you were having it off with Bell.’

  Yet another.

  ‘It all comes back to you, doesn’t it, Nancy? Every time,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not my fault.’

  ‘’Course not.’

  ‘I wasn’t getting any younger, Nick.’

  ‘But a minute ago you told me you knew nothing about it until after the event.’

  ‘Maybe I had a rough idea.’

  ‘Maybe you did. Was it because he really thought he was going to lose you that time? To DI Bell?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You turned into a real charmer, didn’t you?’

  ‘You can talk.’

  And of course she was correct.

  ‘So why me, Nancy? Why pick on me?’

  ‘I was at my wits’ end until I thought of you. You’re a loose cannon. I knew you’d do something.’

  ‘And of course I owed Harry, and myself. As you so accurately put it.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So what we have here is a bunch of East End villains, a gang of bikers . . .’

  ‘What? What bikers?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, I’ll explain later. A bent copper. By the way, was he in it on his own or did he have help?’

  ‘He had help.’

  ‘Not a nasty little Welshman named Graham Jackson? All muscle, including between his ears.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That sounds like him.’

  ‘This gets better,’ I said. ‘So. There’s the villains, the bikers, the bent coppers, Harry and you, and now me and Jack Robber all chasing twenty million in old notes.’

  ‘That’s about the strength of it,’ she agreed. ‘But I don’t know anything about the bikers.’

  ‘They got rid of your weak little hubby’s body. Don’t give it a second thought.’

  ‘Don’t be angry, Nick.’

  ‘Angry. Who, me? Out of the question. I love being lied to and shot at. So where is the dosh now? Does anyone know?’

  ‘I’m sure someone does. But not me.’

  ‘I reckon it’s your ex-mate Philip Bell. That’s why Mr Lambretta was so short with me.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Earlier today when I paid him a visit.’

  ‘You’ve seen Tony Lambretta?’

  ‘Too fucking right I have. But I don’t think I’m going to be number one on his Christmas card list.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Not a lot. But I suspect he hasn’t seen much of the missing money. He was a trifle miffed about the whole deal.’

  ‘And what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Get it back.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then spend it.’

  ‘See, Nick, you’re not that much different to me, are you?’

  ‘Not a lot.’ And I wasn’t proud of it. But maybe, just maybe, I could do something about it if it wasn’t too late. And then it struck me. Harry had kept calling. I wondered if it was because he wanted to reach out to me. To tell me what he’d got himself into. And that made me feel worse if anything.

  ‘What about me?’ she asked after a second.

  ‘Don’t worry, Nancy. You’ll get what you deserve.’

  Exactly what she deserved. I planned to make it my business.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Have a word with a few people.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t worry your pretty little head, love. You let me take care of that. Now you’re going home and I’m going . . . well, to where I can lay my head. I�
��ll be in touch. Stay close to the phone. I might need you in a hurry. OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Good. Now scarper. I’ve got things to think about.’

  And she did. Without another word.

  Cunt, I thought as she left.

  I left soon after myself. I nodded at the barman as I went. He nodded back. I went over the road, rescued the Montego and headed for Diane’s place.

  On the way I started to formulate a plan. I was due to make some restitution. To Harry, to Robber, and last but not least, to myself.

  I was really crashing from the coke by then, smoking one cigarette after another until my throat was raw, and chewing at the inside of my mouth until it bled. And although it was still reasonably early I knew I was just about finished for the day.

  I left the car close to where I’d met Ricky and walked back towards Diane’s. My mouth was bone dry and I dropped into a little boozer on a back street, bought a pint and took a fresh packet of cigarettes to a table at the back where the lights were dim, and thought about what I’d learned.

  As far as I could see, Tony Lambretta didn’t have the stolen money, so there was no point in putting any more pressure on him right now, and besides, next time I might not be as lucky as I had been to get away with my skin in one piece. But he wanted it, and maybe I could use his greed against him. He’d had Robber and me shot, and he was due to pay for that.

