by Martina Cole
He opened a drawer and took out a wad of latex gloves. Anyone who touched his guns had to put them on beforehand; he also cleaned the guns after perusal for extra protection. The last thing they all needed was to leave a print on a gun that was purchased by someone else and then used in a robbery or a murder. It would be a bastard trying to explain that one away in a courtroom.
‘You know what you want, Tyrell, and I appreciate that, mate.’
Leo was in selling mode now and they all watched as he fell into the role of the firearms expert he was. Love him or loathe him, there was nothing he did not know about guns and gun culture because he was responsible for nearly every firearm available in the smoke. He opened a cupboard and took out something wrapped in chamois leather. Unwrapping it, he held out a handgun to Tyrell. Placing it reverently in his hands, he said quietly, ‘This is a semi-auto, Spanish make, good deal. Only a grand to you. It has never to my knowledge been used in connection with anything in this country so it has a good pedigree in its own little way. The beauty of it is, you can also fire single bullets.’ He opened the chamber for Tyrell and said happily, ‘But if you throw this catch you can take out a room full of people.’
He grinned at the surrounding company and they all grinned back, getting the joke and admiring Leo for making it.
‘It isn’t heavy, only five and a half pounds loaded, and very comfortable to hold or hide. Terrific little gun. Got a good bang on it, but easy to conceal as well.’
Tyrell weighed the gun in his hand and understood what attracted the younger men to them. It was a powerful feeling, holding something so lethal.
Leo watched his face and smiled, understanding the feeling better than anyone else in the room. He had been a gun fanatic since a boy, and it was only natural he should make it his business.
‘There’s plenty of these about at the moment. They’re brought back from the war zones by British soldiers stationed there. They collect them after any conflict as trophies and obviously they are unaccounted for, ain’t they? No one realises they’re in their possession, see? Assume they have been taken by the enemy. I have a supplier in the forces who buys them on and they end up in here waiting for people like yourself. The filth hate it when they finally trace them but there ain’t a lot they can do. I have even been offered police guns over the years. It’s amazing what a hike in the mortgage rate can do for the black economy.’
He opened another cupboard and placed an Uzi in the hands of Terry Clarke. As he had guessed he would, Terry loved it.
Leo poured another round of drinks and waited for them to come to the crux of their problem because they had a problem and he rather thought he was the only person who could solve it.
Chapter Sixteen
Leo was relaxed now, doing what he did best. He had even gone down to the cellar and brought up his best toys though he knew now that he probably would not get a sale. Although he was a wholesaler of guns to most of the other dealers, he only served personally people he knew well or who, like the Clarke brothers, he couldn’t refuse. He was known mainly as a drug dealer and also served up most of the coke dealers in the surrounding areas, pavement, street and club, not personally but via a network of up and coming young men who wanted a bite of the coke cherry.
In all he was quite a face in his own right, though not on a par for danger with the men now in his home. They were into so many things it would be hard even to know where to begin, and because they dealt with so many different people it was always impossible to know who else you were actually up against if you fell out with one or all of them. Best not to find out, even if it galled him.
But to talk guns was what he lived for, and Leo was a good salesman for his products. He loved guns, adored them. The feel of them, the smoothness of the metal, even the smell of the oil used to clean them, was to him better than a woman.
The Clarkes were all relaxed now as well, suddenly enjoying their evening listening to Leo enthuse about firearms. He was obviously an expert and talked with such passion that even Terry forgot his grudge. They knew they’d deal with Leo the next time they genuinely needed iron, and Leo knew when he had a captive audience, knew just when he had them in his hand, and was enjoying himself accordingly.
He could sell a gun to the Pope, he knew it, it was what he loved most about his job. Drugs you could sell to anyone who wanted them; guns were a different kettle of fish altogether because unlike a line of coke or an E, you kept them and you used them wisely.
Tyrell held a small Victorian ladies’ gun with a pearl handle that Leo had acquired for its curiosity value alone. He saw the beautiful carving crafted on to the handle and visualised it sitting discreetly in a handbag. It was a sweet little novelty that could do a lot of damage.
Unlike Terry he hated the feel of guns while appreciating the psychological power they gave people. Guns were used to intimidate. In a lot of criminal activities fear was the most important factor. Most bank robbers only had guns for show, there was no real intention to wound or kill, they were to frighten people and no more. A gun stopped a have-a-go hero in their tracks. A gun kept everyone still and made them more biddable, all the better for the robbers to go about their business in peace. In drug-dealing guns were used more as enforcing tools, to keep turfs clean of enemies, and because a seven-stone man was Arnold Schwarzenegger with a pump-action shotgun in his hand. It was the law of the street, and the street had never really been Tyrell’s territory.
