Street that Rhymed at 3am

by Mark Timlin

  ‘Cool down fire,’ said Harold. ‘He’s no good to us dead.’

  41

  ‘I can pull this trigger before you can shoot me,’ I said as calmly as possible under the circumstances, but the air in the room was thick with tension.

  ‘Sure you can,’ said Harold, equally as calm. ‘And go ahead if that’ll make you happy. But we’ll waste you, man, promise. The fat boy will keep. Won’t you, Toots? There’ll be plenty of time for you to sort him.’

  Tootsie’s face was grey and sweaty, and he kept trying to move his head away from the barrel of my gun. But I kept following him until the back of his head was hard up against the cushion of the chair he was sitting in.

  ‘Won’t you, Toots?’ Harold repeated, and Tootsie nodded slightly. ‘And don’t you want to see Parker?’ Harold said to me. ‘Don’t you owe him one too?’

  ‘’Course I do,’ I said. ‘But the other face can tell us where he is, so we don’t need Fat Boy.’ I was referring to Ramon, who was standing against the wall looking like he wished he was anywhere but here, what with all the guns pointing in different directions, and the fact that a stray bullet might end his squat little life. And of course if there was a lot of shooting, the chance that in the end, him being a witness and all, the bullet might not be so stray.

  ‘Yeah, but you want to see what happens next, don’t you?’ said Harold. ‘And you won’t if you’re brown bread.’

  It was my turn to nod, and I let the hammer of the .45 down gently, pulled it away from Tootsie’s forehead and slid it into my pocket. My shoulders were stiff with stress and I eased them.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Harold. ‘Now, Tootsie. Tell us where the raas Parker is hiding, or else I’ll let me white friend here do what he wants to you.’

  Tootsie looked up and I saw fear in his eyes and winked. ‘Blood claat man,’ he said. ‘He’s at the social club.’

  I looked at Harold for enlightenment. ‘Loughborough,’ he said. ‘An old supermarket that Tootsie liberated from the Coop. You paying them any rent, Toots, my man?’

  Tootsie shook his head and Harold laughed. ‘The shop sent the bailiffs in a couple o’ years ago and Tootsie sent them home tied to an old milk float. Laugh? Hey, me almost bought a round! Come on, boys. You too, Tootsie. Me dyin’ to meet our American friend.’

  42

  We all trooped out of the house, Tootsie and Ramon, who we allowed to pull on a sweater, under the watchful eyes of Goldie, Bad Eye, Marcus, and Chick. We rounded up the rest of the troops and squeezed into the cars.

  On the way to the BMW, Harold said to me, ‘Sorry about your old lady, man. That’s a tough break.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘Except she wasn’t my old lady any more.’

  ‘Things stick,’ he said. ‘People stick. I got a babymother lives over Hackney way. I always say I ain’t never gonna see her no more, but I always find my way round there come Sunday morning.’

  ‘That’s good, Harold,’ I said. ‘Maybe one day you’ll stay.’

  ‘No way, man. Me like other skirt too much for that. But I’ll always keep in touch. Now come on, move your raas. Time’s hurrying by.’

  I sat in front of the Beemer this time, with Harold, Tootsie and Goldie filling the back seat to more than capacity. ‘You fuckin’ fat motherfucker,’ complained Goldie to Tootsie. ‘I can hardly breathe here and you stink. Don’t you ever wash, man?’

  Tootsie said nothing. I sat for most of the journey halfway round on my seat giving him the snake eye. He didn’t look happy.

  We got to the old supermarket in Loughborough fast. It was part of a single block, under a row of maisonettes that looked as dilapidated as the shop itself and its neighbours, some of which had been the victims of fire attacks by the looks of it. All the units, including the old Co-op, still identifiable by a lopsided sign, were metalled up, and the whole place looked deserted.

  We stopped the cars about a hundred yards from the shop, which was surrounded by a raised walkway, and sat in the looming shadows of four beat-up, water-stained, broken-windowed tower blocks. The whole estate looked about ready for the demolition men to move in, but would probably stand for another fifty years, a proud monument to post-war urban planning and backhanders to the builders.