  The bikers were just soldiers. Thick, and out of their heads on drugs and booze. They probably didn’t know what sodding day it was, but they might end up being useful if I could turn them against Lambretta and his gang.

  Nancy was just a stupid bitch with an eye for the main chance, who’d been used by everyone and had decided to try and use me. Well, that was all over, and her time was near.

  No, it had to be DI Bell and his little firm who knew where the dough was stashed. Bastards. Playing both ends against the middle and getting friends of mine killed and hurt in the process. Their time was near too. DS Graham Jackson. I had old scores to settle with that little bastard, and something told me, muscles or not, he was the weak link in the chain.

  I finished my pint and half a dozen more Silk Cut and went out and took the long way round to Diane’s, making sure no one clocked my progress.

  She was inside waiting for me, and I told her what had occurred.

  ‘You’re the only one apart from me who knows the whole story,’ I said. ‘At least the only one I can trust. If anything happens to me, I want you to blow the whistle. Will you do that?’

  ‘Yes, Nick. But for God’s sake be careful.’

  ‘Careful,’ I said as I started to nod out on the sofa, another cigarette between my fingers. ‘That’s my middle name.’

  I woke up alone, still on the sofa, with a duvet slung over me. It was five in the morning.

  I went through to the bathroom, scoping the bedroom in passing. Diane was under the covers with her face in the pillow and her thick hair spread out like a fan. I carried on, took a piss and blew my nose on some loo paper. There was plenty of blood in the mix, and I had that weird feeling that I was still speeding, although I’d slept for hours. That’d teach me.

  I went back through the flat to the kitchen, put on the kettle for tea and lit a cigarette.

  It tasted like shit and I put it out under the tap and dropped it in the garbage.

  I drank my tea looking out of the window as London woke up, shook itself, and got ready for a new day.

  Then I made more tea, took two cups into the bedroom and got into bed. ‘What do you want?’ said Diane sleepily.

  ‘A fuck would be nice.’

  ‘Think again,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my period and I don’t want the sheets messing.’

  ‘Thanks for sharing that thought.’

  ‘Share some thoughts with me. What are you going to do next?’

  ‘Kidnap a copper, I think,’ I said. ‘Give him the fright of his life and see what pops out.’

  ‘You’re going to get into serious trouble.’

  ‘I’m already in serious sodding trouble. What more can happen?’

  ‘You could get killed.’

  ‘There’s always that, I suppose.’

  ‘Nick. When will you ever learn?’

  ‘Listen. It was you insisted I got involved with Nancy Stonehouse in the first place. And as soon as I do, you accuse me of having it away with her, and now you’re telling me I should quit. Well, I can’t. I’m in this up to my bloody ears and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘OK, Nick, OK. Have it your own way.’

  My own way. Women! Fuck me. What planet do they come from? As an old mate used to say to me: can’t live with them. Can’t live with them.

  And so I had screwed Nancy. But own up, she had blind-sided me. I more or less just lay there and thought of England.

  ‘I need another sodding car,’ I said after a bit. ‘Fuck me, it’s easier to buy them.’

  We both dropped off again and woke up about lunchtime. Diane got up and made some breakfast whilst I washed and shaved.

  I went into the kitchen for egg, bacon, sausage and tomato.

  ‘Feeling better?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you know that my mum used to cut the whites off fried eggs for me?’ I said.

  ‘You’re feeling better. And your mum won’t give you a blow job.’

  ‘Nor will you if this morning’s performance was anything to go by.’

  ‘I was tired.’

  ‘And having your time of the month. Well, I suppose if you’ve got to suffer I’ve got to as well. How long does it usually last, by the way?’ We’d never been in such close proximity for any length of time before.

  ‘A week of PMTs, and a week of period usually.’

  ‘Jesus. Do you realise that that’s a fortnight out of every month? Half your life you go round with a pain in your belly.’

  ‘Yes, I do, thanks. It’s not my fault I’m one of those rare women with delicate insides.’

  ‘Not so rare,’ I remarked. ‘I always seem to end up with them. Just my luck, I suppose.’

