by Mark Timlin
‘Probably.’
‘Now?’
‘Hold on. It might still be on the computer. It won’t take a sec.’ There was a pause. ‘Yeah, it hasn’t been wiped.’
‘And this is gen?’
‘Of course. Why do you ask?’
‘Maybe nothing. Check first-class.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Parker and Lopez. They listed?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Thanks, Chas.’
‘And that’s it, you’re just going to leave me hanging? What’s going on?’
‘Maybe something, maybe nothing, but I promise you’ll be the first to know.’
‘You always say that.’
‘And I always tell the truth. Merry Christmas. Enjoy the party.’ And I hung up.
‘At least they weren’t lying about that,’ I said to Judith.
Then the phone rang and I answered it. I expected it to be Chas calling back, but it was Jane.
‘We’re home,’ she said. ‘Sorry I haven’t called before, but what with the jet-lag and everything else…’
‘How was it?’ I asked inanely.
‘How do you think? Frustrating to say the least. We were blocked at every turn, although the authorities were most charming. We’ll have to go back. We won’t be able to have the funeral till the new year.’
Christ, the funeral. I hadn’t even thought about that little future horror.
‘We’d like to see Judith,’ she went on. ‘What are your plans for Christmas?’
‘None at the moment. I’ve just taken on some work…’
‘Oh good. Another sleazy little case, I suppose?’
I didn’t tell her what Shapiro and Latimer had said. ‘It’s important,’ was all I said.
‘It would be. Is Judith there?’
‘Yes.’
I passed the phone on. ‘Jane,’ I said, covering the mouth-piece. ‘Not a word about what I said.’
‘Hello, Auntie Jane,’ said Judith when she had the phone. ‘Yes, fine. Well, you know… how are you?’
‘Good. Christmas? With Daddy, but he’s got something to do… at yours?’ she looked at me. ‘Well, for a couple of days maybe. I’ll talk to Daddy and call you back. You’re at home… yes, OK. Bye.’ And she put down the phone. ‘They want me to visit. Stay for Christmas.’ Jane and her husband lived just south of London in an ancient and modern town on the way to Brighton.
‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘What with everything else.’
‘You want me to go?’
‘No. But at least you’ll be safe.’
‘Only if you come for Christmas lunch.’
‘Where the atmosphere will be as frozen as the turkey.’
‘Not from me.’
‘I know. OK, darling. If that’s the way you want it.’
‘I do.’
‘Then phone them back. Tell them to pick you up tomorrow. Then I can take care of business.’
16
Wednesday afternoon/Thursday morning
Judith did as I told her, and Jane made an arrangement to pick her up the next day at around eleven. When she put the phone down I switched it off. I didn’t want Chas phoning back and asking awkward questions.
‘Remember. Not a word about what I said before. There’s no point in upsetting Auntie Jane any more than she already is,’ I told Judith as she packed a bag of clothes.
‘OK, Dad,’ she said.
I was getting prouder of her by the day. She was turning into a fine young woman, although how the responsibility she was taking on to her young shoulders would affect her eventually, I had no way of knowing.
The next morning I left her with a kiss and a hug and a promise to call her at Jane’s later, and I caught a minicab up to town.
The driver dropped me outside the Intercontinental and I went up to Parker’s suite. This time the door was opened by Shapiro, coffee cup in hand. ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Not bad. Judith’s going down to her aunt’s to stay for the holiday.’
‘Good idea,’ he said as he poured me a cup and I lit a cigarette. ‘The others will be joining us in a few minutes.’
There were a couple of bags packed by the door. Shapiro saw me looking. ‘Izzy’s,’ he said. ‘He’s going back Stateside. Catching a plane in a couple of hours. He’ll be back in a few days. We’re getting some good intelligence out of Parker. Izzy has to go back and fill in our colleagues on the details. There’ll be some major busts at the weekend. Just as the scumbags are sitting round the Christmas tree opening their presents with their loved ones.’ His voice was thick with scorn as he spoke. ‘I hope some of ’em are carrying. It’ll save the cost of a trial.’ I decided then and there to try and keep on Shapiro’s good side.
