‘Fit. My dick was standin to attention in the gaff. Has that ever happened to you? You coulda hung a wet fur coat up on it. She was sendin over blimps, you know, she had the hots for me big time.’
Gene’s got that look that says ‘I really didn’t need to know that’. The sort of look those Catholic schoolboys get when you get too graphic.
‘Gene, you know what she did, she–’
‘Listen,’ he interrupts, ‘don’t, okay? Don’t under any circumstances be shaftin any of those boys’ birds. Okay? Do you understand?’
‘For fuck sake, what do you take me –’
‘Yes or fuckin no, son? Do you understand?’
‘I wasn’t going to do anything, Gene,’ I lie.
‘Okay. This is serious business we’re doin here. Don’t let your bollocks do your thinkin for you. Okay?’
‘He’s only a fringe member of their outf–’
‘Will you be fuckin told. I don’t fuckin care.’
‘Okay,’ I says, my face all hurt and innocent. I’ll have to be sneaky.
‘What are they after? Do they wanna buy or sell?’ I says to change the subject.
‘They’ve got a fuckin big load of tablets from over the sea, but like a wagonload, and they reckon they’re the very best quality. Jimmy won’t let us turn it down. He don’t want them fucked about like sometimes happens.’
‘We call it protectin ourselves.’
‘I know that and I know why you do it but this time things have got to be done without the shenanigans, blokes in fuckin ice-cream vans.’
‘It was a flower van.’
‘Whatever,’ says Geno.
‘Will this be regular work?’
‘No, I asked them that last night–’
‘Last night?’
‘Yeah, last night me and yer man met them last night. I got home, he rang, I had to head back out that way again. I didn’t like it but there you go. It’s a one-off.’
‘Thank fuck for that.’
‘You really don’t like them, do you?’ He knew the answer already.
‘Fuckin right I don’t like them. It’s all a game to them. They don’t seem to mind goin away for stretches.’
‘They can’t do things quietly,’ he agrees. ‘And you’re a bit of a soldier. Was Jimmy right about you wanting to be out soon? Be honest with me, son.’
‘Well, between you and me I think I’ve got an agreement that if I find Charlie for him I’m free to walk away.’
‘When?’
‘In a few months’ time.’
‘Well, you two must of been talkin in riddles cos I never spotted that. When was that? Yesterday?’
I ain’t gonna say anything about the business in the khazi.
‘That’s how I saw it.’
‘You got your retirement planned?’
‘I just thought it best to get out first. And if it was left up to me I’d give these headbangers a wide, politely mind, at this stage of the game.’
‘But it could be a good bitta business. Maybe what you got is a big old dose of what’s called gate fever in reverse.’
‘Gate fever?’
‘When guys are comin to the end of a bitta bird they start panicking, gettin anxious, cos they can see the end. You’re sweatin about gettin captured.’
‘This is my opinion and I’m entitled to it, I just happen to believe this outfit is more grief than they’re worth. No joke, I’m serious.’
‘You’ll think differently when you have your wedge out.’
‘I’m surprised to hear you, of all people, talk like that, Gene. How much can you spend in Long Lartin or Gartree? I’d rather be potless and on the out than have a loada dough waitin after I’ve done a twelve or fifteen.’
‘Will I tell him you’re not interested? Nobody’s forcin you to do anything, you can walk away now.’
‘If I thought I could . . . I’ll do it but I want it put on record that I don’t fancy it.’
‘Duly noted.’
Gene’s now got a brittle tone in his voice. He lets it sink in before continuing.
‘I’ll get them to contact me and arrange a meet early this week. You sort out the details with them but I’ll be about when you meet them so don’t worry, okay?’
‘How’s this gonna work out moneywise?’
‘Basically you’re gonna buy the parcel from this crowd and sell them. Jimmy reckons you might have people tucked away up north, and the profit gets carved straight down the middle.’
‘What, fifty-fifty?’
‘That’s right, son.’
‘That’s bollocks, and you know it, Gene. Half the whack for setting up a meet?’
