R.I.P Robbie Silva

by Tony Black

  Jasper was doing a two-er and I was on a five that got cut to 18 months on appeal but in the time we struck it off we became firm mates and ended up running a snout ring; on the out we had enough of a bundle to set ourselves up with a gaff. The situation worked out a treat because we kept ourselves to ourselves and never got in each others way. When Jasper heard I was on the out again, he was good enough to offer to put me up once more.

  I hit the button for the buzzer – hoped it was the right address because I'd left my jacket – and the piece of paper with Jasper's details – in Gail's Beemer.

  'Hello.'

  I recognised the voice.

  'All right, mate ... it's Jed.'

  'Jed boy – I'll buzz you in.'

  Jasper's flat was two flights up; when I reached the landing he was waiting for me with that shit-eating grin of his. 'Jed, you old bastard!'

  He grabbed me in a bear hug.

  'Whoa, watch my ribs.'

  Jasper looked me up and down. 'You been boxing?'

  I gave him the as if look, marched indoors. 'Hope you've got the kettle on.' I tried to make it look like I hadn't just seen a shopkeeper torched, then made my escape in a hot motor, which I'd dumped in an industrial estate on the other side of town before legging it by bus and hoof. But Jasper wasn't buying it. He'd seen the look too many times before.

  I sat myself in front of the gob-unit, flicked a few channels whilst Jasper put on the kettle. He was playing it cagey. 'So what's it like to be out?'

  'Yeah, y'know ... same as I remember it.'

  A conversation killer if ever I had one. Thing is, talking about the inside when you're on the out is a no-go. You want to move on, get away from all the shit that fills your head in there. You have to block it out, and that means removing the differentiations. A hoor of a business.

  'I heard from wee Rab this afternoon.'

  'Bandy Rab?'

  'Said you pulled yourself a nice little blonde bit in the pub.'

  I exhaled; my breath escaped louder than I imagined it would. Came like an awesome sigh.

  'Fuck, that bad, eh?'

  I looked up to see Jasper standing in the door jamb. 'You could say that, yeah.'

  He dried off the cup he was holding, returned to the kitchen. 'That's the kettle boiled.'

  'Great. Got any biscuits?'

  'Fucking hell, you getting your feet under the table already?' said Jasper.

  He had me there. Funny how you always look at your old friends as a kind of extended family – or in my case a substitute one – I wouldn't want to be relying on any of my kin to look out for me. Not now.

  Jasper came through from the kitchen with the two teas and a pack of Kit Kats tucked under his arm.

  I took my tea, swiped the chocolate biscuits, said, 'Ah, nice one.'

  'Thought you'd appreciate it ...' He nodded at the Kit Kats. 'Be a fairly decent score in Killie, eh?'

  I smiled, tucked into the two fingers of confectionery heaven.

  I was in two minds about whether to tell Jasper about the afternoon's events with Gail. I felt sure I could trust him and he would stand by me no matter what; but I was a professional standover man and keeping the puss tightly buttoned was an old habit I'd never got rid of. It was a case of what he doesn't know can't harm me. I knew if he had plod busting his chops he wouldn't be too pleased but fuck-tae-fuck, it was a career hazard that Jasper had already grown used to, many years ago.

  'So, you still doing a bit of fencing, bit of dealing?' I said.

  He tapped the side of his nose, gave me a wink. 'Got a new line.'

  'Oh yeah.' Now this did interest me. Jasper had always worked the lower end of the criminal spectrum; his first stretch was for kiting. Had been a good earner but got too hard to work it when people stopped paying with cheques. He'd progressed to running lists on junkie hoisters – at one stage he had a spare room full of Gillette Sensors, Fahrenheit aftershave and Touche Eclat. The supply chains proved too erratic though, with his junkie partners dropping down dead or getting busted every few months. 'So, what's your latest venture?'

  He smiled, run a finger down the middle of the Kit Kat wrapper and split the biscuit in two. 'Shipping.'

  'Y'wha–?'

  'You heard. Shipping.'

  'You, on a boat?' I laughed him up.

  Jasper's smile slid off his face. 'Yeah, what's so funny about that? My old man was a fisherman, y'know, it's in the blood!'