‘So I’m looking after your boy?’
‘That’s the plan. Latimer and I have other fish to fry on this side. Big ones. Parker’s spilling the beans on some of his British compatriots even as we speak.’
‘Good job.’
I smoked my cigarette, and Shapiro and I drank our coffee in silence until the door to one of the other rooms opened and Parker, Lopez and Latimer came in. Latimer was wearing a leather jacket and jeans, Lopez had exchanged his black gangster suit for grey slacks and a sports coat that must’ve been about a size sixty chest. He had a big plaster on his forehead where I’d hit him and didn’t look too happy to see me. Parker was elegant in a blue double-breasted with black loafers.
‘Good morning,’ said Latimer. ‘I’ve filled these two in on developments.’
‘Good,’ I said.
Lopez looked at his watch. ‘Better be movin’ soon,’ he growled.
‘How are you getting to the airport?’ asked Latimer.
‘Cab, I guess.’
‘Sharman will drive you,’ said Latimer.
‘Do what?’ I said. ‘Who am I? The boy?’ I didn’t relish being a chauffeur for the black detective. For anyone, for that matter. Especially as I was doing this one gratis. And I hated being called Sharman, except by people I looked upon as friends.
‘Sorry,’ said Latimer. ‘I’m used to giving orders.’
‘But I’m not used to taking them. Besides, I’ve got no car,’ I said.
‘Take ours,’ said Latimer. ‘It’s in the garage downstairs, lower level. We’re not going anywhere.’
‘I thought we were supposed to be having a meeting,’ I protested.
‘That can wait,’ said Latimer. ‘We’ve got some business to discuss with Mr Parker first. You’ll be back in a couple of hours. Lopez is travelling under his own passport this time. American Airlines, full VIP cop treatment. First-class. No customs either end and all the filet he can eat. We can have some lunch when you get back and talk then.’
‘Cosy,’ I said.
I looked at Lopez. He looked about as happy about being in close proximity to me for an hour as I felt.
‘Take him,’ said Shapiro. ‘Please. Parker will be all right with us.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Give me the keys.’
Latimer tossed them over. ‘Blue saab,’ he said.
‘I remember,’ I said, got up, picked up a tweed overcoat and one of Lopez’s suitcases as he got the other, and left the suite. As we walked to the lift I said, ‘Listen. About the other day. I didn’t know who you were, right?’
‘Sure.’
He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, so when we got into the lift, I kept quiet as it headed down towards the basement car park.
17
When the lift arrived in the deserted basement garage, we walked across the rubber- and oil-stained floor, looking for Latimer’s car. Finally I spotted it in one corner and said, ‘There it is, the blue saloon.’
Lopez just grunted in reply. I wasn’t looking forwar
d to sitting in any traffic jams with him. What the fuck am I doing here? I thought.
I got out the keys and walked round to the boot, when I heard a faint sound from the shadows, close to the gap where a dim sign proclaimed ‘EXIT’ in blue neon letters, and the back window of the saab imploded: another bullet screeched off the bodywork close to where I was standing, and Lopez, with an amazed look on his face, dropped the bag and coat he was carrying and fell to the ground with a thud. I saw muzzle flashes come from the darkness, but heard only the discreet coughs of silenced gun barrels.
I just stood there for a stunned second before reacting. Then I dropped the bag I was carrying too, ducked down behind the car and peered over the top of the boot.
Lopez was lying a yard or so away from me, scrabbling at the concrete with hands and feet. ‘Help me!’ he cried gutturally. ‘For Christ’s sake, help me!’
I had no choice. Risking more bullets, I crabbed away from the car on my hands and knees until I was next to him. I grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and his belt and dragged him awkwardly into the shelter of one of the buttresses that stuck out into the body of the car park. ‘Oh shit!’ he cried. ‘Oh shit, oh fuck, oh Jesus Christ it hurts!’
