Five minutes after Mark Beckford had left work, an hour earlier than usual, the telephone in his office rang. Marcia wanted to tell him that Mervyn had died. In her confused, traumatised mind it would make things right between them. Mervyn had lied about her stealing money and even if the bit about spending the night together was true, all she had done for the money was let him have a bit of a fumble; and now he was no longer around to go shouting about it. It did not matter any more, did it? But with every unanswered ring Marcia’s hope for the future ebbed away a little bit more.
Mark had been wrong about quite a few things lately. He had made a succession of misjudgements, not only about Marcia Yuell but also about his father, Clovis. Contrary to what he had said to his brother following their row, the man had neither cooled down, nor exhibited any sign that he felt bad for blowing his top, nor had he offered to give Ian a driving lesson as a way of making amends. Mark’s mother had rang him just before lunch to ask if he would take Ian to the trials at Bodymoor Heath and he could tell by her voice that she was still deeply affected by what his father had said to her.
It was quiet in the Hillman Hunter as it sped toward Cannock and the A5. Ian finally said, ‘Are you still feelin’ bad over Marcia an’ that ole guy Mervyn?’
There were a couple of gear changes before a reply came. ‘Feelin’ bad? Man, ‘bad’ doesn’t do it justice. Stupid is a better word. You can take it that I’m feelin’ very bad an’ very stupid.’ ‘If you don’t mind me sayin’, Marcia is good-lookin’ an’ all that but she’s messed up in the head. She got friends that go on the same way, her mother is crazy an’ you only gotta look at her daughter to know that guy Curtis ain’t the father. When I came around to your place Rachel was talkin’ to me, even though I wasn’t talkin’ back much. She’s a good person, you know, Mark, I mean really good in her heart.’ ‘An’ you think I’ve been treatin’ her in a way she don’t deserve?’
‘Hey, I might have stopped goin’ to church but I still remember that line about not judgin’ people lest we be judged. I know it ain’t right, what’s goin’ on between me an’ Ruth, so all I’ll say is Rachel might have things you’ve overlooked, hidden strengths, if you unnerstan.’ The car was on the A5 heading for Tamworth before Ian struck up the conversation again. ‘This thing,’ he said, ‘about Dad … You know it has somethin’ to do with Rudolph Naylor, don’t you? I’ve heard that before, you know, Mark. Some kids said it to me at school, they said their parents had said it.’
‘Yeah?’
‘You mean you never heard the same thing?’
Mark completed an overtaking manoeuvre and tried to think about how he should respond. This was the dark family secret, except it wasn’t really that much of a secret, it was just something that no one in the family had dared to mention. ‘Once. It caused a bit of a fight.’
‘When I heard it at school I went an’ arksed Mom about it. She didn’t say anythin’ at first but later on she took me to see him, Rudolph I mean, at his house. She said this is your son an’ he jus rubbed my head an’ said I was a fine-lookin’ bwoy. On the way home Mom made me swear that I never said anythin’ about it.’
‘So if it’s true, about Rudolph, how does it make you feel?’
‘Now or when I found out?’
‘Well, now.’
‘Dad is the only father I’ve ever had an’ like I said before, I love him an’ I want to tell him but he won’t let me. In a way I kind-a love him more ’cause he ain’t my biological dad an’ I think he’s known about it all along but he’s never treated me any worse than you or Marianne.’
‘Sometimes he’s treated you better.’
‘’Cause I was the baby of the family. An’ that’s why I want to do good at football, so when I’m rich an’ famous an’ that arsehole Rudolph comes to check me I will cuss him an’ say he ain’t no father of mine. My name’s Beckford ’cause that’s the name Clovis gave me an’ I want him in the photographs with me after a final at Wembley holdin’ the cup … You can be in one too, if you want. But I know you should be playin’ too, if there was any justice.’