‘There’s a fuck of a lot of money to be earned here. Maybe I should be talkin about this with Mister Mortimer.’
Bit snide that, Mister McGuire.
‘How many bits are we talkin about here?’ I say.
‘I don’t know for sure but it’s somewhere in the region of two million.’
‘Fuckin ’ell, that’s a fuckin lot of tablets.’
‘And that’s a lotta shillings. And when they tell you that it’s the first time you’ve heard it, okay?’
‘Sixty-forty sounds better.’
‘I’ll see what he’s sayin but I think you’re being greedy son.’
‘This only came up last night?’
‘Yeah. We had a meet last night, all cloak and dagger, just the way they like it.’
‘Why do they always come to us?’
‘You’re victims of your own efficiency.’
‘I don’t feel flattered.’
‘They were sayin what a lovely geezer you were last night, what a good worker.’
‘I’ll thank them personally when I see them.’
‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’
‘I could very easily live without these people. I tell you what, Gene, this bitta work sounds like we can nick a good few readies, but if I thought that this was gonna be a regular bitta business, I’d walk away right now. I’d walk outta this park and I’d just keep walkin –’
Geno’s laughing.
‘– I couldn’t afford to be webbed up with these jokers full time, my health wouldn’t stand for it, I’d be twitchy as fuck. They see things that ain’t there and they don’t see things that are.’
‘They want it done in a hurry,’ he says.
‘Oh, I bet they do. Where do they think we are, Disneyland? Who’s got that kinda money sat around?’
‘When?’
‘I’d like to see them as soon as. I don’t really know what’s happening pills-wise at the moment. I’ll have a better idea by Wednesday or Thursday. I’ll have an idea of what we can realistically do.’
Gene nods. ‘I’ve changed my number at home again,’ he says. ‘Have you got a pen? I’ll give it to you.’
I give him my pen and he writes it on the top of the Rothman’s packet, tears it off and gives it to me.
‘You know the sketch, ring very early or very late. You can try me in between but they’re the best times. You’re gonna be a busy boy.’
‘I don’t mind bein busy. Maybe you’re right about gate fever, maybe I’ll bring my retirement forward. This could be my last coup before I sing “My Way”.’
‘You’re a sly little fucker, you never let on.’
‘My mum used to call me that, sly. I’d rather be workin while I’m young, make me dough and get out.’
‘We’ll talk soon. I’m coolin down. I better get goin.’
He throws the rucksack onto his back, adjusts it.
‘Adios, Young Sir. Oh, one last thing, there’s a–’
‘Listen, Geno, I really don’t want to hear it. Please leave me alone, I’ve got enough to be getting on with. Please don’t think me rude but I’m not sure I can handle it.’
This is the most I’ve ever seen Gene smile.
‘All I was gonna say was there’s a rose over there that’s named after Sir Bobby Moore.’
‘Who?’
He’s shaking his head. So am I.
‘A bit before my time, Geno.’
I’m lying. My old man never shut up about him, what a gentleman he was. I was almost named after him.
‘Only Jimmy would be mortified if you’d been here and I hadn’t shown it to ya. It’s over there somewhere. Anyway, adios, Señor.’