  'Just sounds like a lot of hard work ... now you fannying about on a yacht, I can see ... going a pedalo in the Costa, I can just about imagine but a proper fucking boat!'

  He chomped on the Kit Kat; I watched the jaws go hard at it, then, 'Well, that's where you'd be fucking wrong, mate. I've been at this caper for six months and let me tell you, it's a fucking payer ... best I ever had.'

  I leaned forward, pried, 'And what are you ferrying?'

  He grinned again. 'This and that ... mainly that.'

  'Dope?'

  'Maybe, maybe not ... all depends. See, this boat I have is useful for many a bit of business let me tell you, Jed. Many a bit of business ...'

  I didn't want to hear any more. I was tired and coming down from the day's antics. Jasper's tales of woe would have to keep for another day. As I sipped my tea I suddenly took a start – a loud wrap on the door.

  'The fuck's that?' My tea spilled down my jeans as I got up.

  'Calm down,' said Jasper. 'Just cool the beans, eh?'

  I watched him walk towards the door. I looked out the window to see if there were any police cars pulling up in the street; he was back before I could register the scene.

  'Jed, it's for you.'

  * * * *

  I recognised him, and the suit, from the off.

  He stood for a moment and looked at me, then back to Jasper. He was holding a carrier bag and as he opened it, leaned inside, Jasper got jumpy.

  'Whoa, watch yourself there, mate.' He placed a hand on his arm, leaned over and peered into the bag. He seemed to be satisfied there was nothing dangerous inside and gave the nod.

  The bloke in the suit smiled, said, 'Think I'd walk in here with a threat?'

  Jasper shrugged.

  'I'm long past that, not my style anymore.'

  'That right?' Jasper was playing up; he was the type to duke it out.

  The suit grinned; I spotted some gold in his teeth. 'If I wanted to do you over, my mate ... I wouldn't waste a good whistle.' The accent was London; I didn't like that. When he pulled my jacket out the carrier bag and threw it at me I knew at once how Gail's old man had found me.

  'You ought to be careful, lad ... leaving a forwarding address behind.' He held up a crumpled piece of paper that I'd left in my pocket. It had Jasper's contact details on it.

  'The fuck's going on here?' said Jasper.

  The gadgie smiled, balled the paper and put it in his pocket. 'Looks like I'm in time for tea.' He moved over to my side of the room and picked up a Kit Kat. 'And biscuits too, lovely.'

  I saw Jasper was ready to lamp the cunt, but I gave him the look, one that said I'd explain later and he retreated into the kitchen for another cup.

  'Now, you must be wondering who the fucking hell I am, I shouldn't wonder.'

  I knew he was Gail's old man. 'Go on, surprise me.'

  He held out a hand. 'Robbie Silva. Pleased to meet you.'

  I vaguely knew the name.

  'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

  He smiled. I caught sight of some more gold; it sparkled under the bare bulb above his head. As he leaned forward he tapped my arm. 'Call me Robbie.'

  'If you say so.'

  He laughed; a piranha smirk spread across his coupon. 'I do, lad. I do. I mean, after your exploits with my daughter today, it should really be me offering you the tea and tiffin!'

  I wasn't so sure about that.

  Jasper returned with a mug of tea, set it down. Silva smiled again. I'd already grown tired of his grin. It was wearing.

  I took up my own
tea, took a sip, said, 'Jasper, give us five minutes, eh?'

  He looked at me, frowned, then turned to the still smirking Silva. Jasper shook his head and left the room.

  'Thanks, my friend, much appreciated,' said Silva. 'Now, we can have ourselves a nice old chat, eh? ... One old lag to another.'

  The mug of tea was hot; I placed it on the arm of the chair. I wondered where Silva was going with all this. I mean, I'd dragged his daughter – nah – let's get this straight, she'd dragged me, into a daylight robbery situation. Either way, we'd had a close call. Silva was looking like a bit of a player; I couldn't see him being happy about my involvement with his daughter. I could expect a good kicking ... if I was lucky.

  I bolded it: 'Look, what the fuck is this?'