Mark laughed quietly at the thought. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I was really jealous when Bert Tomlinson made it plain he was interested in you an’ not me …’
‘You didn’t hide it too good either.’
‘Yeah, well I’m sorry about that, Ian, I should’ve been glad for you but …’
‘But you had the same dreams as I got, an’ everyone thinks you’re the better player an’ in my first interview that’s exactly wha’ I’m goin to say.’
For the rest of the journey to the training ground they laughed and joked about Ian’s prospects of fast cars and lots of money once he signed a contract with Aston Villa. As they got to the training ground Mark felt another weight fall from his shoulders: he was no longer burdened by jealousy.
Mark watched from a distance as the game started. He was concerned because Ian had been put out on the right wing even though he was a left-footer. But he was playing well enough to draw two short rounds of applause from the few onlookers for a run and a cross and then a swerving shot from the edge of the box that hit the upright. Mark was happier to see Ian spend most of the second half in his favoured position out on the left wing – now he was playing well. Mark did not see Bert Tomlinson before he touched him on the shoulder: he was too engrossed in his brother’s performance. ‘The lad’s doing fantastic,’ Bert said, ‘it must make you feel proud.’
‘It does, Bert, it really does. I was jus’ thinkin’ about when the baby’s born, if it’s a son, wha’ it might feel like as I’m watchin him play.’ ‘What, you’re going to be a dad? Congratulations,’ the scout said as he offered his hand, ‘let me know when he’s having his first game and I’ll be there. There’ll be football in his genes all right.’
Mark took Bert’s hand and it was as if in that simple act it had struck him that he was now actually happy that he was going to be a father, happy that Ian was doing so well, and most of all happy that he still had Rachel. Bert eased his fingers out from Mark’s grip, a little embarrassed – and puzzled – that he had kept hold for so long. Walking away, Bert glanced back at Mark’s broad grin and hoped everything was all right. There were so many thoughts running through Mark’s mind: in his pursuit of money and a woman he had almost let his greatest prize slip away. It was as if he had been gripped by madness and realisation of the truth came like a flash of lightening. He had been so infatuated with Marcia that he had tried to convince himself that he and Rachel were incompatible, that the decision to get married had been nothing to do with him. Ian’s words came back to him: there were many good things about Rachel he had (purposefully) overlooked. He looked back to the pitch and watched Ian dribble the ball effortlessly around a hapless defender and thought about the love for their father he had talked about. The first thing he’d do when they got back to Wolverhampton would be to tell their parents the good news and say if it turned out to be a grandson they would be calling him Clovis.
It didn’t quite turn out like that. They had been driving along the Dudley Road when they saw Buckshot sitting in his car. Mark pulled alongside and Ian wound down the window. Once Buckshot had lowered his, Mark called out, ‘Hey, Buckie, this young guy played brilliant tonight. He’s an Aston Villa player for sure nex’ week.’ Buckshot’s expression lightened as he got out to congratulate Ian. Mark couldn’t help himself and told Buckshot that he was going to be a father before adding in response to the quizzical frown that it was Rachel (and not Marcia) who was having the baby. ‘Yeah, nice, man, nice,’ said Buckshot, ‘there were rumours that you wasn’t up to it so nice to ’ear everyone proved wrong.’
‘So wha’ you doin here, Buckie?’ asked Ian.
‘Jus waitin’ fe someone.’
‘Like a gal?’
‘Hey, the yout is outta order arksin about big-man tings,’ Buckshot said jokingly. ‘You only get to know them tings when you mek the Villa first team, right. I’ll see you guys tom
orra at trainin. So easy, yeah?’
The Beckfords had been gone about ten minutes when Buckshot caught his first glimpse of his sister Shannon. She was arm in arm with another woman of about the same age and Buckshot felt his stomach turn. Sergeant Boyd had been wrong when he’d said she looked awful; to Buckshot she looked a lot worse than that.
