by Hugh Fraser
We stop at the lights at Notting Hill. I can see the date in the window of a bank. It’s the fifth of March. I’m sixteen today.
At Lancaster Gate, we turn into the road that runs through Hyde Park and I watch the nannies in their uniforms pushing prams along the paths giving the little ones their fresh air and I think of our Jack as he lay in that hospital bed with the mask and the tubes going into him. I uncross my legs and push the heel of one of Claire’s shoes into my ankle until the pain’s slicing up my leg. I close my eyes and let out a long breath.
The car lurches suddenly and I open my eyes. Dave says, ‘Fucking idiot!’
A taxi’s stopped for a fare in front of us. Dave pulls out and passes him and the driver puts his arm out of the window and gives us two fingers. We turn into Princes Gate and stop outside a restaurant with some foreign name that I can’t read.
Dave pulls on the handbrake and says, ‘This is it.’
A doorman in a black overcoat opens the door of the restaurant and an old man and a younger woman in a fur coat come out. The old man nuzzles up to the young woman and says something in her ear. Her beautiful dark hair bounces on her shoulders as she laughs and nudges him with her elbow. The fur coat falls open and I see her pearl necklace and the tight black dress that grips her figure. The old man puts a tip in the doorman’s hand and he pockets it, touches his hat then steps out into the road and hails a cab. I look down at my dirty old jacket and skirt and feel my matted hair. A cab pulls up, the doorman opens the door and says something to the driver. The couple get in and the cab pulls away. Dave opens his door.
‘Wait,’ I say.
‘What’s the matter?’
I feel the notes in my pocket and say, ‘Take me down to Brompton Road.’
‘You what?’
‘Brompton Road. Now.’
‘You said you wanted to see …’
‘I do, but I need something first.’
‘I’m not your fucking chauffeur.’
‘Shut up and go!’
• • •
It costs me two quid to get past the doormen at Harrods, and the snooty assistant in the ladies fashion department just about holds her nose as she serves me. I buy a black dress like the one the woman outside the restaurant was wearing, and a dark grey coat, a pair of sheer nylons, a suspender belt and black high heels. I go in the Ladies, have a good wash and get the dirt out from under my nails, then I put the new outfit on and go down the escalator to the hairdressers on the lower ground floor and have a shampoo and set. I buy some lipstick and eye make up on the ground floor and get the girl to put it on for me.
When I walk out past the doormen, one of them says, ‘Good afternoon, madam.’
Men look at me as I walk along Brompton Road. I see a litter bin by a bus stop and I’m just about to dump the Harrods bag with my old clothes in it, but then I decide to keep hold of it. If I walk down our street looking like this, people are going to be asking questions that I don’t want to answer.
Dave’s parked the car round the corner in Hans Road. When I get there, he’s asleep behind the wheel. I get in beside him and shut the door.
He jerks upright and says, ‘Who the fuck …?’ Then he recognises me and his eyes open wide.
I put on a posh voice and say, ‘Now you can take me to that nice Polish restaurant, darling.’
He laughs and says, ‘You’re a fucking turn out, you are.’
We drive back to the restaurant. The doorman shows us in to a long room with a high ceiling. There’s a row of round tables with white table cloths down the middle and two rows of smaller tables along the walls. Most of the tables are occupied by men in dark suits with the odd woman here and there. It’s really warm and it smells of hot dinner and perfume. I can see Bielsky sitting at a table at the far end of the restaurant talking to two men. A bloke in a suit and a dicky bow comes and takes our coats.
Dave says, ‘Mr Bielsky.’
The man nods, hands our coats to a girl standing behind him and leads us towards Bielsky’s table. When we get near, Bielsky looks up and says, ‘David!’
He offers his hand. Dave shakes it. ‘Hello, Feliks,’ he says.
Bielsky looks at me and says, ‘You bring beautiful lady!’
Dave looks embarrassed so I smile, reach out a hand and say, ‘I’m Rina. Nice to meet you, Mr Bielsky.’