Off he goes down the path, crunch, crunch, crunch into the distance. He’s right, there’s a lot to do. We really are attacking on all fronts. I can really start to smell the end but for the time being I’m as content as my nature will allow to sit here in the cool spring air. I read the papers for a while, business section. In here are the comings and goings of the real-deal multi-national top outfits, with the Bosses that the likes of Jimmy Price call Sir. They’re up to swindles that make me and Morty, Gene and Jimmy, the top guys who Jimmy gets the oats from, Terry, Clarkie, the lot of us, they make us look like clucking junkies hoisting down Oxford Street or a team of crackhead muggers, desperado on a Sunday evening. They do aggravated burglaries, tie-ups, on whole countries, crashing in, beating up the occupants and ransacking all the natural resources. One day the government and the public will say all this illegal drug dealing has got to stop cos it’s all getting totally outta hand. They’ll ask some sober-minded citizens from the clubs of Pall Mall and the City of London to come in and sort out the whole game properly. They’ll even give them start-up loans, non-repayable of course, tax-breaks and grants, and the whole scam will be made to look like these heroes are doing us all a favour, putting themselves out, by coming to the rescue of the nation when things are getting perilous. Their media will turn the whole issue into the tired old law and order debate. Any renegade souls still dabbling in the chemicals trade, taking sovs outta the coffers of the monopoly, will be hit hard, profits seized, banged up, big-time, long-time. I suppose you’ll get some die-hards and cry-babies who wanna keep going on about the good old days, how it was money for jam, ‘Oh what fun we had!!’ before this new regime came along and spoilt everything. You can hear the rumblings now, and when the establishment Mafioso realise how much gilt, paper, cashish, wonga, wedge, corn, cutter, loot, spondos, dollar, readies, shillings, folding, dough, money is on offer, slipping through their soft, dry, manicured hands, billions not millions, the likes of me will be taken out and shot if necessary. If we don’t get the message.
I think they want it to get bad, but like really bad. I think they want it to go up in the air, but like really up in the air. I think they want it to get to the verge of civil war, no-go areas in London and some northern cities, paramilitary dealing teams, evil baddies. Not around where they live of course. They’ll want the British Army on the streets cos Mister Plod can’t cope, not with a wooden truncheon, with an enemy equipped with the latest hardware. The chief constables will plead with the government to just legalise everything cos they can’t fight this thing for ever. Just give it over to somebody who can handle it, organise it, collect taxes on it, to pay for treatment, maybe even find a cure and make a handsome profit for their trouble. The government will be told the terms and conditions of the carve-up by their paymasters, the money men, and being joes who take it up the arse from the City cartels anyway they’ll go along with the swindle in the hope of getting a few meagre crumbs brushed their way off the high table. I don’t believe those guys in Parliament run anything anyway, they just do the bidding of those masonic, on-the-level, funny-handshake geezers, brandied-up on the cherry-red leather sofas in the gentlemen’s clubs of St James’s, the real string-pullers and puppet masters.
Do they give a fuck about most of the people living in this country anyway? I don’t think they give a shit if they send themselves stupid. You could even say it helps keep people quiet and in line. The syndicates that end up with the drug monopoly will be courted as champions. They’ll make grand stirring Shakespearean speeches about how they’ve come to save Royal Britannia, this precious jewel, in its most self-destructive hour, when it’s under attack from within, by the weakness of its own wicked children, by the rabble who have grown soft and spoilt by hand-outs and ill-discipline, by the low morality of felons and delinquents. After the public relations coup of all time the slippery fuckers will walk away with a licence to print money. Recreational Drugs UK plc will give the people what they want, when they want it, stupor today, good times today, fuck tomorrow and fuck the consequences. If it becomes chaotic, like no doubt it will, the rich and privileged will soon be going back to live in castles and city forts anyway. They’ll be laughing all the way back to the banks they own with everyone’s praise and blessing, the pay-off to a nice bit of work, a job well done. Perfect, really. If you take a step back and look at it logically you have to admit it’s a brilliantly thought out and executed piece of manipulation. You have to admire the cunts. I won’t be hanging around for any repercussions or reunions. I’ll be long-gonski.
Monday Tommy, AKA Cody, AKA Billy, AKA Hugo
The guy I wanted to help me with the Charlie business was Tommy Garret, AKA Cody, AKA Billy Bogus. His real name was Thomas Roger Garret but one Friday night when we were kids White Heat was on the telly and after that Tommy was always Cody. The name just stuck, it suited him, and he preferred it. Only his mum called him Tommy now. He didn’t like the nickname Billy Bogus but it was kinda convenient for him that a lotta mugs didn’t know his real moniker either. He wasn’t on the bogus lawyer, bogus Foreign Legionnaire, bogus gynaecologist tip either. This guy was a different class. Cody’s game was deception and he’d worked his way up from kiting, lying down jeckle paper with a cheque card, through credit cards, and into something a whole lot more sophisticated.
