by Jeff Gulvin
He sat deep in the seat and forced himself to relax. He could do this. He could do this easily. He thought of his old man, long dead but a player when he was alive. He would’ve done this. He wouldn’t take shit from nobody, not Carter or Stepper-Nap or any of them, jerks like Pretty Boy for instance. Who the fuck was Pretty Boy? He ate people like Pretty Boy. In the distance through the mirror the High Road was emptying. A black cab, a joy rider maybe. Cold night and midweek and people going home. He knew he was not really ready, his ribs still hurt but he no longer spat blood and he could not wait any more.
He had lain very low since they hit him. No woman, no white Eilish McCauley. But he’d have her one last time after this was done. He’d have her so hard for setting him up. He was bigger and better than Stepper-Nap. She only fucked him for the money. That made him smile. The saggy-arsed nigger shit. With his big belly and his fat freaky face. As if to remind himself he rubbed his fingers over the flattened ridges of his own belly and smiled. She fucked him because she liked it. Again he thought about his father. Little Bigger remembered him better than he did; Young Young had only been ten when he was killed. But he could see him all right, with hands like shovel heads and arms as long and strong as tree branches. Black eyes, a mass of kinky hair and that scar running from his ear right to his up.
He picked up his mobile phone and pressed in a number. A woman’s voice answered, sleep on her tongue.
‘Baby.’
‘Oh, man. You know what time it is?’
‘What you doing?’
‘Sleeping. What you think I’m doing?’
‘I’m coming over later.’
‘You called me to tell me that. You got your key don’t you?’
‘Yeah I got my key’
‘Then don’t wake me up when you get here. The children is playing me up.’
‘Later, baby.’ Young Young pressed End and put down the phone.
They were all against him now, Little Bigger on the Daddy’s side or Pretty Boy’s side depending on who came out on top. He had tried to give him all of that big-brother shit, the hand on the shoulder and the stay cool chat lines. Young Young had nodded and patted him on the arm and given him the finger when his back was turned. He wondered what it would be like in prison.
Upstairs they wrapped up the game. Carter handed the bundle of money he had won to Simpson to lock in the safe. Then he got Lever’s coat for him and draped it about his shoulders. ‘Some game, Carl,’ he said. ‘You’ve should’ve quit when you were ahead.’
Lever looked at him, lips curled as if he had just bitten into an apple and got a maggot. ‘When was I ahead?’
Hammond grinned and steadied himself with a hand on the back of a chair. ‘Luck of the bloody Irish,’ he said.
Carter winked at him and picked up the Tequila bottle from the table.
Simpson came out of the office with Carter’s coat and gave it to him. ‘See the lads out, Bobby,’ Carter said. ‘I’ll finish up here. Bring the car round when you’re done.’ He tossed him the keys and sat down behind his desk.
Young Young watched the doors open and saw three men come down the steps. He craned his neck so he could see them and once again his ribs seemed to tear at his flesh. The fat bouncer and two others. No Carter. Where the hell was Carter? The two men got into the Jaguar that was parked across the road and Young Young heard the engine fire. The bouncer started along the pavement towards the carpark gates. Exhaust fumes coughed from the back of the Jag and it lurched forward with a squealing of tyres. For a moment Young Young panicked. The gun in his hands now. Where was Carter? Where the hell was Carter?
The bouncer came alongside him and disappeared behind the iron gates of the carpark. Still no Carter. Young Young heard the engine start on the Bentley and then headlights washed over the wall. A moment later the Bentley swung onto the road. Young Young looked back toward the club and saw Jimmy Carter locking the door at the top of the steps.
Then he was out of the car, the night clinging to the skin of his face. The bouncer drove the car along the wrong side of the road and pulled up in front of the club. Young Young moved towards them. Carter teetering down the steps. Young Young marched, gun down at his side, breath coming in smoke. He passed the remaining parked cars and came alongside as the bouncer got out of the driver’s door. Carter looked as though he was having trouble standing. The bouncer steadied him, guiding him around the length of the bonnet and then leaving him with his palms flattened on the paintwork as he opened the passenger door. Young Young stepped onto the road. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a woman at the bus stop on Kilburn High Road.
