The Aden Vanner Novels

by Jeff Gulvin

  ‘George?’ Morrison said.

  ‘Webb. SO13.’

  ‘Gets about. Accounts manager for our Ealing hit.’

  Vanner smiled. ‘How’s that going, Sir?’

  Morrison shook his head at him. ‘Don’t, Vanner,’ he said.

  He moved to the window and looked out. ‘What’s the plan with your plot?’

  ‘Antrim Road are going to lift Eilish before she makes her connection. As soon as they do Jimmy Crack and me’ll fly over. We’re going to try to set her up, get her in front of a magistrate and not oppose the bail. When she gets back we’re going after Stepper-Nap.’

  Morrison raised his eyebrows. ‘You think she’ll want to play?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sir. She’s got two kids. I doubt she wants to lose them.’ He made a face.

  ‘We’ve been on this deal one way or another for almost two years. This is our best shot yet. Eilish is close to the source. He can’t do anything over the water without her. If she wants to play we’ll have him.’

  Morrison looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Back in Belfast for you then?’

  Vanner looked up at him. ‘For a night at least, yes.’

  ‘Old times, Vanner.’ Morrison winked and went back out to the landing.

  Eilish found her cabin, went inside and closed and locked the door. Customs were so slack on ferries. She laid her bag on the bed, unzipped it and rummaged beneath her clothes till her fingers came up against the plastic sandwich box with the crack squashed inside it. She half-lifted one corner, replaced it, and zipped up the bag once again. In the bathroom she brushed her teeth and swilled water about her mouth, staring at herself in the mirror.

  The bar was quiet, few people gathered yet. She found a stool, ordered a vodka and lit a cigarette. A group of Irish lads in Glasgow Rangers football shirts drank pints of lager and played cards at a table. One of them had UDA tattooed in blue and red on his forearm. His head was shaved and he crunched peanuts as he laid down his cards. Catching Eilish’s eye he leered at her. She curled her lip as if something in her mouth had gone bad and looked away from him. One man sat on his own on a couch. He was reading a folded copy of The Independent, a briefcase by his knees. For an instant their eyes met and then he looked back at his paper.

  Eilish drank three vodkas and smoked two cigarettes. One of the football fans tried to chat her up so she finished her drink and went back to her cabin. The man on his own scoured the pages of his paper.

  Alone again with the unsteady swell of an oil-black Irish Sea, Eilish lit another cigarette and lay down on her bunk, staring at the patches on the low ceiling above her. The sound of diesel engines rumbled in her head. She finished the cigarette, sat up and reached for her handbag. From her purse she extracted a small colour photograph. A man’s face, wild black hair and laughing green in his eyes. James did not know she had kept it.

  And now she remembered as if it was yesterday. Brindley Cross, a small flat overlooking the patch of grass that served as a village green. Across the road the pub, its sign flapping on rusty hinges whenever the wind blew hard. She had been nineteen, her brother barely fifteen and their mother and father separated. Father gone, England or Australia or wherever else he had fled to when their mother found out about his affairs. Her at Mass every day, safely tucked out of sight with her sister’s family, back in the south where she came from. Eilish and James could have gone with her, but Eilish reckoned she could pay the rent so she took over the flat without the council ever knowing and James had remained with her.

  And that night, twelve years ago when Tommy came riding his motorbike through the rain. Water falling in floods against loose-fitting window panes and the wind howling in off the sea. She heard his motorbike, rattling its way through the gale which flattened the grass by the pub. James in bed already, she just risen from a bath, her flesh pink and steaming from the heat of the water. She heard the old Moto Guzzi cough and stutter then stop and start again and he came winding down the street following the ragged line of his half-hearted headlight. She could almost feel the drink swilling inside him as he faltered from one side of the road to the other. Where he had been drinking she did not know but his manner told her he had had a skinful already. She watched from the window as he rolled down the slope, one foot on the back brake, tyre sliding behind him. He had the visor of his helmet half off his eyes so he could see through the rain in his face.