Cody has a gift for mimicry, can look and sound like anyone after being around them for only a few minutes, but at the same time he’s no party-piece. When he comes to dress the part his attention to detail is masterful, tiny details matter, old school ties, pinkie rings, correct magazine under the arm, wear the right cologne. The secret, he told me once, is not to strong it. Go gentle, play it simple and don’t become a caricature. Don’t ever try and convince anyone who you are or who you ain’t, it’s not your problem. Your job is to convince yourself.
Cody’s a very good actor. The major banks and credit companies are his stage. He earns very good money, always works very tidy, has very good contacts, who he looks after well, keeps a low profile. Cody would avoid the festivities, hanging out and talking shop. I like him because he can talk about life, not just work and skulduggery, who’s up to what with who and all that bollocks. Work for Cody, like myself, is a means to an end, and the end is La Dolce Vita, the good life. Cody has put some very tidy business our way and I’ve always weighed him on for it. I’ve lent him wads of cash or given him cheques to play with so he can send it through different accounts in different countries to give the impression of heavy financial traffic, big amounts moving back and forth to convince whoever needs convincing that commerce is vibrant, above board and legit. When the time is right, after much patient approach-play, he hits ’em up for the massive loan, crash, thank you very much, see you later. Cody goes abroad for long holidays, sometimes working, sometimes not, and had arrived back in London from Hong Kong only a few days before. He’d got my message and rang me late last night. I told him nothing over the phone.
Cody wanted to meet in the restaurant of one of the more superior department stores along Piccadilly after the lunch-hour rush had died down. He wanted to be in the area to visit his barber while he was up that way and he likes to steam into the kinda birds you get up around these places, the Quality Street Gang, rich gals out shopping or up in town for the day to hook up with old school chums, well-bred girls with plummy accents and a healthy outdoor attitude to sex, young ladies who were up for a robust ride over the gallops.
The place had obviously just been severely revampe
d, so it’s all chrome, purple and orange up the walls. He’s already plotted up in a booth along the back wall, three steps up, slightly off-centre, the very best vantage point to observe the comings and going of the clientele, and the very best place for them to get a good look at Cody. He’s looking good. He’s picked up a nice tan on his travels. Tommy Garret, from round the flats, is dressed like an off-duty polo player, all battered faded Levi’s, tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, a peach-coloured silk hanky in the top pocket, tan riding boots and a proper polo shirt, the ones they wear when they actually play the game for real, collar up, a large number four on the front, the same number as Charlie Windsor wears, don’t you know. The barnet is all messy, all curly and flyaway. He’s got the little pinkie ring and the huge fuck-off Rolex. Cody’s got a small pile of newspapers, the pink money ones, but he’s lazily thumbing through the Herald Tribune with a nice air of indifferent arrogance and wealth, spaced-out but worldly. The whole outing is sending the shopaholic, trust-funded girlies wild. As I walk in I can feel the vibe. The whole air of not giving a shit was sending them haywire. They love a bounder. No need to change the bait, Cody.
Cody gets up and greets me with a firm, dry handshake and much back-patting and playful shoulder-punching.
‘Good to see you, old boy, good to see you.’
The accent is straight out of some old black-and-white movie, all those actors your nan likes, pure Eton and the Brigade of Guards. He shoots me a tiny wink. I can see all the little ear’oles tweaking to hear better. We sit back down, Cody gets the waitress over and orders two seafood salads. We sit closer to talk.
‘How’s your bitta business?’ he asks.
‘Good. Almost too busy. Where there’s people there’s toot.’
‘You could translate that into Latin for the company motto,’ says Cody.
‘It’d make a nice little slogan if we could advertise.’
‘The need for chemical stimulation comes from a deep core of emptiness, ingratitude and a lack of sense of purpose.’
‘No disrespect, Cody, but it’s a bit too early in the day to be gettin into all that.’
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