Hearts of Stone

by Mark Timlin

  ‘I thought you said it needed a re-bore.’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘It’s an old Jag, isn’t it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. How do you know?’

  ‘Silly question. We know what colour shorts you wear.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said.

  ‘Junk heap,’ he said. I surmised he was talking about my car, not the state of my shorts. ‘Give me a Kraut car any day.’

  ‘Like?’ I said.

  ‘Porsche 911 Turbo. Now, that is a car.’

  ‘And you’ve got one?’

  ‘On the firm,’ he said.

  I shook my head. ‘But not tonight.’

  ‘No. Ollie picked me up. We don’t want too many cars in and out of here. It might make the local law sus.’

  ‘And we wouldn’t want that,’ I said.

  ‘No, we wouldn’t. This isn’t an attachment. We’re freelance.’ Looking at his eyes in the dawn light, that was what worried me.

  ‘Endesleigh tells me you’re my contact.’

  ‘That’s right. I’m the mad buyer,’ he said. ‘Just call me Charlie. My name, my game.’ And he giggled again.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ I said. But I was still having some doubts. ‘Where to, then?’

  ‘Beautiful downtown Kennington. I’ve got a sweet little drum there. You must come over to dinner sometime.’

  ‘I’ll take a raincheck, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Please yourself, babe. It’s your loss.’

  I drove him to Kennington through empty streets. It took about three minutes. The Cosworth’s acceleration was like a kick from a mule. By the time I got to his place I was really motoring, and I didn’t mind using a clutch at all.

  ‘Coffee?’ he said.

  Well, I had to work with the geezer, like it or not. ‘Go on then,’ I said.

  ‘Remember you’re in character.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  His house was in a new development, shoehorned between a church and a row of beautiful Georgian houses. One of those private estates built in the eighties, when interest rates were low and mortgages as easy to get as falling off a log. It was an upside-down L-shaped cul-de-sac of smart little terraced red brick boxes, each with its own postage stamp of a front garden and garage, and trailing vines up the walls. His was on the corner, in the angle of the L. He let us in through enough locks to keep a jailer happy.

  ‘Babe!’ he shouted as he shut the door behind us. ‘I’m home. I’m not alone, so get decent.’ He turned and winked at me.

  We went through into the kitchen which looked out onto a tiny walled garden, mostly paved, but with two small flower beds and several wooden barrels cut down and full of more flowers.

  From somewhere above us I heard movement. Brady put on the kettle. He was good at that.

  He took off his jacket and tossed it over one of the kitchen stools. He was wearing a shoulder holster. I could see the butt of a revolver sticking out. It looked like a heavy-calibre weapon.

  ‘You always armed?’ I asked.

  ‘Always. You never know what’s going to happen, or who you’ll meet. I even take it to bed with me. And I’m a good shot. Very good.’

  ‘I’m on your side, remember,’ I said.

  ‘Just you remember,’ he said menacingly, then grinned that maniacal grin again.

  Nice bloke, I thought. I’d hate to see the way he treated real villains.

  I heard footsteps on the stairs and a young black man, no more than twenty-one, came into the room. He was wearing just a pair of black silk shorts that did nothing to hide a semi-erection. He was bare-chested and muscular, with his hair cut into a high top fade. He stopped at the doorway and struck a pose.

  ‘Who’s your friend?’ he said in a Geordie accent.

  9

  Brady didn’t turn a hair. Why should he, it was his house.

  ‘Alfie,’ he said. ‘Meet a friend of mine called Nick. Nick meet Alfie.’

  I looked over at Brady, and then at the boy with his dick sticking through the material of his kecks like a flag, and wondered what the hell I’d got myself into this time.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  The black youth ignored me. ‘You’ve been out all night,’ he said accusingly to Brady.

  ‘Business,’ said Brady back.

  ‘What kind of business?’ Alfie looked archly at me.

  ‘Mind your own kind of business,’ said Brady, and all of a sudden he wasn’t grinning anymore. His face darkened and his eyes gleamed through narrowed lids.

  ‘You could have phoned,’ said Alfie. But he’d seen Brady’s face, too, and he softened the tone of his voice.

  ‘Who died and made you my keeper?’ demanded Brady.

  ‘No one,’ said Alfie.

  ‘I phone when I want to phone.’ Brady was getting petulant and boring.

  ‘You’re always staying out all night with someone,’ moaned Alfie.

  I didn’t quite know what to say. Was this boy accusing me of having it off with Brady, or what? I think he probably was. The whole business was going from bad to worse. ‘I’ll push off,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said Brady. ‘Have some breakfast.’

  The thought of hot food and liquid, and sharp knives and a gun, and this pair in their present mood didn’t do a thing for me.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I need some sleep. I’ve got work later.’

  ‘I’ll catch you at the bar at lunchtime,’ said Brady.

  Oh, good, I thought. ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ I said.

  ‘What bar?’asked Alfie.

  Shut up, Alfie, I thought.

  But Brady didn’t explode as I thought he might. He just said. ‘Where he works.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Norwood,’ I said.

