The Aden Vanner Novels

by Jeff Gulvin

‘You know who he is already?’

  ‘Young Young. The Harlesden Daddy’s body armour.’

  ‘Keithley’s in for a result then.’

  ‘When he nicks him. Nobody knows where he is.’ Vanner pressed the phone closer to his ear. ‘Listen. Any word from your snout?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Now’s the time, Slips. With Carter blown away — tongues’ll wag in Kilburn. Get him on the phone. Tell him to put it about.’

  Keithley, his skipper from AMIP and Jimmy Crack stood in the hospital corridor and gazed through the glass panel of the intensive care ward at Bobby Simpson’s bed. His eyes were closed, face bereft of colour, a tube protruding from his mouth. The doctor came out and stripped off rubber gloves. Keithley, short, grey-haired, blue eyes, stood up straighter.

  ‘Will he live?’ he asked the doctor.

  The doctor made a face. ‘The bullet missed his heart, but his left lung is collapsed. He’s got a large hole in his back.’

  ‘But will he live?’

  ‘Yes, I think he’ll live.’

  ‘Does he know it yet?’

  The doctor stared at him. ‘He hasn’t come round yet.’

  ‘When will he — come round?’

  ‘I can’t say. A few hours. Tomorrow maybe.’

  Keithley took a card from his pocket and passed it to him. ‘Will you do me a favour, doctor?’

  ‘If I can.’ The doctor inspected the card.

  ‘As soon as he wakes up page me on that number. Į want to talk to him before anyone else does.’

  ‘As soon as he’s fit enough you can.’

  ‘One other thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It would be really helpful if you didn’t tell him he wasn’t going to die straight away.’

  ‘I’m not going to lie to him, Inspector.’

  Keithley smiled. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to. If he doesn’t ask—just don’t tell him that’s all. He can identify the gunman, but he might not want to—if you follow me.’

  The doctor grinned then and nodded. ‘Soon as he wakes I’ll page you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ They shook hands and the doctor walked off down the corridor.

  Young Young stood under the lamp, inspecting the fresh paint and new tail light on his car and nodded his appreciation. The mechanic with the dreadlocks wiped his hands on a rag and they brushed knuckles. ‘Respect, Lonny. I owe you.’

  Lonny grinned and took the wad of cash. ‘See you around, yeah.’

  ‘You haven’t seen me at all.’

  ‘Seen who, man?’

  Young Young drove to Harlesden, watching for police cars. He got as far as Roundwell Park without seeing any and parked in the slip road across the street from Eilish’s. Leaning over the back seat he picked up the carrier bag with the gun in it, then he opened the door. It was raining hard now and he zipped his jacket to the neck. He looked in both directions, crossed the road and made his way up to Eilish’s house.

  The night pushed against the city, the cloud cover complete and weighted with the rain that spattered off the pavement. Young Young paused under a street light by the school and studied the lighted windows of Eilish’s house. He was cold and for a moment he imagined her inside, warm and wet and inviting. Shadows crossed the thin curtains in the front room and he could hear the wail of the TV.

  He moved across the front of the house and ducked down the side to the unkempt garden. Light, harsh and unshaded, flooded half the garden from the kitchen. He paused, then picked his way carefully over the discarded children’s bicycles. He moved around the edge of the lawn being very careful to keep in the shadows. He could hear the clatter of pans from the kitchen and he looked up to see James at the sink.

  ‘Pussy,’ Young Young mouthed and moved further round the garden till he came to the coal bunker. lifting the rotten top, he peered inside and saw bits of wood and concrete. Moving aside the first layer of debris, he placed the bag with his gun inside between two pieces of stone and covered it up again. Then he looked back at the house. The bathroom light was on and he saw the naked outline of Eilish frosted against the glass.

  His loins ached all at once and he realised how long it had been since he had had any. White flesh and red hair. She was good, for all her other faults. But like all white girls she was two-faced and unreliable. Give him a black mother any day. In the bathroom Eilish smoothed the towel over her breasts then down her belly to her thighs. Young Young sucked in a breath.

  Her baby brother was still at the kitchen sink and Young Young watched him drying up. Rain fell on him and he shivered. He took one last look at the bathroom and then moved back round the edge of the lawn, being careful to stay in the darkness. James did look up and he stepped back to the road. He turned for the park and stopped. A two-tone police car was parked by his car with its lights flashing.

