by James Green
George didn’t bother to pretend, he knew well enough what Jimmy was talking about.
‘Nothing. On my life, Jimmy, nothing. The word was out that if you showed they wanted to be told. You showed so I told them. What else could I do?’ There was a pause. ‘Listen, you’re dead if you come back here. Run, Jimmy, run somewhere far away from London and far away from Spain. Go and see your daughter and her kids in Australia. You’ve disappeared before, do it again. It’s not like the old days, it isn’t like it was with Denny. This lot aren’t just violent, they’ve got themselves tied into everything. Come back to London and you’ll be fucked inside two days maximum. And the law will be part of it so don’t think of running to them.’
‘Don’t tell me there’s bent coppers on their books.’ Jimmy laid on the artificial shock with a trowel. ‘I won’t believe there’s coppers on the take in the Met.’
‘Very funny. I mean it, I can’t help you, no one can. You can’t fight these blokes. They don’t sit in some pub of an evening or in some club getting pissed. They have offices in places like Canary Wharf. They go to the fucking opera and ballet for God’s sake. They’re respectable now, they’re in the finance business. They make their money work. They’ll get you and –’
‘I’ve got a deal.’
There was a pause at the other end.
‘A deal?’
‘Yeah, a deal.’
‘What sort of deal?’
‘Never mind what sort of deal. I want to talk to someone.’
‘And say what?’
‘Harry’s got to go down. I don’t mind if it’s just Harry who falls, but he’s got to go down and he’s got to go down hard, all the fucking way.’
‘Harry?’
‘Harry. I want to talk to someone,’ a thought came, ‘make it Rosa.’
‘Rosa? The reporter I got for you?’
‘That’s right, George, Rosa the reporter.’
‘Why her?’
‘I know her by sight and I think she’s got brains. If she’ll listen maybe I’ll get my message across. I don’t want to talk to someone who thinks with his fists and can’t pass on a message that isn’t a punch in your face or a boot in the bollocks.’
There was another pause. Jimmy knew what the pause meant, it was George thinking if there was anything in this for him. Jimmy could hear the wheels turning.
‘I’ll talk to somebody and see what I can do, but I can’t promise.’
‘That’s all right, I don’t want a promise. I want a meet, at Birmingham New Street Station, half-past ten. If Rosa doesn’t show I’ll do the other thing.’
‘And the other thing is?’
‘I walk into the nearest cop-shop and turn myself in. Rosa said the Spanish police want to talk to me. If my only other choice is running I’d rather hand myself over to the Birmingham law and take my chances. Whoever you talk to, George, make them understand, I’ve nearly got enough to get Harry and I know where to look for the rest.’ Jimmy let it sink in. ‘Do you think your friends would want me to talk to the Spanish police?’
George knew the answer to that one.
‘Whereabouts in Birmingham Station?’
‘Let’s keep it simple. She stands in front of the departure board where I can see her. And it has to be just her, nobody else. I’ve got a mobile number for her and when I’m satisfied she’s on her own I’ll phone her and tell her where to go.’
‘You in Birmingham now?’
‘What do you think? I had to wait until she got fed up of waiting then I caught the first train out. I’m all set at this end, ready and waiting. Pass on the message to your friends and tell them to get Rosa on the move.’
Jimmy put his phone away. He had his ticket so he set off for the platform where in ten minutes he would catch a direct train from Leicester to London St Pancras International.
It was just after eleven when George came out of the back of the Hind pub. The open door threw a light across the small, dark yard where he parked his car, a silver Jag. When the door closed the yard returned to darkness. George didn’t need any light to get to his car, he knew exactly where it was. He walked towards it and put his hand in the pocket of his overcoat to get the key.
It was easy, Jimmy had no problem taking him from behind. With his left hand he pushed George hard forward and George, surprised, staggered and fell against the car. With his right hand Jimmy slammed George’s face onto the roof of the car. George almost bounced off the car and Jimmy stood back, his fist raised, as George turned. He’d been waiting in the dark long enough for his eyes to adjust to what little light there was, George would still be blind. He could see that George was trying to get his right hand inside his jacket. Jimmy took what he could get. He hit George hard in his throat. George made a choking sound, put his hands to his throat and something clattered to the floor. Jimmy took aim, he had time now, and kicked George hard just below his left knee. George was struggling for breath through his damaged wind-pipe but the kick got all his attention. The cry of pain got all tangled up in his damaged throat and came out as a rasping croak as his leg folded and he went down into a crumpled crouch against the side of the car. Jimmy bent down and picked up what had fallen, a small revolver. He stood back and looked at George who was on the floor trying hard to get his breath and hold his damaged knee at the same time. He wasn’t doing very well at either.