  He stopped in the yard by the broken-down cars and lurched off the machine. He stood a moment, head down, supporting the bike with his weight as he fumbled with his foot to get the side stand down. He stepped away gingerly as if he was not sure it would remain upright and rain rolled off the black leather of his jacket. He stumbled against the fence, extending one gloved hand to steady himself then lifted his face to the window. He flapped a hand then staggered towards the door.

  Eilish could hear every drunken step, the clump clump of ill-fitting boots. If he did not shut up he would wake Mrs McAvoy and all hell would break loose. Eilish, robe tight about her now moved to the hall, checking briefly at Jamie’s silent bedroom before undoing the chain on the front door. Tommy stood there, helmet still on, water rolling off his clothes into a puddle at his feet. Eilish grabbed wet leather and pulled him quickly inside.

  She helped him off with his helmet and he shook loose his hair, water flying in a fine spray across her face. He laughed then, made a grab for her but she caught his hand and squeezed, lifting a finger to her lips as she did so. ‘Will you be quiet,’ she hissed.

  He aped her words, a sloppy grin on his mouth, one gloved hand wavering in front of his face. Then he tried to kiss her and she pushed him around and marched him through the living-room door. He tried to kiss her again. Outside, a heavy vehicle moved slowly up the road, pausing briefly outside the pub before moving on again. Eilish could make out the flood of its headlights through the ill-fitting curtains.

  She pushed Tommy down into a chair and unfastened his jacket. He smiled, touched her hair with free fingers and lolled his head back. She could smell the stink of beer on his breath. ‘You should smell yourself, Tommy.’

  ‘Cannot.’

  ‘Just as well eh.’

  She helped him out of the jacket. Beneath it his shirt and tie were sodden. He looked into her face. ‘She kicked me out, Eilish.’

  Eilish loosened his tie. He worked in the post office as a clerk and obviously had not been home or had not yet got changed. She started at the buttons of his shirt and he made another drunken play for her. His jaw rasped against hers, beer and stale cigarettes in her face. She pushed him back. ‘What d’ye mean she kicked you out?’

  ‘What I say, Eilish? She knows about us. She’s away to tell the priest and everything.’

  James stirred across the landing. Eilish hushed Tommy, then she got up and switched off the light. Darkness in the room save the orange glow of street lamps through the window. She went to pull the curtains tighter, glancing briefly over the street as if she expected to see the wronged wife and her three brats marching on her with the priest. But there was nobody, nothing out there save the wind in the trees and the rain, falling in angular lines against the wall of the building. Behind her Tommy was hauling his soaking shirt over his shoulders. Eilish went to the bathroom for a towel.

  She dried his naked flesh, feeling sinewy muscle in his arms. Black hair crusted his breast and belly to disappear in a mat at his trousers. Freckles on his shoulders and arms, bunching now with muscle as he shivered uncontrollably. She rubbed at his hair till it sprang back from his head. Fingers reached for her robe, tugging loose the tie. She felt a little shiver break through her and gooseflesh rode on her thighs. He bent to her belly and tasted her skin with his tongue.

  She unbuckled his trousers and helped him out of them, then they lay side by side, naked on the rough carpet and he looked deep in her eyes.

  In the hallway James stood by the door. Eilish could sense him, as she always could but tonight she had felt sure he was sleeping. His f
ootfall gave him away though and she could make out his shadow through the crack of the door.

  She knelt in front of Tommy now, the robe on the floor beside her, both of them were side on to the door, which started to open a fraction. Eilish could see it moving little by little out of the corner of her eye until the gap was some two inches. Tommy was too drunk to notice. Eilish pulled him down to her then and he laid her on her back on the carpet. His breathing was thick in his throat, burring through his nose as he moved on top of her, eyes bunched, wrinkled into knots of flesh at the edges. Eilish held his back, fingernails pressing his flesh, her legs locked about the base of his spine. Beyond him, beyond the crack in the door she could see the darkness of her brother, watching them.

  Tommy grunted deep in his throat, face twisting and then he let out a low groan which rose and rose until Eilish clapped her hand over his lips. He rolled off her and lay on his back, flaccid now and breathing hard, his chest rising and falling. Eilish lay for a moment longer, aware of her brother still hiding on the landing. Pushing herself to her elbow she took Tommy’s tobacco from his jacket and rolled herself a cigarette.