Carter reeled again, shaking his head and the bouncer helped him towards the passenger seat. Young Young took one more step and lifted his gun to waist height.
‘Hey, fuck pig,’ he called.
Carter looked round. The bouncer looked round. Young Young levelled the Uzi. ‘Remember me?’ For a second he saw Carter’s eyes ball in their sockets and he felt his bowels suddenly loosen. He squeezed his finger into the trigger. The weapon kicked in his hands as it sprayed off the rounds. He raked them, Carter, the bouncer and the side of the car in one sweep of his arm. Carter doubled then flipped back, arms flailing on either side. Young Young saw blood spit from little rips in his shirt and he was thrown back against the car. The bouncer went down like a tree.
Young Young stood for a second, steam rising over Carter’s body. And then a scream rose from the High Road. Running now, back to his car. He leapt inside, throwing the empty gun ahead of him and started the engine. Reverse. The Rover leapt back and crunched into the car behind.
First gear and spinning the wheel with both hands and lurching into the road. He pressed his right foot flat to the floor. Left and right, he disappeared into the warren of houses.
Twelve
VANNER LAY IN BED with Ellie. Through the uncurtained window the darkness still banked against the city. Ellie was sleeping, her head on his chest. Vanner lay against the pillows with one arm crooked behind his neck listening to the softness of her breathing. She was warm against him, her breasts pushed into his side. Gently he stroked the softness of her hair. The muscles strained at his shoulder, a pain in his side. He wanted to move, but at the same time he did not want to disturb her. He delighted in the closeness, moments like these, the sort of moments he had not allowed himself in a long time. He glanced at the clock by the bed.
The phone rang. Ellie stirred, muttered something unintelligible and rolled off him, dragging the duvet with her. Vanner swung his legs over the edge of the bed and picked up the receiver.
‘Vanner.’
‘Guv’nor, it’s me. Jimmy Crack.’
Vanner rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘What’s up?’
‘Jimmy Carter’s been shot.’
Vanner met him at the crime scene off Kilburn High Road. He parked the car beyond the blue and white tape and stepped out into drizzle. He lifted his collar, flashed his warrant card at the uniform and strode towards Jimmy who was standing beside a silver Bentley with DI Keithley from 2 Area AMIP, one of Weir’s cronies, but older, less edgy. Keithley nodded as Vanner stepped up to them.
‘What you got, John?’
‘Automatic weapon.’ Keithley pointed to the smattering of holes in the car.
Vanner nodded and bent to a patch of blood on the road, all but washed clean by the rain. He could feel the drizzle chill against his neck. He looked up at the holes. ‘Slugs’ll be in there,’ he said.
Keithley nodded.
‘Jimmy Carter.’
‘You knew him?’
‘Dead then.’
‘Very.’ Keithley pulled his unzipped anorak more tightly about him and sniffed. He took a soggy handkerchief from his trouser pocket and blew his nose with it. ‘Bloody weather. I’ll never make old bones.’
‘The bouncer got hit too. Guv,’ Jimmy said. ‘The fat, black-haired one.’
‘Bobby Simpson,’ Keithley said.
‘Dead
?’
Keithley shook his head. ‘Took one in the chest but it went clean through him.’
‘Will he make it?’
‘Don’t know yet.’
Vanner looked up and down the road. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Two thirty this morning.’
‘Witnesses?’
Keithley lifted his eyebrows. ‘Surprisingly, yes. A woman waiting for the night bus on the High Road down there.’
Vanner gauged the distance in his mind. ‘Sixty yards. What did she see?’
Jimmy looked in his eyes. ‘IC3, Guv. Male. Very tall and thin.’
Vanner felt something crawl on his spine.
A Granada Scorpio pulled up and Morrison got out. He spotted Vanner, frowned and moved towards them, hands in the pockets of his coat. Vanner left him to Keithley and Jimmy Crack and walked up the road to where two blue-suited SOCO’s were bending beside a parked car. As he got to them Vanner could see they were scraping broken tail-light glass from the road. He looked at the dent in the cream-coloured Escort and frowned. From his pocket he took a pen and scraped in the groove. Dark blue paint came away. He passed the pen to the officer who deposited the paint in a plastic evidence bag.