Billy was holding a German handgun and weighing it in his hand. He felt good holding it, it had perfect balance. Leo grinned as he said, ‘That’s a nine-millimetre, Bill, exactly what you need if you want to iron someone out good and proper. That would blow them away. I can silence that and all because it’s a noisy little fucker. The Spanish number would do the job too but not as quickly and neatly. What the Spanish gun has going for it is that if you keep your finger on the trigger it will keep firing, see. There’s gas in the tip of each bullet,’ he smiled at Tyrell as he explained this, ‘and that automatically ejects the next round. Lovely little gun though not a lot of bullets to a magazine. But still, enough to do serious damage if that is what you require of it.’
Terry had found a new best friend in Leo by now. He was enthralled and Colin was watching him nervously. Terry was enough of a handful as it was without arming him up to the hilt. He would be impulse buying like an Essex girl in Lakeside if they weren’t careful.
The last thing Terry Clarke needed was a handgun so he decided to remind everyone why they were all there.
‘You deal with Nick Leary, don’t you?’ he asked the gun dealer.
Leo felt his heart sink down to his boots and looked at Tyrell apologetically as he said, ‘You know I do, Colin.’
The mood in the room changed then. They all started putting the weapons back on to the desk. Playtime was over and everyone was suddenly remembering why they were really there. The Clarkes waited for Tyrell’s reaction.
‘I hear you had a run in with him a while back.’
Tyrell’s voice was neutral for which Leo was grateful.
‘I have run ins with people on a regular basis, it’s par for the course in my business dealings.’ He made a show of repacking a rifle as he said, ‘I was sorry to hear about your boy, but Nick, for all his faults, real or imagined, only did what any man would have done.’
Tyrell knew it had taken a lot for Leo to say that in front of the Clarkes and respected the fact.
‘I don’t hold any malice towards him, I would have done the same myself.’
Leo knew he spoke the truth.
‘What I am interested in, though, is who might have put my boy up to creeping round Leary’s home?’
The question stumped Leo, they could all see that much. But he was clever enough to see where they were coming from.
‘What are you trying to say?’
His voice was low and guarded.
Tyrell sighed.
‘I am asking you, did anyone you know maybe have dealin
gs with my boy, that’s all? I need to know if he had any association with someone who might have led him astray.’
‘What, are you trying to say he was an innocent abroad then?’
Tyrell shook his head.
‘No. But he wasn’t as bad as he was made out. At least, I don’t think so.’
Leo laughed dismissively.
‘Your boy wasn’t exactly a fucking angel, know what I mean?’
Tyrell stepped towards him then, menace in his whole stance as he said quietly, ‘You watch your fucking trap. That is still my boy you’re bad mouthing. You talk about him as if he was a mug.’
Leo sighed.
‘If the cap fits.’
It was calculated to annoy and Terry watched bright-eyed as the argument was about to step up a gear.
‘I heard he was a nancy boy,’ Leo goaded Tyrell.
‘You seem to know an awful lot about him, more than I did. Sure you never met him?’
Leo’s temper, never far from the surface, erupted then. He faced down Tyrell by shouting, ’All I know is what I hear on the street. Nick was devastated by what happened. But the bottom line is, you have to cream scum and that little fucker got what he was asking for. He’s lucky he didn’t come in here because I would have shot the bastard without a second’s thought.’
Leo was still fuming while he poured himself a brandy and said loudly and with maximum bravado: ‘So don’t you walk in my house and try and fucking mug me off, Hatcher, because I ain’t having none of it! I had a tear up with Nick over something private. I am not discussing it in front of all and sundry. Get that through your thick black head!’
It was the way he said ‘black’ that caused all the men in the room to widen their eyes and look at each other with incredulous expressions. Tyrell was stunned by the hatred in the other man’s voice. He could not believe what he had just heard and neither could anyone else there.
Louis was openly fuming.
‘Who do you fucking think you’re talking to?’
He stepped menacingly towards Leo who had the nous to step back. He realised he had made the balls-up of the decade and tried to retract the malicious statement as best he could.
Leo didn’t like the people he dealt with any more. He saw the young men coming to him, black and white, and all they wanted was firepower. They all wanted to maim, especially the Yardies. They were little bastards, had even tried to tuck Leo up, much to his chagrin. As far as he was concerned he dealt with scum. He decided on reflection, seeing the angry faces all around him, to be honest in his answer.
He looked at Tyrell as he said, ‘No disrespect, Tyrell, I know you’re a diamond geezer, but over the last ten years nearly all my iron has gone out to West Indians. Fucking shooting each other for fuck all! Black on black they call it. I call it prat on prat personally. Your boy walked into Nick’s home and tried to rob him. He had a capture and he died. Sorry, mate, I think he got what he asked for. No more and no less. I apologise to you for saying what I did but I would be a liar if I wasn’t honest about it all.
‘It’s your lot who want the guns, mate, your lot who want the arms, I just sell them, and I am stating a fact. If your boy was armed then I for one ain’t fucking surprised, OK? And maybe I am getting racist in me old age but if you did my job, you’d be the same. I have to deal continually with arsehole niggers, and you know what? They’ve all got a fucking grudge, an axe to grind or a score to settle, just like you have now. And I sell to them because hopefully then they will shoot one another and clean up the streets for the rest of us. So now you fucking know, don’t ya?’
