Hearts of Stone (9 page)

21

‘S
o what are you drinking?' asked Seeley, rubbing his hands together like the original hail-fellow-well-met.

‘What you got there?' said Brady. Pointing at the single bottle on the table.

‘A rather fine Cabernet Sauvignon,' said Seeley.

‘That'll do.'

‘I'll get it,' said Seeley, and he went to the bar. Brady and I pulled up chairs and sat down.

‘Nick here's been telling me all about you guys,' said Brady.

Hughes looked at me. ‘Like what?' he said.

‘Just what you told me,' I said.

‘Fine,' said Hughes, shifting his shoulders under the slubbed silk jacket he was wearing.

Seeley came back with two bottles of wine and two more glasses. He made like mother, and I took a sip. It wasn't bad. I took out my cigarettes and offered them round. Only Jools took one. I lit both and she looked at me through the smoke they made. Green eyes, she had. Almost exactly the colour of her suit.

‘So,' said Seeley to Brady. ‘I understand you and Nick have known each other a long time.'

‘Years,' said Brady.

‘And you do a little business together.'

‘A little,' said Brady. ‘You've got to keep the wolf from the door, you know.' And he turned and fixed me with a stare.

‘So true. And perhaps we can help you keep it even further away,' said Seeley.

‘I don't know you,' said Brady. ‘And I don't know her.' He moved his eyes over to Jools, which didn't seem to bother her in the least.

‘She's all right,' said Seeley. ‘She's with me.'

‘And that's supposed to make me feel better?'

‘Do you want me to go?' asked Jools.

‘No,' said Seeley. ‘You stay where you are.'

She shrugged.

‘Let's get one thing straight,' said Brady. ‘I'm only here because Nick told me you were OK. I didn't come to be sociable. I'm interested in one thing and one thing only. Profit.'

‘I think Nick can testify to the quality of our product.' Seeley again.

‘He has. But that was your personal stuff.'

‘What we sell is of the same calibre.'

‘I doubt that,' said Brady.

‘There's only one way to find out,' interjected Hughes.

Brady sniggered. It wasn't a pretty sound. ‘Listen,' he said. ‘We all know there are degrees of quality. I don't doubt that any sample you show me will be excellent. But quantity merchandise is sometimes a different story, and I don't want to be left holding a bunch of duff gear, now do I?'

There was silence at the table, and the Commodores' tape had finished and been replaced by Roy Orbison.

‘I guarantee that won't be a problem,' said Seeley.

‘That's what they all say,' said Brady, and the expression on his face told us all what Seeley could do with his guarantee.

‘So what do you suggest?' asked Hughes.

‘You
have
got a taste with you?'

‘Sure,' said Hughes.

‘OK. I live just around the corner. I have everything there I need to test the stuff. If it comes up to my benchmark, we're in business for a buy. But just a small one.'

‘And?' Hughes again.

‘If that's of the same quality, I can shift all you can supply.'

‘I doubt that,' said Hughes.

‘Try me.'

‘Perhaps we will.'

‘Let's go, then,' said Brady. ‘Get out the old chemistry set.'

‘Fine,' I said, and started to get up.

‘We don't all need to go,' said Hughes. ‘You stay here with Jools.' I looked at her, and she looked about as happy as if she'd just found a scorpion in her panty drawer.

‘If that's OK,' I said.

‘I couldn't care less,' said Jools. That was obvious.

‘Later,' said Brady, and the three of them left.

When the door had shut behind them, she said, ‘Did you enjoy your evening at Sonny's?'

I looked at her.

‘Don't worry. I know all about what Roy gets up to when I'm not around.'

‘It was OK,' I said.

‘I wouldn't bother taking your friend with you next time.'

‘Why's that?'

‘He's bent, isn't he?'

I nodded. ‘Very observant of you.'

‘Thought so.'

‘You can tell?'

‘Usually.
You
aren't.'

‘No,' I agreed.

‘You don't swing both ways?'

I shook my head. ‘No,' I said.

‘I'm pleased to hear it. He doesn't like women much, does he?'

I almost said that I didn't know him that well, but bit down on my tongue just in time. I'd have to watch things like that. ‘Depends on the woman,' I said instead.

‘Cheers. Can I have another cigarette?'

‘Sure.' I offered her the packet, and she took one, and so did I. I left the packet open and put it on the table. ‘Help yourself,' I said.

‘Thanks. Roy tells me you met him in a bar.'

‘He met me. I work there. I've got the same car as he has.'

‘That bloody thing. He can't handle it. He'll kill himself some day.'

I made no comment. ‘I've never seen you there with him.'

‘Roy doesn't take me out much.'

‘Why not?'

She shrugged. ‘Who knows?'

‘Well, he's brought you today.'

‘Lucky old me.'

I filled her glass.

‘Are you trying to get me drunk?'

‘No.'

‘Pity.'

In the background Roy Orbison sang
Only the Lonely
. Dum Dum Dum Dumee Doo Wah.

I smiled. ‘Are you two getting married?'

‘Whatever gave you that idea?'

‘Roy said…'

‘Roy says a lot.'

‘So you're not?'

‘Who knows?'

