Take the A-Train

by Mark Timlin

  I held the kitchen door open and looked back into the restaurant, wondering what to do next. I didn’t have to think for long. The door marked ‘Staff Only’ burst open and Eddie crashed through, carrying a revolver. I snapped off a shot and missed. He returned fire and slid under a table. The bullet clanged off something metallic behind me. I ducked down and let the door swing shut. Next to it was a closed serving hatch. I inched it open and got a sliver of wood in my face from a couple of bullets for my troubles. The serving hatch door was blown open and slammed back against the wall. I threw myself down, rolled under a cutting table and pulled out the splinter. The sharp end was pink. I lay still and listened. It seemed like hours before I heard a sound from the restaurant. I pulled myself in tighter and risked a peek. Nothing.

  I wondered if Eddie would come through the door or poke his head over the hatch. I guessed the hatch and pointed my gun in that direction. Nothing again. Then I saw the top of a nappy head and a gun-filled hand and a pair of eyes coming over the edge of the hatch, and fired once. He fired back three times and the table took a lot of damage. Through numbed ears I heard the click of the hammer on an empty cartridge case. I rolled out and stood up and looked through the hatch. Eddie was fumbling in his pocket for cartridges. The cylinder of his gun was open.

  I rested my gun hand against the cold metal and tapped gently on the counter top. ‘Knock, knock,’ I said.

  He made as if to slam the cylinder shut. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said.

  ‘Shit,’ was all he said back. He dropped gun and cartridges on to the floor.

  ‘Come into my parlour,’ I said.

  He came to his feet and pushed through the door. I kept my gun on him all the way. ‘On the deck, face down,’ I ordered. ‘Put your hands flat on the floor, arms extended.’

  He looked at me as if he was going to spit. I knew how he felt. But he obliged. ‘What happened to the girl?’ I asked, when he was comfy.

  ‘She’s dead, motherfucker.’

  Not again, I thought. Oh Jesus Christ almighty, not again. When someone you love dies it’s like being blindfolded in a room without windows or lights at midnight. It’s blacker than the inside of a closed grave. I grabbed a handful of his hair. It was short, but thick, and I got a good handful. I pulled his head up off the floor and screwed the end of my gun barrel in his ear. The hammer was back and I applied pressure on the trigger with a trembling finger. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak again. Suddenly there was no more pressure and the gun fired and all that came out of his mouth was a gout of blood. The gun was so close to his skull that it kicked clean out of my hand and blood and brains blew all over the floor and his scalp went loose in my hand. I let go of his hair and his head hit the floor like an overripe melon. His body jerked convulsively and his bowels opened.

  I picked up the gun and checked the load. There was one bullet in the breech and the clip was empty. Ronnie’s magnum held two live cartridges. I ditched them both and took Eddie’s .38 revolver. I loaded it, stuck the spare cartridges in my pocket and went looking for the others.

  I went slowly up the stairs, through the swing door and along the corridor. All was quiet. I stood outside the office door. It stood slightly ajar. I could see that the lights inside were still on. I pushed the door open with my fingertips and stepped into the room. At first I thought it was empty. Then I noticed Fiona’s boots poking out from behind the desk. I felt dizzy as I walked over and looked at her. She was lying face down on the carpet. I knelt and gently rolled her over. There was a lump the size of a golf ball on her forehead, a bruise up into her hairline and dried blood at the side of her mouth. I knelt and gently cradled her in my arms. I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them again she was looking at me.

  ‘Is this love, Sharman?’ she asked, and her voice cracked.

  I was so surprised I nearly dropped her. ‘He told me you were dead,’ I said.

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  She smiled weakly. ‘Mind you, it might be an improvement. My bloody head’s killing me.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. The last thing I remember is kicking that spade, and then the one who dragged me out of the phone box when I was going to phone that copper mate of yours put my lights out.’

  ‘He’s dead. So’s the one you kicked.’

  ‘I didn’t kick him to death, did I?’ she asked, and using my shoulder and the edge of the desk dragged herself to her feet.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You didn’t. Are you going to be all right?’

  ‘I’ll survive.’

  ‘I wonder why they didn’t finish you off. It must be your lucky day.’

