Ms Fish was watching him intently, her big blue eyes glowing through her mask, almost brighter than the torch. ‘Tell more about the ring,’ she said.
No! Don’t do that! She’s a felon. Don’t be fooled by those amazing tits.
‘Like I say, Ginger Jones’s got it now. But Chas knows, cos it’s all in the letter I sent ’im.’
Letter? Why do my legs feel funny? Am I having a stroke?
Ms Fish gave Syd a swift, single slap. ‘What did the letter say?’
Ok, clench buttocks, retract stool. No fear!
‘Stop! It’s me,’ I blurted. I took off my mask and knelt by Syd. ‘It’s Ginger.’
‘Just a minute, buster.’ Ms Fish pointed the gun at me, waggling accusingly. ‘What the hell is this? Don’t think I’ve come here to play some stupid—’
‘Leave it.’ I prodded Syd. ‘Can you hear me?’
He smiled slightly, mumbling, though remained in a heap; his voice was gentle, like he’d suffered a bereavement – or a smack round the head. ‘S’ppose I ’ad it comin’.’
Suppose you did – but that’s not the point anymore. ‘You’re right, you’re here because of Chas,’ I said. ‘He’s sure it was you who grassed him – asked me to sort it. I’ve been eating myself from the inside out thinking about this, how to “sort it”. Bottom line is Syd, you’ve got to get away from here, a long way away, cos… Well, Chas’ll kill you.’
His eyes opened wider and he winced in the torch-light. ‘I ’an’t done nowt,’ he whispered.
Of course he hadn’t – I knew that better than anyone. ‘Whatever. You’ve just got to disappear – anywhere.’
‘Y’re working for him?’
‘No… I… well… It just kinda happened.’
‘So y’got the ring?’
I nodded, then glancing away to take a deep, shaky breath. ‘What was that about writing a letter? To Chas?’
Syd groaned, rubbing the lump on his head. ‘Just t’clear the air like and get things straight.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Dunno, few days after I s’ppose…’
You idiot!
‘But I daren’t send it – ummed and ahhed for yonks cos I thought it could do more bad than good – was doin’ me ’ed in.’
‘Did you send it?’ I snapped.
‘Yesterd’y – finally plucked the guts. Was a weight off me mind – felt loads better after.’
‘So he’ll only’ve got that today, right?’
‘Dunno.’
Idiot. Maybe I should kill you.
‘Soz for the ring thing,’ Syd mumbled. ‘Just wanted to get rid. There’s too much history.’
Inside my head, I heard a laugh that was laced with sarcasm. And I’ve gone and done the same thing to Brian. What a dickhead… ‘Hang on, what do you mean “history”?’ I said. ‘It belongs to his “ma”? Right?’
He seemed to shrink into himself a little. ‘So y’don’t know?’
Ms Fish grabbed Syd by his fancy Fred Perry shirt, pressing the gun into his forehead. ‘So tell him.’
‘OK! Chill!’
She backed off, just a little.
There was a long pause, God knows what he was thinking, how he gathered his thoughts to speak. But he did speak, if a little incoherently: ‘It was a robbery – upper class, y’know, toffs and that. Some Lord-a-the-Manor was done for the family jewels. A gang done their ’omework and drove a big JCB into the estate, just rammed straight in and got away with a fortune – to pass on to dodgy collectors like. Tit bits filtered out ’ere and there, robber to robber like, stuff that was easier to get rid of – that’s where Chas comes in.’
‘His “ma’s” ring?’
‘Yeh. They say he got it off one a them robbers for “services rendered” – ’undred grand’s worth!’
What?
‘But who knows what’s the truth with fellas like ’im,’ said Syd. ‘I’m just sayin’ what I’ve ’eard.’
Bloody hell. I almost took fifty quid for it!
Ms Fish made herself known with a condescending sniff. ‘So where is this ring?’
Syd sat up a little, rubbed his head. ‘Y’got a bird?’
‘No,’ I said shortly.
