‘I know my way about but I’m no cab driver.’
‘Oh yes, very good, but what I meant is that you are more capable of moving in different levels of society than most of the folk of our acquaintance, am I right? You can move in different social scenes, Nob Hill to Hungry Hill, highlife to lowlife, without attracting too much attention. You would have the savvy, the nous, the plain old fuckin intelligence to fit in. Now, am I right for fuck’s sake?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so, but compared to who, Jimmy?’
‘Work with me on this one, son, work with me. Fuckin ‘ell.’
He’s brought out a brown manila A4 envelope onto the tabletop. I know he ain’t got no holiday brochures in it.
‘I want you to do this mission for me, strictly as a volunteer, mind, as an almighty personal favour. Now, if you don’t want to do it I can always get somebody else, just say, I won’t be offended.’
‘Go ahead, Mister Price, I mean Jimmy, I’m game.’
‘Maybe it’s best I start at the beginning.’
Big Jim’s Big Pal’s Big Problem
‘I have an old friend from years ago. We did all the normal stupid kids stuff, you know, housebreakin, warehouses, terrorising the local market traders, nicking anything, a right pair of gunnifs we were. We got nicked together and ended up in approved school. Those fuckin gaffs in them days weren’t like they are today, a fuckin squeeze. They wanted to break you down and leave you broken. I went back a few times, there and Portland Borstal, before I wised up and got the point, maybe not the point they wanted me to get. The thing is be smart, play safe and don’t be gettin yourself pinched. Be cute, be quiet, don’t be flash half the time and a jailbird the other half. Some cunts never work that out. Anyways, my pal is gifted. He’s makin moves that are decades ahead of their time. He’s in what’s laughingly called the straight world but he’s forever tellin me that the so-called straight game is a million times more crooked than any criminal enterprise.’
‘I can well believe it.’
‘He says the crims, outta the two sets of people, have a lot more honesty, there’s certainly more loyalty and integrity. When was the last time you heard that little word, ay? He says the criminal fraternity can be trusted more but I don’t trust the criminal fraternity very far myself, total toe-rags most of them.’
‘I’d say there’s some truth in his argument.’
‘Let’s not go losing our heads either, the world is full of shite-hawks and envious ne’er-do-wells. My pal’s given me a few tips over the years, helped me bury some of me ill-gottens. He’s one of the few people I would ask for advice if I’m in schtook and he’s always done the same cos he knows that I ain’t gonna shaft an old mucker. You know–’ Jimmy’s carved up the table with a chop of the hand ‘– he went his way and I went mine but neither of us forgot the place we come from and who we could depend on.
‘Now, my pal has become a minor celebrity on the business pages. He’s held up as a snotty-nosed kid from a dustbin who’s done the business, come up with a lot of hard graft, sixteen-hour days, seven days a week, and now he’s taken his foot off the pedal to enjoy the fruits of his labour, off to Ascot, off to the polo game. He may have worked hard but in the early days he got up to a lot of skulduggery to oil his passage. The newspapers have got him booked as a shining example of how you can leave all that knavery and mischief behind you if you knuckle down. Of course it’s come out that he’s did a bit of bird as a wee lad, made an error, took his punishment like a man, learned his lesson in the approved school, an example of how the system can work. The story goes that he shook the governor’s hand on the way out and told him “You won’t be seeing me again, Sir.” That’s complete bollocks, a fiction, it never happened.’
Gene and Morty are grinning at the thought.
‘Now he’s got a problem and he thinks I can help. I can’t tell you who this bloke is and I don’t need to explain myself, but needless to say that this guy is well worth knowing. He won’t be ungrateful. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘He’s been married twice. First time out he’s got himself hitched up to this bitta posh who’s half a duchess, connected, Hooray Mafia. She’s gone to all the right schools, knows all the right faces, got the double-barrelled surname, the real deal. Needless to say the duchess and her family are fuckin potless. Apparently a lot of the so-called aristocrats in this country are boracic. What shillings her old boy left when he fell off the twig went on death duties. My mate don’t give a fuck cos by this time he’s got money coming in quicker than she can spend it. He’s seriously caked. His business has gone through the roof. He’s mega-rich, jumpin on and off aeroplanes, doing deals with foreign governments. She just stays in England spendin it. She’s ironin out huge wads of loot every day. Soon, however, he starts to realise that for all the poise and beauty she’s nutty as a fuckin fruitcake. It’s not just the spending, he can handle that, it’s drugs. He don’t hold with drugs, not for his wife. She’s off wandering round the local villages naked in the middle of the night and the local plod are having to bring her home.’