It looked like it did too. The bullet had hit him dead in the centre of his back and exited through the front of his coat. There was blood spurting from both the entry and exit wounds. I tore off my jacket, ripped off my shirt and made a pad for his chest where most of the blood seemed to be coming from. ‘Give me your hand,’ I said.
He held up his hand and I placed it over the hole where the bullet had exited him and I pushed his palm hard against the flow of blood. ‘Hold that tight,’ I said.
‘Oh Jesus!’ he cried. ‘Sweet Jesus help me!’
‘Gun!’ I screamed. ‘Where’s your fucking gun?’
‘Jesus, please…’
‘The fucking gun!’ I yelled, running my hands under his arm where he’d concealed it before, but felt nothing. Where the fuck did he keep the sodding thing? Or had he left it behind with Shapiro before getting ready for the flight? ‘Lopez,’ I almost screamed in a whisper. ‘Are you armed?’
He stopped calling for divine intervention for a second and pointed with his free hand to his waist. I ran my hands round his belt and felt a concealed holster inside his trousers at the small of his back. I yanked up his jacket and pulled out his .45 automatic. The pistol was huge and heavy, warm from his body heat, and fitted into my hand like it had been custommade for me. I chambered a round and held the gun in front of me. I heard a sound like a shoe scraping on concrete from behind a parked car and fired, spraying bullets every which way. I heard them clanging on to metal and smashing glass and hoped I didn’t hit a fuel tank, or else detective kebab would be on the menu. I also hoped that it wasn’t some innocent passer-by investigating the sound of the ambusher’s bullets or I might be guilty of sending some civilian to an early grave. Before the clip was empty, I eased my finger off the trigger. I didn’t have any spare magazines.
‘Mother!’ Lopez cried. ‘Where are you?’
‘She’s not here,’ I said. ‘Shut up.’
‘I can see her. Mother!’ And he reached out the hand that wasn’t pressed to his chest.
‘No,’ I said.
Then he turned and looked at me. ‘Hold me,’ he said. ‘Hold me, Mother.’
Shit! I thought. He thinks I’m his fucking mum now. Under other circumstances it would’ve been hysterical. But here, now, it was as sad as shit.
I wiped a bloodstained hand across my face and went closer. I sat with my back against the brick and heaved him to me. He lay across my legs with his back against my chest, and the only thing I could think was that, if the gunnie came round the corner, the first bullets would probably finish Lopez off. I held the gun straight out over his shoulder and waited.
‘Oh Jesus fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh God, stop it hurting. Mother, help me!’ He wouldn’t stop.
I looked down at him and knew he was going fast. ‘Momma. Momma. I said we’d be together some day.’ He looked up. ‘Momma,’ he said. ‘You look so beautiful.’
I touched his head. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It’ll be all right soon.’ There was nothing I could do to help.
‘Kiss me, Momma,’ he said. ‘Give me a kiss.’
I felt like someone was playing a cruel trick on us both.
‘Kiss me,’ he pleaded.
So I did. I leaned my head forward and gently touched his forehead with my lips. And as I did it, I felt the life ebb out of him and he slumped in my arms.
18
After that I could hear nothing but the ringing in my ears from the gunshots I’d fired.
I sat still for a few minutes with Lopez’s dead weight on my legs. Then I pushed him off as gently as I could and slowly stood up. The garage seemed as deserted as when we’d entered it, but I knew how deceptive that could be. I held the gun up in front of me and slowly turned in a half-circle. Still nothing. I picked up my jacket and slipped it on over my blood-soaked clothes. Then, leaving Lopez, who was beyond help, I ran back towards the lift and pressed the button. I stood away from the doors and pointed the gun towards them. Christ knew who might be behind them when they opened.
But the lift was empty. I pressed the button for Parker’s floor and stood with my back pressed against the rear wall of the metal box, the gun concealed behind me as it sped upwards.
When the doors opened again the hallway was empty, but for a maid’s cart, and I ran down to the suite door.