He strained to focus on her. ‘Nice tits, shame ’bout the mask.’
‘Fuck off.’ She pointed the gun at me, more accusingly than in threat. ‘Where’s the ring?’
‘It’s safe.’
She moved closer. ‘Don’t play me for a fool.’
‘Are you daft? I know that’s not real.’
‘Now so does he.’
I waved her away dismissively. ‘It doesn’t matter – we’re taking him back.’
‘No.’ Ms Fish actually stomped her foot. ‘I want to know what this is all about.’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Fine then I’ll rat on you.’ She held out her arms and shouted into the darkness. ‘Hello everybody! Ginger Jones has a stolen ring in his possession.’
I grabbed her arm, pulling her down and speaking through grinding teeth. ‘You ever repeat that and I’ll—’
‘You’ll what?’
‘Just remember I know what you’ve done too.’
She was quiet, utterly.
‘Who is she?’ said Syd.
‘A casual acquaintance – we’re not friends or anything.’
Ms Fish swore under her breath, and then we took Syd home.
Twenty-Four
And when you flinch at a bump
in the night, think of my face…
Back at my place, Ms Fish and I took rest.
‘So,’ she said, mooching about the bedsit, furrowed brow communicating her distaste. ‘What exactly did happen between you and Syd? And who’s Chas?’
I flopped back on my bed, releasing just a little tension – I felt so close to getting all this sorted, close enough to smell the cigar, close enough to think that maybe life could be good after all. ‘Sorry and all that, but I still don’t trust you.’
Ms Fish looked away. ‘Cut the tough guy crap – it doesn’t suit you.’
We’d left Syd packing a suitcase, soon to be on route to wherever he’d end up. His acquiescence had seemed childlike, an avoidance of the monster that lived under his bed.
There was a bang on the door.
‘Get that, will you?’ I mumbled.
‘At one-thirty in the morning? Get it yourself.’
The banging became more urgent, like someone had been told true happiness lay on the other side – I reckoned they’d be disappointed.
It was Syd.
He barged past. ‘Ginger!’
Yes, that’s my name.
‘The Slap’s out,’ he blurted, grabbing me by the shoulders.
‘What?’
‘Got bailed. ’e’s been seen.’
‘But—’
‘’e’s out!’
‘He can’t be let out before…’
Syd shook me, like he was trying to get the final grains from a salt cellar. ‘’e’s out! I ’ad to warn ye.’ Flapping his arms, he almost knocked off his glasses. ‘’e’s been down Arthur’s Shop, Pork Café, The Lion, everywhere. ’e’s gonna kill me.’
I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts.
‘Ginger!’
‘OK!’ Bloody hell, gimme time to think man… ‘Right…’ Shit! What do I say? The Slap’s out… The Slap’s out! ‘Just… er, calm down…’ Good one – that’ll make everything OK.
Syd’s eyes were darting around the bedsit, as though death hid behind the curtains, or beneath the bed. ‘What we gonna do?’
‘Listen,’ I said, followed by a shaky breath. ‘As far as anyone knows, I’ve already “sorted you”. Right? So all you’ve gotta do is disappear.’
‘Don’t make this any more complicated than it needs to be.’ This is complicated. This is deep. This is… just awful. ‘Stick to what we said.’
‘’e’ll be comin’ for y’too – for the ring.’
Indeed, my heart had been beating furiously since he’d mentioned the name. But I stayed calm, because the answer was simple. ‘Then I’ll just give it to him,’ I said. That is, via a desperate, panic-stricken call to Brian.
Syd’s hands were tremulous. ‘Yeh… Course.’
We loitered for a moment, awkward body movements suggesting that inwardly, neither of us were convinced.
‘Y’reckon we’re all right then?’ said Syd, a while later.
No. ‘Yes.’
‘Really?’
Don’t make me say it again.
Syd’s mobile rang. ‘Syd?… ’ello Darl… What?… I’m at Ginger’s… ten minutes… see y’soon.’ He tucked the phone back into his pocket, his fingers still showing a tremor. ‘I’m pickin’ up yer Mary then we’re off together… dunno where yet.’