‘Sleepwalking?’
‘No, just out for a bittova stroll in the nude. This is happening on a regular basis, this and a million other crazy things. Him and the blue-blood have a daughter who he adores, Charlotte, or as he will have it, Charlie. Him and the missy have gone their separate ways but he’s still coughing up so they want for nothing. I reckon she had the kid as a means of entrapment cos they’re devious fuckers these aristocratic cunts. Her lot can trace their family back to William the Conqueror, 1066 and all that. They refer to our Queen and our beloved royal family as “The Germans” and only then with a face like somebody’s holdin a turd on a stick under their nose. They think they’re fuckin better than them!!?’
‘I can well believe it, Jimmy,’ I say.
‘My pal puts this insanity down to inter-breeding. I says, “I know mate, it’s like Dalmatians, crazy fuckin dogs, never mind fuckin pit-bulls, a Dalmatian will turn on you like that.’”
He snaps his fingers. Gene and Morty nod gently in agreement. ‘They drown them if they ain’t got enough spots,’ says Gene.
‘Who? The royal family?’ says Jimmy dryly.
‘No, Dalmatians,’ says Gene.
‘I’m kiddin, Gene,’ says Jimmy, looking skyward. He goes on.
‘Anyways, little Charlie has the very best of everything, schools, ponies, trips abroad, pretty clothes, but he’s genuinely devoted to the child while the mother is gettin madder and madder. She puts the chavvie into boarding school and moves back to town, she’s surroundin herself with all these fuckin pounces and mackerels. All the time she’s out the game on booze and pills from some quack down Harley Street then she’s started dabblin with the real naughty gear, you know.’
He winks at me.
‘The gaff he’s bought for her is fuckin open house to riff-raff and lowlife.’
‘But didn’t he try and get custody, show she was an unfit mother?’ I ask.
‘Good question, son. My pal’s fighting tooth and nail to get custody for the child but every time they go to court she turns up sober, like everything’s tickety-boo, and it’s him who’s the mad one, tellin tall stories. Cunning fuckin bitch. I reckon there was a bit of the old-boy network at play as well.’
Jimmy looks around conspiratorially. We instinctively lean towards him a bit.
‘I said I’d help out. I suggested kidnapping the bitch, bugging the gaff, a drop of the old blackmail. I said I’d have her favourite little gigolo shot in the groin, maybe carve up one of these parasites who got her bitta tackle. Razor slashin’s across the arse were very popular around that time. I had blokes around me in those days, nice boys, good to their mothers, desperate to please, but total fuckin pothouses. He just wouldn’t have it. He says it’ll get out of hand. I said maybe it needs to get out of hand. Say the word and she’ll wake up one morning dead from an overdose, but no, he’s always had a streak of the squeak in him, fuck kn
ows where he gets it.’
Jimmy’s slowly building up a bitta steam. It sounds like he resented his old pal not allowing him the opportunity to wreak havoc. It sounds like he really wants to flex his muscles to impress his old school chum.
‘That chinless fuckin trout was blatantly takin the fuckin piss outta him, fuckin bla-tant-lee.’
Jimmy chops the table three times to enforce his point. She musta looked upon James Price Esquire like he was a nouveau-riche reptile who belonged under a rock. He took it personal.
‘Anyways, fuck her, the bitch, she ain’t of no importance. She’s probably in some fuckin gutter somewhere.’
Translation: He hopes she’s in some fuckin gutter somewhere. He dismisses her with a flick of the hand.
The waiters are hovering outta earshot, but they look a bit edgy cos the gaff is emptying and Mister Price is slapping the table and using profanities. He’s got a thin line of spittle coming outta his gob and he’s getting mashed on the hundred-quid-a-go brandies.
