by Joe Carter
Mario was an interesting character; he’d been inside for armed robbery, and had served every day of his long prison sentence the hard way due to his total disregard for the system and the screws. He was a very volatile character, and because of his use of drugs he could easily switch from a really nice guy to an animal.
I was drinking with Mario one night in the wine bar along with Ray, their partners and Emma. We were having a great time and enjoying each other’s company. Ray and Mario had slipped off to the toilets a couple of times to ‘powder their noses’. Ray was always first to apologise to me whenever I handed him a tissue to deal with that streaming nose he had as a result of the powder he’d stuck up there. After a few glasses of champagne, I told Emma that I was popping to the Gents.
When I got upstairs, I looked behind me and Mario was at my shoulder. I could see the backs of two smartly dressed men in their late twenties, who were stood at the urinals having a wee. Without saying a word, Mario took three steps past me and volleyed the man standing at the closest urinal as hard as he possibly could up the backside. It really was a powerful kick, and completely unprovoked and uncalled for. The young fellow was in shock, but his mate who was stood next to him said to Mario, ‘What did you do that for?’ Mario spat out his reply: ‘Because I fucking can, now do you want to do anything about it?’ The two men took one look at Mario and knew immediately that he had aggravation etched all over his face. He was a big, powerful man, and fear was not a word in his vocabulary; he always appeared on the verge of a violent act whenever I saw him.
The two men dusted themselves down and scuttled out of the toilets as quick as they could, without even considering washing their hands. Mario had a huge grin on his face, as if he was proud of what he had just done. I think he saw the disdain on my face, and tried to put things right by asking me if I wanted a ‘livener’. I told him to knock himself out, but I was fine. I watched him disappear into the cubicle to have another line of coke whilst I used the facilities.
Back at the table Emma and Chloe were getting on very well, and I admired the way Emma was subtly confiding in Chloe about how happy she was. She told her it was the first time in her life that she’d felt like this was the place that she wanted to stay in forever. Emma explained that we wanted to put down permanent roots in the area. She said that we were looking for houses to buy locally, and that she wanted Ray to help us find one. Chloe was excited at the prospect, and she told Emma how much she and Ray loved our house and how they would really like to move in if we moved out. Chloe was also in the process of setting up her own tanning salon, and with Emma’s experience of setting up a business they had lots to talk about.
I spoke with Ray and told him that he better have a word with Mario as he was a little too lively, and I explained what he’d done in the toilets. Ray told me to leave it with him, and after a few more drinks we all left and went to another late-night bar, which was packed to the rafters. We were lucky enough to be given a little corner area by the bar manager and we all continued drinking. Mario was getting louder and louder, and his visits to the toilets more frequent. I had a feeling that it was only a matter of time before he caused a problem or was involved in some aggravation. I told Emma that I thought we should leave after we finished our drinks, and she thought this was a good idea.
I was leaning on the bar chatting to Ray and explaining that we were about to leave, when Mario came over. His nose was running and he had a glass of champagne in his hand. I told him that Emma and I were about to leave and to have a good night. He clearly didn’t like what he heard and said, ‘You ain’t going anywhere until I’ve bought you a drink.’ I thanked him and politely declined, saying we could have a drink another time. He immediately switched, poking me in the chest and putting his face right in close to mine. He lambasted me: ‘You think you’re something special, don’t you, old school? Well, you’re nothing to me.’
I could see Ray watching the situation develop. Mario went to grab my jacket by the lapels and I pushed him away. I was in a perilous position; Mario was off his head on drugs, he’d been drinking, and he was physically bigger and stronger than me. I’d seen him attack someone for no apparent reason earlier, and I knew of his violent past. This was only going to end one way.