26
In the shadows of the tower blocks that loomed large over Blakenhall was a pub where Courtney Wright could be found most nights. He did his business in the car park that acted as a drive-thru ganja dispensing facility. A car would enter, usually from the right as you looked out from the pub, and one of several young men would approach the driver, take the money and palm the herbal matter in what looked like a brief shake of the hands before the car would exit left. The transaction was over in a matter of seconds.
With Carl Hooper on remand in Winson Green prison, Buckshot thought he would seek out Courtney’s assistance. He had made up his mind to get Shannon out of the flat and take her to their mother. It would be an action that would retrieve some family honour; and it would get Shannon out of a great deal of trouble. Problem was, he needed backup. Only an idiot would turn up alone and try and pull a woman out of a place of work. It was stealing a man’s means of earning a living – and the man would rarely let her go without a fight. In certain circumstances the fact that Buckshot played with Sabina Park Rangers might have afforded him some protection, as it was well-known that team members like Cecil Grant and Bryce McBean might come to the aid of their fellow players should the occasion arise. But such a notion cut no ice with the Rankin family. Danny was the youngest and while he himself was a fairly unimpressive specimen, he had two older brothers whose reputation for violence meant that there were few people about who would interfere with his livelihood – which was exactly what Buckshot was planning to do.
Courtney gently restrained another guy by the arm and explained it was a friend of his who had just pulled up in his car before he ambled over to Buckshot. ‘So wha’ happen, you come fe a lickle medicine?’ he asked.
Buckshot shook his head. ‘Nah, man, I’m here ’cause I need a favour. Shannon is back an’ she’s holed up in a flat in Franchise House. I need someone to watch my back as I haul ’er ras out.’
The muscles around Courtney’s mouth tightened; he knew how a lot of women in that block of flats made money and for whom they were making it His immediate thought was to agree but within an instant he was thinking of the possible repercussions for him, his woman and their kids. ‘Yeah, but me-a busy tonight,’ he said. ‘Is there any other way besides goin’ to the flat, ’cause it’s like strayin’ onto another man’s territory, if you know wha’ I’m sayin’.’ ‘I’ve been watchin’ an’ it don’t look like she gets out too often. The gal look sick an’ I don’t think I can afford to wait around.’
A car drew up behind Buckshot’s. ‘Look, man, customer-a come,’ said Courtney. ‘I’ll see you down Aldersley for trainin’ tomorrow an’ we’ll work out somethin’. You can’t jus’ rush into this kind-a ting, it could be bad for your health. Let me check out a few tings first, yeah?’
Buckshot appreciated Courtney’s considered response: it wasn’t quite a ‘yes’ but it definitely wasn’t a ‘no’.
Like two vultures looking and waiting for some stricken beast to keel over and die, Nestor Riley and Desmond Palmer had sat in Steve Patel’s office for most of the evening waiting for him to answer the phone. It had rung once already but Nestor had told him that neither he nor Desmond was going to collect Mervyn’s body, he could send his cousins if he wanted but they were staying put.
‘But lads,’ protested Steve, ‘this is ridiculous. All I’m doing is collecting the gear from Birmingham, it’ll stay here overnight and then I’ll … then we’ll, take it up north tomorrow and sell it to the costumers I’ve already lined up.’ ‘Yeah,’ snorted Desmond, ‘an’ you might jus lose your way back. We tell you already, right, you ain’t leavin’ our sight until we ’ave the dunsai in our hands. Which reminds me, how much is our cut again?’
Steve Patel shook his head and pretended he was looking at some paperwork on his desk. ‘I’ve told you guys already and if you’re not happy I’ll sign a cheque right now for one hundred and six thousand pounds and you can take it to the bank first thing in the morning. By the time it clears I’ll have the money in the account.’
Nestor wriggled on his seat. ‘Hol’ on, hol’ on. You said we would treble our money but me an’ Des was workin’ out that after we pay out wha’ we promised we’s only mekin sixty grand each an’ that ain’t treble.’
