Get Carter (20 page)

I smiled.

“What is she? Business or pleasure?”

“That’s something for you to decide,” I said.

I ordered large ones and took them back to the table. She’d already started another cigarette.

“Well,” I said, “you needn’t worry. I’m not going to mark you. What happened couldn’t be helped. Things just worked out a certain way. Nothing I can do will make any difference.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Let’s drink to it,” I said.

She raised her glass.

“No,” I said. “I’ve a better idea: let’s drink to Frank.”

The glass remained where it had been before I’d spoken, about an inch from her lips.

“To Frank,” I said. “Wherever he is.”

“Frank,” she said.

We drank.

I put my glass down and looked across at Con and Peter. Con was getting some more drinks in.

“You’ll have to excuse us now, Margaret,” I said. “I’ve got a bit of business to discuss.”

She drank up and stood up.

“Well,” she said. “I don’t suppose I’ll be seeing you again.”

“I don’t suppose you will,” I said.

She turned away.

“Thanks again for making the arrangements,” I said.

She turned back and looked at me. I was amazed to see that tears were pouring from behind the dark glasses. She kept on looking at me for a few seconds then she turned away again and walked out of the pub.

I wondered what had brought that on but I didn’t have any time to think about it what with Con and Peter watching me like hawks.

I walked over to them again.

“Must have been business,” said Con, noting Margaret’s departure. “Having one, Jack?”

I nodded.

Con got me a drink. He twisted round on his stool to reach for it for me. He was in a very awkward position. Peter was draining his glass. So I punched Con in the kidneys and gave Peter a backhander in his guts and turned and ran as fast as I could down the aisle between the bar and the tables. When I got to the end of the row I pulled over a couple of tables just in case but Con and Peter were only just beginning to come after me. If you’re only Number Two you should try harder. I whipped through the Gent’s door and opened the door that led into the car park. I began to run down the short flight of steps.

The trouble was there was a man standing at the top of the steps and his leg was stretched out in front of me.

I didn’t touch a step. I made sure I landed okay and began rolling out of the impact but that didn’t do me much good because at the bottom of the steps there was another man who began kicking at me even before I hit the floor. I managed to get an ankle-hold on him and twist him over but not before he’d given me a few handy ones in my ribs and in the small of my back. But at the same time as he went over the man who’d been standing at the top of the steps was now on the tarmac and he began the whole process all over again. I went back on my shoulders and gave him a double-legged kick in the flies. He went green and spewy. I was getting up as Con and Peter came boiling down the steps. Con had his knife out. He was smiling broader than at any other time during that day. The first bloke I’d put down was already back on his feet. The other local boy was dragging himself along on his stomach trying to forget he was alive.

I was running even before I was upright. Not that I held out much hope of out distancing them after the good footwork that’d been put in but it was the only thing I could do under the circumstances.

“Not looking for that one, were you, Jack?” Con shouted as he came after me across the car park.

I kept on going but they were closing and I knew they weren’t trying all that hard.

Then I became aware of a white TR4 accelerating towards me from the direction of the far exit of the car park. It had me dead between the headlights.

Christ, I thought, the bastards’ve thought of it all.

I stopped running. The car got closer and so did the boys. I tensed up, getting ready to try and jump to one side, like a goalie weighing up a bloke approaching a ball on the penalty spot.

But before I had time to jump the car swerved past me and carried on towards the boys. They began to slow down. The driver threw a lock on the wheel. The car went into a four wheel drift, broadside on to the boys. Boys began to leap in all directions. Peter got some more marks on his twills. Con’s knife flew up in the air, bright against the grey wet sky. Beyond the knife, I noticed a bevy of white-shirted barmen perched on the car park steps, gaping at the scene.

The car went into opposite lock and zoomed back in my direction. The driver threw the brakes on. The car skidded alongside me. The driver stretched behind the wheel and the passenger door flew open. The driver was a girl.

I bundled in, remembering why it was I knew her. The Casino. The girl with the giggles. The one who was drunk.