  ‘Thanks, Sharman!’

  ‘I’m going to call the police,’ I said. I picked up the receiver of the telephone on the desk. It was dead. I followed the wire with my eyes. The junction box had been torn from the wall. ‘Damn!’ I said.

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Go after them. This isn’t over yet.’

  As we left the room, I realised that someone had taken the Winchester and the shells off the desk.

  I turned left outside the office door and we went back down the corridor. On the landing at the top of the stairs was a fire door. It was open. I looked through and down into the alley at the back of the restaurant.

  Teddy and Lupus and Dark were standing by the Suzuki. There was a Gladstone bag on the bonnet of the jeep and they seemed to be arguing about it – possession of it had obviously been more important than tying up loose ends, like Fiona. Teddy was holding the Winchester. ‘When thieves fall out,’ I said. ‘Let’s go down and see what all the fuss is about.’

  We didn’t use the fire escape. If Teddy had seen us we would have been sitting targets, like tin ducks in a shooting gallery. We went back down to the restaurant. I warned Fiona it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t. The dining room and kitchen stank of smoke and shit. It was enough to put you off eating out for life. I turned the key of the lock in the kitchen door and opened it. We walked across the yard and I heard raised voices.

  I opened the door into the alley just in time to see Teddy blow Jack Dark in half with the shotgun. Literally in half. Fiona’s old man hadn’t been kidding about the power of the load in the shells he’d given me. Most of Dark’s smoking body flew across the bonnet of Christian’s Audi, and the car alarm screamed. I saw Dark’s wig flop into a puddle like a dead ginger rat. I fired through the door at Teddy and missed.

  He turned the shotgun towards me and blew the door and half the fence to sawdust. As I saw the Winchester move, I threw myself back at Fiona and knocked her over. I landed on top of her and protected her with my body as we were covered with splinters of wood. I actually saw the muzzle flash as we fell, and heard the boom and the whistle of the shot.

  We stayed down until I heard a car door slam, and the engine start. I got up, found my gun where it had fallen, and looked through the wreckage of the fence just in time to see the jeep pull away fast, and turn into the road at the end of the alley, out of my sight. I stuck the gun in the pocket of my leather jacket, grabbed Fiona’s hand, and we ran after it.

  28

  As the jeep skidded into Queenstown Road we ran out of the alley in the same direction. When we reached the corner I saw Jack Dark’s BMW parked in front of the entrance to the restaurant. Jim was in the driver’s seat. I saw his head move round as he watched the Suzuki narrowly miss a black cab and accelerate away, heading south. He opened the driver’s door and stepped carefully over the black muck at the kerbside. He was so busy saving his shiny shoes that he didn’t see us.

  I grabbed Fiona’s hand and we ran towards him. He heard our footsteps on the pavement and looked up, his face registering, first surprise, then anger, or fear, or something combining both. He went to reach under his jacket. He didn’t have a chance, we were too close.

  I kept going, pivoted on my bad foot, which sent a lance of white hot pain
up one side of my body, and kicked him hard between his legs with my right. He doubled up and spat out a scream which cut off when I brought my knee up into his face. I heard cartilage fracture and blood spurted from his broken nose. He fell against the door of the car, which creaked under his weight, and hit the pavement with a wet slap. I didn’t check his health. He was out of the game, but I kicked him hard on the side of the head to make sure.

  I shoved Fiona through the door and over the console to the passenger seat. I scrambled into the driver’s side. The key was in the ignition. I tugged at the door but it caught on Jim’s body and wouldn’t close. I was almost gibbering with frustration as I tried to pull it over his dead weight. I stuck my good foot out of the car and shoved at him and he groaned and rolled away. I slammed the door and turned the key and the engine caught first time. I thanked God for the automatic box and snicked the gear stick into drive, spun the power assisted steering wheel, floored the accelerator, and the car surged away from the kerb and roared up the right hand side of the road. We overtook a bus and sped after Teddy and Lupus. The road curved just before climbing towards the lights at the junction with the Wandsworth Road and I saw the jeep turning left on the red in front of a long, double queue of motors.