  Young Young swore and walked the other way.

  At the end of the road he phoned his brother’s number.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Little Bigger.’

  ‘Young Young. Where you at? Every mother’s looking for you.’

  ‘Yeah — who is?’

  ‘Stepper-Nap is. Pretty Boy is. Everyone’s asking me where you at.’

  ‘And what did you tell them?’

  ‘Nothing. I mean I don’t know do I.’

  ‘They there now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where’s you at?’

  ‘Carmel’s?’

  ‘She there?’

  ‘In the bedroom.’

  ‘You getting amongst it?’

  ‘Later maybe. Young Young, man. What you want to go shoot the Irishman for?’

  ‘He had it coming.’

  ‘But Jimmy Carter, man.’

  ‘You think I’m scared of him?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. But his boys’ll be looking for a six-foot-six nigger with half his teeth missing.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck.’

  Little Bigger was silent for a moment. ‘Where you at?’

  ‘On the street. I just lost my car to the pigs.’

  ‘Where you going?’

  ‘Somewhere. Somewhere even you don’t know, man. I ain’t never told you.’

  ‘I need to know, baby. You’re my brother.’

  ‘You got my number. Phone me. Oh, and brother.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Give Stepper the finger for me.’

  Vanner was just leaving the office when Jimmy Crack called him from Hendon. It was eight o’clock and he was meeting Ellie for dinner. Anne had phoned. His father was getting worse and he was debating whether to drive to Norfolk.

  ‘We found the car,’ Jimmy told him.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Roundwell Park. Near Eilish McCauley’s house.’

  ‘Somehow that figures. I don’t suppose he was in it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is Keithley giving her a spin?’

  ‘No. We’re setting up an OP over the road. He wants to watch for a while.’

  ‘He’s a cautious man, Jim.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Maybe just as well though. We don’t want to upset our own plot.’

  ‘We’re leaving the car tonight, Guv. We’ve got spotters in the school. If he doesn’t show in the morning we’ll tow it in.’

  The following morning Jimmy Crack was at the second Hendon incident room when Keithley’s pager vibrated against his midriff. They were talking about Young Young’s car. He had not been back for it and there was no sign of him at Eilish McCauley’s house. This morning both she and her brother had left early. The spotters were convinced the house was empty, so they towed the car in. Keithley upturned the face on his pager. ‘The doctor,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  As they went up in the lift at the hospital Jimmy Crack looked at Keithley. ‘If we do nick Young Young me and Vanner want a word, Guv,’ he said. Keithley glanced at him. ‘You can have all the words you want, Jim. But we have to nick him first
.’

  They walked the length of the corridor, Keithley with his hands in his coat pockets. ‘I’ll do the talking,’ he said.

  Bobby Simpson was awake. He still lay prostrate in bed, a tube in his nose and a drip feeding him from a plastic bag on a pole. His eyes were dull and blurred, yellow at the edges as if he had been taking steroids. Keithley stood at the end of his bed with his coat flaps pushed behind him.

  ‘How you feeling, Bob?’

  Simpson did not appear to see him. The nurse standing beside the bed checked the movement of the drip in his arm. Keithley glanced at her and smiled. ‘You couldn’t give us a minute could you?’

  ‘Just one then. He really shouldn’t be talking.’

  The movement as she went out seemed to stir Simpson in the bed and his eyes thinned then focused on Keithley’s face. He swallowed, a liquid hiss in his throat. He was naked from the waist up, black-haired torso swathed in crêpe bandage. Redness seeped through the gauze on his chest.

  Keithley pulled up a chair and looked at him. ‘My name’s Keithley, Bobby. Detective Inspector. You know Jimmy’s dead.’

  Simpson stared at him, said nothing then looked at Jimmy Crack.

  ‘Took three in the chest,’ Keithley went on quietly. ‘One more in the head. Same bullets that shot up the ceiling of the club. It was Young Young wasn’t it, the crack dealer from Harlesden.’

  Still Simpson did not say anything. He half-lifted his hands as if he meant to lay them on his chest, but pain weakened his eyes and he laid them flat again.

