Hitmen I Have Known

by Bill James

  Their lovemaking was joyful and silent. Neither mentioned Iles at any point. They were naked on an old but handsome uncut moquette settee, which had been left behind by the previous owner when Ralph bought Low Pastures. He regarded this settee as similar to the hill in Hardy’s poem. Fucks were better than furniture. Ralph thought he and Margaret gave the settee bare-arsed distinction now, but he didn’t rule out the possibility that others, possibly even a lord lieutenant of the county, had also brought a kind of impromptu passion to the moquette previously. The impromptu quality was vital. It wouldn’t have worked to plan these lovely minutes. A kind of shag itinerary. They had to be led up to by that bad instant when she left, then the apologetic reappearance, the hand-holding and the active, bright, stupendously irrelevant monitor screen.

  FIFTEEN

  Ralph liked to go to The Monty a little after midnight and stay until it closed at around two a.m., unless there was a special celebration party for, say, a birthday or a divorce or Bastille knees-up, when it might stay open much later. First, he’d walk slowly with a torch around the outside of the building, checking for timer-set incendiary treats and/or bodies. He used the torch very carefully, more off than on and hand-shading the beam. If someone up late in one of the Shield Terrace houses or flats glanced out of the window and saw a light systematically casing The Monty, it might look very sinister, and he didn’t want to cause more local anxiety than was unavoidable.

  Although Ralph’s manor house, Low Pastures, had spacious grounds on all sides, he did try to understand the problems that might bother more ordinary people huddled up in skimpy dwellings like those of Shield Terrace. After all, it probably wasn’t their fault they lived in such places, and they lacked the skill and push to get out of them into something more worthwhile.

  In fact, the light was sinister – not because Ralph patrolled but because he had to patrol in case some fucking business colleague or colleagues tried to flame-finish the club. Insurance brokers could not find any company that would take on The Monty coverage. This, naturally, depressed Ralph, but he knew it would be foolish to get in a full-out rage about it. The Athenaeum might never get refused insurance, but Ralph recognized that The Monty was not in this category, yet. Occasionally, too, the remains of someone killed in a gang spat were dumped in The Monty’s yard to bug Ralph in jokey style.

  Also out of civic thoughtfulness for neighbours, when he had done his safety inspection Ralph would stand for a while in front of The Monty’s main entrance, perhaps chatting to one of the bouncers, but sometimes alone. He felt that any watcher must surely be comforted to know the owner had arrived: the captain’s on the bridge. Most of the Shield Terrace residents had probably seen him around the club in the day, so they’d recognize him now.

  He knew his resemblance to Chuck Heston made him very memorable. In one of the Heston warrior films, El Cid, he had played a great leader, and wonderful inspiration to his troops. Ralph on the pavement outside The Monty at night thought that here and elsewhere he had the same sort of role. He willingly accepted this duty, seeing it as a kind of charge set by Nature for his beauty.

  He always wore a custom-made double-breasted dark suit, white shirt, blue fedora trilby, dark tie and button-hole carnation for this late visit to the club. He thought his outfit suggested orderliness and quiet decency. Some Monty members – Tasteful Barry-Longville, for instance –went in for the same kind of sober gear, and Ralph hoped to persuade others to smarten up in similar fashion. Now and then, behaviour at the club didn’t quite reach the quality he’d like, but it was rarely outright Hunnish. When he stood on the pavement like this for those very meaningful few minutes, he had his back to the club doors. He gazed away from The Monty and into Shield Terrace and beyond. Partly this was to make his face reasonably visible, identifiable by inhabitants. But, also, he thought it would be a kind of vanity to spend this time looking at The Monty frontage. Although Ralph was proud of the club, he didn’t want to carry on as if he could think of nothing else. He was part of that world scene out there, the one he’d willingly invite Margaret into with him because she undoubtedly deserved it fairly often.

  When he broke away from his contemplative spell and entered the club, he took off the fedora and held it by his side. This was a modest, unflamboyant movement, not a sweeping, theatrical, extravagant gesture. He meant it simply as a polite act of respect to the members, and there were definitely certain members he did feel some respect for. Inside the club at his small desk, beneath the Marriage of Heaven and Hell flying slab, he’d do a quick look at the bar takings and bag some of the cash for a trip to the bank overnight safe on his way home, varying the route.

