‘Pity that Mr McIntyre didn’t use the same technique,’ said Button. ‘He’s been in a few scrapes, I see.’
‘He’s a highly trained soldier who’s seen action in some of the world’s most dangerous places,’ said Shepherd. ‘Iraq, Afghanistan, Sierra Leone. You’ve got to expect him to blow off a little steam every now and again.’
‘And you said he was in the security business?’ Shepherd winced in anticipation of what he knew was coming. ‘You failed to mention that he was a security guard and that he spends most of his time sitting at a reception desk in an office building in Reading.’
‘He’s working. A job’s a job.’
‘Look, I get that he’s a friend, and I get that you served together in the SAS. But are you absolutely sure he’s up for close personal protection with a man like Peter Grechko?’
‘I’m sure,’ said Shepherd, but even as he said the words there was a nagging doubt at the back of his mind and he remembered the way that McIntyre’s hand had shaken as he’d poured whisky in his miserable little room.
‘He’s to stay off the booze,’ said Button.
‘He knows that.’
‘And he’s to keep quiet about his SAS background, I don’t want him getting all competitive with Grechko’s people.’
‘No problem.’
‘And I need you to keep a close eye on him. He’s your responsibility.’
‘He’ll do just fine. And I’ll feel happier with him around. I can rely on Jock one hundred per cent, which is something I can’t say for Grechko’s security team.’
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Button.
‘They’re clearly not happy about having an outsider telling them what to do,’ he said. ‘Let’s just say that if Grechko is ever in the firing line, I’ll be the one thrown in front of the bullet.’
Button laughed. ‘Well, make sure you’re wearing a vest,’ she said. ‘OK, I’ll go with you on this. He’s worked undercover before?’
‘We all do undercover scenarios during selection,’ said Shepherd. ‘And he’s been on undercover ops.’
‘Then I’ll put together a legend and email it to you,’ she said. ‘We’ll have him down as a security expert with a military background and I’ll tell Grechko that we’ve used him before and that he’s there as a back-up.’
‘As soon as you’ve done that, I’ll take him over to the house,’ said Shepherd. ‘He can bunk down with Grechko’s team. He was one of the SAS’s linguists and he speaks reasonable Russian so that’ll be useful.’
‘Just make sure he knows he’s to be on his best behaviour,’ said Button.
The line went dead. Shepherd went back into the sitting room. Harper was grinning like a naughty schoolboy. ‘What?’ he said.
‘Your voice changes,’ said Harper.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That was your boss, right? The woman?’
‘Charlie, yeah.’
Harper’s grin widened. ‘Well, your voice changes when you talk to her. It goes softer. Lovey-dovey, in fact. It’s like she gets you in touch with your feminine side.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Shepherd.
‘Just saying, it’s nice to see a softer, gentler Spider, that’s all,’ said Harper.
‘Carry on taking the piss like this and I’ll show you my softer side all right,’ said Shepherd. ‘Charlie Button’s my boss, end of.’ He could see from the look on Harper’s face that he didn’t believe him and that there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. He sighed and poured another slug of Jamesons into his glass.
Harper spent the next day holed up in his hotel watching television and eating pizza delivered by Domino’s. The Polish lady who cleaned the rooms seemed happy enough when he told her that he’d make his own bed and that he didn’t need a change of towels. He waited until it was dark before heading out and as always kept his head down and his parka hood up as he walked along the street. He let three black cabs go by him before holding up his arm and flagging down the fourth. He waited until he had climbed in the back before telling the driver where he wanted to go — a street close to Clapham railway station. It was starting to get dark and most vehicles had switched on their lights. He took out his cigarettes but then saw the no smoking sign on the glass panel behind the driver’s head. He settled back in his seat as the cab crawled over the Thames.
The street lights were on when the cab dropped him off. He kept his head down as he walked along the street, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his parka. It was a rough area, where the cops tended to drive by mob-handed in grey vans, and where street muggings happened so often that they weren’t even mentioned in the local paper. A stabbing would be dismissed in a couple of paragraphs and the paper had long since given up printing police requests for witnesses as no one ever came forward.