And that just about said it all. We stayed there drinking and smoking for another fifteen minutes or so, until the rover boys returned. Seeley and Brady were chatting away like old friends. Hughes looked as morose as ever. Brady stopped at the bar and ordered champagne.

‘I take it everything went OK,' I said, when he came over with the bottle and a handful of fresh glasses.

‘Better than.'

‘Good. Deal done?'

‘Looks like it.'

‘Fine. Then you won't need me again.'

‘Don't you believe it. You haven't even started yet. You're going to be the messenger boy. Just to keep everything in the family.'

‘That will be nice.'

‘Come on guys,' said Seeley. ‘No secrets. We're all friends now.'

‘Just putting Nick in the picture,' said Brady.

‘Fine,' said Seeley and raised his glass. ‘Here's to Brady and Nick. I think we're going to do great things together.' Seeley was rapidly getting to be a big pain in the arse.

Brady raised his glass in return. ‘And here's to Roy, Pat and Jools. I hope you're right.'

I saw Jools's mouth twist sardonically, but she raised her glass with the rest of us.

When the bottle was empty, I said I had to leave. Brady checked his watch and said he'd come along with me. We said our farewells and left. I felt Jools's eyes burning into my back as we went through the door.

22

B
rady gave me a lift back to my car, ‘I'm going to need to talk to you soon,' he said.

‘I'm working tonight.'

‘Tomorrow?'

‘Day off – but I'm busy in the evening.'

‘I'll call you in the morning, buy you lunch.'

‘I can hardly wait.'

‘Don't worry. It'll all be over soon.'

‘Tell me about it.'

‘I will, tomorrow.'

I left him and went back to my car, drove home and got ready for work.

It was an uneventful evening. Nice and quiet and I didn't see anyone I knew except maybe to say hello to. That suited me fine.

As I had all Wednesday off, I took a spare set of keys home so that I could open up on Thursday morning.

The next morning the phone rang about eleven. It was Brady. ‘You fit?' he asked.

‘For just about anything.'

‘Good. Listen, I've got an errand or two to run. I'll pick you up in an hour.'

‘I'll be here.'

‘Fine,' he said, and hung up in my ear.

The doorbell rang at twelve o'clock precisely. I grabbed a jacket and went downstairs. When I opened the front door Brady was leaning against the porch wall, smoking a cigarette.

‘Morning,' he said.

‘Morning,' I replied, and closed the front door behind me.

‘We'll take my car,' he said.

‘Fine by me.'

We walked to his Porsche, standing at the kerb, and climbed in. When he turned on the ignition, something jazzy and Hammond-organ-led oozed out of the speakers. I fastened my seatbelt.

‘What's the story?' I asked.

‘We've got to talk about our mutual friends and what's happening.'

‘I was afraid of that.'

‘You worry too much, Nick. You'll get ulcers.'

‘I should live that long.'

‘You will. So, what about lunch?'

‘OK. If it's your treat.'

‘It is. Where do you fancy?'

‘I'm easy.'

‘So I heard. I'm fucked off with South London. Hampstead suit you?'

‘Fine,' I said. ‘I've had some very expensive lunches in Hampstead.'

He grinned and selected a gear, revved up the engine, and the car burned rubber when he dropped in the clutch.

The way he drove, it didn't take us long to get to the river, then we got caught in a long jam through Holborn, but that more or less cleared by the time we got to Camden Town and we drove up Haverstock Hill to reach Hampstead High Street just after twelve-thirty.

Brady chose the Dôme for the first stop. He parked his car in a back street behind the main road, and we walked to the bar.

Inside it was crowded with rich kids and their boy/girl friends, and au pairs looking for a rich kid of their own, and middle-aged women who had once been rich kids themselves and were trying to remember what it was like.

There were no seats free until two of the au pairs, tired of the game, finished their orange juices, paid, and slipped off their stools at the bar. Brady and I moved in and took them, just beating off a pair of eighteen-year-old boys in five-hundred-quid leather jackets.

We ordered a beer each and I looked around. From where we were sitting I could see through the foldback windows at the front which had been opened wide to make the bar part of the street outside, and which let in the Hampstead dirt, road noise and petrol fumes on a slight breeze from the south.

‘I had a long talk with the boss last night. He's very pleased with the way things are going,' said Brady.

‘I'm glad someone is.'

‘Meaning you're not?'

‘Not particularly. Why do I have to mule the merchandise?'

‘Simple. I'm not supposed to know those two arseholes. They don't know me. We all know you. You're the ideal man for the job.'

‘I only met the pair of them last week. What do they know?'

‘A lot about you, from what I could gather yesterday. They've been doing a bit of checking into your background.'

‘Is that right?'

‘Certainly is. And they're well impressed. They think you're the business.'

‘So I'm the mug that gets nicked.'

‘Amongst others.'

‘Couldn't I just slip away in the confusion?'

‘We'll see.'

I bet we will, I thought.

About then Brady seemed to get bored with the conversation and swung round on his seat to regard the rest of the clientele of the bar. ‘This place sucks,' he said.

‘You chose it.'

‘Yeah, I know. You want to eat here?'