  Lecomte Biss, tall, cocky, sharp, was helping run the bar tonight. His first name, pinched from among titles in the French nobility, showed his parents must have imagined he’d land a great career. He was about sixty and hadn’t landed it yet. He bent to talk directly to Ralph above the noise of the club. ‘Ilesy,’ he said.

  ‘He’s here?’ Ralph replied.

  ‘Was. On the telly.’ Lecomte nodded towards the big wall monitor. It was switched off now. A quartet – horn, double base, clarinet and drums – had been playing for some dancers and would do their final stint shortly.

  ‘Really? Local news? At some function? Was he in full dress uniform?’ Ralph played ignorant. He had to show he needed evidence before he’d interpret the show. Barmen might be less strict. Not The Monty owner. Not Ralph W. Ember.

  ‘A drama,’ Lecomte replied.

  ‘Which?’

  ‘About two killings – unsolved. Unsolvable?’

  ‘“The Forgotten Murders”, you mean?’

  ‘It was on the screen,’ Lecomte said.

  ‘I saw it at home. Interesting whodunit? How is the ACC concerned though?’

  Lecomte gave a tiny, come-off-it-Ralph smile, but didn’t answer at once. Then he said: ‘It could be troublesome.’

  ‘Troublesome how?’ Ralph replied.

  ‘There are people here tonight from both sides,’ Lecomte said. ‘I don’t know whether it’s deliberate or a fluke.’

  ‘Both sides of what, Lecomte?’

  ‘The deaths. Their friends, on one side. Maybe relatives. Guests of members.’

  ‘Whose friends?’

  ‘The deados. Their families are pushing for an inquiry, aren’t they? And then – the other side – some people seem to think Iles did a fine, brilliantly helpful cleaning-up job. There was applause and big laughs when he saw off the two. I’d say those two deads probably ran a wholesale snort and needle firm and villains from a rival business are tickled to see them obliterated. It’s a gorgeous free gift, chortle, chortle. More or less by accident, Iles – if it was Iles – did them a favour: removed two of the opposition. A couple of blokes performed twist movements in the air with their hands, like the garrotting. You have a lot of hates involved here tonight, Ralph. Why I mentioned two sides. I think they might have sent out for more of their crew. Busy mobiles.’

  ‘Which hates?’ Ralph replied.

  ‘Gang hates. Crooked firms. Iles handling a revenge package for one of them, and for himself. He’s assistant chief (Operations), isn’t he? This is an operation. That’s how they would see it – the others. Maybe he was paid. An inquiry will nose into that. Bank statements and so on. Possible laundering.’

  ‘Iles wasn’t there on the TV,’ Ralph said.

  ‘No, he wasn’t, was he? Except we all know he was, don’t we? And especially some of the people in here now know it. This is a character with a different name from Iles and a different appearance, because Ile’s an actor and this is a telly drama. But underneath it’s supposed to be the ACC, isn’t it?’

  This playing about with words such as ‘know’ infuriated Ralph. The tone was all wrong, in his view. Lecomte was here to pull pints and mix cocktails, not do clever-clever stuff about meanings – hark at him, the cheeky prick.

  ‘The whole thing is about Iles, isn’t it?’

  True, of
course, but Ralph detested the slickness of how Lecomte spoke it. Did he want to make Ralph sound naive and lumbering?

  ‘Maybe I should do the same,’ Lecomte said.

  ‘Same as what?’ Ralph asked.

  ‘Get more people here to help us look after the place. I know some good lads. Help us stay in charge. I can text them. They’d be here fast. These are intelligent, restrained people, who know the human body and how to immobilize it. They’d do nothing more than is necessary, but what is necessary they’d do very nicely. Maybe a hundred quid each in cash for the night, and a few complimentary shorts when it’s all over and they’re about to leave – well-earned gratitude. We have to prevent news of a disturbance at The Monty spreading to the media. These boys could see to that. I’ve watched them manage it at other places where big violence started. But they need to kill the possibility off early, Ralph. I ought to give them a call. The strength of an army is its reserves, as we all understand. The club is lucky to have back-up very ready on call via, if I can say so, myself, Ralph.’