There were two large black men in Puffa jackets standing in front of the house. It was in the middle of a run-down terrace and one of the few that hadn’t been converted into flats. The two men were both wearing wraparound sunglasses and leather gloves and they stared at Harper with unsmiling faces as he walked along the pavement towards them. The bigger of the two men, his shaved head glistening in the light from a street lamp just feet away, clenched and unclenched his fists.
Harper kept his head down until he was right in front of them, then he looked up at the bigger man and grinned. ‘Bloody hell, T-Bone, you’re not planning to stick one on me, are you?’
The big man’s face creased into a grin. ‘Lex bloody Harper? Fuck me, a blast from the past.’ He stepped forward and grabbed Harper before hugging him to his massive chest. Harper gasped as the big man forced the air from his lungs.
‘Steady, mate, don’t break me,’ said Harper.
‘Fuck me, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ said T-Bone, as he released him. ‘How long’s it been? Three years? Four?’ He put a hand around the back of his neck and squeezed.
‘Four, I guess,’ said Harper. He shook hands with T-Bone, and then bumped shoulders.
T-Bone looked at his companion, who was watching them with amusement. ‘This here’s Lex Harper, aka Harpic.’
‘You’re the only one who calls me that,’ said Harper,
‘Because you’re clean round the bend,’ laughed T-Bone, thumping Harper on the shoulder. ‘This here’s Jelly.’
Jelly reached out with a hand the size of a small shovel and shook with Harper. ‘You buying?’ asked Jelly as he bumped shoulders with Harper. He had his Puffa jacket open and a gold medallion the size of a saucer dangled in the middle of his chest from a thick gold chain. There were heavy gold rings, most of them sovereigns, on each of his fingers, though they looked to Harper to be more like makeshift knuckledusters than decoration.
T-Bone laughed. ‘Harpic here don’t need to buy gear from us, he’s big-time. He’s a player. Isn’t that right, Harpic? You’re a player now.’ He gestured at Harper’s parka and grinned at Jelly. ‘Don’t let the homeless threads fool you. He’s worth millions.’
‘Good to see my PR’s doing a decent job,’ said Harper. ‘Actually I need something. Is Perry in?’
‘Yeah, ’course,’ said T-Bone.
A black Golf drove down the road, rap music booming through its open windows. They all turned to look as the car drove by. There were four black teenagers in baseball caps but they were laughing and passing a joint around and T-Bone and Jelly relaxed.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Harper.
‘We’re having a bit of a turf war with some Somalians but it’s all good,’ said T-Bone. He clapped Harper on the shoulder. ‘Come on, I’ll take you in, but stay behind me and I’ll pull Perry’s chain.’
He opened the front door and walked down a purple-painted hallway. He walked like a weightlifter on his way to attempt a personal best, his arms bent at the elbows and swinging in time with his steps. Harper followed. He could smell the distinctive aroma of smouldering marijuana and from upstairs came the pounding beat of a Bob Marley track.
&
nbsp; T-Bone stopped at a door and pushed it open. From inside, Harper heard the rat-tat-tat of a video game being played at full volume. ‘Hey, Perry, remember that Scottish prick you keep talking about. What was his name? Your old mate. The one who went out to Spain?’
‘Lex? Lex Harper.’
‘Yeah, Lex. Turns out he’s a grass.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘He’s spilling his guts to Five-O. He’s a bloody supergrass.’
‘No fucking way.’
‘That’s the word. I always knew he was a bad ’un.’ T-Bone slapped his hand against the wall.
‘Lex Harper? A grass? You sure about this?’
‘Sure enough to put a bullet in his head next time I see him.’ T-Bone stepped into the room. ‘Bloody grass.’
The room went quiet as the video game was paused. ‘This is bullshit,’ said Perry Smith.
‘You always said you never trusted him, remember?’
‘T-Bone, what the fuck are you on?’
Harper heard footsteps and then T-Bone moved to the side so that Perry could see him. Perry flinched and took a step backwards, then burst into laughter, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth. ‘Lex, you bastard!’ he shouted.