It was ajar. Was the sodding maid inside or what? Hating every second, I pushed the door open wide.
The sitting room of the suite was a carnage. There was blood everywhere, splattered up the walls and soaking into the carpets and furniture. Someone had got there before me and it certainly wasn’t the maid, unless she was fed up with poor gratuities.
Shapiro was lying on the couch face upwards, eyes open and already turning milky-white, the front of his shirt dark with gore. Latimer was on the floor on his front, as still as Shapiro, and Lopez in the garage. There was no sign of Parker. The whole place stank of used gunpowder and shit and blood.
I closed the door to the corridor and slipped the lock, then tried both doors to the bedrooms. Lopez’s was neat and tidy. Parker’s showed signs of habitation, but both were empty.
I checked the two dead bodies. Both men had been carrying and both weapons were snug in their holsters. Shapiro’s was a Detonics .45. Latimer’s a small .38 Colt revolver. I helped myself to both.
Latimer had a mobile phone in one pocket of his jacket. I looked at my watch. It was getting late. My, but how time flies when you’re having fun. I punched in my home number. The answerphone was on. I found my address book and tried Jane’s number. There was an answerphone there too. Finally, I tried her car phone. She answered on the third ring.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Jane. Nick. Where are you?’
‘In the car.’
‘I know that. But where?’
‘On the A23 coming into Croydon. Why?’
‘Don’t be alarmed, but can you get off the main road and take some side streets until you’re sure you’re not being followed?’
‘What?’
‘Do it, Jane, please. And let me speak to Judith.’
She came on the line. ‘There’s been some trouble,’ I said. ‘I’ve told Jane to get on to the side roads. You might be being followed. Don’t let her go home until you’re sure you’re not. I know she thinks I’m mad, but believe me, it’s important. You’d better tell her about the bomb in the plane. Maybe she’ll believe you. And, anyway, it’ll be all over the papers soon.’
She was cool. ‘Yes, Dad,’ was all she said.
‘I’m not going to be about for a bit. Look at the news and you’ll see why. But don’t worry, I’m OK. I didn’t have anything
to do with what happened, except I was there. No matter what anyone says, I’m telling the truth.’
‘I know.’
‘Either I’m being set up or I’ve been very lucky. Just trust me, sweetheart, I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Love you.’
‘Love you too,’ she replied, and I cut off the phone.
I looked down at my bloodstained clothes and went back into Parker’s room. He was about the same size as me and I found a shirt that fitted and changed it for my torn and stained one. I checked his wardrobe and found an overcoat. It was camel-coloured and made of some silky cashmere. It fitted me perfectly, although the three guns and phone I was carrying sagged the pockets slightly, but what could I do?
I checked his bedroom more thoroughly then. In a drawer on a roll-top bureau opposite the bed I found an envelope containing five grand in fifties. Obviously my first day’s pay, and equally obviously robbery wasn’t the motive for what had gone down.
I pocketed the money, went back into the sitting room, cracked the door to make sure the coast was clear and left.
19
When I got down to the foyer I expected it to be crawling with Old Bill, but all seemed to be normal. I couldn’t believe that no one had heard the shots I’d fired in the car park, or found Lopez’s body, but obviously they hadn’t.
I walked through the main doors, down to Piccadilly and hailed a cab.
‘Where to?’ said the driver.
Fuck knows, I thought, then had an idea. ‘Brixton,’ I said. I needed a motor badly, but I needed something else first, and I knew just where to find it.
I sat in the back of the taxi and looked at the ‘Thank You for Not Smoking’ sign and wanted a Silk Cut desperately, but not a punch-up with the driver, so I fought back the urge and looked out of the window instead as we cruised past Buckingham Palace, through Victoria and over Vauxhall Bridge. And I watched London change from elegant to broken-down, all within ten minutes.
There were Christmas lights in Brixton which did little to cheer the place up and as we passed the market, the driver leaned back and said, ‘Whereabouts?’