She still was.

The car leapt forward. I looked out of the back. Con and the others were scuttling in the opposite direction making for the red Jag.

We swung out of the car park. The girl was grinning all over her face but her eyes were foggy and dull.

I couldn’t really think of anything to say that could follow the scene that had just happened so I waited for her. She wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for long.

We zig-zagged up and down a few streets. There was no sign of the red Jag.

I took my fags out. They were all bent up. I stuck one in my mouth and lit up.

“You didn’t know you had a fairy Godmother, did you?” she said.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t.”

“A fairy Godmother all of your own. Aren’t you lucky?”

“Yes, I am.”

We skidded round another corner.

“Where are we going?” I said.

“To the fairy Godmother’s castle, of course.”

“Oh.”

“To see the Demon King.”

“Kinnear?”

She laughed.

“If I said yes, you’d get out, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” I said.

We began to slow down.

“How did you happen to know where I’d be?”

“The Demon King wanted to talk to you. So he phoned up a few places and you were at one of them. He waved his wand and I was despatched to bring you to him. I was going to park the pumpkin but you saved me the trouble. Lucky for you I was held up in the traffic.”

“Lucky for me you’re drunk or else you wouldn’t have been able to drive like that.”

“Nasty,” she said.

“He must have been pretty sure I’d want to see him if he sent you.”

“Oh, he was. He told me something to tell you that would make you come. Like a magic spell.”

“And what did he tell you to tell me?”

“We’re there now,” she said. “You’ll have to wait and see. That’s for being nasty.”

The car stopped. We got out. She was drunk enough to leave her keys in the dashboard. That might be a nice thing to know later on.

We were in the middle of a dozen blocks of tall council flats. They looked greyer than the day. We walked across a dull wet patch of grass and under one of the blocks and
turned left. There was a lift, one of those aluminium finish things that always smell of piss. We got in. She pressed 4 on the panel. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her short artificial fur coat and leaned her back against the wall and looked at me. The door rattled shut and the lift moved. I threw my cigarette on the floor; the stink didn’t improve the flavour. The girl kept looking at me.

The lift stopped and the doors opened.

We got out and walked along the balcony. She stopped and took a key out of her pocket and put it in a lock and opened a door. I went through.

I stood in the small hall and waited for her to close the door. She closed it and walked past me and opened another one. She looked at me. I went through the door.

It wasn’t a big room but it was very nicely done out. Low tables, divans, coloured cushions, white walls, a little bit of stripped pine, the occasional big modern picture, the odd bits of copper. Nice.

Cliff Brumby was sitting on one of the low divans. He was wearing the beautiful overcoat of the previous night. Underneath he had on a white silk rollneck and a bright red cardigan. He was sitting with one arm draped along the back of the divan. His other arm was placed elegantly across the lower part of his stomach and between the fingers of his hand was a freshly lit cigarette.

“Hello, Jack,” he said.

I looked at him.

“Make yourself at home,” he said. “Only not like last night, eh?”

I sat down and said nothing. The girl went over to an open cocktail cabinet and looked at me as she picked out three glasses with one hand and a bottle of scotch with another. Then she set them down on the low table that was between me and Cliff and went out of the room. She came back with a jug of water and came my side of the table and leant over the table and poured the drinks. As
she poured, she swayed, allowing me to see right up to the maker’s name. Cliff saw me looking.

“Glenda,” he said, “your fanny’s in Jack’s face.”

Still leaning over, Glenda screwed her head round to look at me.

“I don’t see him complaining,” she said.

“He’s seen it before,” said Brumby. “Get yourself round this side.”

She straightened up and walked round the table and flopped on the divan next to Brumby. She undid her coat and planted her feet on the table. One leg was bent and the other was fully extended. I was being given another treat. Brumby gave her a long look. Eventually she took her feet off the table but with the way she was sitting it didn’t really matter. It also didn’t really matter because most of the time I’d been watching Brumby’s face to see what went.

“Well,” said Brumby, “you’ll be wondering what I’ve got to say.”

