by Mark Timlin
To me: ‘No.’ To Teddy: ‘Apologise, boy, when I tell you.’
Teddy pulled his mouth tight until his lips were as thin as razor blades. He looked at me as if I smelt bad. ‘I’m sorry,’ he spat.
‘Forget it,’ I said.
‘Right,’ said Emerald. ‘Now remember, Teddy, Mr Sharman is a friend.’
‘How’s he going to help?’ asked Lupus, giving me a dirty look. It didn’t worry me, I was getting used to it.
‘He’s going to find out who planted the dope.’
‘We can do that,’ protested Lupus. ‘Don’t you trust us?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Emerald. ‘I need you to take care of business. We need cash flow. Keep everything going, that’s your job. Nick used to be law. He can do these things better.’ He turned towards the younger man. ‘Teddy, take Mr Sharman home, use the Bee-Em. And tell him anything he wants to know.’
Teddy gave me another disgusted look. ‘What about JonJo? He’s the driver.’
‘Teddy, who I say is the driver, is the driver. Right?’
‘Right, Uncle.’ I thought Teddy might salute.
‘And Teddy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Be friendly.’
Teddy nodded, but still looked daggers at me. I was getting bored with his attitude.
‘I’ll sit in the front with you,’ I said. ‘It’ll be cosy, just the two of us.’
Teddy turned his back on me and stalked towards the smallest of the three cars. I shook Emerald’s hand. ‘Take care,’ I said.
‘I will.’
I nodded at Lupus. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
He grunted.
I took my stick and joined Teddy in the BMW.
6
I opened the door and hiked myself in, pushing my stick into the well under the dash. Teddy switched on the engine and it caught with a whisper. He put the car into gear and we crunched across the loose surface towards the gate into the street. He stopped the car and looked at me. I looked back.
‘You want to open the gates?’ he asked.
I shook my head and touched my stick with my foot. ‘Excused heavy duties.’
‘Maybe so, but I need to know that the street is clear. If there’s a copper outside I don’t want to be stuck half in and half out with Uncle back there.’
I saw the logic. ‘OK,’ I said, and left my stick and climbed out of the car again. I pulled one of the gates maybe a foot wide and checked the street. The rain was pouring down and bouncing off the tarmac like bullets. The street was empty for as far as I could see and I pulled the gate wide. It was damned awkward with my bad leg and all. I had to lean on the wood for balance as I did it and I was getting soaked. I waved Teddy through and he pulled the BMW into the roadway. I dragged the gate shut behind me and limped over to the car feeling the rain beating on my skull. I got back in and dragged my fingers through my hair, squeezing some of the water out as I went. Teddy snapped the car away from the kerb and plunged it through the puddles heading south.
I nicked a peek in his direction as we joined the main road. Teddy’s skin was almost luminous with health. It was stretched over high cheek-bones and his nose was more European than African in appearance. His hair was cropped to a flat top and the sides shaven close enough to the skin on his skull for the veins to show. All in all he was a pretty good-looking guy, except for his ugly expression.
‘Don’t pout, Teddy,’ I said. ‘The wind might change and your face will stay that way.’
He made a disgusted sound and turned the radio on. The inside of the car was filled with the sound of a girl not much older than my own daughter singing about underage sex. I wondered what we were coming to and stabbed the mute button. Teddy looked like he wanted to hit me. ‘Relax,’ I said. ‘You’re stuck with me now. Uncle Em has invited me to join the firm for a bit, so why don’t you make the best of it?’
‘What can you do that we can’t?’
I wasn’t sure. ‘Don’t ask me, ask Emerald,’ was all I said.
Teddy was silent.
‘I need a drink and something to eat. Join me?’
‘You’re the boss,’ he sneered.
‘Yeah,’ I said to make sure he remembered it.
We crossed the river and hit the South Circular and I directed him to a small restaurant-cum-bar I use in West Norwood. It fed my Rolling Rock habit, was usually quiet around lunchtime and did a decent all-day breakfast when the chef wasn’t having a nervous breakdown.