  ‘Yo, Tootsie,’ said Harold. ‘We’re gonna go in. Now we can do it the nice way or the nasty way. I reckon the nice way’s favourite with no gunshots or body count. And besides, we don’t want to spoil the local dolites’ well-deserved Saturday-morning lie-in, do we?’

  Tootsie snarled something unintelligible. He was getting his bottle back and I didn’t like that, so I snarled something unintelligible too and tapped the pistol butt protruding from my coat pocket, and Tootsie shut up as he remembered the open bore of the barrel of the Detonics bouncing around on his forehead.

  ‘So?’ said Harold.

  ‘Save your ammunition,’ said Tootsie. ‘I’ll take you inside.’

  43

  ‘Who’s inside?’ asked Harold.

  ‘Parker and one of my guys. His minder,’ said Tootsie.

  ‘Armed?’ Harold again.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And we just walk in calm as you please?’

  ‘I’ll go in alone.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Harold.

  Tootsie thought about it for a moment, his brow wrinkled. ‘I’ll call him on the car phone,’ he said.

  Harold pondered the idea for a second. ‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘But no tricks, or you’re history.’

  ‘No tricks,’ said Tootsie. ‘I ain’t stupid.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ I interjected. ‘Just remember I’m watching you.’

  Tootsie said nothing in reply, just accepted the car phone from Marcus and punched in a number.

  The phone in his hand rang for a long time. It was silent in the car and we could hear the buzz of the tone. Then a voice. ‘Clarence?’ said Tootsie. These guys had great names. ‘Tootsie. I’m outside coming in. I’m not alone… That doesn’t matter… Listen, motherfucker, I don’t want any arguments, just chill… Is Parker OK?… Fine. Two minutes.’ And he killed the phone. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  We got out of our car and the others got out of theirs, and we moved off in a group towards the block of shops, Tootsie taking a keyring out of the side pocket of his enormous trousers as he went.

  He undid two locks and pushed open the heavy metal door, and the rest of us, apart from Ramon, pointed our weapons at the darkness inside. Nothing.

  ‘In you go, Tootsie,’ said Harold. ‘Anybody shoots, you get it first. Man, no bullets could get through you! And put on some lights. You do have lights, don’t you?’

  Tootsie scowled, but did as he was told, and fluorescent tubes popped into life in the ceiling of the corridor that stretched ahead of us.

  Tootsie walked in front, Harold next, then me, followed by the rest in what order I don’t know. ‘Pinpoint your man,’ said Harold. He was a good first lieutenant.

  ‘Clarence,’ yelled Tootsie. ‘Show yourself, man. It’s cool.’

  ‘Who’s with you, Mr Tootsie?’ said a voice from back in the building.

  ‘Just some visitors,’ said Tootsie. ‘No problems.’

  Santa and his helpers, I thought.

  A figure emerged from in front of us, a skinny spade carrying a sawn-off shotgun. Everywhere I went lately there seemed to be more guns than Woolwich Arsenal.

  ‘Put up the gun, Clarence,’ said Tootsie. ‘These gentlemen just want a word with Mr Parker. Is he fit to receive visitors?’

  ‘Sure is, Mr Tootsie,’ said Clarence, who pointed the shotgun to the floor. ‘I just made him some nice scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast, and he’s watching the fights on Sky.’

  ‘Nice for him,’ said Tootsie. ‘So lead on, Clarence. Don’t let’s be keeping our guests in the hall.’

 
Clarence turned and pushed open another door and we all filed through it. Inside was another world totally. Although the outside of the building looked like a khazi, someone had spent big bucks on the interior, although it was a trifle plush for my taste. The designer had gone an abundance on leather, velvet and damask, so that the huge room we found ourselves in reminded me strongly of an amateur production of The Arabian Nights. Parker was sprawled across a massive zebra-skin sofa with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, in front of a giant-screen TV showing highlights of the last Nigel Benn championship fight.

  He looked up with hooded eyes as we trooped in, and when he saw me he said, ‘Well hello, Mr Sharman, I wondered when we’d meet again.’

  44

  Harold ignored Parker. ‘Goldie! Marcus!’ he barked. ‘Check the rest of this place out. We don’t want any little surprises, like a machine-gun nest in the kitchen.’