‘Well, after years of banging his head against the wall my pal wised up and cottoned on to the fact that you can’t beat those establishment fuckers at their game cos it’s their crooked game. He’s carried on divvyin up the sovs and he’s recruited a little team of ex-soldiers, special forces, not your average bolt-through-the-neck squaddie types, to keep a beady eye out, like guardian angels, just to make sure that Charlie’s okay. The mother’s changed the family name back to the original la-dee-da double-barrelled affair cos it gets you in places where they wouldn’t normally entertain ya.’
‘Maybe she’s right. Like you say, they do have a network thing going on. Bit like us really, Jimmy.’
‘You was right about this geezer,’ he says to Gene and Morty, pointing at me. ‘He’s a live-wire.’
He has a gulp on the brandy, a big pull on the cigar.
‘It’s her motives that are nasty. She wants the best for the girl but she also wants to fuck my mate’s nut up. Spite, there’s a lot of malicious spite in this bird.’
‘I’m beginning to get the picture,’ I say.
‘Good. Now, Charlie’s plotted up in one of those jolly-hockey-sticks girls’ schools down on the south coast but it soon begins to transpire that she’s a chip off the old block on her mother’s side. She’s developed a taste for wacky baccy and bad company. She’s thirteen and going over the back wall of a night, into town until five in the morning. The old man’s little obs team has tipped ’em the wink. She’s been varfted outta school after school until they’ve run outta schools to send her. If she was down the local madhouse comprehensive she’d fit right in but all those birds in those posh schools are right into their studies. Charlie just can’t be arsed, it’s not that she’s thick or anything, it’s like she’s schizoid, you know, like split personalities. One half the sweetest kid you could ever meet, big old brown eyes, gentle, real loveable, but the other half of her was like a fuckin possessed demon, a banshee. I’ve seen both sides of her on different occasions.’
‘Maybe she needed specialist help.’
Jimmy slaps the tabletop. ‘That’s exactly what I said. She’s been put through her paces by the very top trick-cyclists, child psycho-whatsits, and she behaves like a very well-behaved young lady who nobody can believe is anything other than a perfect angel. She makes promise after promise to everyone but next thing the old bill are ringing up to say that she’s been nicked for wreckin some restaurant or shoplifting or assaulting cozzers. She’s developed a taste for public nakedness like her mother. There’s no need for her to steal, it’s senseless. The old fellow’s at his wits’ end. Everything else in his life is hunky dory, well, better than that, it’s like he’s got the fuckin Midas touch. Everything he touches turns to gold. He’s married this young sort who’s unbelievable. This bird, I’m telling yer, straight up, you’d lick shit off a stick for this bird. She’s beautiful but she’s got the smarts as well, cos this geezer ain’t the type to be burnt twice.’
I’m sure I spot a tiny hint of a smile across Jimmy’s lips.
‘At this point in the tale the mother has disappeared, posted missin in action. Spooky it was. The house was empty but lookin like it had been vacated in a hurry, nothin’s been packed. The kid’s away at school, there’s a joint in the ashtray, an old Jimi Hendrix record playin over and over again, blastin out, there’s a drink poured out on the table, there’s grub in the kitchen, the old bill found a loada dope in the fridge, there’s enough brown and charlie for a fuckin Rollin’ Stones tour but there’s no sign of any struggle so she wasn’t being turned over by bogeymen. There’s cash slung around, in vases, drawers, in pockets, so it wasn’t a case of aggravated burglary gone wrong. She had people comin round that night, appointments made the next day, but she ain’t cancelled none of them. It’s like she’s been beamed off the planet. Old bill couldn’t find a fuckin trace of her but those seventies throwbacks are renowned for goin walkabout and she did have previous for that kinda turn-out. Anyway, she ain’t been seen since. Good fuckin riddance, I say.’
I’m looking hard into Jimmy’s face for any clue that he knows more. Outta the corner of my eye I can see Gene’s left eyebrow go up about a quarter of an inch like he wasn’t convinced either. Maybe Jimmy put the old stuck-up blue blood on the back burner until he granted his old pal a freebie. All that bollocks about her being in the gutter could have been a decoy.