‘You and Mary?’ I said.
‘Yeh.’
‘How you getting away?’
‘An old Sierra, mate of a mate.’
It was quiet.
‘Listen Ginger – gotta get goin’.’
I nodded. ‘So… I’ll see you then.’
‘Yeh.’
Our eyes held for a moment.
He left.
‘So who’s “The Slap”?’ said Ms Fish, straightening herself up.
‘Just an old friend,’ I mumbled.
She sniffed and tied her hair back. ‘It’s time I went too. I did as we agreed – so we’re even. Right?’
God, she’s pretty. I nodded. ‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘I’d say see you around, but I don’t want to see you ever again.’
‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is.’
My eyes followed as she proceeded with a conspicuous exit, opening the door with an exaggerated sway to her hips. She glanced back, though offered no detectable hint of affection. I smiled to myself, content with the consolation of a fleeting blowjob. Ms Fish turned to leave.
And screamed.
The Slap shoved Syd into the room, slamming the door as though it had called his mother a whore. He held a gun.
Ms Fish was down on the floor, hands over her ears and eyes clenched shut. The Slap pointed his gun, gesturing for me to join her. I obliged and we huddled together. Syd stood with arms folded across his chest, his back against the wall. He whispered in tongues, I think to God – funny that.
The Slap kept us static under his weapon, reaching into his trench coat to produce a mobile phone. He dialled singlehandedly, an intensity that should have pushed his thumb through the casing.
This is all just a misunderstanding, right? He’s calling the pizza dude.
He threw the phone across to me, giving a short nod, I grasped it with jelly hands.
‘Speak,’ said the phone.
‘W-who is this?’ I said.
‘You need to ask?’
Indeed. I wasn’t stupid – the ‘got a brick stuck in my throat’ voice could have belonged to no-one else.
‘C-Chas?’
‘Give the kid a biscuit.’
What can I say? The game’s up.
I could hear his teeth grinding: ‘So what I’m asking myself – sitting here a guest of Her Majesty – is “why has Syd packed his suitcase and trotted off to see Ginger?”’
I took strength from Ms Fish’s embrace. I felt a tremble to her hand, I felt her heart beat, her breaths become quicker; to know that such a conniving, confident woman could be as equally scared, it was soothing.
‘I-I don’t know,’ I blurted.
‘I must be psychic – cos I knew you were gonna say that.’
I glanced up at The Slap, standing over the room like Colossus Of Bedsits, his battered trench coat packed with muscle – muscle you didn’t mess with.
‘Where is it?’ said Chas.
The ring!
‘It’s safe. I promise.’ I tried to be brave, but was as convincing as custard of the cowardly kind.
‘Tell me, you like it?’
I paused.
‘Nice and shiny? Worth a few quid you reckon?’
‘I… dunno.’
‘Really?’
‘Just a ring…’
His voice became a growl, like conversing with a lawnmower. ‘Has someone been telling you tales?’
‘No. Well, I’ve heard… like, rumours I suppose.’
‘And what rumours might they be?’
‘Like you said – it might be worth a few quid.’
‘That why you and Syd are doing a runner?’
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘No.’
‘Some other reason then?’
‘No! I mean, we’re not. I’m sorting it.’
‘I put trust in you.’
My voice became more desperate, as it seemed did any chance of this ending with a handshake. ‘I’m sorting it.’
‘Big temptation for a young kid – if he’s got the bollocks to think he can get away with it.’
‘You’ve got it wrong…’
‘I know you’ve got bollocks – you just don’t know how to use ’em. Shame really – that it has to end like this.’
‘Listen—’
‘Shut up.’
I did.
‘Get it. Now.’
‘I can’t. I mean, I can. Just not, er…’ The power of articulation was absorbed by the turmoil that was my tummy.
Chas’s growl became a few semitones higher. ‘Don’t play me for a fucking clown.’