As Vanner stood up Morrison came up behind him.
‘What’re you doing here, Vanner?’
Vanner lit a cigarette and looked down at him. ‘We’re looking at a spade called Young Young,’ he said quietly. ‘Part of the Brit-Boy posse from Harlesden. He shot up the club there with an Uzi. Crime Group pulled a slug from the ceiling.’ He nodded towards the Bentley. ‘I’ll bet my pension it matches.’
Morrison smiled thinly. ‘Pension? You think you’ll last long enough to collect it?’
Vanner blew smoke in his face. ‘You know what,’ he said. ‘One of these days you’ll say something funny’
He went back to Jimmy who was still talking to Keithley. Vanner took him by the arm and they stepped to one side. ‘SOCO over there found blue paint and a broken tail light.’
‘Young Young’s Rover.’
‘Tall and thin and black. It doesn’t take a genius.’
‘What’s Morrison saying?’
‘The usual.’ Vanner looked round at Keithley. ‘I want Jimmy Crack seconded to your firm, John.’
‘You sure about this Young Young?’
‘Very.’
‘Okay.’ Keithley looked at Jimmy. ‘You any idea where we can find him?’
Jimmy blew out his cheeks. ‘I can make a couple of calls.’
‘Do it.’ Keithley looked at Vanner. ‘What did SOCO pick up over there?’
‘Blue car paint. He backed into the Escort in his rush to get away. Young Young drives a midnight-blue 820.’ He turned to Jimmy Crack. ‘Jim, the club normally closes at eleven. If it was him he must’ve been sat there a while. You might want to do a cell-site analysis - see if he used his phone.’
‘Okay.’
Vanner turned to Keithley again. ‘You going to use Hendon or Ruislip?’
‘Frank Weir’s working out of Hendon. But if we have a body this might not take very long. I’ll square it with him.’
‘Be a bit crowded on Holmes.’
‘Such is life.’
Vanner patted him on the shoulder and went back to his car. Morrison caught up with him.
‘I want details of this crack team, Vanner. On my desk this morning.’
Vanner dropped his cigarette in a puddle. ‘Okay. Jimmy Crack’s seconded to the Murder Squad. He knows Young Young better than anyone. I’ll let his Guv’nor know.’
‘Fine.’ Morrison watched him as he drove away.
George Webb sat with the Special Branch DS in the cell on the fifteenth floor. They worked through nominals on the computer.
‘Here we go,’ the DS said. ‘Michelle Moran. Sleeper. Born in Crossmaglen.’
Webb looked at her face in the scanned image on the screen. ‘Black hair, long to her shoulders, thin face.’ He looked at her statistics. ‘Right height. Right pedigree.’ He sat back. ‘A definite maybe then.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What does she do over here?’
‘Works for the council. She’s been here six years, Webby. Not so much as a sniff. We reckon she’s carried weapons but she’s been very quiet since she’s been here. We’ve never had anything on her but Box reckon she could’ve been Mullery’s donkey.’
‘The Quarter Master? Very possible then.’ Webb stroked his moustache. ‘What about the real target — any word from Box?’
‘There’s one possible. Lives in Hammersmith. Same age as your body in Ealing.’
‘Description fit?’
‘Not exactly. But she drives the same kind of car.’ He sat back. ‘We’ve organised a rolling plot. If it is her they wanted they might move again soon.’
Eilish washed her hair. James had taken the children to school. She stood half-naked in the bathroom and showered the suds into the basin. Downstairs the doorbell rang very savagely. Eilish jumped and swore. She turned off the taps and wrung out her hair. The doorbell sounded again. Wrapping a clean towel about her she went downstairs and opened the front door. Stepper-Nap pushed past her. ‘Where’s Young Young?’ he demanded.
‘What?’ Eilish closed the door.
‘Young Young. Where is he?’
‘How the hell should I know, Stepper? I’m not his keeper.’
He looked malevolently at her then. ‘You were screwing him weren’t you?’
His words stung. She tried to keep her face still but it showed.