  Silva leaned back, crossed his legs. I noticed he wore white sports socks with his suit; so you can take the crook out the east-end but not the other way about. Figured. He crossed his fingers, tried to look like he was starring in some fucking gangster movie or other. He might have been big time, but I'd seen it all before.

  'I hear you just got out of the shovel,' said Silva.

  I hated the way these Londoners used that fucking rhyming-slang. But they were all the same. 'And?'

  He uncrossed his legs, leaned over. 'What'd you do?'

  'Got caught.'

  He laughed, sat back. Christ, he was easily pleased. It unnerved me that I was getting on so well with him. He clearly wanted something; either that or he was very grateful I'd got his daughter out of a tight spot.

  'I've done my fair share of time in the shovel.'

  I saw where this was going; cue the macho-boasts. I played up to him. 'Yeah?'

  'I did a stretch in Albany on the Isle of White in the eighties, fucking hard stretch ... was stabbings every other day of the week back then. Not like these cushy fucking hotels they put you up in these days.'

  I looked out the window, toyed with the idea of sparking up a tab.

  He went on, 'So, what I'm saying is ... we've both been around.'

  I took out my snout, started to tap on the box. Silva got the message.

  'Anyway, my point is, I hear you done good today. You got my girl out a tight spot. You're obviously not some ten-bob blagger.'

  I put the tab in my mouth, lit it. The smoke escaped in a long thin trail towards the ceiling. I watched it for a second or two then turned back to Silva. 'And ... let me guess, you might be able to put a bit of work my way?'

  He leaned back again, crossed fingers. He had a bit of a gut on show as he spoke, 'Well, likely as not I can put some work your way and it'd be good work. I'm stone ginger on that.'

  'Y'wha–?'

  'What I'm saying is it would be proper work. Not just bread and butter.'

  I played him. 'No thanks.'

  'Now, hold on, don't be hasty. Be a good few shekels in it for you. I'm known on this manor, ask about.'

  I huffed, said, 'No thanks.'

  His eyes widened; the rims were red. 'Are you fucking mugging me off?'

  I took another drag on my tab, exhaled. 'Fact of the matter is, mate, I've seen how your daughter operates, and you know what they say ... the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'

  I'd given Silva a choice: he could go postal, put a heavy threat on me, or put a lid on that temper of his. I didn't think he had it in him. I watched as he took breath, narrowed his eyes and looked out into the street. 'Is that a fact, Jed Collins? See, I did a bit of research into your background and I'm sure you wouldn't like to be punting a similar philosophy there.'

  I got out my seat, had the arm hooked ready to land one in his puss; he rose fast, fronted me. The smile was back. 'Have a think about what I said, lad.'

  I eyeballed him. He kept a stare on me too as he dipped in his pocket and removed a card with his number on it.

  I took the card but my mind was awash with old images, thoughts. I wanted to smart-mouth him back. But, he had me.

  As Silva walked through the door he touched his brow. 'Thanks for the cuppa.'

  * * * *

  I was still standing in the middle of the living room floor with my heart pounding when Jasper returned. He faced me for a few moments, then ran fingers through his hair. His expression told me he was searching for the right words.

  'The fuck is going on here, Jed?' he said.

  My mind was still all over the shop; my blood was racing. 'What?'

  'Have you turned my flat into a fucking flop? ... Have you just come from a fucking job?'

  I didn't have the marbles to answer him. I shook my head. I knew Jasper had picked up on Silva's comments about the jacket. Shit, he'd find out soon enough, soon as he turned on the TV news.

  'Look, I got roped in ...'

  Jasper slouched, then slumped in the chair. 'Fucking hell, fucking hell.'

  'It was supposed to be a nothing job ... it just got out of hand. I didn't think it was going to amount to anything, but ...'

  'Yeah, but what?'

  'Jesus Christ, it was this mad bit, she lost it on me and, well, that was that.'

  Jasper stood up and paced the room. 'This is out of order ... totally out of order, flopping at my fucking residence, after pulling a job.'

  I tried to stop him pacing; he shook off my hands. 'What if the filth run you down?'

  'They won't ... I'm in the clear. Man, I wouldn't have come here if I thought ...'

  'Aw, thanks a fucking bunch, mate. Nice of you to think of me.'