Jimmy squatted down beside him and peered at his face. There was blood over it, coming mostly from his nose. He moved slightly back and waited. After a few minutes George managed to look at him.
‘Don’t worry, George, you’ll live.’ He held the gun where George could see it. ‘A cannon at your age? I thought you were brains, not violence.’ He dropped the gun into his jacket pocket, leaned forward, hauled George up, got his foot behind each leg, pulled them out and sat him gently as he could on the ground with his back against the Jag. George grunted in pain but settled. Jimmy looked closely at him, he needed him to function and he was worried he’d overdone it. George’s nose was still bleeding both from the nostrils and from a cut across the bridge of the nose. Jimmy could also see there was a cut over his right eye. There was a little blood coming from his mouth, probably have a split lip inside. He would look a real mess in the morning. If they both made it to the morning.
‘Breathe slowly, George, small breaths at first.’ George’s eyes focussed on Jimmy’s face and he tried. It wasn’t easy but as he tried it began working. Jimmy waited until George’s breathing became steady enough for him to talk. After a couple of minutes George finally seemed to pull himself together and looked as if he could pay attention. ‘Hello, George. I see you don’t stay on till closing time and count the takings. Become trusting in your old age haven’t you?’
George tried a smile but gave up. It hurt his lip.
‘Hello, Jimmy, I thought you said you were in Birmingham.’
His voice was a husky whisper.
I should pack this sort of thing in, thought Jimmy, any harder and I could have done him some permanent damage.
‘I am, George, I’m in Birmingham meeting Rosa Sikora who’s going to agree to everything I say while she puts me on the spot for the team that’ll be with her.’
George managed the smile this time, it hurt, but he managed a small one.
‘Nice one. But where does it get you?’
‘How you feeling now?’
‘How do you think? Fucking awful.’
‘Come on, George, we’ve got to be on our way.’
Jimmy helped George to get up and gave him a minute to get himself together. Then he went to the back of the car and picked up a small holdall. George watched him. Then George’s phone went off.
‘Switch it off, you’re not taking calls tonight. You’re otherwise engaged.’
George got out his phone, switched it off and put it away.
‘We going somewhere?’
‘Yes, you’re driving me down to Ebbsfleet.’
‘Ebbsfleet? Why the fuck are we
going to Ebbsfleet?’
‘It’s where the Eurostar stops.’
‘And what would you want with the Eurostar?’
‘I’m a trainspotter, always have been, remember? Get in and don’t forget that I’m the one with the gun now so behave yourself.’ George began to limp slowly round the car. Jimmy watched him. George fumbled out his keys and opened the door. ‘I hope this motor of yours is an automatic. I made sure you had a good right leg but it’s going to hurt like shit if you have to change gears.’ George didn’t respond but he also was glad that it was an automatic, because pressing the clutch would have hurt like shit too. They got into the Jag and George started the engine.
‘OK, Jimmy, you’re the pilot on this one. How do I get us to this fucking Ebbsfleet place?’
‘Don’t you know where it is?’
‘Heard of it, that’s all.’
‘Use one of those gadgets then, one of those place finder things.’
‘A sat-nav?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I haven’t got one, I don’t need one in London, do I?’
Jimmy smiled at him.
‘George, we’re going to Ebbsfleet and you can piss about all you like but we’re still going. You know the way all right and if you don’t then find some signs or I’ll get out that little cannon of yours and blow your fucking brains all over your fancy fucking car. I haven’t got much to lose have I? You told me that yourself.’
George gave him a glance and decided he did, after all, have an idea of the way. The car pulled out of the yard into an alley and then out on to Kilburn High Road.
‘I get out of London occasionally these days, maybe I can find it for you.’
‘See, George, you can still work things out, you’re still the one with the brains. Just get me there.’
‘I’ll get you there, Jimmy, though God knows what it’ll cost me if anyone finds out.’
