Hearts of Stone (8 page)

18

T
he rest of the evening passed by without excitement. We finally cleared the place of the last drunk about eleven-forty. The last drunk was an Arsenal fan, as it goes, so I suppose it's not surprising he was always on the piss. When we'd tidied up, I had a final coffee with JJ. I knew he was dying to make some comment, so I let him.

‘You're mixing with a funny lot lately,' he said.

‘No more than usual.'

‘That's not the way it looks to me.'

‘I don't get this, JJ,' I replied. ‘What's it got to do with you?'

‘It's to do with me when you leave the bar when we're busy.'

‘Do me a favour, JJ,' I said. ‘I was only gone for a minute.'

‘It seemed longer.'

‘I didn't realise I had to clock on and off.'

‘Forget it,' he said. ‘I'm sorry I spoke.'

‘And talking of time off,' I said. ‘I don't want to work on Wednesday night. Is that OK?'

‘Why?'

‘I've got a date.'

‘A date? With a woman?'

‘Yes.'

‘Christ, what's come over you?'

‘Leave it out, JJ,' I said. ‘I'm not in the mood. Just remember I won't be here Wednesday night, all right?'

‘It's fine by me, Nick. I wouldn't dream of coming between you and a woman. I was beginning to wonder about your sex life.'

‘Don't. Just cover for me on Wednesday. Now I'm off. I'll see you Monday.'

‘Night, Nick,' he said, and I left. I hadn't brought the car that evening. I didn't mind the walk home. It wasn't far. I was used to avoiding the vomit and greasy chip papers that littered the streets on a Saturday night.

When I got home, I wasn't tired. I put some music on the stereo and made coffee and chased down half a dozen large Grand Marniers, and found a bit of hash hidden away in the bathroom cabinet and rolled a fat joint. Now that's how to get a good night's sleep.

I surfaced about ten and went down for the papers. When I got back I made sausage, egg, bacon, mushroom, tinned tomatoes and a fried slice, and ate it reading about what a soap-opera star was getting up to between the sheets with his brother-in-law. I took my second mug of tea over to the comfortable chair and got stuck into the crossword.

About three o'clock, I heated up a pizza in the oven and washed it down with a couple of beers. Then I finished reading the papers and waited for Brady.

He was dead on time. ‘All right?' I asked.

‘No problems,' he replied. ‘I've just come from a meet with the boss. He sent you this.' He hauled a thick brown envelope out of the pocket of his leather jacket and tossed it to me. I opened it and pulled out a wodge of fifties and counted them. One thousand pounds exactly.

‘Do I have to sign anything?' I asked.

‘Yeah. I always carry a Metropolitan Police receipt book with me when I'm working undercover.'

‘Endesleigh's getting very trusting.'

‘You weren't thinking of ripping us off, were you?' he said with that mad look back in his eyes.

‘No. I wasn't.'

‘There you go, then. So what's new?'

I told him.

‘Brilliant,' he said. ‘I'm beginning to think the boss was right about you. We've been trying to crack that pair for months.'

‘You should have called me earlier,' I said as drily as I could.

‘How do you get in touch?'

‘I don't. They get in touch with me.'

‘That's not so good.'

‘That's the way they wanted it.'

‘Fair enough. But try and get a contact number if you can.'

‘It'll be a mobile.'

‘Yeah, I know. But it could be useful.'

‘I'll see what I can do. Want a drink?'

‘What you got?'

‘Everything. I work in a bar, remember. I get it wholesale.'

‘Jack Daniel's?'

‘Now you're talking.'

And that, I'm afraid, was the end of Sunday night.

We drank two bottles of the stuff between us, and I poured Brady into a mini-cab at about midnight.

Then I went and threw up in the bathroom.

19

M
onday I nursed a hangover all day, and fed it with coffee and aspirin. The big trouble with too much Jack Daniel's is that the aftertaste lingers forever.

I turned into the bar just before six-thirty. Mondays were always quiet. There were just two or three customers in, when I arrived. JJ was sitting at a stool, gazing into an empty coffee cup.

‘Evening,' I said.

‘You look rough.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Been on the piss?'

‘Something like that.'

‘You've had a couple of calls.'

‘Who?'

‘Dunno. They didn't say.'

I had a pretty good idea. ‘Male or female?' I asked.

‘Male.'

‘No message?'

He shook his head.

‘Well, I'm here now if they want me.'

He nodded, then mooched off to play with his motorbike, and I took over. It stayed quiet. A few faces I knew dropped in and out. One of them bought me a cold beer, which helped my head. At twenty past seven the phone rang. ‘JJ's,' I said when I picked it up.

‘Nick?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Roy. Roy Seeley.'

‘Hello, Roy,' I said.

‘I've been trying to get you all day. That geezer you work with wouldn't give us your home number.'

‘Policy of the bar, Roy. So, what can I do for you?' As if I didn't know.

‘Did you speak to your man yet?'

‘Yes.'

‘Is he interested?'

‘Could be.'

‘Good. When can we meet?'

‘You tell me.'

‘Tomorrow?'

‘You're keen.'

‘Always, when there's business involved.'

‘What time?' I asked.