Harper pushed the hood of his parka down. ‘Long time, no see, mate,’ he said. The two men hugged, then Smith put his hands on Harper’s shoulders and held him at arm’s length as he stared at him, shaking his head in amazement. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Just wanted to see the new pad. You’re coming up in the world, aren’t you? This is better than that rathole you used to have in Streatham.’
The two men hugged again and Smith patted him on the back, hard. Smith grinned at T-Bone. ‘I knew you were pulling my chain, bastard,’ he said. ‘Lex here’s one of the best.’ He released his grip on Harper and waved to one of three sofas around a square coffee table that was home to three tall bongs and a large silver bowl piled high with a white powder. Above the table was a white paper spherical lampshade that must have been three feet across.
A huge TV dominated one wall, with a heavily armed trooper in mid-flow, blowing apart two men holding rocket launchers. Harper laughed. ‘Still one for the video games, Perry?’ he said as he sat down.
Perry laughed back. ‘It’s training, innit?’ He sat down next to Harper and pointed at the cocaine. ‘Help yourself.’ He flashed T-Bone a thumbs-up and the heavy headed back to the front door. ‘Hell, man, it’s great to see you. When was the last time?’
‘Brixton. Four years ago. The Fridge.’
Smith laughed. ‘That’s right. But it ain’t the Fridge no more. Electric Brixton they call it now.’
‘Yeah? A rose by any other name, yeah?’
‘You introduced me to the Dutchman there, remember? Seven years ago. Vouched for me and that. That made me a stack of money, man. That connection made me.’
‘Glad to have helped, Perry.’
‘I’m serious, man. You always looked out for me.’
‘And vice versa, mate.’
There was a glossy magazine with a razor blade and a silver tube the size of a biro on it. Harper pulled it closer to him and used the blade to take a dollop of cocaine from the bowl. He used small, economical movements to divide the powder into four equal lines and then used the tube to snort up two of the lines. He felt the kick almost immediately and sat back, nodding his approval. ‘That’s good,’ he said. A second wave coursed through his bloodstream stronger than the first. ‘Very good.’
‘Only the best for you, brother,’ said Smith. He pulled the magazine towards him and did the remaining two lines. ‘So where’s your money these days? I’ve had to close down my Isle of Man accounts, and my Swiss accounts. And I hear the EU is after Jersey now.’
Harper shrugged. ‘I’m spreading it around,’ he said. ‘I’m putting a lot in property owned by offshore companies. You can’t trust the banks any more. And gold. Gold in safe deposit boxes is the way to go.’
‘Funny old world, innit? First cash was king, then they made us jump through hoops to get it in the banking system, and now we’re trying to get out the banks.’
Harper laughed. ‘Don’t get me started, mate,’ he said. ‘I reckon it’s a global conspiracy.’
Smith piled more cocaine on to the magazine and split it into four lines. ‘So to what do I owe the pleasure?’ he said. ‘I mean, always great to see you, Lex, but I’m assuming you want something.’
Harper rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel his pulse racing as the cocaine coursed through his veins. He had a sudden urge to get up and walk around but he knew that was just the drug talking and he ignored it. ‘I’ve been away for a while and I need some chrome.’
‘Thought you always used Ks?’
Harper grinned. ‘That was back in the day. I need something small but with a kick. Can you help me out?’
‘Open all hours,’ said Smith, leaning over the magazine and snorting up one of the lines. ‘You know me. You getting back into the blagging game?’
Harper shook his head. ‘Nah, this is personal.’
Smith snorted a second line and then sat back, his eyes wide.
‘T-Bone can sort you out, I can’t keep it on the premises, Five-O keep kicking my door open. Looking for drugs, they say.’ Smith laughed and wiped the back of his nose with his hand.
‘Do they ever find any?’ asked Harper.
Smith waved at the remaining lines of cocaine. Harper grinned, reached for one of the tubes and snorted two lines, one up each nostril. ‘We’re always clean as a whistle because we know when they’re coming.’
Harper took a deep breath and blinked a couple of times. It was very good coke. As good as anything he’d had before. ‘Where did you get this from?’ he asked.