‘An hour. I just need an hour.’
‘You’ve got thirty seconds until everyone in that room goes bye bye.’
‘It’s with a friend!’ I blurted.
‘Who?’
‘I can’t—’
‘Who?’
Fuck! ‘Brian Scrimshaw!’
‘Now tell me where he is.’
‘At home, probably. But I can call him.’
‘How far?’
‘Goddard Ave, I think, I’m not exactly sure.’
There was a heavy breath, like whenever Dad received a council tax demand, then a pause. ‘Give the phone back.’
The Slap pounced on my sudden movement and I found myself staring down the barrel of a gun – I just knew he’d have no compunction.
‘He wants to talk to you,’ I yelped, clenching my eyes shut, holding the phone at arm’s length. ‘Take it.’ There was a strong tug, I let go and snatched my arm back – Ms Fish and I then squeezing to the point of pain.
‘Let me talk to ’im,’ said Syd, voice a feeble displacement of air. ‘I wanna tell it straight. Tell him I’m no grass.’
Stop talking Syd, eh? This isn’t a ‘Tell The Truth Anonymously’ meeting.
I opened my eyes, Syd back against the wall, shivering inside his own cuddle. ‘Just calm it,’ I said, a tremor to my own tone suggesting do what I say not what I do. ‘Keep it together and keep quiet. We’ll be fine.’ There wasn’t a shred of bravery to the words, just a fear of the truth, my own comeuppance.
Syd obeyed, probably by panic induced mind freeze. The Slap took a step forward, pointing his gun closer to our faces, reasserting his control. He held the phone with his opposite hand, gesturing for me to take it.
‘You listening?’ said Chas.
I swallowed, audibly. ‘Yeh,’ I mumbled.
‘You’re gonn
a phone your “friend”. Got it?’
‘Yeh.’
‘You put it on speaker, loud – so everyone can hear. Got it?’
‘Yeh.’
‘Use your own phone, so he knows the number. Be nice and be quick – any funny shit and it’s bye bye Ginger. Right? You getting this?’
‘Yeh.’
‘Good. Do it.’
‘Right, er…’ As I made to pass back the phone, my jelly hands lost grip, it bounced several times over the carpet, hit The Slap’s boot – a thud suggested steel toecaps. ‘I’m sorry.’
Betraying no more emotion than a car park, The Slap kept eye contact as he scooped up the phone, grunting to the master.
‘I… I need my phone,’ I said. ‘To call Brian. I’m supposed to call Brian.’
Upon a brown cardboard box/bedside table sat the mobile phone I’d loaned from Ms Fish. The Slap strode sideways, his gait taking in half the room, hand like a claw grasping a cuddly toy as he took my phone, a stride back to place it into my hand.
‘S-so? I just call him?’ I said. No. Stick it up your arse and deposit it to the second shelf. Idiot.
The Slap nodded, his gun dipping slightly and appearing to nod with him. Having established the bleeding obvious, I loosened my embrace with Ms Fish, fingers limp as I tried to operate the phone. I cranked the volume, numerous prods and pokes elicited a ringing tone loud enough for the room to hear; at which point, like rancid socks, I held the phone at arm’s length. The Slap held Chas’s call aloft, Brian picked up, and so began a conference call that was as much intimidating as it was technologically inept.
‘Brian. It’s me,’ I said brightly – the pointing gun made the creation of such a fake tone rather painstaking.
‘Ginger? What the hell? What’s wrong?’ His reply was brash, suggesting he’d been awoken and was none too thankful for the trouble.
‘Nothing,’ I chirped.
‘Pardon? What do you mean?’
‘I just wanted to, er, you know…’ A flash of reality and the hopelessness of such scrambled my thinking.
Brian snapped: ‘Ginger, why are you calling me?’
‘I, well…’ I took a long, deep breath. ‘I just thought you might wanna come round?’
‘Really? Why would I want to do that?’ His petulance felt like a kick in the stomach.
Strange Affairs, Ginger Hairs Page 13