‘When can you manage?'

I looked at the roster pinned to the wall next to the phone. I saw that I was due to work the next evening, and also that JJ had crossed my name off for Wednesday night. ‘Daytime,' I said. ‘'Til six-thirty.'

‘Daytime it is, then. He lives in Kennington, you said.'

‘Right.'

‘Let's make it local to him. No point in inconveniencing the man. That'll do you, won't it?'

‘Suits me.'

‘Good. There's a wine bar down by the Cross. Hold on.' The phone went dead as he covered the mouthpiece. I waited. ‘Everly's,' he said when he came back on. ‘Know it?'

‘No.'

‘You'll find it. It's opposite the Roebuck pub.'

‘Fine.'

‘It's open all afternoon. How does three o'clock suit you?'

‘Depends if it suits him. I'll give him a bell. See if he's about. Give me your number.' He did. It was an 0831 prefix. Mobile. ‘I'll get back to you before closing,' I said.

‘Good. I'll look forward to your call.'

‘See you then,' I said.

‘Bye.' And he was gone.

I served a waiting punter and phoned Brady. I tried his home first. Alfie answered. ‘Is Brady there?' I said. He didn't answer, just put down the phone with a clatter.

A minute later: ‘Yeah?' I recognised Brady's voice.

‘Sharman,' I said.

‘Nicholas. How goes it?'

‘Seeley was just on the blower.'

‘Was he? That was quick.'

‘He wants a meet.'

‘I bet he does. When?' he asked.

‘Tomorrow afternoon. Three o'clock.'

‘Where?'

‘There's a wine bar near you. Kennington Cross. Everly's.'

‘I know it. Three, you say.'

‘That's right.'

‘Couldn't be better. Come round for me at two-thirty. We'll drive down in my wheels. Put on a show.'

‘If you say so,' I said.

‘I do. I'll let the boss know. Tomorrow two-thirty, then.'

‘Right.
And
he gave me a number.'

‘Very good,' said Brady. ‘Let's have it.' I read it out to him. ‘Great, Nick. I'll see you tomorrow.' And he hung up. So did I.

I phoned the number Seeley had given me about an hour later. I didn't want anyone to think that Brady was too keen. ‘I've had a word,' I said when I got through. ‘Three o'clock tomorrow is OK.'

‘Sweet, Nick. We could all earn nicely out of this.'

‘Hope so.'

‘Me too. I've got a good feeling about this one. See you there.' He broke the connection before I could answer.

I didn't. Have a good feeling, that is.

20

I
didn't sleep much that night. I just lay in bed thinking of the possible consequences of assisting the police in their enquiries. None of the options was particularly attractive. But it was too late by then to consider bailing out. Much too late. And
that
option was possibly the least attractive of them all. I got up about eight. The only good news was that my hangover had gone.

I didn't have the patience to read the paper, and I didn't fancy breakfast, so I just made cup after cup of sweet tea and paced the flat like a prisoner in a cell. And the irony of
that
didn't escape me either.

By midday I was starving, but couldn't face eating, and I'd smoked my last cigarette, so I decided to take a drive and buy some more. I put on a tan wool Valentino for the meet. I thought I might as well look the part, at least.

I drove up to the river. There's a little bar on a wharf on the South Bank, not too far from where Brady lived, with tables outside and where no one knew me. I parked up, bought a beer and twenty Silk Cut, and sat in the fresh air to catch a little of the spring sunshine and try to relax.

I got a table as far away from the rest as possible, and watched the office girls feed the seagulls scraps of their sandwich lunches, and wished for the thousandth time that my life had taken a different turn somewhere. But it was pointless. We are what we are, and that's that. No amount of wishing can change it.

I sat, hardly touching the beer, for an hour and a half. At two-fifteen I left the remains of the bottle and went back to the car. I got to the estate where Brady lived ten minutes early for my appointment. As I turned into the street, I saw a tall, dark-haired geezer come out of the front door of Brady's house and get into a dark green Jaguar XJS parked outside. I drove the Cosworth past, turned right towards the end of the cul-de-sac and stopped out of sight of the house. Something, I don't know what, told me not to let the driver of the XJS see me. I stayed where I was until two-thirty, and then did a U-turn and drove back and parked at the kerb outside Brady's front door. The Jaguar was gone.

When I rang the doorbell, Alfie answered.

‘Is he in?' I asked.

‘No, but I'm expecting him at any moment.'

Ripping one off with a handsome stranger, I thought, whilst the mouse is away, you naughty boy. A bit of revenge for what you think Brady's up to. What's good for the goose is good for the other goose. Interesting. And dangerous too. But I didn't say a word.

‘You'd better come in and wait, I suppose,' said Alfie, but I could tell he wasn't creaming his jeans at the thought.

Just then I heard the sound of a high-powered engine, and I looked round. Brady's Porsche swung round the corner and drew up in front of the Ford. The top was down, and his long hair was loose and tangled from the slipstream. He hopped out and bounded across the pavement. ‘Right on time,' he said. ‘Good. In you go.'

I went inside and he followed me, and we all stood awkwardly in the tiny hall.