Ray went to step in and I told him that it was OK. I could see that Mario had put his champagne glass on the bar, and he now had a bottle of Peroni in his right hand. He came in close to me with his hands down by his sides. I looked at him and said if he wanted to take this further, we should sort whatever problem he had with me outside. Emma had seen the row and had come over to me with her coat. She asked Ray what was going on, and Mario just stared into my face from about a foot away, like a boxer at a pre-fight press conference. I wasn’t sure whether he was going to headbutt me or hit me with the bottle. I certainly didn’t want to turn my back, because whatever he was going to do, I wanted to at least see it coming.
I said, ‘Your call, Mario. If you have a problem with me, let’s go and sort it out now.’ This was a big gamble – some might think it was a stupid suggestion – but it was too late to take my words back. Mario moved his right hand up his body and I waited to see the bottle flash towards my head, but to my amazement I watched as he put the Peroni bottle on the bar. He then wiped his runny nose with his right hand. He straightened up and said, ‘You’ve got some bottle, Joe, but I don’t want to fall out with you.’ He then held out his hand to shake. I paused for a moment, as all I could think about was the fact he’d just wiped his hand across his runny nose, but I shook it anyway and said, ‘I don’t want to fall out with you, Mario, but don’t ever turn on me like that again.’ Maybe I was pushing my luck, but I wanted him to know that I wouldn’t stand for him behaving like that.
I turned away and took Emma’s arm, and we made our way out of the bar. As the fresh air of the early hours hit me, I realised I’d had a very close shave. Mario was a liability. He was like a bottle of pop – you never knew when he was going to go off.
Ray joined us outside as Emma was ordering a taxi to take us home. He put his arm around me and apologised for Mario’s behaviour. I knew that Ray had wanted to help, but I also wanted him to see that I could look after myself. I told Ray to be careful, because some poor bastard would bear the brunt of Mario tonight and I didn’t want it to be him. He laughed at me and said that he’d thought I had a death wish when I suggested taking it outside. I pulled him in close and hugged him as I said, ‘Ray, there was nobody more relieved than me when he decided not to.’
Thirty-seven
It was a beautiful May morning and the sun was bouncing off the perfectly still lake; there were a number of tents dotted around the edge. I could see that the fishermen had camped out overnight and were now grateful for the warmth of the morning sun.
I was sat on an uneven picnic table with Freddie, who had just brought me my first cup of tea of the day. I loved this lakeside café – the area was the perfect place for families to enjoy a walk, for twitchers to spot rare birds, and for courting couples to walk hand in hand. There were often couples who arrived separately in two cars and subtly looked around the car park before embracing each other, knowing that these were snatched moments before they returned to the reality of their respective spouses. This was a place most people went as a treat for breakfast or lunch, to take in the glorious view and enjoy a summer moment.
I came here because grown men could have adult conversations without fear of being overheard. These were discreet conversations about badness, about deals involving drugs and money and guns and girls. In all the time I had been meeting Ray here, he had never commented on the view or the peacefulness of the lake or the beauty of the migrating birds that fed on the banks. He had been focused on topics that would make him money.
He had called me late the previous evening to say that he wanted a chat. I knew that normally meant there was a problem; it would be something he needed help with. I sat there looking out at the lake enjoying the tranquillity; I
stared through my sunglasses and saw one of the fishermen gently removing a fish from his line. I noticed how he stroked the fish, and how he calmly held it in his hand before allowing it to slowly swim away.
Ray didn’t like Freddie. He thought he was a recovering heroin addict and a thief; he looked down on him and didn’t treat him with any respect. Freddie was aware of this and he used to do his best to keep out of his way.
I could see the smile on Freddie’s face drop as Ray screeched into the car park. The serenity of the lakeside was ruined by the exertion of his brakes and the huge cloud of dust that resulted from his arrival. I watched the dust slowly follow the gentle breeze over the lake. The moment of peace had been violated, and Ray was oblivious to this fact.
As he walked up to our table, Freddie grabbed his polystyrene cup and slowly shuffled off towards the lake. Ray pointed a finger at Freddie and said, ‘What’s he doing here?’ I told him that we had something to do after, and for him not to worry. He looked at me, and said in disgust, ‘How can you graft with him – he’d thieve off his own granny, he’s worse than a pikey.’
