Stay Another Day

by Mark Timlin

‘I dunno about that,’ she said. ‘She’s had a result.’

  ‘What?’ Asked Tommy.

  ‘You know her new bloke, Jacko?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘You know about that bank truck that got robbed in Nunhead the other week?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He drove one of the motors in the job.’

  ‘Get away.’

  ‘Yeah. One of the getaway drivers.’

  ‘Blimey.’

  ‘So Shaz has got a few bob for once.’

  ‘Come on Sandra,’ he said. ‘It’s good money.’

  ‘All right Tommy, I’ll see what she says.’

  Sandra must have convinced her, because the next day she phoned him again. ‘You’re on,’ she said.

  In fact the full set of kitchenware was delivered by pram by Thursday afternoon, and Tommy phoned Steve’s mobile. ‘Got your stuff,’ he said. ‘Let’s make a meet.’

  ‘I’m off tomorrow,’ said Steve. ‘In the pub, twelveish.’

  ‘Sweet,’ said Tommy. ‘Bring the dough like we said.’

  ‘Course,’ said Steve.

  They met up at noon the next day. Steve had a bundle of cash in his pocket. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I can’t stop, can we get the stuff now. My car’s outside.’

  Tommy gulped down his drink and they left the pub, went to Steve’s car, and Tommy directed him to his block. ‘It’s boxed up,’ he said. ‘You wait here, I’ll get the stuff and we’ll do the biz.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Steve, and Tommy went up to his flat, hefted up the heavy carton, and went back downstairs.

  He put the box on the front passenger seat and opened it. ‘A full set,’ he said.

  ‘Terrific,’ said Steve, who got out of the car and walked round to Tommy’s side. ‘Thomas Campbell,’ he said, showing him a police warrant card, and introducing himself as Detective Constable Steven Wells, ‘I’m arresting you for handling stolen goods.’ He told him his rights, and showed him warrants to search his flat and lock up.

  ‘Do what,’ said Tommy. ‘You can’t. This is entrapment.’

  ‘No mate,’ said Steve. ‘You introduced yourself and made the offer. It’s all down on tape.’

  He took a police radio from the pocket of his coat, and said, ‘Control. It’s 531. Let’s have the backup round to Campbell’s flat. He’s all ready for interview.’

  Tommy couldn’t believe his bad luck. All this time with a clean sheet, then he had an idea. ‘Here listen,’ he said. ‘I might have something for you. That truck that got hijacked last week in Nunhead. I know something about it.’

  ‘If you’re lying...’ said Steve.

  ‘Straight up,’ said Tommy. ‘Can’t we do some sort of deal?’

  ‘Might do,’ said Steve.

  So, as one door closed, another opened.

  Tommy never looked back.

  20

  Steve bundled Tommy into his car and drove to the local nick where he was banged up in a cell after giving his details to the custody sergeant and being parted with the few belongings he carried.

  Twenty minutes later the woman who’d been introduced as Delia came to his cell. ‘Tommy,’ she said. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Judith Sharman. This little job is my responsibility. Now my DC tells me you have some information that might be useful.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Tommy. ‘But I want a deal.’

  ‘You know we don’t do deals Tommy.’

  ‘Like hell you don’t.’

  ‘OK. Let’s go and have a little chat.’

  They went to an interview room where they were joined by Steve. There was a recording device in the room, but DS Sharman left it turned off. ‘OK, Tommy,’ she said. ‘What do you know?’

  ‘I know the name of one of the getaway drivers done that job in Nunhead last week, where that money truck got hijacked. I know where his bird lives, and I know that he spends a lot of time round there with her.’

  Sharman looked at Steve. ‘What do you reckon?’ she said.

  ‘I know he’s smart enough to have a clean record, though I reckon he’s been at it for years. And I know he’s supposed to be mates with every toe rag in the area. I know that from watching him for weeks. And I know that nicking that gang could get us both promoted. Better than pulling some small time bunch of thieves nicking bloody pots and pans, anyway.’