  He fell asleep. She sat and watched him, listening to the rain and smoking the cigarette. James had gone back to bed, one telltale floorboard betraying him. About midnight she heard a vehicle come by again, very slowly like the last one. Moving to the window, she looked out on a grey armoured Landrover, which had slowed to almost a stop alongside Tommy’s motorbike. It moved on again and she watched the rain broken up in its headlights.

  Tommy was snoring, loudly now like a pig. Eilish put her dressing gown on and shook him.

  ‘Wake up.’

  He grunted and rolled onto his side.

  ‘Come on, Tommy. Wake up.’

  He lay a moment longer and she prodded him with her toe. He sat up, rubbing his back.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he mumbled.

  ‘You got to go, Tom.’

  He took the cigarette from her and scratched his groin. ‘Go where exactly?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘How can I go home? She threw me out so she did.’

  Eilish looked beyond him to the door. James was out of his bed again. ‘You can’t stay here,’ she said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t want your wife banging on my door in the morning.’

  ‘Nobody’ll know I’m here.’

  ‘So they will. Your bike’s downstairs isn’t it. I’m not having that bike outside my house in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet woman.’ He rubbed his belly and farted. ‘Have you not got anything to drink?’ He got up then and wandered, naked, into the kitchen. Opening the fridge he found a can of beer and flipped off the top. Froth bubbled over his fingers. Eilish tied her robe more tightly about her and went through after him.

  ‘You can’t stay here, Tom.’

  ‘Where else can I go?’ His voice was sharp and his eyes flashed. He drew his hand over his lips and drank again from the can.

  ‘What about Danny?’

  ‘Danny lives miles away. I’m too pissed to ride that far.’

  She snatched the can from his hand. ‘Then sober up first.’

  He took it back from her. ‘It’s pouring wi’ rain, Eilish. You want me to catch my death.’

  ‘You can’t send him out in this, Eilish.’ Both of them started and looked round. James stood in the doorway to the lounge, in his pyjamas. He looked down at Tommy’s nakedness and coloured.

  ‘Jamie. What about ye?’

  ‘I’m fine, Tom. Just fine.’

  ‘Your big sister seems to think I ought to be riding my motorbike over to Danny’s.’

  ‘What’s wrong with your place?’

  Tommy grinned at him. ‘Threw me out so she did.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘Aye. Told me never to come back. Straight on to see the priest so she was.’

  He looked at Eilish then at the rain on the window. ‘How can she send me out in weather like this?’

  James looked at his sister then. ‘She can’t. You can’t, Eilish.’

  ‘I can.’ Eilish folded her arms. ‘He can’t stay here, Jamie. You know he can’t.’

  Tommy still stood naked between them, one ankle crossed over the other, sipping from the can of beer.

  ‘Fetch us my fags, Jamie,’ he said.

  Jamie picked up the tin where it had fallen on the floor and handed it to him.

  ‘Good lad.’ Tommy took a paper from the tin and filled it with tobacco. Eilish was at the window. ‘The rain’s stopping.’

  ‘No it’s not.’ Tommy looked beyond her. ‘Pissing down so it is.’

  ‘Let him stay, Eilish.’

  Eilish whirled round. ‘You go to bed, little boy.’

  ‘Hey.’ Tommy touched her arm. ‘Don’t talk to him like that.’

  ‘Don’t you tell me how to talk to him.’ Her eyes smarted then, flaming suddenly against the white of her cheeks. ‘You know fine you can’t stay here, Tommy. We rent this flat on the quiet. Our mam’s still the tenant as far as the council’s concerned. If they find out they’ll kick us out.’

  ‘How can they find out?’

  ‘Because the neighbours are just looking for an excuse to get rid of us. If they see your bike out there in the morning that’s all the excuse they’ll need.’

  ‘I’ll go and shift the bike.’

  ‘No you won’t. You’ll go home.’

  ‘I can’t go home. How many more times, woman?’