  I let Jasper rant and rave for ten minutes; he silenced himself, seemed to get over the initial outburst.

  I was off on one myself though, broke the silence. 'The cunt!' I said.

  'Eh?'

  I nodded to the door. 'Our visitor.'

  'Who the fuck was he anyway?'

  I drew breath, felt my hand reach up to my mouth; I wiped away with the back of my hand, prepared for Jasper to go scripto once again. 'Robbie Silva.'

  'Fucking hell ... Long Dong Silva.'

  'Wha–?'

  'That was Long Dong Silva? ... In my flat! Holy shit!'

  I'd heard of him but I'd been off the grid for so long I hadn't heard this handle before. 'Why do they call him that?'

  'He's a top fucking man now, that's why. Came from nowhere to be one of the swinging dicks in the last few years. He's big time, Jed.'

  I turned away from him, went to look out the window. I saw Silva crossing the road and getting into a black Audi. The car sped off.

  'So what's his angle?'

  A huff. 'Fuck knows. Used to run porn rings a few years back – everyone said he'd road-tested the slags himself. He's got a big crew around him now though, I'd say he's into everything.'

  I moved back towards my chair, sat. 'So what's he want with me?'

  Jasper squinted, tilted his head. He lifted a palm, waved it in my direction. 'He offered you a bit of work, eh?'

  'Something like that.'

  'Think he knows you?'

  'Dunno ... knows of me, maybe.'

  'Well, if he's been asking about he'll know you're a good jump man.'

  'Aye, and he'll know I work alone. Folk at Silva's level don't go jumping counters!'

  'So, where's he coming from?' I rubbed my thighs through my jeans, it was a nervous movement and Jasper sussed it. 'Jed, what's the go here?'

  'I wish I fucking knew, mate.'

  * * * *

  I put myself up in dock for a few days. Lot of shitty daytime telly. Fucking Trisha, reruns of Quincy and The Rockford Files. The afternoon news was a showstopper though, nice little item about an Edinburgh shopkeeper with third-degree burns after a bungled raid. Jasper had been out taking care of business when that little item ran, so I was chuffed to bits about that, but Christ I was getting bored. Was sure I felt my brain softening inside my skull. There's a point, for me anyway, when sitting about makes me tip over. I mean, in the pound you get used to it, but when there's a big bad world awaiting you and no locked doors holding you back it can do your nut in. A hoor of a busine
ss.

  I was cautious about going out so soon. Took a scarf off the rack and an old golf umbrella – big job – was one of Jasper's numbers from his days in the casuals, had the point sharpened for self-defence, or pure agg, purposes. I doubted the fucking thing had ever been opened. Might have opened a few heads in its day though.

  The street was quiet enough, lot of old dears with shopping trolleys though – made me think of the one back at the fat Jambo bastard's place. The telly news bit had said he was in a 'stable condition' whatever the fuck that meant. I couldn't see Gail being too chuffed about that – she was out to off the cunt. The thought had simmered in me for a few days; Christ Almighty, if I'd known she was so completely Radio Rental, I'd have steered well clear. Thinking with the boaby, though. Never a good idea.

  These last few days I'd got to replaying the raid over and over; and thinking some more about Gail. It's a funny thing – but that's how some bits get inside your head. No matter what they've done, how they've pissed you off – they get inside your mind and there's just no shaking them out.

  Now, I'm hardly wet behind the ears – I know all bits of stuff lose their shine after a while – but it's a fact that until that point in time arrives, and who knows when that will be, they are lethal. They get their claws round your billiards and that's that.

  I made my way onto the main drag, well, what passes for it in Jasper's neck of town. The thing about Edinburgh is, it's not a big place – but it does have its distinct manors. If you stay clear of the New Town and the yuppie centre you won't go far wrong. Add to that the Old Town and the screeds of tourists there, you're laughing. Just about everywhere else has its charms, well ... for me anyway. I'm not a fussy bastard, I like a manor to have a few nice pubs, a few places to grab some scran and that's that. There were days when I thought about counting the building societies, points of drop-off for security vans and maybe even the odd bureaux d'change – if I was after some easy money – but not any more.

  I found myself a nice old-school greasy spoon and ordered up a bacon roll and some coffee.