  ‘My DC was never over-enamoured with this job,’ said Judith. ‘OK, Tommy. We forget about our little sting and you spill the beans. You’ve not been formally charged, so there’s no paperwork. But I warn you. If you’re taking the piss I’ll make sure you regret it big time.’

  ‘It’s the truth,’ said Tommy. ‘I swear.’

  He supplied the cops with Shaz’s name and address, and the name of her new boyfriend, and an hour later he was back on the bricks, still with a clean record. But he also knew that if anyone sussed out what he’d done he was as good as dead.

  21

  Tommy heard about Shaz’s flat being busted through the Waterloo grapevine. It was the talk of the Cut market, where Shaz did her shopping, and drank in the pubs. Her new boyfriend, Jacko, had been nicked for armed robbery and conspiracy, and was on remand in Brixton. She was down the local nick as an accessory, and gave up some names. Grass was the word round the stalls and cafés and boozers between Waterloo Road and Westminster Bridge Road. Grass. Tommy began to feel safe until he got a call from Sandra. ‘You didn’t say nothing did you Tom?’ she asked. ‘What I told you about Jacko. It’s all gone tits up.’

  ‘Course not.’

  ‘Cos someone told me you were spotted with one of the filth what nicked him.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You better not have mate. There’s some very nasty people out there looking for someone to give a spank to. Shaz is in the frame, but I know better. She’d never talk to coppers. Anyway, she was having too good a time on Jacko’s wedge. So just watch out Tom. You never know who’s whispering names for a drink.’

  ‘It weren’t me, honest,’ said Tommy. But inside he knew it was time to make a move. He’d miss the manor, but that was too bad. He’d miss his neck more.

  He packed a small holdall with everything he needed, took one last look round his flat at all the stuff he’d have to leave behind, but at least he had his freedom, and was just opening the front door when a man’s voice said. ‘Hello Tommy. Taking a trip?’

  He nearly passed out until he recognised Steve and DS Sharman standing on his landing. ‘Christ,’ he said. ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘Holiday?’ said Judith.

  ‘No. I’m off, thanks to you. There’s whispers around about me, and I don’t need the ag.’

  ‘You done well Tommy,’ said Steve. ‘Very well.’

  ‘Lost my living though.’

  ‘You’ll survive,’ said Judith. ‘We’re both up for promotion on the strength of your intel, and I’m being transferred up West.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Listen. Where you off to?’

  ‘Dunno. North London somewhere. As far away as I can from here and still be in the smoke.’

  Judith took a card out of her handbag and wrote a number on the back. ‘My mobile,’ she said. ‘You hear anything like the last lot wherever you are and call me. There’ll be a few quid in it for you.’

  Tommy took the card and stuck it in his pocket. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.

  ‘You do that.’

  They both watched as Tommy took the stairs down to the street and vanished in the direction of Waterloo Station. ‘What do you reckon sarge?’ asked Steve.

  ‘He’ll be in touch,’ said Judith. ‘Sure as you’re born.’

  And she was right.

  22

  That first day, Tommy got a room in an Irish house in West Hampstead from a card in a newsage
nt’s window. It was a bit of a khazi, but the bloke who ran the place was an old Nancy-boy and made Tommy a decent cup of tea, the sheets were clean enough, and although it was a shared bathroom, Tommy’s room had a washbasin so at least he could have a piss in private. And the area was well served with cheap eating places.

  ‘Staying long?’ asked the landlord over the cuppa.

  ‘’Til the money runs out,’ replied Tommy. It was the truth, and there wasn’t much of it about. He thought of all the expensive gear he’d abandoned in Waterloo, but just shrugged again. Having all his limbs intact was worth more than a few fancy Japanese electrical goods.

  He settled down in the cafés and pubs like always, but his heart was no longer in the hoisting game. He’d lost his crew, and wasn’t in the mood to find another. There’d never be anyone like Sandra and her pals and he knew it. Tommy was running out of options. Hoisting was the only job he’d ever had; he couldn’t see himself signing on the dole at his age. He often looked at the copper’s card, and decided that being an informant might be the way to go. But that wasn’t as easy as it was the first time.