I said nothing.

“Last night after you’d gone, I thought I’d do a little bit of asking about. Seeing as how you weren’t exactly forthcoming as to why you should want to see me at half past two in the morning.”

I lit up.

“Very interesting it was. What I was told, like. About you having a brother and all that. Especially the part about you asking around about as to the likelihood of his being knocked off.”

He leant forward and picked up a glass. “I got to thinking: wouldn’t it be nice if the bloke you were after was a bloke I’d rather like to have off my back? Wouldn’t it be a bit of all right if you and me had mutual interests in getting rid of a certain gentleman?”

“Like who?” I said.

Brumby took a drink. He thought he’d got me hooked.

“I expect you know all about my line,” he said.

I didn’t answer.

“Machines. The arcades,” he said. “I expect you even know how many I’ve got and on how many sea fronts.”

I inhaled.

“Nice business. Looks after itself. People put money in the machines. I take it out. Not much rough stuff. Just the occasional friendly persuasion with owners of property I don’t own.”

“I know about the business,” I said.

“Believe me,” he said, “it’s a business that’s made me very happy. Never really wanted to branch out into anything else. Hard enough getting this little lot set up. Life’s too short. I’ve got what I want and I use it. I appreciate it. I started hawking scrap in a barrow in 1944, when I was sixteen. I remember where I’ve come from.”

He took a drink.

“But happy as I’ve been, no business maintains its status quo. You’ve got to expand. Otherwise you may as well pack it in. So as far as the arcades are concerned, well, there’s only so many without going outside a given area. And I wouldn’t want to do that. For more reasons than one. So what’s left? The pubs? The breweries make their own arrangements. The clubs? Some belong to owners, but some don’t. The constitutionals, the Labours, the working mens. So, quite legitimately, I send representatives round and about. ’Course, lots of places already have got machines. But mine are better: they pay out more often and at the same time they pay out less. The customers like them and so do the management. To my reps, it’s like selling iced water in the Sahara. They’re keen lads. One of them gets a bit too keen. He flogs some machines in a place that’s already got machines. Okay. But the manager of this place is very silly. He doesn’t tell certain people what he’s done. Certain people with interests in the club. There’s some trouble. The upshot is I have to eat shit and stop pushing my machines in the clubs. That’s bad but I have to take it. I’m not big enough not to. So as far as I’m concerned, that’s it. Apparently not. These people I’ve
offended start thinking wouldn’t it be nice if all Cliff Brumby’s machines and all Cliff Brumby’s outlets belonged to us? Once we’ve got hold of them, a lot of other seaside venues would drop into place. I got to hear all this from a little bird I pay money to hear things for me.”

The girl smiled blankly into her empty glass.

“So I’m very worried. If they want to do this then they’re going to do it and that’s all there is to it. I’ll be lucky if they let me keep my barrow. I can’t fight them. I haven’t got that kind of set-up. But I’ve got to fix them before they fix me. Trouble is if I try and it doesn’t come off and they know I’ve tried, I’m dead, aren’t I, Jack?”

I blew smoke into the air.

Cliff reached down beside him and picked up a briefcase and put it on the table and opened it. He took out two bundles of very new banknotes.

“A grand,” he said. “It belongs to you. Along with a name I’m going to give you.”

“What name?” I said.

“Paice.”

I looked at him.

“Paice did it,” he said, “and Kinnear would give the say so.”

“Why?” I said.

“I don’t know. All I know is what I’ve been told.”

The girl poured herself another drink.

“I understand there was a bit of a kerfuffle last Saturday night at The Casino,” he said. “People shitting bricks all over the place. Especially Eric. Your brother’s name was mentioned. Eric goes off with some hard boys. Eric comes back and after that your brother’s dead.”

“Why?” I said.

Brumby shrugged.

“I’ve told you as much as I know,” he said.

I looked at him.

“Yes, well,” I said, “it’s not enough, is it, Cliff?”

I stood up. Brumby looked at me.