Teddy parked on a single yellow line and walked in front of me through the rain to the door. He yanked the collar of his coat up around his ears as if it would cut me out of his life. It didn’t. When he looked round I was still there.
We pushed into the warm interior of the place and Teddy shrugged out of his raincoat and hung it on the rack. I did the same with my overcoat. Underneath his coat he was wearing a baggy, double-breasted suit over a pale shirt and a wildly patterned tie. He slumped down in one of the stools in front of the long, fancy-tiled bar and I joined him. As I’d thought, the place was nearly empty. The weather was keeping the folks at home. There were two people eating in the restaurant section, another couple drinking at one of the bar tables, and one young guy whom I was on nodding acquaintance with sitting at the far end of the bar, staring into a glass of beer. He looked up when we entered and half raised his hand in greeting to me, but left us alone.
The fox behind the bar sashayed to the fridge, bent down and pulled out a bottle of Rock, showing us the tops of her breasts. She held up the bottle for my approval. When I nodded she snapped off the top and put the bottle and a glass down on the bar in front of me.
I smiled. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘What about you, Teddy?’
‘The same.’
The barmaid turned and hauled another bottle out, all without saying a word. ‘How’s things?’ I inquired of her.
‘Can’t complain. You?’
‘I’ve had a lovely morning. I’ve been to Notting Hill.’
‘Lucky old you. I’ve always thought it was one of the few places that made Norwood look good.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I said, and paid for the drinks.
The owner of the bar stuck his head out of the kitchen door, saw me and walked over. ‘How are you today?’
‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘I brought a friend with me. This is Teddy.’
‘Hi, I’m Simon,’ said the owner. ‘You’re very welcome. Are you eating?’
I nodded and he reeled off the day’s specials, but I opted for egg, bacon, sausage and mushrooms, with toast and coffee on the side. Teddy took the same and Simon went back to the kitchen. The barmaid retreated to her perch beside the coffee machine and stuck her head in a Jackie Collins paperback.
I turned to Teddy. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘if we’re going to help Em, we’re going to have to lose this attitude problem. I don’t care how we do it, but unless it goes we’re wasting time. You want to take a walk outside and bang heads or do you want to have a friendly drink and be nice?’
At first it looked as if he might go for the fight option and my heart sank, but after a moment he picked up his bottle of beer, half filled his glass and raised it in a salute. ‘If I’m stuck with you, I’m stuck with you, I guess. Uncle thinks it’s cool, so be it. Cheers.’
I grinned. ‘Cheers, Teddy,’ I said and returned the salute.
He sipped at his drink. ‘I apologise for riding you. I was out of order,’ he said. ‘It’s been a rough morning.’
‘Apology accepted.’ I held out my hand. After a moment he took it and we shook hands.
‘Oh, hell,’ he said. ‘You’ll do.’
I grinned. ‘You too.’ He grinned back and it was OK between us.
Simon brought the food and we ate at the bar. We were both starving and the food tasted better than good. We emptied our plates without talking. I finished my coffee and lit a cigarette and ordered two more beers. Teddy was a beat behind me and pushed his plate away with a satisfied smile. ‘
Great,’ he said. ‘I feel better for that. I hardly slept and I haven’t eaten since last night. Old Bill hauled me down the station when it was still pitch dark.’
‘I’m glad to see you had time to slip into something elegant,’ I said, glancing at his suit.
‘This is last night’s, it’s all creased to shit.’
‘Never mind, you look a picture.’
He grinned again. ‘Scene,’ he said.
I changed the subject. ‘Let’s get down to facts,’ I said.
‘Firstly, what brought about your uncle’s change of fortune?’
‘He got lucky.’
‘Some people might think he got into heavy duty drug dealing. He’s got all the trappings.’
‘No, he got lucky.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘How long since you’ve seen him?’
‘Eighteen months or so.’ I remembered exactly. It was hard to forget, but I didn’t tell Teddy that. ‘He just had the club then. The place in Clapham, and the girls of course, and he was being minded by a bunch of Rastas.’
‘That wasn’t all he had,’ said Teddy.
‘Like?’