A forceful tap on the desk brought the bundle of paperwork together. Steve said, ‘I told you to bring me one hundred grand and I would treble it. I didn’t tell either of you to start collecting money from god-knows-who and promising them you would pay back double. I don’t call that smart business but I will give you three hundred and eighteen grand, maybe as early as tomorrow night, and what you do with it is up to you. Or, like I said, you can have a cheque now.’
‘So ’ow much you mekin outta this?’ asked Desmond. ‘Desmond, my father has a saying that smart business is my own business and I intend that this will be some very smart business. Now are you still in or do you want your money back?”
‘We’re in,’ snarled Nestor, ‘’cause you’ve already ’ad our money an’ used it.’
‘Well,’ said Steve, ‘that’s settled then.’
As he pushed the papers into a drawer, Nestor and Desmond exchanged glances. It seemed that Cecil, Bryce and Steve were intent on ripping them off and the only way to get their fair share out of this deal was to skank the three of them – as well as a good proportion of Wolverhampton’s West Indian population. Steve Patel had been looking at them from under his brow before he closed the drawer and figured they might be up to something. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said, ‘we’ve been friends since we were kids and I don’t want us falling out over money …’
‘That’s wha’ we were thinkin’,’ said Desmond.
‘… And your money also went towards the coffins …’
‘That’s wha’ were we thinkin’ as well,’ said Nestor.
‘… So I suppose, it’s only fair you get a percentage of that deal too.’
‘So wha’ can we expect to mek outta the coffins?’ asked Nestor.
‘Obviously nothing as much as the heroin but we could be talking another ten to fifteen grand a piece. I won’t know until I’ve done all the figures.’
The two guys tightened their lips and nodded first to Steve and then to one another. ‘You know wha’, Steve,’ said Desmond, ‘I was only sayin to Nes that you is the fairest coolie-man we know.’
Steve Patel smiled. ‘And I was only saying to this man in Birmingham that we go way back, to when we were kids, and I would trust my partners with my life.’
All three of them knew at this point that some sort of double-cross was more than likely. They kept smiling at each other until their faces began to ache and it was a relief for all of them when the phone rang. The call lasted all of ten seconds. Steve replaced the receiver. ‘Guys,’ he said with a hint of excitement, ‘we’re about to make big money.’ They clambered aboard the metallic grey Ford Transit van that had smoked windows and ‘A. P. Funeral Services’ emblazoned on its sides. Steve said he would do the driving as it was simpler than calling out directions. As they pulled out of the premises they saw Nigel and Psycho sitting inside their car. ‘Wha’ the ras is them guys doin here?’ asked Desmond.
‘You know how you told Nigel that you had hired the two guys in the RS2000 as security, well it gave me the idea that I should keep those guys on for a little longer, like you can’t be too careful. And don’t worry, I’m paying them out of my cut.’
Desmond gritted his teeth as Nestor checked the door mirror and saw that Nigel and Psycho were following. It was that they were still around, and not who was paying them, that was worrying him.
27
The two cof
fins in the back of the Transit van were so heavy that it took four men to load each one. They were handled with reverence because of the smack worth a million pounds (at wholesale value) inside of them and not because they contained the remains of the recently departed. In less than two hours after the van had left for Birmingham it was back parked up at the funeral home in Whitmore Reans with Nigel and Psycho keeping a watchful eye on the valuable cargo. Their presence was an unsettling one for Nestor and Desmond and it also threatened to scupper their very simple plan. Once they had collected the money they intended that one of them would push Steve out of the van on their way back home from Liverpool, preferably while they were going at 70mph in the fast lane of the M6.
They were all going to sleep at the funeral parlour, with Nigel and Psycho taking turns to keep watch. Psycho went in search of an empty casket to sleep in while Steve, Desmond and Nestor went to the office and Nigel sat in the van.
MORE THAN a GAME Page 17