‘No thanks. If you're going to buy me lunch, I want to go somewhere that's got four walls and a better wine list.'

‘I didn't expect snobbery from you. Not when you work where you do.'

‘You'd be amazed,' I replied.

‘OK,' he said. ‘Let's have another beer and then find a restaurant.'

‘Suits me,' I said.

We got more beers and poured them. Outside a car pulled up at the kerb. It was a gunmetal-grey Six Series BMW. From where I was sitting I could read the number plate: SPL1F. So could Brady. Two black guys got out. The driver was huge, with locks and a shell suit. Green, orange and black. The passenger was smaller. Slimmer. Sharp in a double-breasted suit, shirt and tie. Shiny shoes and short neat hair.

Brady clocked them and his face darkened. ‘I hate that shit,' he said. ‘Splif, I ask you. Fucking schwartzes. They've always got to spoil it by being flash.'

A young punter in the bar – handsome, blond, wearing expensive sweats – saw the two blacks and left his coffee and went outside. Brady and I watched him go up to them.

‘They're doing a fucking deal,' said Brady. ‘Fucking bastards. In broad daylight. Jesus, I don't believe this.'

‘Believe it,' I said.

That seemed to make him even madder, if anything. ‘Fuck that shit,' he said. ‘I'm not going to let them get away with that. Taking the piss.'

‘Brady,' I said. ‘You're supposed to be a drugs dealer yourself. A drugs dealer out to lunch. If you want to do anything, call the police.'

‘Fuck that,' he said again. ‘No one knows me round here. I'll do it myself.' He stepped off his stool. ‘Watch and learn, son,' he said, and pushed through the crowd to the door of the bar. I stepped off my stool, too, and went to the open window. A young girl in a window seat with a glass of Coke and that day's
Mail
open in front of her looked up at me. I smiled down at her. She didn't smile back. I shrugged. What the hell, I thought. No one's charm works all the time.

Brady went up to the trio. ‘Police,' he said. The young white guy looked sick and stepped back a pace. ‘Stand still,' said Brady. ‘You as much as move a muscle and you are in some deep shit, believe me.'

The boy said nothing. ‘Do you hear me,' Brady screamed into his face. All of a sudden the people in the bar started taking notice.

The boy nodded. His face was pale.

Brady turned to the two black guys. ‘You,' he said to the smaller one. ‘Empty your pockets.'

‘What,' the black geezer replied. ‘Are you sure?'

Brady slapped him round the face hard. ‘Don't fuck with me, cunt,' he shouted. His face red and mad-looking. ‘I'm a police officer. Empty your pockets.'

‘I don't have to…' said the black guy, and Brady grabbed him and shoved him against the car. Then the driver decided to make a move and grabbed Brady's arm. Brady turned and chopped him on the side of the neck with the other hand, almost casually. Then he took hold of a handful of his locks and started slamming his head against the top of the car. I suddenly realised how strong he was. The driver was massive but he didn't have a chance. Brady just kept picking up his head and whacking it down on top of the car until the roof of the BMW was dented with the force of the blows, and blood started leaking from the big guy's nose and ears and splashing over his shell suit and Brady's jacket. After fifteen or twenty seconds of that treatment, Brady stopped and let him go, so he staggered around glassy-eyed and dazed.

It was then I realised that Brady was quite mad.

‘Now empty your fucking pockets,' Brady screamed at the smaller guy, who this time did as he was told. A wallet, handkerchief, small change appeared, and Brady took them and threw them on to the bonnet of the car. Then it started to get interesting. First the guy took out a knife. A switch-blade with a mother-of-pearl handle. Brady dropped it into the gutter and stamped on it with his Doc Marten's boot until it broke into four or five pieces. The black guy looked sick. Brady snapped his fingers, and reluctantly the black guy took half a dozen white paper wraps from his shirt pocket. Brady bared his teeth and let them slip between his fingers on to the pavement, and ground them into the concrete with the heel of his boot until the paper disintegrated, and still he kept grinding the white powder until it was mud.

‘Now get into the car, both of you, and get lost, and never let me see your faces round here again.'

They did as they were told. The smaller bloke took the wheel. I doubt if his minder could see, let alone see to drive. As the car pulled slowly away, Brady lashed out with his foot at the rear number plate. He must have had steel toe-caps on his DMs as it cracked from the force of the kick but it didn't seem to hurt his foot at all.

Then he grabbed a handful of the blond guy's sweat jacket. ‘Go!' roared Brady. ‘Go now. And don't let me see
you
here again either.'

The blond boy didn't need to be told twice. He turned around and nearly ran down the hill in the direction of Camden Town.

Brady came back into the bar. It was silent. We had no difficulty in getting our seats back at the bar. The other customers were only too pleased to give us plenty of elbow-room. A lot of the punters headed towards the front door and some of the others in the direction of the washrooms.

‘Lots of toilet action now,' said Brady with a grin, as he picked up his glass. ‘Mostly women. Flushing all sorts of stuff that their chickenshit boyfriends have given them. You'll be able to get stoned drinking the water in the Ladies in a minute.'

‘I think I'll stick with the beer,' I said.