He stands, takes my hand and says, ‘The pleasure is all mine my dear, I assure you. You will join us, no?’
The two other men stand up. One of them exchanges words with Bielsky in Polish, and they shake hands with him and leave. Bielsky pulls out a chair for me and I sit next to him with Dave on the other side of me. He is a big man with a round face, a long nose and bushy eyebrows. He wears a pair of black rimmed glasses with thick lenses that make his eyes look as if they are sticking out of his head so he can see you better. There’s a bottle of vodka on the table and a couple of plates of sliced sausages and little pastry things. Bielsky waves to a waiter and says something to him in Polish. The waiter brings two glasses to the table. Bielsky picks up the vodka bottle and pours us drinks, then he raises his glass to us and downs it in one.
I take my first sip of vodka and it burns my tongue. Dave’s staring at the table cloth, trying his best to look like a gangster.
Bielsky says to him, ‘Your father is good?’ Dave nods without looking up. ‘Please give respects and say that I am sorry for your brother,’ Bielsky continues.
Dave nods again and keeps staring at the table cloth. I kick him in the leg and he looks at Bielsky.
‘I need a new gaff.’
‘From me?’ says Bielsky.
‘What have you got?’
‘You want buy or rent?’
‘Buy.’
‘House or flat?’
‘Flat.’
‘Most of flats are rented now with many waiting.’
‘You must have something.’
Bielsky’s looking at me. He’s probably wondering if Dave’s got me on the game and what kind of sweetener he’ll get if he is.
He says, ‘I have two floors, Portland Road.’
‘How much?’
‘For you, David, I make eight hundred.’
I stand up from the table and say, ‘Excuse me.’
I walk behind Bielsky’s chair and nod to Dave, then I make for the Ladies.
When I get back, Dave says, ‘We’re going to Portland Road.’
• • •
The flat has its own front door half way up the stairs of a four storey house at the far end of Portland Road, near to Walmer Road and the club where I shot Nick Bailey. It’s got a kitchen and two rooms on one floor and three rooms up above. I try not to look surprised when Bielsky opens the door to a bathroom with a hot water boiler on the wall above the bath. The rooms are all wallpapered and it’s dry and pretty clean. There’s a couple of beds and a few sticks of furniture, but it doesn’t look as if anyone’s lived there for a bit.
I pull Dave to me as Bielsky goes down the stairs and peel a hundred off the three that he gave me. I put it in his hand and say, ‘Offer him seven hundred and give him this for starters, but only if he can wrap it up inside a fortnight.’
‘Where are you going to get the rest?’
‘We’ll talk about that.’
We go down to the kitchen and I tell Dave I’m going to wait in the car. He gives me the keys and I shake hands with Bielsky and leave before he can start questioning me.
I have a look through the bay window on the ground floor, but I can’t see much except some pictures of the countryside on the walls and a couple of armchairs. I sit in the car and wait. I turn on the radio. Some posh bloke’s all steamed up about some canal or other that belongs to Sue or someone. I turn the dial, but I can’t find anything but talking or orchestras so I turn it off. Bielsky’s car is parked on the other side of the road and the two men from the restaurant are in it, both looking at me from under their hat brims. Dave and Bielsky come out of the house. They shake h
ands and Bielsky goes across to his car, gets in the back and they drive off.
Dave gets in behind the wheel and I say, ‘Well?’
‘All done.’
‘Seven hundred?’
‘Yeah.’
‘In two weeks?’
‘That’s what he said.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
‘Wait a minute.’
‘What?’
He turns round in his seat and says, ‘You want me to buy the gaff?’
‘Yeah.’
‘With your money?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘I’ll tell you once more. I need a new place and I don’t want no fucking landlord who can chuck me out, but I don’t want anyone to know that I’ve got money enough to buy it. So, the place is yours but we both know it’s mine. All right?’
He looks at me as if I’m two bob short of a quid, then he sighs and says, ‘All right.’
‘So what happens next?’
