Street that Rhymed at 3am

by Mark Timlin

  76

  When I got to the flat door, May was waiting. She was covered neck to toe in a scruffy tartan dressing gown, and her hair was in curlers. There was no sign of the heavy who’d sat beside the door previously. ‘This is very inconvenient,’ she said, as she stepped aside to let me in.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I just…’

  ‘Needed somewhere to lay your weary head,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Go into the bar.’

  ‘Who’s here?’

  ‘Just Emily and me. Now go into the bar.’

  I did as she said. I was bone-tired and it was beautifully warm inside the flat. I slumped into one of the armchairs, dropping next to it the case of drugs I’d brought with me from the car. Emily was sitting on one of the stools. She was wearing a dressing gown too, but it was infinitely briefer than May’s. And no curlers. A real girls’ night in. She gave me a smile when I walked in. The TV was on with the sound turned down. There was a cop show on, featuring a ridiculously handsome young private investigator from south London who never had any trouble solving his cases. And always got off with a beautiful woman as he did it.

  I envied him.

  ‘Drink?’ said May.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask. Beer, please.’

  ‘Emily,’ she said.

  Emily got me a Beck’s and went back to her seat. It tasted like heaven, and I lit a cigarette.

  ‘Annette’s not here,’ said May. ‘I told you, it’s just Emily and me.’

  ‘It wasn’t Annette I came to see.’

  Emily seemed to brighten up at that.

  ‘It was you, May,’ I said.

  Emily pouted.

  May didn’t. ‘What about?’ she said.

  ‘I need to get hold of Darkman.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s got my daughter.’

  She pondered on that for a moment. ‘What for?’

  ‘Long story. I’ve been to his place. Twice, in fact. No one’s home. I thought you might be able to contact him.’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘What’s it worth?’

  ‘It’s worth the life of my daughter. And twenty years inside for me as well. I didn’t do what the cops think I did. There’s people out there know it. Darkman included. But my daughter’s the most important. She’s only fifteen, May. She’s a good girl. Never hurt anyone in her life. Her mum died a few days ago in a plane crash. And now she’s been kidnapped. For Christ’s sake, if you know how to get hold of Darkman, do it.’

  She seemed on the point of refusing. ‘Please,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll make a call,’ she said.

  77

  May used the pay phone in the bar. I wanted her close by when she made the call. Just in case she tried to get clever. She let me hear the engaged tone. I told her to kill the phone. ‘I’ll try again later,’ she said. ‘He likes to talk.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I said.

  She called again every quarter of an hour. The number was permanently engaged and I got more and more jumpy. Apart from that, it was quite a pleasant evening. The three of us sat by the bar drinking and smoking and getting quite chummy, like old pals. Emily kept letting her dressing gown slip, and by the end I hadn’t seen much more of her than her gynaecologist would. But I wasn’t interested. And even old May flashed a bit of leg under her tartan passion killer.

  At ten I watched the news. The shoot-out was featured on London Tonight. Harold hadn’t made it. It was his own stupid fault. Robber was in police custody, although they didn’t divulge his name.

  Finally, at almost midnight, May tried the number again and said, ‘It’s ringing.’

  I grabbed the phone as it was answered and recognized Darkman’s voice. ‘Where’s my daughter?’ I demanded.

  ‘How’d you get this number?’

  ‘Friends in high places.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to call you, but your phone’s switched off.’

  ‘Flat battery. Where’s Judith?’

  ‘That was a very stupid thing you did earlier.’

  ‘It wasn’t my idea. It was Harold. You know him?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Send flowers. Your driver killed him.’

  ‘Tough.’

  ‘Mr B won’t be pleased.’

  ‘He’ll get over it.’

  ‘What about Judith? Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes. You still have the stuff?’

  ‘With me.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Let me speak to her.’

  There was the usual pause, then I heard Judith’s voice. ‘Are you all right, Daddy?’ she asked.

  ‘Just fine. How about you?’

  ‘I’ll be OK. I was so worried about you!’

  ‘Sorry about the shooting,’ I said lamely.

  ‘You didn’t start it. Is your friend hurt badly?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hope not.’ I didn’t want to think about it.

  ‘He wants to talk to you again,’ said Judith.

  Darkman came back on. ‘Satisfied?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right. I’ve got a lock-up under the railway arches in Neate Street, Walworth. I’ve got some things to do right now. Meet me there at three, tomorrow morning. And no tricks. I’m getting tired of all this, Sharman. Your girl’s been all right up to now. But my patience is wearing thin. Come alone and bring the stuff.’

  And he hung up.

  78

  Christmas morning

  ‘Is she all right?’ asked May when I put down the phone.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘All things considered.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Listen, May. I’ve got to impose on your hospitality for a little longer. Sorry.’

  ‘That’s not a problem. It’s been fun.’ Outside, a church clock chimed twelve. ‘It’s midnight,’ she said. ‘Christmas Day. Merry Christmas Nick, Emily!’

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ I said, though I thought it had never been less merry. And I didn’t feel like pulling a cracker.