  ‘You took one right in the chest, Bob.’ Keithley glanced at the floor as he said it. ‘You must’ve looked him right in the eyes.’

  Simpson cleared his throat again, tried to move but pain stiffened his features. Keithley sat more to the edge of his seat. Simpson’s eyes were closing. Gently Keithley squeezed his arm and he opened them again. ‘Young Young, Bobby’

  ‘I ain’t talking to you.’ His voice was weak, wheezing, a rasp of moisture gagging up in his throat.

  Keithley sat back, folded his arms and nodded. ‘You’ve got one lung down, Bobby, and half your back is missing.’ Fear then in Simpson’s eyes. Keithley sat forward and nodded. ‘You want him to walk?’

  ‘He won’t walk.’

  ‘Oh, he will.’ Keithley sat forward once more. ‘You’re not going to get to him, Bobby. He’s probably in Jamaica already’

  Simpson pursed his lips then, water in his eyes.

  ‘You want to go out knowing the guy who shot you is on his way to Jamaica?’

  ‘I don’t give names.’ Simpson coughed then and pain stood out in his eyes.

  ‘Course you don’t. But this is different. By the time you get the word out, that’s if you ever do …’ Keithley let his eyes drift to the heart monitor bleeping faintly behind the bed. ‘He’ll be long gone. One long holiday—back home with his women and his kids and his beer. He’ll just kick back and get all the drinks he ever wanted. Just imagine their faces when he tells his mates how he killed Carter and his bouncer.’ He stood up then and leaned over the bed. ‘We know where he is, Bobby. If we don’t move on him soon it’ll be too late.’

  The nurse came back in then. ‘That’s it, gentlemen.’

  Keithley stilled her with an upraised palm and looked into Simpson’s face. ‘Come on, Bobby. Do yourself a favour. Do us all a favour. Your mates’ll do him inside.’

  Simpson’s eyes widened then and he half-opened his mouth. The nurse moved forward.

  Jimmy stepped in front of her. ‘One minute,’ he said. ‘This is really important.’

  ‘You can’t touch him, Bobby,’ Keithley was saying. ‘Even if you do walk out of here you’ll never mind a door again let alone take on someone like Young Young. Tell me,’ he said. ‘It was him wasn’t it?’

  Simpson looked into his face.

  ‘Young Young. Yes?’ Keithley said.

  Simpson pursed his lips. ‘Yeah,’ he muttered. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good lad.’ Keithley laid a hand on his arm.

  Outside he stalked along the corridor, Jimmy abreast of him, still feeling adrenaline thump in his muscles. ‘Nice one, Guv’nor.’

  ‘Your snout, Jimmy. Find her. Find him. I’ll get SO19 on standby.’

  Little Bigger met Stepper-Nap and Pretty Boy in the amusements on Uxbridge Road. Pretty Boy was standing, oiled dreadlocks shiny against his scalp. His eyes, as ever, were cold. Stepper sat squashed into his chair and looked up at Little Bigger.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I talked to him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Where was he?’

  Little Bigger shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Wouldn’t tell me. Sounded like he was on the street somewhere.’

  Stepper looked at him then, as if sizing him up. Little Bigger took a step backwards and bumped into Pretty Boy.

  ‘Is all, Step. I swear. I don’t know where he is.’

  Stepper looked through him. ‘Where would he go?’

  ‘I don’t know, man. He ain’t in his flat. I ain’t seen his car.’

  ‘His car got towed away’ Pretty Boy spoke then. ‘I seen it, this morning. Near Eilish’s place.’

  Little Bigger looked round at him. ‘So they know he done it then.’

  Pretty Boy flickered his eyes. ‘Looks that way don’t it.’

  ‘I want him.’ Stepper slapped his palm on the desk, making Little Bigger jump. ‘He got a baby mother someplace I don’t know about?’ He stood up then and looked down his nose at Little Bigger.

  ‘I don’t know, man. He said he was going someplace no-one knew about. I reckon, yeah he got one.’

  ‘Where?’

  Little Bigger lifted his hands. ‘He told me I got his phone number. He told me to call him.’

  ‘Then call him. Find out where he is. Tell him you got his car or something.’

  Little Bigger shook his head. ‘He knows about his car.’