Tyrell stood up then. His eyes, normally so friendly, were almost black with rage as he yelled, ‘Is that all you see? Me dreads? I was born here and I walked away from the graft. I run doors. Sure I duck and dive a bit, but it’s people like you who cause all the trouble. You think I don’t lump you altogether at times?’
He looked around the room.
‘Sure I do, every time I get a little crew of white boys in one of my clubs looking for a row. But I stop meself because I don’t want to be like that. Because I am intelligent enough to know I am viewing a small percentage of the population and pretending it’s everyone, and it ain’t . . . it fucking ain’t. Most people are basically sound. It just depends who you’re dealing with.’
Leo didn’t know what to say and neither did anyone else. It was Terry who for once saved the day.
‘Calm down, Tyrell. You can’t educate haddock, as Mum always used to say.’
Everyone was quiet for a few moments and then the laughter started. Even Leo was laughing though he was not sure exactly why.
Terry turned to him and said, ‘I’ll take the Spanish piece.’
Leo was glad to change the subject and do a deal for a few quid. Terry took a wad of money out of his pocket and counted out a thousand in used twenties. He knew his brothers weren’t happy about this turn of events but he didn’t give a toss. He was in love and it was with a small Spanish handgun that could maim, kill and threaten.
Just like Terry.
Leo scooped the money up and stopped himself from counting it. He knew he was not far from a real row and was desperate to avoid it.
‘Did you supply the iron that was being used by Tyrell’s boy, Leo? There will be no comeback if you did, we swear to that,’ Billy told him. ‘We just need to know where he got such top-grade merchandise. I can see where Tyrell is coming from. His boy didn’t have a twenty-quid shooter, he had a fuck-off piece of weaponry and he would never have got the money together for it on his Jacksy.’
Leo shook his head and said arrogantly, ‘No. But, believe me, I wouldn’t tell you lot even if I did.’
No one said anything and Tyrell punched him in the head with all his considerable strength. As Leo hit the floor Tyrell said quietly, ‘Fuck you, white boy. You better find out who your friends are before you venture out on the street in future because I will make sure someone marks your card.’
He poked the other man in his chest, making him wince as he said gleefully, ‘I am your worst nightmare, Leo. I am a nigger with a fucking grudge. And you know what, Dough Boy? That grudge is against you now.’
Tammy realised the girl was taking the piss long before the other girl realised she knew exactly what was going down.
Kayleigh Kalibos was married to a large Greek bank robber, and everyone knew that Tammy had slept with him. But as it had been months before, and as Tammy had a selective memory, she had not been bothered by the man’s wife joining them in the wine bar for a few drinks. In fact, Tammy had forgotten the whole episode. It was only Kayleigh’s needling that had reminded her. Kayleigh, it seemed, had not forgotten or forgiven Tammy for what had taken place. Her husband had pulled a few stunts in his life but trumping Nick Leary’s wife had to rank among the most stupid.
Grudgingly she admitted she could see what had attracted him. Tammy had an air about her, she was like a young girl even though she was kicking forty - or so legend had it. Tammy’s age was like all her contemporaries’ - given only in ball-park figures.
She was on top form today and with all the drink and cocaine inside her actually up for a fight. Her ‘friends’ realised this and instead of trying to defuse the situation, elected to heap coals on an already smouldering fire. In their heart they all hoped that Tammy would get a good hiding just once and be made aware she was not invincible.
Kayleigh was as drunk as Tammy which was why she was up for a fight in the first place. If her husband knew he would be mortified. He was still frightened that Nick would find out what he had done with his wife and kill him, so the last thing he needed was a public tantrum from his nearest and dearest.
Tammy walked out of a toilet cubicle and smiled at Kayleigh in a friendly fashion. They were in Suzy Snaith’s wine bar and she was a friend so they could all cut and snort in full view of the other customers who in any case were like them. It was a place where people went because they were known there and could get out of their nuts
in peace. The local plod gave the place a wide berth because it was not worth the trouble of raiding it. Most of the clientele read like a Who’s Who of the criminal fraternity and were therefore respected in their own way by friends and foes alike.
Fiona and Melanie were busy cutting lines on the granite surface, watching and waiting for the fight they knew was coming. It was like being back at school again. The tension in the Ladies’ room was mounting and the air held the electricity only a mix of hormones, vodka and cocaine could generate.
Kayleigh went into one of the cubicles and Melanie said in a whisper, ‘Let’s unload her, Tams. She’s out for a row, you don’t need it.’
Tammy laughed as Melanie knew she would.
‘Fuck her!’
This was said loudly as Melanie also knew it would be.
Tammy was already breathing deeply, anger boiling up inside her at the thought of Kayleigh trying to get one over on her.