  May gave me a kiss and so did Emily. The latter tried to turn it into something more passionate but I turned my head away. She started to sulk then, and flounced off to bed. May kept me company with a bottle of Scotch and a late film about Santa losing his reindeers, and fell asleep in one of the chairs.

  Around two-twenty I split without waking her, went and rescued the car, which hadn’t been clamped, and drove south.

  Neate Street, London, SE, three o’clock in the morning on Christmas Day. A street that rhymed at 3 a.m. Could be the title for a song.

  No one lived on Neate Street. There wasn’t a house or block of flats along its half-mile length. It was just a road that led nowhere, and it reminded me of my life.

  The main line from Kent to Waterloo ran along one side, high on an embankment over railway arches made from brick that had long ago blackened in the acid south London air. On the other side was a scrubby park that disappeared into the night. There were four street lamps dotted along that side of the road, and one sputtered and fizzed like it would give up the ghost any moment. That was the only sound I heard, apart from my own footsteps and heartbeat as I walked round the corner carrying the case of dope.

  I’d parked on the cross street at the bottom, and snorted what felt like half of Bolivia to give myself courage. It wasn’t such a good idea, really, as I saw blood on the back of my hand when I touched my nose. All I needed right then was for my sinuses to haemorrhage. As it was, I knew my tongue was swollen and white and I’d chewed the inside of my mouth to a bloody mush.

  The clouds were still low, and snow had started fluttering from the sky again in huge flakes that burst on the wet tarmac as they landed. Neate Street waited
for me like I was the last living man on the planet, and I drew the Detonics .45 to give myself some courage.

  I walked down the pavement opposite the railway arches, looking for some signs of life but seeing none. Not even a stray cat, or a rat looking for supper in the garbage that had collected in the gutters.

  Most of the few cars parked at the kerb were wrecks. Burntout hulks that had once been someone’s pride and joy. But as I passed the second street light I saw, parked across the road between an old Transit and a half-empty skip, Darkman’s Mercedes 190 with the black windows.

  I crossed the road slowly, fanning the gun as I went, waiting for an ambush but none came. The night was as silent as any night in London could be.

  The door to one of the arches was open a crack and I touched it with the toe of my boot. It swung open, revealing a black hole.

  I stood outside for a moment waiting and listening. Inside the arch all was silent, but I knew that, if I stepped inside, I would be silhouetted against the street, making a perfect target for anyone waiting.

  But something had to give and in the end it was me. I jumped over the threshold and slid down the wall inside, trying to make myself as small as possible.

  Still nothing, but even in the dank atmosphere of the arch I could make out another smell. A smell I had come to know well. The smell of recently fired guns and the newly deceased.

  Shit, I thought, I should’ve brought a torch, and I wished for Robber’s company. He always thought of things like that.

  I crouched where I was for a moment more, but I could feel no sign of life in the place and hauled out my Zippo and fired it up. In its flickering light I saw the Ford Scorpio parked inside, with bullet holes drilled neatly in the boot. I looked past it and saw the shape of a man’s shoe by one of the front tyres. I crabbed round the car for a closer look. The shoe was attached to the body of Darkman’s minder, the driver. He was very dead, his leather jacket soaked in blood.

  I went back to the door and tried to find a light switch. Eventually I found one and clicked it on. A dim bulb set into the high ceiling came on and I looked round. The minder-driver wasn’t the only dead man in the room. Next to him lay the body of the bloke who’d called me on the phone. And propped up against the far wall was Darkman himself, half his head shot away.

  Of Judith there was no sign.

  79

  For fuck’s sake, not again, I thought, as I looked at the carnage. Where the hell is all this going to end? Then I searched the place. But all that was there, apart from the rubbish accumulated over the years, was the car, a couple of guns that I left where they lay and the three bodies. Three more dead to add to the total. How many was it now? Christ, who could keep count?

  Then suddenly I heard a rumbling sound like thunder in the distance that got louder and louder until it seemed as if the whole place would shake apart, and powdery dust from the roof began to drift down to coat the living and the dead. It was like the end of the world, and I looked round in panic until I realized what it was. A trainload of empty coaches heading for Waterloo station or the Kent coast to be parked up ready for its Boxing Day passengers, and I relaxed.

  But just for a moment.

  Judith. Where the hell was she? And was she all right?

  And who had killed Darkman and his sidekicks? It could only have been Mr B and his mob or Tootsie and the boys.

  What a choice.

  But I still had the dope. Wearily, I put the case up on the bonnet of the Scorpio, opened it and dipped into the open packet that was leaking cocaine all over the leather lining. Here goes fuck all, I thought, as I lifted my fingers to my nose and scarfed up a good quarter-gram. Here goes my entry ticket to a little rubber room, a straitjacket and lots of cartoons on the TV.

  I coughed and spat, and there was blood in my saliva too. But it was too late to worry about things like that.

  Then I mentally flipped a coin for where to go next, and came down with Mr B. He was the lesser of the two evils and I prayed that it was him behind all this.