  I pulled into the oncoming traffic and switched the lights to full beam, put my left hand on the horn ring and held it there. Cars pulled over to the kerb to avoid us, their horns joining the cacophony. I hit the brake hard, spun the wheel and turned left into Wandsworth Road, whipping the car around the wrong side of the central reservation on two wheels. The back of the BMW slammed into the front nearside of a Mini-Metro and ripped off its bumper. The BMW rocked as if it was going to overturn. I corrected the skid by flooring the accelerator once more and letting the wheel spin back through my fingers. The offside wing just touched the side of a post office van.

  The car righted itself and we were racing towards Vauxhall again. I registered the startled faces of drivers and pedestrians with black Os for mouths and Fiona shouted something I didn’t hear. I was sweating and grinning and knew we’d catch them or rack up the big car in the attempt.

  I bullied my way past another couple of cars, but the road was too narrow and lined with parked cars on both sides, the oncoming traffic too heavy for us to gain much on the jeep. The next set of lights was in our favour and I spotted the Suzuki maybe five or six cars ahead. Headlights were flashing behind me angrily but I ignored them. I pulled around two more cars and through another set of green lights before Teddy noticed anything. Suddenly the jeep accelerated through the traffic, dodging and weaving and setting off horns and flashing lights in its wake. He overtook a truck on the inside at the lights by the South Bank Poly. The jeep picked up speed as the road widened for the final run up to Vauxhall Cross.

  I slapped the gear stick into low drive and almost stood on the kickdown. The BMW’s rear end dropped and its bonnet rose. The engine screamed and I felt G-force push me back in my seat. I drove around the wrong side of a bollard and pulled level with the jeep. I spun the wheel hard left again and slammed into the side of the Suzuki with a rending of metal and a shower of sparks. The BMW weighed twice as much as the jeep. The smaller vehicle careered off and hit the kerb.

  It bounced back. I saw Teddy’s face through the driver’s window, contorted with rage. Lupus stuck the shotgun through the side canvas.

  ‘Down,’ I shouted, and floored the brake pedal as he fired. Fiona hit the carpet and I ducked just as most of the nearside wing and the bonnet were blown off the BMW. It skidded in the wet and started to spin. I let her go and we skated around three times before I could control the skid. The tyres screeched as I corrected left, right, left, and we came to a halt, still pointing towards Vauxhall. I spun the rear wheels and took off again.

  We got up to seventy as we passed Sainsbury’s and caught up with the jeep. I rammed the back of it and lumps of metal flew off both cars. The BMW bounced over something heavy, and Lupus fired through the back of the soft top. It shredded, and I ducked, and the windscreen blew inwards and showered us with laminated glass. I slowed, stuck my head up into the slipstream and saw the jeep pull away into the traffic coming into Wandsworth Road to avoid the jam at the lights at the junction with Nine Elms Lane. I followed.

  Steam started to fill the inside of the car. The power steering was gone, but I stuck behind the jeep as it busted through the railings and bounced across the central barrier and back into the stream of traffic. The lights at the bridge were green and we shot across the junction into Albert Embankment. I knew that the BMW was about done, and saw a blue flashing light up by the roundabout. Teddy must have seen it too because the jeep slowed and turned into Black Prince Road. I was right behind it. The road was crowded with parked cars on both sides.

  Teddy slammed on the brakes and Lupus leaned over the tailgate of the jeep and blew the front off-side wheel clean off the BMW. I skidded and hit the side of a parked van. We ended up slewed across the road under the railway bridge in another shower of sparks and the stink of burnt rubber. The engine stalled and I turned the key, but the BMW was dead. I jumped out of the car through the undamaged driver’s door and watched as the Suzuki pulled away.

  I slammed my fist on the roof of the car. Fiona tried to open the passenger door but it was jammed. She scrambled over the driver’s seat and joined me in the street. ‘Damn it,’ I said.

  Behind us I heard the sound of a truck horn and a skip lorry slowed to a halt with a hiss of hydraulics. A big Ford seventeen-tonner with IVECO TURBO in chrome letters across the front of the cab, almost hidden by a matt black, custom built bumper of tempered steel, bolted on to scare the civilians. Tucked behind the bumper at a rakish angle was a filthy teddy bear with one arm missing, wearing a faded blue waistcoat. The driver leaned out of his window and said, ‘Get that shit out of my way.’