‘My pal came to me and asked me if I knew anything but . . .’ He shrugged his shoulders and put his hands up. ‘What could I tell him?’
Subject closed and we’ll never know.
‘Charlie’s left school and she ain’t got a clue what to do but it ain’t like she’s got to trot down the employment exchange. She don’t really need to get money cos the old man’s got her on a trust-fund arrangement, she’s got an almighty allowance. He’s sent her out to Switzerland to some top finishin school and everything’s fine until he gets the inevitable phonecall to say she’s gone crazy so he’s off over to Zurich to collect her or bail her out.’
‘What triggers off these outbursts?’
‘I don’t know, daylight, darkness, full moons, fuck knows.’
‘How did she react to her mum’s disappearance?’
‘It didn’t seem to register. Some clown’s suggested that it may be an idea if she was earnin her own money, don’t cut her off or anything just get her makin her own moves. Good for the self-esteem.’
‘Could work.’
‘Everyone’s always tellin her how pretty she is, you know, the English-rose type, so the old man’s arranged to have her smudges done by one of the guys who charge a couple or three grand a day. They’ve had the pictures done and then his new wife has told him to keep outta the way cos otherwise it don’t mean shit if she is successful. He wants her to make it on her own merits.’
Now Jimmy goes into the envelope and brings out two pictures. He pushes them over to me so they sit side by side on the linen tablecloth. The first one’s a glossy, professional one of Charlie, head and naked shoulders and the very beginnings of her tits, soft focus round the edges. The photographer had obviously gone for the just-goosed or the just-about-to-be-goosed look cos her hair was designer messy, bottle blond and windswept, highlighted and lowlighted. There was a light behind her head and Charlie’s face was like a mask stuck in a look of surprise, with her eyes startled, her lips deep red and smothered with lip-gloss. It all gave her the look of a vulnerable sex-kitten-cum-sex-toy, but something in the picture told me that Charlie’s heart wasn’t in the modelling game.
The second picture is a colour photocopy of another photo that had been cut in half. Charlie was cuddled up against a big guy who had been cut out, her father no doubt. His arm, in a navy blue blazer, was hung across her shoulders and she looked up snugly, shyly and lovingly to where her pop’s face would be. She was cute, pretty, but she wasn’t model material. Her hair was just plain young-girl untidy and it looked better for it. She was wearing what looked like one of her father�
��s old jumpers, a cricketing type affair, that she looked completely lost in, and jog pants that were huge. Her arms were folded tightly across her, hands pulled up into the sleeves of the jumper so she looked happily protected and fragile at the same time. I prefer her in the second shot, she looks more like a human being, even fancy her a little bit, but there’s something a touch spooky about her.
‘Don’t you think she’s beautiful, son? A beautiful bewildered little girl?’
‘Yeah, she’s very pretty.’
‘She’s like a precious bird that’s been kept in a gilded cage. Girls are helpless and unworldly at twenty-one.’
Jimmy obviously doesn’t know some of the twenty-one-year-olds I know.
‘It does sound like she’s been a bit overprotected.’
‘Maybe. She’s gone up for this bit of work, a really fuckin big campaign for make-up or underwear. It would have been exactly what she needed at that point in time, it would have given her the foot in the door, but Charlie went on the missin list, turned up a couple of weeks later. I don’t think she knew where she’d been half the time. She’s havin it with some right fuckin losers, wasters, scumbags, dopers, the same story as her mother, don’t know who’s good for her and who’s a user. She’s got a lovely little mews house, a motor, money, but she’s still fuckin up and she’s hangin around with people who are givin her drugs to get her hooked so she’ll start to buy them.’
That’s a bit too simple, Jimmy Boy. In my experience girls like Charlie, and I’m starting to get a pretty good mental picture of sweet but not so innocent Charlie, Daddy’s little girl, will take your arm off at the shoulder to get the prize.
‘Soon it’s gone crooked and the law’s startin to poke about. My pal had a few heads banged together, a couple of geezers have been told to keep away from her. They’ve got the message. He’s sent her out to the States but she’s got in trouble over there as well so it’s back here and the same old bollocks, but now she’s into the powders heavy and as you know, with that gear you can indulge yourself into the boneyard.’
Layer Cake Page 7