Stepper smiled without using his eyes. ‘When was he here last?’
‘I don’t know’ She looked away from him. ‘Ages ago.’
He moved into the sitting room. ‘You got a drink in here?’
‘It’s eight thirty in the morning.’
‘I didn’t ask you the time.’
He followed her to the kitchen and she fetched a beer from the fridge. He took the can from her and tore off the ring pull. She watched his throat convulse as he swallowed. ‘What is it, lover?’
He looked at her then, eyes glazing. ‘Young Young. The fucker killed Jimmy Carter.’
They sat in the living room, Stepper-Nap sunk into the chair. He finished the beer and wiped his mouth. ‘I deal crack,’ he said. ‘I don’t kill Irishmen.’ He slapped the arm of the chair so hard dust rose. ‘Christ. The stupid nigger fuck. I should’ve let Carter kill him.’
‘You couldn’t. How would it look to the team?’
‘Eilish, we needed Carter.’
Eilish smiled then. ‘We did. But we don’t any more.’ She sat back and crossed her legs. ‘So Jimmy Carter’s dead. So what. I’ve got all the contacts you need. All we had to get from Jimmy was an intro. We got that didn’t we?’
‘But the Irish. Carter’s people.’
She shifted her shoulders. ‘Give ’em Young Young.’
He looked at her then and smiled. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’ His face clouded again. ‘But I don’t know where he is.’
‘Get hold of his brother.’
‘I’m looking for him. He don’t answer his phone.’
Vanner sat in his office on the phone to Jimmy Crack. ‘We’re looking for him, Guv. The witness gave a pretty good description considering how far away she was.’
‘Can she pick him out from his photo?’
‘Not that good.’
‘What about the cell-site analysis?’
‘Result. He bounced a call off Beacon 501 at one thirty this morning. That puts him within half a mile of the club.’
‘Nice one, Jimmy.’
‘We’ve got two slugs from the car. Another from Carter’s brain.’
‘You mean he had one?’
‘Apparently, Guv. Just his heart was missing.’
Vanner chuckled. He thought for a moment and then he said, ‘Young Young’ll dump the gun. Even he isn’t that stupid.’
‘He won’t if he’s worried about his health.’
&nbs
p; ‘You mean Carter’s team.’
‘They’ll be very pissed off.’
Vanner sat back. ‘He’s holed up somewhere, Jim.’
‘I know. I’m trying to get hold of a snout. You remember that bird I told you about who used to hang out with him. She fingered him for me in the first place. I nicked her for intent to supply. Remember?’
Vanner did remember. Sandra somebody. An old Rasta car dealer got himself a whole load of crack when he broke the heads of two of the Governor Generals when they were extorting protection money from him. He beat them up, took their guns then tied them up and pistol whipped them senseless before dumping them from the back of his van. He dealt the crack himself and Sandra had been arrested with five thousand in cash in her handbag.
‘You think she’ll know?’
‘She’s my best shot, Guv’nor.’
‘Has Keithley got SO19 on standby?’
Jimmy paused. ‘Not yet. He wants a positive ID on Young Young first.’
Vanner furrowed his brow. ‘And how does he plan to get that?’
‘Bobby Simpson.’
‘The bouncer. He isn’t going to say anything.’
‘He might with what Keithley’s got planned.’
Vanner sat back once again and lifted his foot to the desk. ‘What about the car?’
‘No sighting.’
‘If he’s smart he’ll get the light fixed.’
‘We’re checking the likely gaffs.’
‘Good. Keep me posted, Jim.’
Vanner put down the phone and then dialled Ryan’s number in the Hendon incident room. Ryan answered almost immediately.
‘Sid, it’s Vanner. What’s happening?’
‘Oh the usual. Us looking — finding nothing. 13 looking and telling us nothing.’
‘Anyone ever tell you you’re a cynic.’
‘My wife. My kids. You.’
‘You heard about Jimmy Carter?’
‘Just now. Morrison was down here panicking. Two of his AMIP teams fighting over the Holmes suite.’
‘Give him something to think about.’ Vanner stood up and looked out of the window.
‘The shooter for Carter’s flagged to Jimmy Crack.’