‘Well, you know he came over here in ’48?’ I could see that I was in for a history lesson, which I didn’t really need, but the first rule of interrogation that I had learned was: when someone wants to tell a story, let them.
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘He was on one of the first immigrant ships. He was just a kid – twelve, I think. They dumped him and his mum and dad, and my dad, that’s his little brother, he was just a tiny baby then, in the station at Brixton. Fucking government! The middle of winter and they put them on camp beds in a freezing railway station, and them just in from JA. You know all that?’
‘Some,’ I said.
‘Well, Uncle Watkins got mad. He wasn’t going to grow up and put on no bus conductor’s uniform. He catered for the immigrants. He started off running errands, never went to school, learnt his shit on the street. My grandpa and grandma went spare but he paid no attention. As soon as he was old enough, he started a shebeen. Fucking fifteen-year-old kid selling beer and home-made rum to grown men. A few tried to take it off him, but he had mates. Black youth has always been tough. They fought the cops and the old men and Teddy Boys and all sorts. Won too.’
Teddy looked proud of his uncle and I didn’t blame him. Times had been tough then, were now, and always would be, Amen.
‘When he got some dough,’ Teddy went on, ‘he started buying houses. Put the Brothers in. Fair rents, believe it or not. In those days blacks were being refused accommodation just for being black. “No coloureds” signs in the windows, just like South Africa. So Uncle Watkins helped out. He bought houses all over Brixton. He was a funny cat. Figured that if the white government dumped him and his in Brixton, they must want him to own the place, and I believe he nearly did. Brothers owe him.’
I interrupted. ‘I heard some of this, Teddy. Don’t make him out to be Albert Schweitzer. He was a slum landlord, running whores and bad liquor on the side.’
‘Shit, I never said he was no saint,’ protested Teddy. ‘But it was better that Uncle Watkins ran the housing than fucking Jew landlords or Malts or Greeks or Irish, or fucking Pinkies for that matter. You know how those bastards, you bastards –’ he grinned to soften the words, but I knew he still meant them ‘– treated the Brothers and Sisters. Worse than shit. At least Uncle Watkins kept the toilets flushing and the roofs in one piece.’
‘So?’ I asked.
‘Oh, yeah. Anyway, he bought and sold hundreds of houses over the years.’ He paused to light a cigarette. ‘You sure you don’t know all this?’
‘Like I said, some. But you tell me anyway.’
‘So he bought and sold and ran the girls and the drinkers and the shpeilers and eventually he sold everything but the club and one street of houses and shops, and then a year or so ago he sold the street in one lot and they built a supermarket there.’
‘Where?’
‘Down by the town hall. And he made some dough out of it, let me tell you.’
‘You don’t mean … ?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘God’s truth.’
‘So that little street bought him a new Lincoln?’
‘And a house, three pubs and a Caribbean restaurant.’
‘Straight businesses?’
‘As a die.’
‘Jesus! I hope they kept the foundations light. You never know what you’ll find buried under one of Emerald’s houses.’ Or who, I thought, but didn’t bother to add that.
Teddy laughed and ordered more beer. As the barmaid served us I turned and looked through the big windows of the bar at the empty, rain-swept streets and shivered despite the warmth inside.
‘So where does Bim come in?’ I asked when fresh beers arrived in front of us.
‘They’ve been enemies for years. Now Uncle Watkins got legit pubs and a restaurant it’s open warfare. You know how it started?’
I shook my head.
‘Sprouts, man.’
‘Sprouts?’
‘Fucking brussels sprouts. Bim used to supply uncle with fruit and veg years ago, when he had his old place. One Christmas there’s a delivery of brussels sprouts. I mean a truckload. Stupid guy in the kitchen takes them in and signs for them. Uncle hits the roof. He’s ordered a bag of sprouts, like, you know, fifty pounds. Gets a gross of bags. Tries to send them back. Bim won’t take them. I swear those sprouts went across London from New Year to Easter. And man they’re starting to go rotten, like they’re almost liquid and they stink. But those two guys are so stubborn neither will give in. Eventually Uncle has them dumped on Bim’s front lawn. His wife near had a fit. They almost started a shooting war over a couple of grand’s worth of vegetables. That’s how crazy they are. Bim don’t like black men, especially on his turf.’ He blew air. ‘Man, it’s anybody’s turf out there, right?’