  ‘Table four needs serving,’ Ralph replied.

  SIXTEEN

  Beside that word ‘know,’ several others from this mastermind potboy also offended Ralph.

  Lecomte’s pals would help ‘us’ look after ‘the place’, apparently, if he let him summon them and dished out a few hundreds. To Ralph, that ‘us’ made it sound like Lecomte wasn’t just a bit of hired lowlife on the club staff, but part-owner with Ralph. God, the nerve! Now and then, or more often, Lecomte seemed to believe in the aristocratic tinge of his French first name – the count. Drop the ‘o’ and it might be right.

  Ralph considered Lecomte’s cold reference to ‘the place’ insulting for a potentially distinguished, chic, exclusive Monty. The club hadn’t quite made it to that point yet, but Ralph had the progress under way. And then, beside the ‘us’ there was a ‘we’. ‘We have to look after the place’ and, ‘We have to prevent news of a disturbance spreading.’ Here were extra hints that Lecomte dreamed The Monty belonged to both of them, and that he graciously accepted his share of landlord responsibilities. There was even more than this. Lecomte did seem to know of Ralph’s devoted, evergreen campaign to up the social standing of The Monty, and naturally Lecomte in his delusion expected to be part of this triumph. He fantasized about bringing in unnamed mates to head off an outbreak of anarchy in the club, and so stop possible damaging publicity about Monty lawlessness and non-resemblance to The Athenaeum.

  Lecomte had seemed to be thinking of a swift, possibly brutal visit by his undainty associates who would then move off to spend their fees. Ralph wondered about this. Lecomte and his invited crew would be in possession of the club they had just possibly saved from serious trashing. Ralph feared they might feel they had conquerors’ rights. Could they be relied upon to leave? There was a song: ‘We’re here because we’re here because we’re here because we’re here’. No need for argument. Hitler said he marched into Czechoslovakia after Germans who lived there called for him to invade. It was an occupation, but disguised as something else. Likewise Lecomte and his little army at – in – The Monty? Lecomte obviously wanted the club. Was this the way to get it – Lecomte and his personal troop?

  Lecomte took table four their drinks and then came back to stand alongside Ralph at his desk. The musicians were getting ready to play their final numbers.

  ‘Do you carry something, Ralph?’ Lecomte said, his tone extremely caring. ‘I very sincerely hope you don’t mind my inquiring, but over several weeks I’ve done a true scrutiny of your garments, including tonight’s, but have been unable to detect anywhere a giveaway outline. However, I have to remember that you are the knowledgeable, perceptive type who would have your clothes tailored to disguise any such naff sign.’

  Although Lecomte very sincerely hoped that Ralph wouldn’t mind being gawped at in an eyes-only body search, Ralph did very sincerely mind, and minded quite a bit. When he chose his clothes, he wasn’t thinking of how this twat would regard them week after week.

  ‘Carry something?’ Ralph replied.

  ‘I know it runs against your thinking, but, well—’

  ‘Against my thinking about what?’ Ralph replied. He knew about what, of course, but wouldn’t like Lecomte to imagine he and Ralph had any parallel ideas. Lecomte was pretentious enough already.

  ‘Your views re. handguns in The Monty,’ Lecomte replied. ‘You’re famous for not tolerating firearms on the premises, and this is very much to your credit; very, very much, it cannot be gainsaid but—’

  ‘This is a social club, not a fucking shooting range,’ Ralph said. ‘Guns can have no part in The Monty’s ambience.’

  ‘I know that’s how you individually feel, Ralph, and feel it with great conviction, but there are others who’d think and behave differently. That’s why I wondered if you had something aboard ready – not to be used unprovoked. Oh, no, never unprovoked, I would not expect that of you, Ralph,’ Lecomte had a kindly chuckle at the preposterous suggestion that Ralph might ever shoot first. ‘There could be a simple, total need, though,’ Lecomte said. ‘No blame would attach to that, surely. As a very basic, elementary objective, we have to think of the fabric, don’t we?’

  ‘Do we? Which fabric?’