‘Well don’t let anyone find out.’
George gave a grunt; he wasn’t up to a sarcastic laugh yet.
‘OK, we point south-east and keep going, and if we fall into the Channel we’ll have missed our turning.’
Jimmy grinned. Still the same old George.
‘Take it easy, we’re not in any hurry and you don’t want us picked up for speeding.’
‘No, God forbid I get a speeding ticket. That would be real trouble.’
They drove in silence through the bright lights and busy streets and on, through central London heading for the M25. Once on the motorway it was easy going, the traffic very light. From the M25 they turned onto the M2 and headed for Dartford.
George felt recovered enough to talk.
‘Why did you come back? I told you, London’s not a healthy spot for you at the moment.’
‘Whoever’s after me will have a team up in Birmingham covering Rosa. Your mates might be big-time, have fancy offices and front as respectable these days, but they’re still just villains. If they want me they still have to send out a heavy mob to get me, that hasn’t changed. And if the best blokes they could rustle up at short notice are all in Birmingham I figured I could get in and out and on my way without any trouble.’
‘But why? Why not just go to an airport and take a plane to somewhere?’
‘Because Rosa told me the Spanish police want to talk to me and have a request out for me to be detained, so I figure airports aren’t such a good bet. To be on the safe side I figured I’d give St Pancras International a miss. She said it’s all being done very softly-softly at the moment so I reckoned if I got going in a hurry and got a good start I’d be OK, which meant I needed a lift. Naturally I thought of you. Somehow I felt you owed me something.’
George could understand how Jimmy might see it that way.
‘Does that mean we’re square now and no hard feelings?’
‘No hard feelings, there never was. You did what you had to do so I did what I had to do. You were due a smacking so you got one.’
‘You risked your life coming back to London just to give me a smacking?’
‘No, there was something else.’
‘What?’
‘I told you, I needed a lift.’
‘Why not just hire a car and drive yourself?’
‘I couldn’t do that.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t have a driving licence any more.’
‘Good God almighty.’ And George started a laugh which quickly deteriorated into a cough which hurt almost as much. When he had got his throat under control he smiled. ‘Still the same old Jimmy, still just the same.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was ten-past three in the morning and George’s Jag stood in the car park of Ebbsfleet International station which, bathed in the eerie glow of fluorescent light, looked to Jimmy as God-forsaken a place as anyone could wish to find. It was a vast expanse of black neatly edged with pale kerb-stones and covered with white lines demarking each of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of parking spaces. There weren’t many cars parked and the whole place had an almost abandoned look. The first Eurostar wouldn’t arrive until five forty-two, another two and a half hours. Jimmy stared ahead looking at nothing in particular. George put his hand into his coat and took out a packet of cigarettes, Jimmy didn’t take any notice, he had the gun and George had already lit up two or three times since they’d arrived. George lit his cigarette and opened the window.
‘Filthy habit, George. You should give it up.’
‘Not as filthy as some I could mention.’
‘True, and not as hazardous to your health.’ George smoked on for a while and Jimmy looked at nothing in particular. Then George threw the half-smoked cigarette away. ‘What’s up? Decided to take my advice and pack it in?’
‘No, funny thing but they seem to hurt my throat. Can’t think why.’
George closed the window and they sat in silence and let the time pass. Both had plenty of experience of sitting waiting. After half an hour George pulled out another cigarette and tried again. Once again he threw it away half smoked but this time left the window open. The car was getting stuffy.
‘I’ve done you a favour. Probably saved you from cancer.’
‘Thanks, I’ll try and return the same favour one day.’
And again they lapsed into silence. After a while a man came from somewhere, got into one of the few cars and drove off. They both watched him.
‘It’s all go here, isn’t it?’
‘Just one damn thing after another.’
The sky was lighter, morning wasn’t far away. Through the open window they heard the birds of Ebbsfleet begin their dawn chorus. George tried to stretch. Jimmy moved so his arms didn’t come near him. George turned to him.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to try anything, just trying to iron out a few kinks. I haven’t spent a night sitting in a car for a long time.’ He bent down and massaged below his left knee. Then he sat up. ‘I can’t say I ever got used to the waiting, sitting like this, at night in a car with nothing to say, just waiting for the job to begin. I thought I’d done with all that kind of thing. I had bloody well done with it until you came back.’