‘Right. So tell me all about this lock up in Wandsworth.’
Teddy shook his head sadly. ‘Uncle doesn’t own it, just rents it. At one time he was thinking about running a cab firm from down there. He would have had a workshop and offices, but nothing came of it. The rent is dirt cheap, it’s on a long lease from the railway, and he just never bothered to let it go. He stores old shit down there. It’s just a dump really.’
‘And?’
‘And when Lupus and I were checking last night, everything was cool. I drove down there.’
‘On your own?’ I interrupted.
‘Yeah, we split the premises for speed. We needed to work fast. It was the last place I went to. I didn’t even realise anyone else outside the firm knew about it. It only gets used once in a blue moon.’
‘Someone knew.’
‘Someone did, and to let me go in and come out again before they planted the gear.’
‘What exactly happened?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Just that. What did you do? Run me through it.’
He thought for a second. ‘I went down around ten. I had my own car. There’s a slip road off the Wandsworth Road. Our place is the last arch, right where the road ends. Then there’s a bit of pavement, some grass, a fence and the back of a council estate. It’s dark down there, the street lights are crap. I parked the car facing the door, headlights on full. There’s a set of big double doors that open right up so’s you can drive a truck in, and there’s a small door set into one of them. The little door is locked by a Yale and a padlock. They were both tight. I had the keys and I opened up, put the lights on and took a look round. Like I said, it’s a dump. Boxes and crap everywhere. It didn’t look as if anyone had been there for months. I checked the downstairs office and the little one upstairs too. There was nothing there I could see. I swear there was nothing there. I mean, man, I didn’t even know what I was looking for, but there was definitely no drug paraphernalia. It was quiet and bloody freezing. I locked
up again and left, and went straight to Uncle’s to stay like he asked me to. I sat up ‘til three watching TV and got my head down on the sofa. At six Old Bill came in with sledgehammers. You know the rest.’
‘Someone knew you’d check.’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Who exactly?’
‘Whoever tipped Uncle. It was an anonymous call. Could have been anyone. They said they were mens, but who knows?’
‘Your uncle was sure they were.’
‘Buzz words. Anyone can use them.
‘Like who?’
‘Like anyone who wants to see Uncle stiffed. Like the Rastas he dumped when he sold out to the developers. Lupus reckoned they lowered the tone of the organisation. They could have cooked the whole thing up with Bim and told him about the lock-up out of spite.’
‘They wouldn’t have been too pleased about being rowed out of the action just when it got sweet, I grant you,’ I said.
‘Uncle was a bit iffy about it, too. He’s loyal, but Lupus kept on at him and eventually Uncle gave in so Lupus done the deed.’
‘Yeah, Lupus. I’ve been wondering about him. Where the hell did he spring from?’
‘Don’t know. He was there before Uncle Watkins took me on. Clever man. Lawyer and accountant.’
‘I thought I didn’t like him. What’s he do for Em?’
‘A bit of everything. He’s like the number two man.’
‘And you don’t mind? Being family and all.’
Teddy looked at me through slitted eyes. ‘I don’t give a shit,’ he said. ‘I know what’s coming to me. So long as I got cash and some good gear on my back and nice wheels to drive, I’m OK.’
I didn’t believe a word of that. ‘So you just kick back and catch the scraps from the table?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Teddy dismissively. ‘I do well. Uncle Watkins looks after his family.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ I said. ‘What were you doing before Em took you on?’
‘Me, man? I was ducking and diving. Doing odd jobs, looking for deals.’
‘Save it, Teddy,’ I said. ‘You talk street, but a lot of your vocabulary comes from somewhere else. So don’t jive me, Bro.’
‘Shit, boss,’ he said, ‘you got me. I passed my “A” levels and read sociology at Bristol. Uncle took care of me. He’s been good and now I can help him, pay a bit back.’