  ‘Some of them might take against the TV screen because it seemed to glamorize Iles, depicting him as the noble and almost holy Avenger, sent among crooked empires with one purpose: cleansing.’

  ‘How could it glamorize Iles? He wasn’t there.’

  ‘Some might not agree with that, Ralph. Result A: smash-it attack on the screen, which is why I said “fabric”. And other fabric, too, such as upholstery of bench seats, panelling, the carpet. For no sensible reason, The Monty could become the focus of terrible ill-feeling, vivid, non-stop recriminations. People gripped by rage because of Iles have given up on sensible reasons. Things are calm now, but we can’t count on that continuing, can we, Ralph?’

  ‘Can’t we? Everything feels very normal to me.’

  This was a stark lie. It took Ralph a little while to work out what seemed unusual; and not just unusual, but unnerving. Ultimately, he came to think that maybe Lecomte had it right when he spoke of sides. He had meant two sides, one delighted by the way the murders were played in the television programme; the others hurt and enraged by it, and as a result dangerous. Although, Ralph didn’t think things were as simple as that – not a straight division into a pair; there appeared to be a number of distinct, self-contained groups, some standing, a few at tables. Of course, there were always different bunches of friends and acquaintances at The Monty, that’s how a club worked. But the degree of separation between the clusters struck Ralph as exceptionally strong tonight, as though some great gulfs were fixed. No interchange of people happened. They all seemed corralled with their clique of companions. Ralph thought that, say, three of these minor batches made up one of Lecomte’s ‘sides’, and the three remaining formed the other.

  Naturally, Ralph recognized some members in each of these small parties. He thought that if it came to trouble, he could guess which ‘side’ some of them would back. Members were allowed to sign in guests, though, on a twenty-four-hour licence, and there were several faces he did not know. They made it hard for Ralph to forecast what sort of fighting and vandalism might start.

  He’d given Lecomte a brush-off session when he’d quizzed Ralph about armament, but now he thought he’d better get some fire power – a pity about the lines of his suit. He kept a couple of Walther automatics and a dozen rounds in his office safe. He stood and moved towards them. It was true that he banned guns from The Monty, but this didn’t mean everyone obeyed and there could be occasions when Ralph might have to protect club members and himself. Acid, swords and sheath knives were also banned.

  In private, he loaded one of the PK380 Walther models. His fingers were quick and steady. Although some people called him Panicking Ralph or Panicking Ralphy, in anything that concerned The Monty he was always totall
y strong and unshakable. It was as if his faith in the new Monty – the to-be Monty, the ideal, perfected Monty – was so powerful that it knitted some of this power into him physically. The owner of the forthcoming Monty would have courage, poise and dauntlessness as absolutely standard.

  The cruel nicknames dated far back to a severe mess-up in a failed robbery. He didn’t believe he had done anything weak and shameful there. In any case, that was a part of his life he’d almost forgotten, and kept trying to forget altogether. He was Ralph W. Ember, now, businessman, owner of a social club and a manor house, who had constructive, serious letters published in the press about environmental issues such as river pollution and fly-tipping.

  The Walther would take eight rounds. Because he was so strict about guns in The Monty he put only four into the chamber. He realized this was absurd logic. Never mind, he liked to convince himself he had control and moderation, moderation that could be shelved if safety required.

  He used a shoulder holster for the pistol. The Walther was short barrelled and neat, designed for a concealed carry. All the same, Lecomte would certainly spot the bulge. Of course, he was right to say Ralph’s suits were tailored personally for him, but they were cut to fit Ralph’s normal measurements, not Ralph’s measurements plus shooter and harness. Lecomte would gloat. He’d believe he had persuaded Ralph to tool up. And Ralph thought Lecomte possibly had. So sod him.

  SEVENTEEN

  It wasn’t exactly true that Jennifer Stippe-Lewis, one of the women hurt during the informalities at The Monty, had her chest crushed by a falling pool table. OK, Ralph would accept that she did have two or three broken ribs and it was the manhandled– menhandled – pool table that caused the injuries. But Jenny was not struck by its full weight, nor trapped underneath it among coloured balls from the table’s smashed reservoir or pool, as some reports said.