‘Go and get yourself a cappuccino and have some chocolate powder as a treat and calm down.’
Ray walked back with a huge grin on his face and started to giggle. His smile was infectious, and he sat down and handed me a cherry flapjack under the table. ‘I couldn’t help meself. She took me money for the coffee and I had to take two of these.’ He was still smiling as he took the first bite out of his flapjack, which was coated in white chocolate. I wondered for a minute what possessed a baker to cover a flapjack in chocolate, it didn’t feel right to me. Ray was still laughing with his mouth full when he said, ‘Funny, innit – I always think things taste nicer when they’re free.’ He spat a piece of oat out of the side of his mouth and it landed in the froth of his cappuccino.
I chuckled to myself. I had read the sell-by date, which had been two months previous. I was sure the two sweet ladies serving in the café might also be having a little chuckle to themselves. I looked at Ray. ‘You’re right, Ray. It tastes sweeter when it’s chored.’ I handed him my cherry one and said, ‘You have that for later. I’ve just eaten.’
He washed the contents of his mouth down with a swig of coffee, but the heat of the coffee clearly caught him by surprise. He tried not to show it, but his eyes began to water slightly.
‘What’s up, Ray? Why did you want a meet?’
‘We have some gear that we need to back, but it’s not straightforward.’ He paused. ‘Someone will have to plug it.’ I looked at him in disbelief. There was no way I was going to put anything up my backside for Ray, or anyone else.
I leant across the table and said quietly, ‘And why have you come to me?’ He said that he thought I might know someone who would plug it for a day’s wages and return it to where it had to go.
I shook my head. ‘I take it you’re winding me up, Ray.’ He told me that he’d got this gear from a firm in East London, and they wanted it back as the gear wasn’t right, but it wasn’t a matter of returning it with anyone. The police were paying particular attention to this firm, so whoever returned it must be able to stand a full Old Bill search. The only way that you could achieve it would be to plug it.
I looked at him and said, ‘How much are we talking, Ray?’ He said there were four and half ounces. I winced. ‘That seems a lot of gear to stick up your arse, Ray.’
I saw his eyes look out towards the lake, where Freddie was stood at the water’s edge engrossed in a conversation with someone fishing. It were like a light bulb had lit up in his head; a big smile broke out across his face and I could see the distinctive gaps in his front teeth. I could read him like a book.
He shouted, ‘Freddie, come here a minute.’ I knew exactly where this was going, and I thought I would have a bit of sport letting Ray ask the question.
Freddie couldn’t have walked any slower over to our table. I could see him looking at me, hoping I would give him a clue as to why he had been called over. I was intrigued as to how Ray would approach the inevitable request. Ray put his arm around Freddie, and complimented him on how well he was looking. He pulled the cherry flapjack out of his trouser pocket – I could see that one end of the wrapper had split open and there was a chunk of red cherry in the end – and offered it to Freddie. He had it held out in front of him, flat on the palm of his right hand. Freddie looked at it in bewilderment and declined.
Ray asked him how well he knew East London. Freddie told him he knew it well and had pals that lived Walthamstow way. Freddie was constantly trying to catch my eye to gauge what was going on, but my full attention was now focused on how Ray was going to ask Freddie if he fancied putting four and half ounces of heroin up his arse and driving it to East London.
Ray didn’t dance around the houses, he went straight for the jugular: ‘How much gear could you get up your arse, Freddie?’
I noticed that a family of four sat on the table next to us had just been served a full traditional English breakfast each. The waitress was asking them if they wanted any sauces. There was a request for both ketchup and brown sauce.
The contrast of the two different worlds on two different tables was not lost on me. Freddie pulled away from Ray and said, ‘Are you two on a wind-up? Thanks for the offer, but the days of me plugging things up my Harris have long gone. Now both of you leave me alone.’ I started to laugh and said, ‘Don’t say you weren’t offered.’ Freddie walked with purpose back to the lake, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head.