  But I had a horrible feeling I was wrong.

  80

  I went to leave then, to go back to my car. But when I got outside I saw the Merc again and decided that it was a better option than the Rover. I went back inside and checked Darkman’s driver’s pockets, trying to ignore the blood and stink of him. I found a keyring with a Mercedes badge on it in his jacket pocket.

  I went back out to the motor and got in. It started first time and the tank was full, so I put it into gear, pulled away and headed towards Brixton for what I knew, one way or the other, was going to be the last time. You must be crazy, I thought as I drove through the dark, deserted streets. Or have the biggest death wish on the bloody planet.

  I arrived at Mr B’s place at about three-forty-five and it was all lit up like a Christmas tree, which was appropriate for the day, if not for the mood I was in.

  I stashed the motor, the dope and my guns out of the way and walked up the path, and the security lights hit me full in the face. I knocked on the front door and waited. After a minute the door cracked and I saw Goldie. Only now he wasn’t smiling and showing off his hampsteads, and he held a cocked Browning Hi-Power in his fist. ‘The boss is waiting,’ he said.

  ‘I hope I haven’t got him up.’

  ‘There’s no sleep for us souls tonight.’

  ‘Some souls are sleeping permanent.’

  He let me in and took me down to Mr B’s office where Marcus was sitting opposite the big man. ‘Darkman’s dead,’ I said. ‘And his men. And my daughter’s still missing. But maybe you know about all that.’ At least I hoped he did.

  He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Darkman too? Well, he was looking for it. It was only a matter of time.’

  ‘Shit,’ I said.

  ‘Did you think she was here?’ he asked.

  ‘I hoped so.’

  ‘How many times do I have to explain that we’re not murderers and child snatchers?’

  ‘Only until I believe you.’

  ‘She’s not here, I can guarantee you that. Why would I bother to lie?’

  ‘So she’s with Tootsie?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. He’s already been on the phone. He wants that dope, and is ready to do a deal.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘With whoever’s got it.’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘That stuff still belongs to me!’

  ‘But you haven’t got it.’

  ‘But I’ve got you.’

  ‘For how long, this time?’

  ‘As long as I want.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I came back voluntarily. You know what happened to Harold?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was his own fault.’

  ‘He always was impulsive.’

  ‘Messed up my car, too,’ said Marcus.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.

  ‘So what do you intend to do?’ asked Mr B.

  ‘I intend getting my daughter back.’

  ‘You’re looking to be killed then,’ said Mr B.

  ‘Not if you send a few of yours with me.’

  ‘Why should my boys get involved?’ asked Mr B.

  ‘To clear out Tootsie’s rat’s nest.’

  ‘You are very optimistic, Mr Sharman,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a good opportunity for you to come out as top dog,’ I said.

  ‘I am top dog.’

  ‘Not as long as Tootsie’s in business. You’ve told me before he’s a thorn in your side.’

  ‘A thorn you might well remove for me.’

  ‘So you’re going to let me go?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’d do better with some help. Someone to watch my back.’

  ‘Marcus?’ said Mr B to his new number two. ‘What do you think?’

  �
��I think it’s Christmas, and I want to live to enjoy some turkey and yams.’

  ‘You scared, Marcus?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, mon,’ said Marcus. ‘You know I ain’t scared, bumble claat.’

  But I saw his eyes glisten in the near dark of the room and I knew I was close.

  ‘Harold wasn’t scared,’ I said. ‘He was a bloody nuisance, but at least he had some bollocks, even though it cost him his life. But you’re scared. Shit scared.’ I laughed and gave him the most scathing look I was capable of. ‘Of fat old Tootsie and a few scumbags.’ Then I changed the subject. ‘You got any kids Marcus? Got a babymother stashed away somewhere with a little nipper like Harold did?’ I asked him.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You amaze me. I thought you’d’ve been putting it about all round the manor. Got bad sperm there, son?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, raas.’

  ‘So you don’t know what it’s like to have a child? A child nicked by those bastards. I hope you do one day and no one’s prepared to help you get it back. Motherfucker! What do you say then, Mr B? Fancy taking out the opposition in one fell swoop? Or are you going to let your hired help call the shots?’

  ‘It’s tempting.’

  ‘But the soldiers are chicken.’

  ‘They’ll do what I say.’

  ‘Then say it.’

  He pondered, but not for long. ‘OK, Mr Sharman,’ he said. ‘You’ve got yourself an army.’

  Thank fuck for that, I thought.

  81

  ‘Go get Majesty. Tell him to get the car round. You’ve got business to attend to. And take Goldie with you,’ said Mr B to Marcus.

  ‘Majesty sleepin’,’ said Marcus sullenly.

  ‘Then wake him up.’

  Marcus gave me a dirty look and left the room.

  ‘They’ll be OK,’ said Mr B. ‘Once they get going.’

  ‘I’m obliged,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t got your daughter back. And you were right. I should’ve taken care of Tootsie long ago.’

  ‘What about the package?’

  ‘Where is it?’