‘The Serbs,’ Smith said. ‘They’ve got a deal going with one of the Colombian cartels.’ He laughed and squeezed Harper’s knee, hard enough to hurt. ‘But if you want to place an order, Lex, you talk to me. You hear?’
‘Loud and clear,’ said Harper. ‘But I was just asking. I don’t do much coke, and definitely not out of South America. The DEA’s all over that bit of the hemisphere and they’re bad news.’
‘I only deal with the Serbs, and they’re cool.’
‘Yeah, everybody’s cool until the DEA starts offering deals,’ said Harper. ‘I’m sticking with dope these days, pretty much. That’s practically legal now. And E. Can’t go wrong with E.’
‘Coke’s where the money is, though,’ said Smith. ‘Coke and crack.’ He stretched out his arms and arched his back. ‘Still in Spain?’
‘Some of the time.’
Smith laughed. ‘You always did play your cards close to your chest, man,’ he said, and squeezed his knee again. ‘You need any help with this personal matter then you call me, you hear me?’
‘I hear you,’ said Harper. ‘But this one is complicated. There’s a few other guys involved.’ He stood up and held out his arms. Smith stood up and the two men hugged.
Smith walked Harper to the front door and hugged him again before showing him out. Another heavy had joined Jelly on the doorstep and they both watched as T-Bone and Harper walked over to T-Bone’s black Porsche SUV. ‘Nice motor,’ said Harper. T-Bone climbed in and Harper joined him. ‘I’m thinking of getting a Bentley. The convertible.’
Harper laughed. ‘A black man in a Bentley? Why don’t you just draw a target on your back?’
‘They pull me over whatever I’m driving,’ said T-Bone, starting the engine. ‘But they never find nothing.’ He waved over at the two men outside the house and they nodded back. T-Bone drove to Streatham and parked in front of a row of six brick-built lock-up garages with metal doors and corrugated iron roofs in an alley a short distance from the town centre. He switched off the engine and the two men climbed out of the SUV and looked around. There was the hum of traffic in the distance but other than that it was quite. There was half a moon overhead but there were no street lights and
it took Harper’s eyes a while to get accustomed to the dark. T-Bone opened the back of the Porsche and took out a large black Magnalite torch. He switched it on but kept it pointing at the ground as he walked over to one of the lock-ups in the middle of the row. He pulled a set of keys from his Puffa jacket, selected one and used it to unlock the door. It went up and over but T-Bone raised it only a few feet before ducking under and waving at Harper to follow him.
There were four metal trunks lined up in the middle of the lock-up and a stack of wooden packing cases against the far wall. There was a cloying, damp smell mixed with an acrid tang that suggested an animal had been using the place as a toilet.
‘Pull the door down,’ said T-Bone.
‘You’re not going to rape me, are you?’ asked Harper.
‘With your straggly white arse? You couldn’t be farther from being my type if you’d been on a plane for twelve hours,’ said T-Bone. ‘Now stop pissing around and pull the door down so I can switch the light on.’
Harper did as he was told and once the door hit the ground T-Bone flicked a switch and a solitary fluorescent light flickered into life. He switched off the torch and slid it into his pocket. ‘So what do you need, Harpic?’
‘A couple of revolvers,’ said Harper. ‘Russian would be good. And if you really wanted to make my day, I’d love a couple of Makarovs. Failing that a revolver, but again I’d prefer Russian.’
‘Bloody hell, Harpic, when did you get so fussy?’
‘It’s a special situation. Can do?’
T-Bone frowned and shook his head. ‘Sorry. I don’t have any Makarovs. I do have a few Russian pistols but they’re semi-automatics.’
‘Nah, I need revolvers.’
‘I’ve got a couple of Colt KingCobras.’
‘How long are the barrels?’
‘Six inches.’
Harper pulled a face. ‘I’m looking for something to easily pull out of a pocket.’
T-Bone nodded. ‘I’ve got some very nice Smith amp; Wessons, the Five Hundred short barrel. Four-inch barrel, only holds five rounds but it packs one hell of a punch. Five-hundred calibre, weighs almost three pounds.’
True Colours ss-10 Page 27