Jimmy didn’t respond. He hadn’t liked the waiting either. Waiting for just the right time to move in and make the pull. It was like George said, sitting with nothing to say and nothing to do but wait. Some seemed better at handling it, seemed to be able to just switch off. Like newspaper photographers. Jimmy pulled the gun out of his pocket, opened the chamber and held it so the bullets slid out into the palm of his hand. He dropped the bullets into the back behind his seat and held the gun out to George.
‘Here you are, let’s do a swap.’
‘What sort of swap?’
‘Your gun for your phone.’
George got out his phone, handed it to Jimmy and took the gun. He snapped the chamber shut and looked at it.
‘Stupid bloody thing. If it ever does go off I’ll probably shoot myself. I hope I don’t hit anything important.’
He put it back into the shoulder holster.
‘Why carry it? You were never the violent type and I can’t see you shooting anybody, not in cold blood.’
‘No, me neither. But they said I had to stop you if you turned up. How was I supposed to do that? But if I didn’t, well, you know how it is, so I got the gun. Didn’t do me any more good than the knife did that time in the Hind.’
‘It didn’t put you in hospital this time.’
‘No, that’s true, but this time you needed me so you couldn’t very well put me in hospital could you?’
‘No.’
They sat for a moment.
‘They’ll come for you, Jimmy, you know that? They won’t let you close down their racket, it makes too much money. It’s not just the porn, it’s what goes with it.’
‘I know. But I really do have a deal. That wasn’t just a story to get Rosa and the heavy mob out of the way. I have a deal and I want you to tell them what it is.’
‘What deal?’
‘The same one.’
‘Just Harry going down hard?’
‘That’s right. What do you know about all this?’
‘Not much. I know who put the word out on you and that hard porn is only one of the things they’re into. I got the word like everybody else; give them the nod if you turned up.’
‘OK I’ll tell you my story and if you believe it you can pass it on.’
‘What’s my believing it got to do with anything?’
‘Because it’ll be true, or true enough. If I don’t convince you, you won’t convince anyone else.’
‘Fair enough, tell me your story.’
‘Harry gets involved with a team who try for a bookie’s up in Birmingham and as a result goes down for a ten stretch. He knows that when he comes out his days as any kind of muscle are well and truly over so he looks around for a new line of work. He meets someone inside who’s in for running porn. They talk about it and Harry thinks, that’s the work I want. But he’s got a lot of form so the law will be keeping an eye on him. What he needs is a new life, a legitimate life that provides a good income. Then Jarvis turns up. They talk and Harry tells Jarvis about himself. Jarvis makes some remark, something like, “if you could put it in a book it would make money”. Something like that, about writing up his experiences and Harry thinks, why not? He’s not interested in becoming a writer but even though he’s not too bright he can see it would be a good front. The books wouldn’t have to sell because that’s not where the money will be coming from. All he needs to do is have books out there with his name on so he gets Jarvis to agree to do the writing in return for looking after him. Jarvis thinks, why not? After all, he’s in for sex offences and all he knows is teaching, nothing else. How is he going to make a living when he gets out? Harry tells his porn mate that he’s got a business plan but he needs somebody to handle the money side of things. He gets given the name of a good client of the porn merchant, Henderson.Henderson is vulnerable and, with a bit of pressure, he’ll drop. Harry’s got time to serve but he coaches Jarvis so when he comes out the first thing he does is put the bite on Henderson – join us or we’ll give you to the police. Henderson folds. He likes his porn and doesn’t want to give it up, but also he’s greedy. He smells the money so he sets up the publishing end by buying Tate and Wiston who are already on his books. That’s the cover for Harry as a writer set up, but it’s no good for laundering any serious money. So Henderson sets up a property company in Gibraltar called Iberian Property Holdings, easy enough to get to and well away from official prying eyes. When Harry gets out he moves to Spain and starts setting up the production end, probably in some ex-Eastern Bloc country. My guess is Albania or Romania or somewhere like that. Harry’s in charge of the buying and selling, Jarvis gets a house rent-free and a regular income while he does the writing. Henderson handles the money through the property company and everything is hotsy-totsy until I turn up at the same time that Jarvis cops a bullet in the back of his head and Harry thinks it looks like things are beginning to unravel.’