‘His brief and mine will meet as soon as I tell him when, and they do it.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘If I have the money.’
‘You’ll have it.’
‘When?’
‘As soon as you tell me where I can steal it.’
19
I pull the station wagon out of a sharp bend in the road that winds down from the mansion to the highway and narrowly miss a truck coming the other way. I glance round and see that the girls have not noticed. They are still fingering their thousand dollar bills and chirruping away while Tomas sleeps in Paloma’s arms. Pilar is leaning back in the seat next to me, smiling with her eyes closed. Her long, silken legs stretch into the footwell, parted invitingly at the knees. I try to keep my concentration on the road and enjoy the breeze blowing through the window and the fresh scents of propagating greenery. Through the trees, I catch glimpses of the azure sea nestling into the gentle curve of the coastline.
I look in the mirror and see a truck, identical to the one that we nearly hit before, coming up fast behind us. Its green radiator grill fills the mirror suddenly and the car slews sideways as the truck hits our rear end. I wrench the wheel over to correct the skid, floor the accelerator, throw the car into the next bend and pull away from the truck. On the downhill straight that follows, I see the truck come out of the bend and start gaining on us, horn blaring and lights flashing. As I slow for the next bend, it pulls out, comes alongside us, slams into us and forces us into the side banking. I stand on the brakes as my window shatters and the door bulges into my side. We come to a stop wedged at an angle between the truck and the bank. Pilar is on top of me and the girls in the back are tangled up and screaming.
Metal scrapes on metal as the truck moves forward and away from us. The car lurches down the bank and comes to rest with two wheels on the road. The truck stops a few yards away, the rear doors swing open and the tailgate crashes down. Six men with guns jump down and surround the car, sliding the bolts of their AKs. I put my hands up. In the mirror, I see the girls doing the same. Paloma slides down into the well between the seats and manages to stifle Tomas’s cries just as the passenger door of the truck opens and Carmela climbs down from the cab. She says something to one of the armed men, walks slowly to the car, reaches in through my window and takes the key out of the ignition.
She takes in the girls and says, ‘Quite a meat wagon you got here.’ She tries to open the door, but it’s jammed shut. When a couple of her men step forward, she waves them back, drop-kicks the door handle, puts a foot against the rear door and wrenches it open. I get out.
She takes the Colt from my back pocket, finds my passport and money and says, ‘Get in the truck.’
I climb into the cab. Carmela gets into the driver’s seat. ‘I was coming to find you,’ I say.
‘Sure you were.’
She looks straight ahead for a moment then says, ‘What did you do with Guido?’
‘He’s locked up at the house.’
‘I never knew he was that stupid.’
‘He took Manuel out, so now you can take over his business.’
‘And all the other DEA snitches that were in bed with him?’
‘Most of them won’t be getting out of bed again.’
‘I saw that, but there’s a whole lot more.’
‘Let those girls go and I’ll get Lee for you.’
‘You think you can bargain?’
‘Do you want the DEA snitches?’
‘Sure I do.’
‘How else are you going to get Lee alive?’
She thinks for a moment then she turns and gives me a cold look. ‘OK, we go with the plan.’
I nod and catch her smell again as she leans towards me and says, ‘If you even think about trying to fuck me, I’ll kill you.’
While I’m wondering how she intends to circumvent the fact that the main player in the plan to get Lee is dead, there’s a scream from behind the truck. Carmela turns to look out of the window. I see in the wing mirror that one of her men has Pilar up against the car.
Carmela jumps down from the cab and I follow. She wrenches the man off Pilar, lifts him above her head like a barbell, throws him onto the tailgate of the truck and grabs his balls. He rears up, screaming in pain. She chops the bridge of his nose, throws him onto the ground and gives him a vicious kick in the stomach. She snaps an order to the remaining men and they pick him up, lift him into the back of the truck and get in after him. Carmela closes the tailgate, turns and leans on the truck and looks at me.
‘If I let these gals go, what am I going to give these guys for entertainment?’ she says.