  ‘Can I come too?’ asked Alfie.

  ‘Another time. It’s business,’ said Brady.

  ‘See what I mean. It’s always bloody business,’ complained Alfie. ‘I’m going back to bed. You and your friend can do what you like.’ And he left.

  I looked at Brady. He looked back at me.

  ‘So?’ he said.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘I’m glad you said that.’

  ‘Don’t keep on,’ I said. ‘Don’t keep pushing. If you’re going to be my contact, just be that. If you want to fight, I’m going home. You can keep your fucking car, and do your worst with that bit of trick evidence you fixed up earlier. I told your guv’nor I’m in. Just don’t push it. And, by the way, I don’t give a shit who you fuck, or what hole you fuck them in, or for that matter if they fuck you. OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  I couldn’t resist it. ‘But don’t the powers that be rather frown on it?’ I asked.

  ‘I get special dispensation.’

  ‘Don’t you get your leg pulled in the showers?’

  ‘If I do, that’s all I get pulled, believe me. You were in the job yourself for long enough. Some of those fuckers are so far in the closet they’ll never get out. That’s how I got started in the clubs and vice squad. No problem with me getting a freebie off a brass.’

  I didn’t bother mentioning rent boys. ‘Listen, I’ve got to get some kip. What’s the time?’

  ‘Half six.’

  ‘Shit, I’m working at ten-thirty. I’m going home. Lunchtime you said?’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve got to work fast.’

  ‘Those guys don’t come in at lunchtime.’

  ‘That’s OK. Now, don’t forget, when I come in we’re close friends.’

  ‘Not too close, though.’

  ‘Close enough.’

  ‘You’ll get me talked about.’

  ‘Not for the first time, I bet.’

 
‘That’s a point. Right, I’m off. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘I’ll let you out.’

  ‘You believe in security.’

  ‘And you don’t. We got into your place last night in twenty seconds flat.’

  ‘I’ll get it looked at.’

  ‘I would, if I were you. Seriously.’

  And on that happy note I left, and drove home to bed.

  10

  Of course I was late for work. I’d gone back to bed when I got home, and set the alarm for ten, and then missed it. I woke up with a start at a couple of minutes past eleven. I shaved, washed and dressed in two minutes flat, and hit the road. Normally I walk to work. But that day I took the Ford. As I’d locked up the bar the night before, I had the keys, and when I arrived the cleaner and two draymen with a beer delivery were waiting. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Overslept.’ None of them looked particularly impressed. They all had the air of people who had been around since the sun rose, and had nothing but contempt for anyone who couldn’t get to work by ten-thirty. I opened up and took in the delivery. The cleaner started swabbing the floor with a damp mop.

  ‘Anything I can do?’ I asked.

  ‘Keep out of my way,’ the cleaner replied tartly. I left her to it and went out into the kitchen to make some tea.

  When the delivery was in, and checked and signed for, and the draymen had drunk a conciliatory bottle of beer each, and the cleaner had cleaned and gone, and the place was ready to open, JJ arrived.

  ‘OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Perfect,’ I replied.

  ‘Who’s the flash motor belong to?’ he asked, referring to the Cosworth parked outside on the double yellow lines in front of the bus stop. Sitting there amongst the usual West Norwood junkers it looked like a thoroughbred in a knacker’s yard. It just had that look about it, you know.

  ‘Me,’ I said.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You come into money?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘That’s a thirty-grand motor.’

  ‘Is it?’ I said. Which probably wasn’t the best thing to say if I was supposed to own the thing.

  ‘Have you sold the E-Type?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  ‘Nick…’

  We were interrupted by the arrival of the first customer of the day. An old boy who wanted a pot of Earl Grey and a croissant with jam. I did the business for him. And then a few more punters started rolling in, and JJ had no chance to question me further.

  Brady pulled up outside in his black Porsche, top down, with the stereo blaring BB King, just after one. JJ and I were behind the bar.

  ‘This place is getting like the Royal Automobile Club,’ said JJ.

  Brady parked opposite, and got out of the car without opening the door. A real athlete. He crossed the street, came in and sat on a bar stool. ‘Hi, Nick,’ he said.

  ‘I had a hunch you’d know him,’ said JJ.

  ‘Hi, Brady,’ I said. ‘What’ll you have?’

  ‘Give me a beer and a burger. Medium rare with French fries. No onion in the salad.’

  I got the beer, and JJ took the food order through to the kitchen.

  ‘So what’s up, Nick?’ asked Brady.

  ‘Not a lot. I was late for work, thanks to you.’

  ‘This is not the Nick Sharman I heard about. Working in a dump like this for a few quid an hour, and worrying about being late. That sounds like a normal citizen.’

  ‘It suits me.’

  ‘You must be losing your touch.’

  ‘Brady, why don’t you back off. I told you those two guys don’t come in here during the day. If they come in at all, it’s Friday or Saturday evening. Now you’ve seen me at work, so just get lost.’

  ‘I’ve seen you at work before, Nick. This isn’t the first time I’ve been here.’ Now I knew why he looked familiar. ‘I believe in knowing the territory,’ he went on.