  He trawled the pubs, clubs and cafés of the area, taking in Kilburn, Cricklewood and Camden but no luck. Then he had a lucky break. The landlord told him that the bloke who ran a snooker and pool hall nearby was looking for a pot man to clear the tables, wash the glasses and fetch and carry for the clientele – who were the epitome of low life. ‘Cash in hand Tommy,’ he said. ‘I know you could use a shilling or two. I’ve put a word in for you.’

  So Tommy, who had never had a proper job in his life, ended up getting cigarettes and hot pies for the members of the club, clearing up after them, and eavesdropping on their conversations.

  It was like he was invisible all over again, and he heard all sorts from the punters, their various ethnicities making the club resemble a United Nations of the criminal world, but it was mostly small time crime. He knew that if he was going to earn from the copper, he’d need to bring her something big. He needed enough for a deposit on a decent place to live, and to replace some of the stuff he’d lost.

  Then one day it dropped into his lap.

  It seemed that over in Shepherd’s Bush, a pair of Pakistani brothers ran a cash and carry warehouse off the Goldhawk Road, catering for the local corner shops. A lot of cash. And the brothers had a profitable sideline – laundering money for various individuals, including a Balkan gang based in Notting Hill. But the Pakistani guys were big time gamblers – and big time losers. They’d lost some of the gang’s loot and seemed to be in no hurry to replace it.

  Now, the brothers took part in a very high-stakes poker game every Friday night at their warehouse. It tended to last through most of the weekend. The buy-in was twenty-thousand pounds, and there were often half a dozen players at any one time. A lot of money and only one minder to keep the peace.

  Tommy overheard two of the Balkans who often dropped in for a game of pool discussing the game, and the plan to knock it over the following Saturday evening. The brothers’ names, the address, everything. Everything he needed to earn a big cash payout from the police.

  On his next run for supplies Tommy phoned DS Sharman on his new mobile.

  ‘It’s been a long time, Tommy,’ she said.

  ‘Not so long,’ he replied.

  ‘You got something for me?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Something good?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Then let’s make a meet. And by the way, it’s Detective-Inspector now, thanks to you.’

  They met shortly afterwards in a pub in Bayswater. Tommy told her the gist of his information, but kept the names and location to himself. He intended to keep something back for bargaining purposes.

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Judith. ‘If it’s kosher.’

  ‘It’s kosher all right,’ said Tommy. ‘These bastards don’t mess about. I’ve heard stories...’

  ‘Save them for another day,’ interrupted Judith. ‘It’s Saturday that interests me. How much?’

  ‘For a grand I’ll tell you the full monty.’

  ‘I bet you will Tommy. But a grand’s a lot just on your say so. I don’t even know where you’re living these days. You might just vanish into the mystic, like you did when you left your last abode.’

  ‘That’s why I need at least a grand,’ said Tommy. ‘I’m running low on readies. Christ, I’m grafting for pennies at the moment. I need a base. Somewhere where I don’t have to take my own shit paper to the lavatory with me in my pocket.’

  ‘Too much information Tommy,’ said Judith. ‘All right, I’ll put you on the books as an official informant. If the intel is right.’

  ‘A grand?’ said Tommy.

  ‘A grand it is. But not until after Saturday, and all the bad men are in the cells.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Tommy. ‘I’ll have to trust you I suppose.’

  ‘Trust is a two way street Tommy,’ she said. ‘If I round up a team from the local nick, wherever it is, and it goes pear shaped, I’ll never live it down. For all I know, you could be winding me up for what happened before.’

  ‘I swear,’ said Tommy.

  ‘OK. Spill the beans. Where’s this job going off?’

  Tommy told her the names of the brothers and the address of the cash and carry, keeping his voice low, and she vanished outside with her mobile phone stuck to her ear.

  When she came back, she said, ‘They’re in the system,’ she said. ‘Shepherd’s Bush superintendent just about wet his knickers. Looks like we’re on.’