  Clutching their weapons, the duo did as he said. With every minute I was gaining more respect for young Harold, even though I still thought he was a big-time pain in the arse.

  When the pair had gone, Harold sat Tootsie down on the zebra-skin sofa next to Parker. He sat Clarence and Ramon – who hadn’t spoken a word since he was captured – on one of a similar size, but upholstered in the black, orange and green colours of Ras Tafari; switched off the TV set, pulled up a leather recliner and perched on the edge, his gun in his hand. The rest of us found seats of our own and sat in silence.

  A couple of minutes later Goldie and Marcus came back. ‘Cool, boss,’ said Goldie. He was eating a Jamaican patty that was such a bright orange I reckoned it would probably glow in the dark.

  ‘Cool,’ said Harold. ‘So where’s the stash?’ he said to Parker.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I interrupted. ‘Me first.’

  ‘You ain’t in charge here,’ said Harold.

  ‘So? But there’s things I need to know.’

  ‘And there’s things I need to know,’ said Harold, tapping his pistol barrel impatiently on his knee. ‘And we don’t know how long we’ve got. We’ve been lucky so far. We’ve got into two locations without any shooting. Our luck’s gonna change sooner or later. Any minute now a whole lot of geezers could come through that door.’ He gestured at the exit to the hall. ‘With guns blazing. We’ve managed to contain the situations up to now, but that don’t mean we will for ever.’

  ‘So let’s take Parker and Tootsie with us,’ I said. ‘We’ll go somewhere where we can chat for a while without interruption.’

  Harold looked at me hard. ‘Man, don’t get hung up on what’s happened in the past,’ he said. ‘You can’t change any of that shit, whatever you do to them.’

  ‘But I can feel better about the situation.’

  ‘No, man. We don’t take any hostages past this point. It gets too complicated. All we want is the dope and the cash you saw and we’re out of here.’

  ‘Cash,’ said Parker, suddenly alert. ‘What cash?’

  Everyone looked at me. ‘Listen guys,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a tiny confession to make.’

  45

  ‘What kind of confession?’ said Harold, bringing the gun up in my direction. I could tell he was getting a bit shirty, and frankly, all things considered, I couldn’t blame him.

  ‘About the money I said I saw.’

  ‘Said?’

  ‘Yeah. Well, see, I was in a bit of a hole at the time. I needed some help. So I told Darkman…’

  ‘Said. Fuckin’ said. What is fuckin’ said?’ demanded Harold. ‘You mean it don’t exist?’

  ‘Well, no. But there’s the weight. That exists.’

  ‘Motherfucker!’ screamed Harold, losing it a trifle. ‘Motherfucker. You screwed us good.’

  ‘No, man,’ I said placatingly, looking at the barrel of the pistol he was holding as he waved it around. ‘There’s the dope. You’ll get the dope. Won’t he Parker?’ My mouth was dry but I’d swear, if something good didn’t happen soon, my boxers would be wet.

  Parker shook his head in amazement. ‘You guys,’ he drawled. ‘Amateur night or what?’

  ‘Tell him about the dope, Parker,’ I insisted.

  ‘There’s dope,’ said the American. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have access to it at the moment. My large friend here and his associates have confiscated the merchandise, and I sit here awaiting my fate.’

  ‘So they did kidnap you?’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t have anything to do with killing those coppers at the hotel?’

  ‘They were looking after me. Why would I want them dead? They were my lifeline. So I would be grateful if you would take me with you when you leave. I mean, check out the accommodation. And as for where I’m sleeping…’

  I looked again around the room, and despite it all, it was funny. ‘I thought these were pretty snazzy digs, Parker,’ I said. ‘Maybe a little bright for my taste…’

  ‘Not without the drugs,’ interrupted Harold, obviously not amused.

  ‘Tootsie,’ I said, trying desperately to retrieve something from the mess I’d got myself into. ‘It’s shit or get off the pot time. We need that dope.’ I saw Harold’s face. ‘I need that dope. Badly. Otherwise both me and Mr Parker look like we’re in the mire hip-deep.’