  ‘Well tell him something else.’ Stepper-Nap pushed his weight against him. ‘Tell him anything, man. I need to know where he’s at.’

  When he was gone Pretty Boy clasped his hands behind his back and leaned on the door frame. ‘That’s you fucked with the Irish.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Stepper looked at him. ‘Man, I’m just beginning.’

  Pretty Boy shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t mix with the Irish, man. They ain’t brothers. They blow people up.’

  ‘You dumb fuck. You really that stupid. I know them, man. I got connections.’

  Pretty Boy snorted. ‘White pussy’s what you got.’

  Stepper stood up again and they looked one another in the eye. ‘I’m ahead of you, man. You can’t keep up with me.’ Stepper stroked fingers over Pretty Boy’s face. ‘You may be pretty, but you ain’t in the big league.’

  Pretty Boy pushed his hand away. ‘We’ll see, my man. We’ll see.’

  Eilish met Stepper-Nap at the door. His face was bright, fresh from his words with Pretty Boy. James was at the job centre, determined it seemed to make some kind of start on his life. Eilish had been expecting Stepper, but not this soon. He carried a plastic shopping bag which he passed to her. Gingerly she took it, then opened it and withdrew a tupperware sandwich box.

  ‘That’s a kilo and a half, baby. Don’t you lose it now.’

  Eilish turned away from him. ‘You sure this is a good time, lover? I mean with everything that’s happening.’

  ‘They expecting you, girl. We gotta show good faith. Show them we had nothing to do with Carter getting hisself shot.’ He moved into the lounge and sat down. ‘The kids at school are they?’

  ‘Course they are. Where else would they be?’

  Eilish sat across from him, the sandwich box on her knees. ‘What about Young Young?’

  ‘What about him?’ Stepper stared at her. ‘What’s with you, girl. The other day you was saying how we don’t need him, how we don’t need Jimmy Carter.’

  Eilish ignored the jibe. ‘I’ve only just
got back.’

  ‘So you go again.’

  She sighed then and sat back. ‘When?’

  ‘This afternoon. I booked you on a boat.’

  ‘This afternoon? I can’t go this afternoon. What about my kids?’

  ‘Your brother can look after them like he always does.’

  ‘But what will I tell him?’

  ‘Think of something.’ He sat forward then. ‘They ready for this, girl. We need to show faith. I don’t need Irish nutters on my back.’

  Eilish stared at him then. ‘I’m not going this afternoon. There’s no-one to pick up my kids.’

  ‘Where’s your brother?’

  ‘He’s out — looking for a job. He won’t be back in time.’

  ‘I’ll get Jig to get your kids.’

  ‘No you won’t. I don’t want that slime ball anywhere near them.’

  Stepper’s face furrowed. ‘Jig ain’t into kids, baby.’

  ‘I don’t care, lover. He’s not going anywhere near them. Book me another boat.’

  He stood up then and shook out his hands. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake. I booked it already.’

  ‘Then unbook it, Stepper.’ She placed the box very firmly on the floor beside her chair. ‘Either that or you take it yourself.’

  He stared very coldly at her then, fist clenching and unclenching at his side. ‘You watch yourself, babe.’

  ‘No, babe,’ she mimicked. ‘You watch yourself. Without me you haven’t got a deal.’

  ‘You white bitch.’

  Her eyes stalked then and she stood up. ‘You listen, Stepper-Nap. You think you’re such a hardman. Let me tell you about hardmen. Real hardmen. I was hanging out with hardmen when I was half your age. Men that’d dip you in their tea. I saw one shot dead by soldiers. I saw others shoot soldiers dead. So don’t give me your macho black guy routine—you worthless piece of shit.’

  He stared helplessly at her then, eyes boiling with frustration. ‘What is it with you people. First Pretty Boy then Young Young and now you. Who runs this operation?’

  ‘You do, Stepper. For now. But you need me and I’m not going today. So change the fucking ticket.’

  Ellie wrote up her notes at the nurse’s station. She was half-concentrating, half-watching Anne swabbing the ward floor with her mop. The patients were taking their afternoon rest. A television set buzzed in the background. Anne leaned on her mop, looked over at Ellie and rubbed her back. Ellie laid down her pen.