  ‘Nick. You are seriously asking for a smack.’

  ‘No. I might enjoy it too much, and that would never do.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  I grinned and chewed on a piece of bacon. Game, set and match to me, I think.

  She sat and drank a mug of tea and looked at me over the rim. ‘Got a plan yet?’ she said.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘About getting another car.’

  ‘It’s in the bag.’

  ‘Brick and screwdriver? Or are you going to find . . . whassisname . . .? Ricky again?’

  ‘No. Simpler than that. Got a cross-head screwdriver and a pair of pliers?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I love a girl who does DIY.’

  ‘Woman.’

  ‘Sorry. Did I say something wrong there? Did I lose PC points or what?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you today?’

  ‘Shit. I dunno. Sorry, doll. Or is doll not allowed either?’

  ‘Doll’ll do.’ And she grinned, and I grinned back, so that was all right.

  First thing after the dishes were done was that I phoned Denmark Hill nick from a different phone box from the one I’d used before. ‘Is Graham Jackson in?’ I asked the voice that answered the phone.

  ‘I haven’t seen him. I’ll put you through to CID.’

  A female voice answered after three rings. ‘CID. DC Vernon speaking.’

  ‘Is Graham in today?’ I said. ‘Graham Jackson?’

  ‘He’s on late turn today,’ she replied. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘No, love, it’s all right. It’s personal. Will you tell him John called?’

  ‘John who?’

  ‘Just John. He’ll know.’

  She knew better than to delve further. ‘Certainly. I’ll tell him.’

  ‘’Bye,’ I said.

  ‘’Bye.’ And we hung up.

  Chances are she’d fo
rget. But even if she didn’t, John’s a common name. Graham Jackson was bound to know half a dozen at least.

  ‘I’ll be going out later,’ I said to Diane when I got back to her flat.

  ‘So we’ve got time to go back to bed.’

  ‘What about the sheets?’

  ‘Fuck the sheets.’

  ‘I’d rather fuck you.’

  And I did.

  Round about five I took a walk, taking the tools I needed, and giving Diane a farewell kiss. I won’t tell you where. It looked like her fortnight was up, and mine was just about to begin.

  I went over towards the Edgware Road, looking for a decent car on a meter with just a short time to run. After half an hour I found a late model, silver BMW 7-series with about ten minutes on it. I stood in the doorway of a mansion block near the meter, lit a cigarette and wondered if the driver was a law-abiding citizen.

  He was. Just as the meter was about to click over to ‘Penalty’ he came back. He was short, olive-skinned, wearing a smart suit and carrying a snakeskin briefcase. He clicked off the alarm on the BMW as he approached it, and its lights flashed three times in surrender.

  I met him by the car, just an ordinary geezer taking a stroll. ‘Nice motor,’ I said.

  He looked at me like I’d just exposed myself to his wife. ‘Mmm,’ he replied.

  ‘Easy to drive?’ I asked.

  ‘Excuse me, I’ve got an appointment.’

  I checked the street. No one was looking. ‘You’re going to be late,’ I said, and took out the Browning niner that was in my pocket.

  ‘What?’ he spluttered as I took the car keys out of his hand.

  ‘Shit happens. You got a portable phone?’

  He was too flabbergasted to lie. ‘In my case,’ he said.

  I took that off him too. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Might even put some petrol in. Unleaded, is it?’

  He nodded as I threw the case in the back, got in, closed the door, ran down the window and started the car. ‘Cheers,’ I said as I pulled away and winked at him.

  I drove straight to Euston Station underground car park. It’s big and anonymous, and full of pretty nice motors, and within two minutes I found another Beemer of the same year and switched the plates. I was out of the car park within ten minutes and turned the car south.

  I got caught in the rush hour, but I wasn’t in any hurry and just sat in the BMW with the air-conditioning on and a tape of Motown hits of the sixties in the machine. The geezer I’d nicked the car off had better taste in music than I’d’ve given him credit for. Mind you, the rest of the music in the glove compartment was the usual AOR dreck you’d expect.