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll be in tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘God knows. It’s Friday. Maybe.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I finish at six-thirty. I’ll stick around. I’m not working ’til tomorrow evening. I’ll see what’s cooking.’

  ‘My burger would be good.’

  ‘Be patient, Brady. Everything comes to him who waits.’

  He took a sip of his beer. ‘I have waited,’ he said. ‘Too long. I want these people. Through them we can get the importers. The fat cats sitting in their offices in the city. The ones with all the money, who never get their hands dirty on the stuff. I want those bastards, Nicky my boy, and I want them bad.’

  The bell in the kitchen rang. ‘This’ll be yours now,’ I said.

  ‘Well run along and get it then, like a good waiter.’

  ‘I could learn to dislike you,’ I said. ‘Easily.’

  He twisted up his face in a leer. ‘I think you’re getting me confused with someone that might worry about it,’ he said.

  I shrugged and went and got his food. JJ grabbed my arm as I picked up the plate. ‘You do know him?’ he said.

  ‘Slightly,’ I replied.

  ‘Watch him, mate. He’s bad news.’

  You don’t know the half of it, I thought. ‘He’s harmless,’ I said.

  JJ didn’t look convinced. Nor did I, to tell you the truth.

  11

  Brady took the hint. He ate his burger and drank his beer and left. Being Friday lunchtime, it was busy in the bar and I didn’t have time for conversation anyway. Good job. All afternoon I felt JJ watching me, but he didn’t say anything. At six-thirty when the two barmaids who were doing the evening shift turned up, I took off my apron and sat at the bar.

  ‘Not going?’ asked JJ.

  ‘No, I’ve got tomorrow off. I think I’ll stick around for a bit.’

  ‘I would have thought you’d’ve had enough of this place for one day.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You know I love it. Give us a beer, for God’s sake. I’m spitting feathers here.’

  ‘You’re driving, don’t forget,’ he said, giving me a bottle of Rolling Rock.

  ‘It’s got right up your nose, that motor, hasn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes, it has. What’s the problem?’

  ‘How can you afford it?’

  ‘What? On what you pay me, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah, if you must know.’

  ‘You know I’ve got a little dough put away. Relax, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘And what about that geezer?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who? You know very well. Him in the Porsche.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Where does he fit in?’

  ‘He doesn’t. He’s a customer. He’s been in before.’

  ‘Not talking to you, he hasn’t.’

  ‘So he’s talking to me now. Things change. What about it?’

  ‘He smells bad.’

  ‘I’ll get him some aftershave for Christmas.’

  ‘Don’t get funny, Nick.’

  ‘I don’t understand what the problem is.’

  ‘Just don’t bring trouble here.’

  ‘The last time there was trouble here, you were pleased to see me.’

  ‘Those two were nothing. That guy’s different.’

  ‘No trouble, JJ, I promise. All right?’

  ‘All right,’ he said. But it was grudging.

  I stayed around, dawdling over two beers until about nine. I chatted to the staff and a couple of customers, and it was really no hardship. Then about ten past, Hughes and Seeley came by. I saw them outside. As they passed the Ford, Seeley grabbed Hughes by the sleeve,
and they stopped and gave it a good screw. I pretended not to notice. Then they came in and went up to the other end of the bar and ordered a couple of beers. Then Seeley called JJ over. I saw JJ point at me, and a minute or two later they moved in my direction. They were dressed for their summer holidays or a winter cruise. Baggy lightweight suits. Seeley’s was beige, Hughes’s olive green. Both wore button-down cotton shirts: the kind that looked like they’d never seen an iron, you know. Tan for Seeley, white for Hughes, teamed with colourful ties. On their feet were light loafers, like boat shoes. I guessed these two went shopping together. Hughes was carrying a small portable phone. I knew one of them would have to.

  ‘Your motor?’ said Seeley, pointing at the Cosworth parked outside. He had a London accent. Not cockney, just anonymous London.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Nice,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said again.

  ‘Had it long?’

  ‘No.’

  The other one, Hughes, just stood there looking at me. I hadn’t liked them before, and being close didn’t make things better. ‘I’ve got one too,’ said Seeley.

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘What made you get one?’

  ‘They’re fast, and anonymous, and they piss off fuckers in BMWs,’ I said.

  He laughed at that, and showed his mouthful of white teeth just like in the photos I’d seen. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Want a drink?’

  I didn’t, but I’d told Endesleigh I was in, so I grinned back. ‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘A Rock’ll do.’

  Seeley ordered three, and we all introduced ourselves, although I already knew who everybody was.

  ‘You work here don’t you?’ said Hughes, speaking for the first time. His voice was surprisingly cultured for someone who looked so rough.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘You must have a private income to have a motor like that.’

  It’s funny how everyone was getting interested in the state of my finances all of a sudden.

  ‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t afford it on what I earn here, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Come into money, have you?’

  ‘Not really. I do a bit of this and that on the side.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘It’s none of your business, Pat,’ said Seeley, but real friendly like, so no one could possibly take offence.