Dead or Alive (14 page)

‘OK. Suppose I give you fifteen hundred cash and you can keep the insurance money to make up for the trouble I've caused you.'

‘Is that legal?'

‘It's fair.'

He took an envelope from his pocket which he knew contained two thousand pounds in fifties – a sum he'd hoped would more than cover the damage. He counted out fifteen hundred and gave it to her.

She took it, saying, ‘I hope this has cured you of being such a curmudgeonly old bugger. Are you still picking arguments with people?'

Sep thought back to the barber. ‘Well I had a few questions for a barber who said his job was hair solutions.'

‘You could do certainly do with a hair solution.'

‘It's my new look.'

‘If you ever want to come back in this pub you'll have to see the hair solution man.'

He grinned. ‘Joyce, you have yourself a deal.'

His new abode was in Middleton, on the south side of the River Aire and four miles away from his former Septimus Black abode. It was by no means luxurious but it was a proper flat with its own bathroom and separate kitchen. He even had a lockable shed for his bike. He had kitted himself out with a wardrobe bought from a charity shop, which he further distressed by dragging each garment through the dirt in a local park, causing them to become suitably stained and torn. He then bought a light-grey hair dye from a supermarket and made a botched attempt to colour it. The end result was to his satisfaction. Jimmy Lennon was indeed a mess to look at.

The fact that he was able to pay a five-hundred pound bond and a month's rent in advance, all in cash, dispelled any doubts the landlord had about Scotsman Jimmy Lennon's dishevelled appearance and almost impenetrable accent.

He'd let Winnie in on his proposed subterfuge and had tested his disguise on her by sitting next to her in a pub she often used. She glanced at him and was about to get up and walk away when he spoke to her in his new accent.

‘Too guid te sit next te me, eh hen?'

Not wishing to be thought of as a snob she sat back down and lied to him. ‘Maybe if you made an effort to clean yourself up a bit.'

‘Agh, ye've changed fer the worse since since I last knew ye, Winnie O'Toole.'

‘I don't know you.'

‘Agh, yes ye do.' He leaned over to her and whispered, ‘I used to be called Sep Black.'

‘What?'

She stared at him, keenly. He grinned at her and put a finger to his lips. ‘Shhh. Just trying out my new disguise. Do you recognize me now?'

‘Maybe your voice … yeah, maybe it's you.'

‘Of course it's me.'

‘Bloody hell, Sep! It's a hell of a disguise … why, though?'

He explained his plan to an increasingly dumbfounded Winnie. Then, reverting to his Jimmy Lennon accent he said, ‘What d'ye think?'

‘I think you're a lunatic.'

‘Well, that's mebbe what it'll take te get ma life back on track. An' I need to know if ye can help me in ma dealings wi' Cope.'

‘What if I say I can't help?'

‘Then I'll find someone who can.'

‘Someone else you can trust with a thing as risky as this? Who might that be?'

‘OK. I'm prob'ly on ma own if ye cannae help.'

‘Sep, you know I'll do what I can.'

Winnie told him she had solid information about a pimp who was really a white slave trader called Whitey.

‘Never heard of him.'

‘No, neither had I. He must be fairly new to this area. Prostitution's one thing but that sort of nonsense needs wiping out before it takes a hold on this town.'

‘I agree,' said Sep.

He also agreed that her information would put Whitey and his gang away for many years. It was information for which Cope would pay good money, and it was information that would get him into Cope's good books as a trusted informer.

‘This is guid stuff, Winnie.'

‘I'm a good girl, Sep, but you're still a lunatic.'

All Sep had to do now was make contact with the bent, wife-stealing bastard, and Winnie reckoned she could help him with that.

‘I dinnae want ye getting personally involved in any o' this, Winnie.'

‘Do I look that stupid, Sep? All I want is a cut of the action for stuff I tell you.'

He was happy with Winnie's help but uncomfortable with her almost overpowering eagerness to please him. He didn't want her to place herself in any danger, or was it that he didn't want her to get any wrong ideas about their relationship? Maybe he should lie to her and tell her he wanted his wife back. Or maybe not, lest his source of information dried up. Shit! Why can't life be simple?