‘Upstairs, Alfie,' said Brady. ‘Find something to do. I've got business to discuss with Nick. Then we're going out.'

Alfie tossed his head and did as he was told, but I could tell he wasn't happy.

‘Through here,' said Brady, and led me into the kitchen. ‘Coffee?' he offered.

‘Sure.' There was an electric percolator plugged into the wall socket. He fetched down a mug from the cupboard and filled it. ‘Milk?'

‘Yeah – and one sugar.' I took the mug and perched on a kitchen stool and accepted one of his cigarettes and took a light.

‘Right,' he said. ‘This is the way it goes. You introduce me as the buyer. I'm the street man. The funky geezer. You know the type: a right arsehole. Of course, I have a principal. The money man. So I want a test sample now. Today. And when I report back that it's OK, I make a small purchase. And then, if that's good stuff, the biggy. That's when we move in and bust the fuckers. But it has to be a very big buy. Big enough to lead us to the top cockroaches. These two we're meeting today are trash. Scum. The only reason they're useful to us is that they can identify the ones we really want. And faced with a long time away, they'll do a deal. I know it. Shit, they'd peddle their grandmother's pussies to stay on the outside.'

‘What about me?' I asked.

‘You'll be looked after, don't worry.'

‘But I do.'

‘Trust me.'

‘You're a doctor, I know.'

‘What?'

‘Nothing.' I looked at my watch. ‘Are we fit then?'

‘Sure.'

‘Are you going to be carrying?'

‘What?'

‘What do you think? That cannon of yours, of course.'

He pulled his leather jacket open so I could see the holster he was wearing. ‘I told you I always do.'

I looked up at the ceiling ‘For fuck's sake,' I said.

‘Don't worry. I keep telling you.'

‘Trust me, I know.'

‘That's right.' And the mad grin was back. I could never quite get to believe that grin. ‘I'll just say goodbye to Alf,' he said. ‘Gotta keep him sweet. You know how it is.'

I knew exactly how it was, but once again I said nothing. He got up and left the kitchen. He was only gone for a minute. When he came back he said, ‘Come on then, if you're coming.' And we went out to his car.

‘Will my motor be all right here?' I asked.

He laughed. ‘You're worried about a
parking ticket
, with what you're into?' And he shook his head in disbelief.

I didn't bother to answer. I climbed into the passenger seat of his car. He started the engine with a roar, slapped the gearstick into first, pulled round in a tight three-point turn, and away with a yip from the back tyres. We screeched into the Kennington Road and accelerated down towards the Cross and turned into Kennington Lane, and he pulled up at a parking meter opposite a parade of shops.

‘Hardly worth bringing the car,' I said, when we'd stopped.

‘I like to. It gives me a sense of security. That's us over there.' And he pointed.

The wine bar was on the parade between an old-fashioned tailor's shop and a greengrocer. It was small, with a plate-glass window containing a menu chalked on a blackboard, and over the front ‘
Everly's
' was sign-painted in gold on a green background. Brady put the top of the Porsche up, and we got out of the car. He fed a few coins into the meter, and we crossed the road. I pushed open the door of the wine bar at five to three.

It was a long, narrow room with a polished wooden bar running down the right-hand side. One punter was sitting on a stool in front of it, gazing into space. A big mirror ran down the wall opposite. The bar ended in a half wall. Beyond that, Everly's opened into a back room full of white tables and chairs. A Commodores' tape was playing on the sound system.

Seeley and Hughes and a woman were sitting at a table in the far corner, as far away from the bar as was possible. The woman was sitting with them, but not close, whilst they talked. Her chair was pulled back from the table, and she was checking her make-up in the mirror of her compact. She was wearing a bright green two-piece suit. Seeing her there reminded me of Lana Turner in
The Postman Always
Rings Twice.
The original version that turns up on TV every now and then, not the dopy remake. She had blonde, almost white hair, and she was hard-faced with it. Even from across the room I could tell that.

‘They're here,' I said. ‘Who's she?'

‘His old woman,' replied Brady. ‘Come on, introduce me. Don't forget, I'm not supposed to know them.' I led him through to the back. The two men looked up as we entered. The woman ignored us.

‘Roy, Pat,' I said. ‘This is Brady.'

Roy got up. ‘Just Brady?' he said.

‘That's right,' said Brady, and the grin appeared. Don't push it, I thought.

Roy shook his hand – and so did Pat, but he remained sitting down.

‘Brady, Nick, this is my missus, Jools,' said Seeley.

‘No, I'm not,' she said, still looking in the mirror and ignoring us.

‘As good as,' said Roy.

‘Yeah,' she said. Like it wasn't. But it was immaterial, anyway.

‘Hello, Jools,' I said.

She looked at me for the first time, and she had that look in her eye that said:
Don't bother, son. You've got no
chance.
But that look made you want to try all the harder. And she knew it. ‘Hello, Nick,' she said. ‘That's a nice suit. Are you wearing it for a bet?'

‘Shut up, Jools,' said Roy.

‘Sorry, I'm sure,' she said.

I had to laugh. ‘Yeah, that's right,' I said to her.

‘Well, you won,' she said, and winked at me.

I wondered what I'd won – and when I'd collect.