  ‘Then you’ll go to Danny’s. Shit, you’re sober enough. You made it this far didn’t you?’

  Outside the wind blew rain against the window in a wash which rattled the pane. Tommy looked into the gloom, shook his head and picked up his underpants from the floor.

  Eilish woke up with the boat pulling into the docks in Belfast. She got dressed quickly and stuffed her night things into the bag, which she zipped up tight. Then she went outside.

  Gulls swooped over the deck where an old grey-haired woman was tossing up scraps of bread. Eilish watched her and thought of the mother she had not seen since Christmas.

  Vanner packed an overnight bag. Ellie was still in the shower. For a moment he stood at the bathroom door and watched her through the opaque sheen of the glass. She must have glimpsed his shadow for she suddenly flicked water at him over the top. ‘Bugger off, you old lech.’

  Vanner grinned to himself and took his bag downstairs to the hall. In the kitchen he made coffee and then he phoned Sammy at Campbell Row.

  ‘Any word from Belfast, Sam?’

  ‘Boat’s about to dock, Guv. We’ve got two lads from Antrim Road on the plot.’

  ‘You spoken to Jimmy Crack?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll bell him. See you in an hour or so.’

  Vanner put the phone down. From upstairs he could hear the whirring of Ellie’s hair dryer. When he went up with the coffee he found her kneeling on the floor, naked, with her head bent right forward and her hair flipped over her face. She tossed her head back and grinned at him, nipples hardening under his gaze.

  ‘Don’t, Aden.’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Look at me like that. I’ve just had a shower.’

  He bent and kissed the back of her head. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘When will you be back?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’ll be all right?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Phone me.’

  ‘If I get a chance.’

  She stood up then and reached for her knickers. Vanner caught her up in his arms and held her for a moment. She kissed the end of his nose, then his chin and his neck. He pushed her away. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said.

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘You’ve just had a shower.’

  ‘I could have another.’

  ‘I’ve got to go, Ellie. I’ll call you okay.’

  ‘You make sure you do. And, Aden,’ she
said, as he was halfway through the door.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Be careful.’

  At Campbell Row Sammy spotted him coming up the stairs. He stood at the top, leaning both hands on the banister. ‘Got a call from Belfast, Guv. They’re tailing her now.’

  ‘Good. Is Jimmy in?’

  ‘Downstairs, talking to his Guv’nor.’

  Vanner went into his office as the phone was ringing. ‘Vanner.’

  ‘Morrison, Vanner. What time are you leaving?’

  ‘Don’t know yet, Sir. There’s no point in going till RUC make their collar.’

  ‘Just you and Jimmy Crack?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What kind of a deal are you looking to make?’

  ‘Depends, Sir. But she can give us everything.’

  Morrison was quiet for a moment. ‘One thing, Vanner.’

  Vanner sat down. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Don’t promise anything you can’t deliver.’

  Vanner said nothing.

  ‘You still there?’

  ‘Yes. I’m still here.’

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  ‘Clear as a bell, Sir.’

  Vanner put the phone down and went through to the squad room. China was watching video tapes.

  ‘Wash house?’

  China wound the tape through with the remote control, the image flickering at fast-forward. ‘Nothing so far, Guv. A couple of faces. The one Jimmy calls Thin Hand.’

  ‘Thin Hand Billy,’ Vanner said. ‘Not seen much of him. No sign of the main man?’

  ‘Not a whisper.’

  ‘Clever fucker isn’t he.’ Vanner left him to it.

  He found Jimmy Crack talking to David Starkey from Financial Investigation, who was doing some work on the Western Union money smurfed out to Jamaica. Starkey nodded to him and Vanner waited till they had finished their conversation.

  ‘Any word on the cash?’ he asked Jimmy.

  ‘Nothing we don’t know already. What about Belfast?’

  ‘Sammy’s monitoring it.’ Vanner looked at his watch. ‘It’s early yet.’

  ‘I’ve got us provisionally booked on the seven o’clock from Heathrow.’

  Vanner grinned at him. ‘Bit of a while to wait.’