‘All I know is where I saw Cope talkin' to Denchy.'

Winnie was talking to Sep in the King's Arms. He wasn't tonsorially ready to make his return to the Sword and Slingshot just yet, nor would he be until his mission to bring Cope to justice had been accomplished.

‘At the time,' she said, ‘I didn't know for absolute certain he was a copper, it's just that I have a nose for that sort of thing. After Cope left I asked Denchy if he was a copper. He said he wasn't but Chantelle was with him and I could tell by the look on her face that I'd hit the nail on the head. Shit-scared she was. I told 'em I wouldn't go blabbing about it even if he was a copper but Denchy just said he was a bloke he did a bit of work for on his cars. I left it at that but Cope didn't look like no car bloke to me, he had plod written all over him. It was when I saw him with Formosa that the penny dropped that he was a bent cop. Then when Denchy and Chantelle were killed I put two and two together, which is when I told you about Denchy bein' a copper's nark. After I saw him with Denchy, and
before
I saw him with Formosa, I saw him with your missus in a pub.'

‘You never told me.'

‘What's to tell? You already knew your missus had run off with him and I didn't see him with Formosa until after you'd been lifted for wrecking the pub.'

‘Fair enough. So where did you see him and Dench meet up?'

‘Horse and Trumpet in town.'

‘Do you know if Cope goes in there a lot?'

‘I've seen him in there a few times on a lunchtime for his pie and a pint.'

‘And do you go in there a lot?'

‘Couple of times a week on a lunchtime to do a bit of business – honest business mind.'

‘Selling cheap and buying cheaper?'

‘You've got it. That bike of yours. How much did you pay for it?'

‘It cost me about a thousand.'

‘You've gorra be kidding! I could have got you one of them for two hundred, and that's with a bit of bunce in it for me.'

‘You might have got me a fake made-in-China copy that would have had me killed the first time I tried to brake in traffic. Don't make me nervous of you, Winnie. I need to be as straight as I can be, with what I'm doing.'

‘Fair point. So, when do you turn into Jimmy Lennon?'

Sep's long hair was hidden under a woollen hat. His beard was now approaching bushy. He stroked it, thoughtfully, like some wise old man, which made Winnie grin.

‘I'm going to trim this beard a bit and let my hair out from under.' He then spoke in his Glasgow accent. ‘Aye, and right now is when I become a guy frae oot the Gorbals, by the way.'

Winnie's grin widened. She whispered. ‘Is this you from now on?'

‘Aye, this is the public me. An' there's a favour I'd like.'

‘What is it?'

‘The next time yer in the Horse and Trumpet and ye see Cope, would ye gimme a bell?'

‘I will.'

‘And when I arrive would ye call oot ma name so that Cope can hear it. Somethin' like, “What the fuck ye doin' in here Jimmy Lennon, yer Scotch twat?”'

‘Well, I might clean it up a bit, but, yeah, I can handle that.'

For the next few minutes he roughly outlined the conversation he and Winnie would have. A conversation that would be overheard by Cope. A conversation that would be of interest to the detective inspector.

‘Sounds like a fine plan,' said Winnie.

‘Does yer man normally stand at the bar or does he sit doon?'

‘Stands at the bar, always. Coppers always stand at the bar. I bet you did when you were working the pubs.'

‘Good, then I'll be right beside him, at which point yer'll take yer leave. I dinnae want him to associate ye with me too much – if at all. Might do ye no harm te wear a wig or somethin'. I might have a bad word to say about ye after ye've gone.'

‘It won't be the first bad word that's been said about me.'

‘It might take a wee while fer him te accept me as a nark but if nothin' else I know how coppers think and he won't want to miss out on a grass who might have good information.'

‘And I have just the thing for you.'

‘Ye have details about this Whitey guy?'

‘Yes.'

He looked at her and took her hand. ‘Aye, well I'm thankful for this, lassie. But after that ye'll not be seen in the pub with Cope … ever. It's me who's the grass, not you.'

‘I'll do what I can … Jimmy. This stuff I have for you might need a bit of further investigating before you present it to Cope, but that's what you do, isn't it?'

‘Aye, it's what I do, right enough.'