  I grinned at Fiona and pulled the pistol that I’d taken from Eddie out of my pocket. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You get your shit out of my way.’

  He looked at me as if I was mad. ‘What?’

  ‘I said, get out of there. I want that truck.’

  ‘Is this a fucking joke, or what?’

  ‘It must be or what,’ I said, and just to prove it, I shot the side window out of a Vauxhall Cavalier parked at the kerb, which burst inward in a most satisfying way. About then the little crowd that had gathered to see what all the excitement was about decided that they all had urgent business elsewhere and dispersed back to their offices and warehouses with a good story to tell at their tea breaks.

  ‘OK, mate,’ the skip lorry driver said. ‘I believe you. Take the fucking thing.’

  ‘Out,’ I said. ‘And don’t touch the keys.’ He climbed out and left the engine running. I boosted Fiona up into the cab and followed her. I kept the gun on him and he backed away with his hands up in a placating gesture.

  I got behind the big steering wheel and pushed down the clutch pedal which was heavy and stiff. My leg stabbed me again and I knew I was about done too. I ignored the pain, gritted my teeth and threw the gear stick into first. I tried to engage the clutch but my leg shook with the effort. We jumped forward and hit the BMW hard. The truck stalled.

  ‘Fuck it!’ I said, and put it into neutral.

  I turned the key and the engine caught. I put it into reverse and did a better job at the second attempt. The truck moved slowly backwards. Clutch, first gear again … I was relieved to feel power in the steering and turned the wheel hard down to the right. The huge truck pushed the BMW out of the way with a screech of metal on metalled surface. We bumped up the kerb and down again and were off.

  I found second with a crash of gears and put my foot down. The turbo assisted engine answered with a good turn of speed. I missed third, then found it, and all of a sudden I remembered how to drive a truck.

  When we reached the Kennington Road the jeep was nowhere to be seen and it was beginning to get dark. The traffic was chocka heading south so I took a chance and turned towards the river
and let the heavy vehicle have its head. We roared down towards the War Museum with the empty skip swaying from side to side behind us and banging on the hoists.

  As we came up to the lights Fiona shouted, ‘Turn right, turn right, they’re there!’

  I cut across the traffic, narrowly missing a Porsche, and saw the jeep up ahead, the remains of its canvas top flapping in the breeze. It turned towards Blackfriars and left again towards the river at the bottom of the Waterloo Road.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Fiona over the roar of the truck’s engine. ‘If he sees us, he’ll shoot.’

  ‘No more shells for the shotgun,’ I replied. ‘Two at the restaurant. Three more to take out the BMW.’

  ‘He might have another gun.’

  ‘Use this then.’ And I tossed her the revolver. She checked the cylinder. What a woman.

  Teddy was observing the speed limit but I wasn’t. I caught him as we came up to Waterloo Station and bumped him so hard that the jeep shivered from the impact. Lupus looked back through the hole in the soft top and shouted something to him. Up ahead, blue lights flashed at the Bull Ring roundabout at Waterloo Bridge, and I knew they were captured and so did they. Oh no, boys, I thought. You’re not going to get away that easy. I have a long memory and they’d been taking the piss too long. I could smell revenge in my nostrils like burning flesh.

  I looked through the wide windscreen of the truck and had an idea. The Bull Ring is a big concrete hole in the ground, fifteen or twenty feet below the road level. Some town and country planner in the dim and distant must have thought that a circular concrete walkway, surrounded on all sides by one of the busiest intersections south of the river, with a dozen or more tunnels entering and leaving it, would be the ideal spot for a refreshing coffee and croissant break. So they dotted the place with a few iron seats and put some murals on the walls and forgot about it. What it turned into was an unhealthy bunker for cardboard city where the dossers could drink themselves stupid and breathe carbon monoxide at all hours of the day and night. The place stank of shit and piss, and packs of half-crazed dogs roamed through the tunnels. It was like a Hogarthian theme park knee deep in garbage. The big hole yawned open to the sky, surrounded by a four foot high wall of stressed concrete stained yellow by the weather and the constant car emissions.