  ‘The money?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘Next week, son,’ said Judith. ‘Bell me on Sunday.’

  The robbery went down in the small hours of Sunday morning. DI Sharman had been part of an armed team keeping obbo on the warehouse, and had been on tenterhooks as the hours passed and no one showed. But, the police officers’ patience was eventually rewarded, and a load of bodies were nicked – not only the Balkans, who had arrived with plenty of firepower, but also the Pakistani brothers, who had some very interesting paperwork in the offices referring to certain illegal activities.

  Tommy heard all about it on the little portable radio at six am. The raid had ended in a shootout which had closed half of Shepherd’s Bush. Thank fuck, he thought. Now maybe I can get out of this shit hole.

  23

  And so Tommy Campbell became DI Judith Sharman’s main source of intelligence, which worked out well for both of them. Tommy picked up plenty of gossip at the snooker hall, and at the Irish house where he still kept a room, but he’d moved on to a small flat in Holloway. No one knew him except a young man named Cedric who he met at the local kebab shop, and who became his lover, his first for many years.

  Life was ticking along nicely until the day Tommy was strolling to the tube, only to see an anonymous, dark-coloured saloon with tinted windows pulling up ahead of him. Two men got out of the back and walked towards him. For once Tommy’s radar was on the blink. They gathered him up without fuss and put him in the car between the two of them. The driver pulled away almost before Tommy realised what had happened. ‘What?’ was all he managed to say in a strangled tone.

  ‘Shut up,’ said the elder of the two men. ‘Or you’ll be sorry.’

  Tommy did as he was told, but he felt like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach – and his whole world for that matter.

  The car drove up towards Archway then turned in the direction of Muswell Hill before pulling into a leafy side road and stopping. The driver got out of the car and lit a cigarette whilst the older man told Tommy exactly what was going to happen. ‘You’ve been telling tales, haven’t you Tommy?’ he said.

  ‘Dunno what you mean,’ said Tommy, his heart going a mile a minute.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the man. ‘We’re not going to hurt you. We just know about your relationship with DI Sharman.�
�

  ‘You Old Bill?’ said Tommy.

  ‘Now if we were, we’d have to respect PACE, and your rights to legal representation. No. We work directly for Her Majesty. We do what the police can’t. And because of your unique position, you’re going to work directly for Her Majesty too.’

  Tommy began to feel better. ‘What about the DI?’ he asked.

  ‘What the DI doesn’t know won’t hurt her,’ said the man. ‘And we wouldn’t want her hurt would we?’

  Tommy shook his head. Not as long as she’s holding cash, he thought. ‘What’s in it for me?’ he asked.

  ‘Money, and Her Majesty’s eternal gratitude, of course,’ he smirked.

  Tommy couldn’t care less what Her Majesty thought. ‘So what do I do?’

  ‘There’s a pair of Russian brothers use your place of employment. Georgie and Alexie. Know who I mean?’

  Tommy knew only too well. A right pair of arseholes was his estimate of them. Always off their heads on coke, vodka and champagne, which they sent him out to buy from the local offie. Lousy pool players too, who always wanted to bet on the games, and always lost. But they were dangerous, despite outward appearances. Very, very scary with it. ‘I know them,’ he said.

  ‘They’re running a scam in conjunction with their mother. Blackmail. We don’t like it. We want hard evidence. You can get it for us.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Earn your money Tommy,’ said the man. ‘You work it out.’

  ‘They’re hard men,’ said Tommy, already feeling fearful.

  The man sighed, reached into his pocket and Tommy cringed. ‘Relax,’ he said, and pulled out an envelope. ‘Five grand Tommy,’ he said. ‘Now, do you think you can work something out?’

  Tommy reached for the envelope, the lure of the money overriding his instincts to cut his losses, get out now. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I can.’

  The man pulled the envelope back. ‘Just one other thing,’ he said. The other man picked up a briefcase from the floor and opened it, pulling out a sheaf of papers and a pen. ‘Sign that,’ said the older man.