She leaned over and whispered, ‘The accent's quite good and you mustn't
give
this information away free or he'll suss you out very quickly …' she grinned and added in a Scottish accent, ‘by the way.'

‘Correct. It'll be good tae earn a dishonest living at that bastard's expense. Right, let's hear more about this white slave racket ye have for me.'

‘Well, it's to do with a young woman I have living with me …' began Winnie. ‘She's a Romanian girl who's just escaped from Whitey's brothel and she's scared to death. I found her a couple of nights ago at two o'clock in the morning on Harehills Road in her nightie and nothing else. It was freezing. I brought her home with me.'

‘She'd been forced into prostitution?' guessed Sep.

‘Exactly. She was brought over under false pretences thinking she was going to train as a nurse …'

S
ep was out cycling when Winnie rang him three days later. Unknown to him, she'd been in the Horse and Trumpet every lunchtime for three days running in the hope of spotting Cope. Sep had spent two hours of each of those days on his bike. Not having ridden a bike since he was a boy he needed the regain the expertise and fitness required by a cyclist pedalling his machine through traffic. He was happy that he'd got the job cracked. He stopped by the side of the road, pulled out his mobile and smiled when he saw the name on the screen.

‘Winnie,' he said.

‘I'm in the Horse and Trumpet and our friend has just come in.'

‘I assume he can't hear you.'

‘I hope not. I'm in the Ladies.'

‘Can anyone else hear you?'

‘No, I'm on my own.'

‘Good. I'm out on my bike. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.'

‘I'll get you a pint ready.'

‘No you won't. You don't know I'm coming.'

‘Of course. Sorry.'

With his bicycle secured to a street lamp he entered the Horse and Trumpet with his trousers still tucked in his socks. He'd ridden there without a hat on and the wind had made a fine job of ruffling his long, wild hair into an even more untidy mess. His beard had been trimmed to a more manageable length, but by his own hand so it was by no means neat. He wore an old, torn and dirty sweater he'd kept in his saddlebag for such an emergency. Winnie caught his eye when he came in and redirected his gaze to the bar where Cope was standing in front of a half-drunk pint, eating a beef sandwich. As Sep headed towards him she called out.

‘Is that you, Scotch Jimmy, yer drunken old pisspot?'

Sep turned and pretended not to recognize her. Cope turned as well. Sep shrugged and went to stand beside Cope, who moved a couple of feet along the bar from this unsavoury old tramp. Winnie got to her feet and brought her drink to the bar, positioning herself between Sep and Cope.

‘D'yer not remember me, Jimmy?'

‘Oh aye, I do so. How're ye keepin'?'

‘I'm keeping fine. How are you? Last I heard of you'd gone back to Glasgow.'

‘Aye, that right enough. Ended up in fuckin' Barlinnie. Two years for skelpin' a guy. Hey, I couldnae skadge a ciggie off ye could I?'

‘Course you can.' She took out her cigarettes and said, ‘Can I get you a pint?'

‘Aye, why not? I'm a wee bit pissed fer some reason, but I don't suppose another pint'll do me harm.'

She signalled the barman to pull Jimmy a pint, aware of Cope's interest out of the corner of her eye.

‘So, Jimmy, what yer doing down here?'

‘Och, I thought I'd come back and sniff around. See what's happenin' yer know.'

‘Anything of interest?'

‘As a matter o' fact there's a lot of interestin' stuff goin' on … as well as a lot of slimy stuff that makes me ashamed ter be a member o' the criminal fraternity.'

‘Such as?'

‘I'm talkin' about them foreign guys bringin' lassies over, drugging 'em up tae the eyeballs an' locking 'em in brothels never te see the light o' fuckin' day and paying 'em no money. That's terrible that is. I'd round the bastards up and hang the lot o' them by their testicles. I mean a hoor needs tae earn a decent livin' like anyone else. Are you still on the game, by the way?'

‘Not any more, Jimmy.'

‘Shame that.'

‘Why's it a shame? You could never afford me.'

‘Aye, true enough.'

‘Anyway, I was just going. Thought I'd say hello.'

‘Aye, hello yersel'. Guid te meet ye.'