  Tootsie shrugged. ‘Find it,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I replied. ‘Which means me and Parker get topped and you have a merry Christmas bloating out on fried chicken.’

  ‘No merry Christmas for that motherfucker,’ growled Harold.

  ‘Mexican stand-off time, Tootsie,’ I said. ‘We die, you die. But produce the weight and we all enjoy the holly and the ivy.’

  ‘I have wages to pay,’ said Tootsie, like some kind of small businessman caught up in the Brixton Challenge.

  ‘Fuck the wages,’ I said. ‘This ain’t a sodding debating society, Fat Man. Harold’s right. We don’t have much time, so cough the gear or cough your last breath.’

  Melodramatic, but efficient.

  ‘This means war,’ said Tootsie to Harold. ‘Mr B better know that.’

  ‘Mr B ain’t afraid of no blimp,’ said Harold. ‘He can take care of his own backyard.’

  Tootsie shrugged. ‘OK, but my American associates ain’t gonna be best pleased if you take Parker.’

  ‘Mr B got American associates too,’ said Harold scornfully. ‘Maybe he do a deal with them for the dude.’

  That didn’t please Parker. ‘You got my pension scheme, boy,’ he said to Harold. ‘What more do you want?’

  Harold didn’t reply, just said to Tootsie, ‘Come on then, man, give up the stuff.’

  Tootsie levered himself up from the seat. ‘It’s upstairs,’ he said.

  ‘Me and Sharman’ll come with you,’ said Harold. ‘The rest of you truss up Tootsie’s boys tight. We don’t need nobody else to know what’s happened here till we safe home. Come on, you,’ he said to me. ‘We ain’t finished with your ass yet by a long way.’

  I was afraid of that, but at least the trip hadn’t been a total waste, so I followed Harold as he pushed Tootsie in front of him out into the corridor. We turned left and came to a double flight of stairs leading upwards. The stairs were lit from where Goldie and Marcus had made their recce and led into another corridor with doors off to both sides. Probably the old offices of the Co-op I thought, and was right.

  The doors were all open and some had been converted into bedrooms, although nothing like as opulently as the room downstairs, and I saw what Parker meant about his sleeping accommodation.

  The last door led into a room barely furnished with a desk and two chairs. Tootsie went to a wall cupboard and opened it. Inside was the face of a grey steel safe. Tootsie manipulated the combination and pulled open the heavy door. Inside that was a suitcase. Harold gestured for me to keep Tootsie covered, humped the case on to the d
esk and opened it. Inside were packets and packets of white powder. Weight, big time, as promised. Maybe a quarter of a million wholesale. Christ knows how much street value, after a few of the chaps had walked on it.

  Harold grinned, Tootsie scowled, and I made no expression. Except deep inside I was mucho relieved. With all the dope about, maybe the boys would forget my previous misdemeanours.

  ‘Good, Toots,’ said Harold. ‘You getting wise in your old age. Now we all go downstairs and we go home. A good morning’s work.’

  ‘You’ll be sorry for this,’ said Tootsie.

  ‘Maybe, man,’ said Harold.

  ‘Definitely, man,’ replied Tootsie. ‘You and Sharman and Mr B All of you. Take my word.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Harold.

  He was going to live to regret those words.

  46

  After that, we all went back downstairs where Ramon and Clarence were tied back to back on the zebra-skin sofa. ‘I want Tootsie,’ I said to Harold.

  ‘What for?’ he asked.

  ‘To take him to the cop shop and get me out of this mess.’

  ‘No way,’ said Harold. ‘No Babylon. That ain’t the way we operate. You’ll have to sort that one out for yourself. We ain’t here to fight your battles, just liberate the cocaine for the people of free Brixton. Thems that can afford it, of course,’ he added with a grin.

  ‘Harold,’ I said as calmly as possible. ‘I’m still wanted for murder. I need him.’

  ‘Get him then. But get him in your own time.’

  ‘But if I take him to the police it’ll keep him off the streets and solve all our problems.’

  ‘Not yours,’ said Harold. ‘We gotta tell Mr B about the little porkies you told about the money first. He ain’t gonna be well pleased.’