Tomas starts to cry. Carmela hears him, walks to the car and looks at each of the girls who are still and silent in the back seat. She opens the rear door sees Paloma and Tomas on the floor. As she looks down at them, I see a sudden tension grip her neck and shoulders.
Just as I’m moving closer and deciding how I’m going to kill her if she makes a move, she smiles and says, ‘Well now, will you look at this little guy?’
She picks Tomas up, rocks him gently and makes soothing noises until he stops crying. Paloma gets out of the car. Carmela jiggles Tomas on her bosom for a moment then she kisses his forehead, hands him to Paloma, throws the car keys to Pilar and says, ‘Get out of here.’
Pilar looks at me and I say, ‘Go.’
Pilar hesitates and then gets into the driving seat and tries to shut the broken door. One of the girls in the back seat reaches out of the window and holds it closed. Pilar starts the engine and looks at me again.
‘Go,’ I say.
After a couple of attempts, she starts the engine and the station wagon lurches onto the road and rolls on down the hill.
Carmela opens the door of the cab. As I’m about to climb in, a white Cadillac whooshes up the hill forcing us back behind the truck. Carmela slams the door shut and says, ‘Oh fuck!’
‘What?’ I say.
‘Manuel’s brother.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘He’s supposed to be in Colombia.’ She thinks for a moment and then says, ‘It may be cool, in fact. Come on.’
We get into the truck, Carmela turns it round and we grind up the hill to the mansion. As we approach the gates, Carmela stops the truck.
‘Wait here while I go talk with him.’
She says something to the men behind us and gets out of the cab. One of her men climbs over, sits in the driver’s seat and points his gun at me. Two men get out of the back of the truck and walk with her to the gates. Carmela speaks to one of the two guards. He opens up for them and they go in through the front door of the house.
I look behind me. The remaining men are slumped morosely over their weapons. The oldest one looks to be no more than twenty. He sees me looking and raises his AK. The one with the shattered nose and the battered manhood lies on the floor between them with his knees drawn up, moaning and making gurgling noises. I lean back, close my eyes and think
about those lovely girls and that little boy, bowling along the highway with money in their hands and a shot at freedom. At least something good came out of this whole mess.
A shout wakes me and I see Carmela standing in front of the house waving us forward. The gates open and we drive in and stop next to the white Cadillac. I get out of the truck, join Carmela and we enter the hallway. The door to the room of bodies is open.
She glances at the pyramid and says, ‘We have a little house cleaning to do.’
She calls to her men and they gather round her. She indicates the pile of bodies and issues some instructions. They move reluctantly towards the corpses.
‘There’s more upstairs,’ I say.
‘I saw already. Never mess with teenage girls.’
She leads me upstairs and says, ‘Come meet brother Rodrigo. He’s cool with the plan.’
‘How come?’ I ask.
She stops at the top of the stairs and says, ‘He wants to work with me because he’s changing his operation from marijuana to cocaine and he needs a partner with solid contacts in LA, which is cool with me because I can use what he has going with coke from Colombia. We both want Lee, so we can clean out all the snitches from Rodrigo’s end, as well as mine.’
I follow her to the study at the end of the gallery and she opens the door. I walk in and see a skinny figure with a mop of long black hair crouched over the mahogany desk. After a loud nasal inhalation, the hair is flicked back to reveal a gaunt face with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, that burn momentarily and then soften as their owner smiles, pushes the mound of white powder on the blotting pad across the desk towards me and offers me a rolled-up dollar bill. I return his smile and shake my head. I can see a resemblance to Manuel but his mean, cadaverous look is a long way from his late brother’s cultivated elegance. He passes the confection to Carmela, leans back in the chair and puts his feet on the desk. ‘You going to set up the American?’ he says.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
Carmela takes a long snort, shakes her head, jumps up and says, ‘Fuck, that’s good!’
‘I told you,’ says Rodrigo.
‘How much you get?’
‘Plenty. Sit down, fuck’s sake, we talk about the American with …?’