‘Fuck it, I knew this would happen. I’ll have to do it,’ said Ray. We started walking towards the car park, but he was walking as if the four and half ounces were already secreted inside him. He stopped and looked at me. ‘I haven’t plugged anything up since I took a load of pills over to Ibiza.’ You could see the trepidation and angst etched across his face. He bent his knees and squatted down in front of me and said, ‘I hoped I’d never have to do this again. Mind you, if people can smuggle a mobile up their arse this will be a doddle.’ I could see he was trying to convince himself.
We got to my car and I noticed Freddie looking over, wondering what the hell the two of us were talking about. Ray looked at me. ‘I need a plastic bag and a load of Vaseline.’ He really was going to go through with this.
I said, ‘It may make your eyes water, Ray, but at least you’ll save a day’s wages.’ I told him I had a few plastic bags in the boot, but he said he already had some sandwich bags in his car. I was chuckling to myself; Ray was going to suffer a couple of hours of pain, but I wanted to make sure I got the most out of this situation.
He came back holding a clean sandwich bag between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. I looked at him and said, ‘I haven’t got Vaseline but you can use my Molton Brown hand cream. It’s expensive but very soft on the hands, I’m sure it’ll do the trick on your arse and you’ll smell lovely as well.’ I handed Ray the tube that I always kept in my car. I’d never envisaged that it would be required for such a sensitive application. Ray thanked me. Then he walked to his car, removed something from the boot and slowly disappeared into the café. I knew that his destination was the Gents.
I beckoned Freddie, and he bounced over quickly, knowing that Ray wasn’t there. ‘What the fuck was all that about?’ I explained that Ray was currently trying to secrete four and half ounces of brown up his bum. He needed to back it to a firm in East London. I would never have let Freddie do that, but I was now going to volunteer Freddie to drive him there so we could find out exactly where the drugs were going. This would also allow Freddie to build up a better relationship with Ray.
Freddie looked at me and told me that he’d been hoping I had a plan, because for a few minutes he’d thought I’d agreed for him to plug the gear. He’d thought I’d lost the plot, but now he understood where I was coming from.
I told him that I’d call him over when Ray came back and tell him to drive him. Freddie nodded and walked back to the lake.
<
br /> It was a good ten minutes before Ray walked back towards his car. I could see how gingerly he was taking each step, so I saved him a few strides and walked over to him. ‘I won’t ask you how it is, but I’m going to get Freddie to drive you in case you get into a situation and have to deposit in a hurry. You don’t need to pay him, he’s on wages with me today, but you owe me one.’ I called Freddie over and explained the situation.
I opened the passenger door of Ray’s car and watched him lower himself, ever so gently, onto the leather seats. He remained still whilst Freddie got in the driver’s seat, then slowly put his seat belt on. This would be a long two hours for Ray. I told Freddie to call me if there was any aggravation and I’d see them both at the office later for a drink.
Just as Freddie was about to pull away, I shouted at Ray and the car stopped. Ray put the passenger window down and I said, ‘Oi, you cheeky fucker … where’s my Molton Brown?’ He opened the console in between the two front seats and passed me the hand cream. I looked at the remaining contents and then looked at Ray and said, ‘That was an expensive operation – half my cream is up your backside.’ Ray’s window went down without him replying, and the car disappeared out of the car park the same way it had arrived, in a cloud of dust.
Thirty-eight
Ray and I met up again at the posh garden centre. I wasn’t sure whether Ray had anything to talk about or he just wanted to come back for a coffee and some cake. Again, we sat as far away from everyone as we possibly could and enjoyed the extensive views across the river. Ray had gambled on a slice of carrot cake and a cappuccino, and I had my usual latte.
Ray did indeed have two reasons for meeting today. As he sipped his coffee, he casually said that Mario could get hold of MAC-10 machine pistols with 9mm magazines. He called them ‘rainmacs’ and we spoke openly about the prices, with or without ammunition. The MAC-10 was a killing machine: it was an incredibly compact gun designed for close encounters and concealed carrying.
