On Borrowed Time

by Solomon Carter

  “That’s highly reassuring. Shall we cut down onto Tooley Street?”

  “Yeah. Why not. Don’t worry by the way. No one in their right mind would set up a sniper position at Tower Bridge.”

  “I still fancy Tooley Street.”

  “It’s your call.”

  They took a sharp left through a raised green space between two glass towers which led to Tooley Street. Tooley Street was a long busy road which ran parallel with the river hidden by the tall buildings on the south side of the Thames. The road was full of black cabs, red buses, cyclists, devil-may-care pedestrians, the rude, the mad and the ugly. It was London down to a T. They walked slowly toward London Bridge.

  “How do you feel about last night?”

  Eva shrugged. “Good. I lived to tell the tale. Bad, I stabbed a guy in the nuts with a dinner fork. But I suppose that was good too.”

  “Life has taken a different turn for you lately. I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You’re a woman of many abilities. Remind me never to argue with you over dinner ever again.”

  “If we ever go to dinner again,” she said.

  “Oh, we will. And just because of your wisecrack about me being poor, I’ll buy. Straight after this mess is finished.”

  “Words are cheap, Dan.” She gave him the half closed eyes and the mocking smile. God it was good to be back in the old routine, the flirtatiousness of lovers. Yes, she had missed it and it had been her fault she’d missed it.

  “We’ll meet my friend by the church.”

  “Are you getting religious, Dan? Helping the homeless and needy, and now you want to go to church?”

  “I’m not convinced I’d get past the Pearly Gates, Eva. I’m not sure you would either these days.”

  She smiled but the thought made her downcast in a way she couldn’t explain. Her mother was a lapsed Catholic who had a fondness for the trappings of religion. Eva thought religion all illogical and silly. But she had sinned, yes, she had, and if it was real maybe she was beyond forgiveness. She certainly felt beyond her own forgiveness.

  The vast old church was yellow, beige, brown and gold in the sudden wash of winter sunshine which broke as they entered the grounds. It turned out that Dan’s church was Southwark Cathedral, right next to the deliciously inviting sounds and smells of Borough Market. They walked into the sun washed green around the Cathedral.

  “There he is. Georgiev. Call him George. He’ll like you.”

  Eva raised an eyebrow. “Another one of your Russian dissidents?”

  “Spot on.”

  “You are such a counter-culture psycho, Dan.”

  “And who else would you have on side when there’s a price on your head?”

  A tall man in a black woollen jumper stood up from a bench as they approached. He took off a green beanie hat and smiled meekly. He had sparse facial hair, but not a full on beard. His eyes were passive, small, tired looking. He wore baggy burgundy cords. The whole effect was of a man who didn’t like fashion, maybe didn’t like himself and was weary with the world.

  “Georgey Boy. Thanks for this, old chum.”

  Dan slapped Georgiev on the upper arm, and infected him with some good cheer. The big man smiled.

  “Hello, Dan. No problem. So it is you who is facing… problems right now.”

  Eva nodded. “Maybe one or two.”

  “Come. We get coffee and go for a walk,”

  Georgiev paid for three coffees from a richly sweet smelling stall in Borough Market. Eva wanted to eat, drink and buy everything in sight, but she kept pace with the men, sipping her cappuccino instead.

  “What do you think, Georgey?”

  “It’s like you said, a top level job. They are complacent, and have made serious mistakes. Very serious, and maybe very stupid, but I think this is because they underestimated you, Miss Roberts. After last night, I do not think they will make that mistake again.”

  “Tell her what you mean by top level, Georgey. She won’t believe me.”

  That could have been true. But hearing words from a Russian exile didn’t always inspire instant trust either. The dissidents were exiles for a reason, people of the fringes prone to seeing the conspiracy before they saw the centre ground. Tall Georgiev moved between them and began to express himself with his hands as well as his words.

  “I would say this is very reminiscent of a security service hit, Miss Roberts. Not many other organisations can be so persistent, or use the methods Dan has described. They use very accurate marksmen, are able to deploy roof shooters, and track you with relative ease. This suggests high level tracking technology and professional surveillance. That represents a considerable investment. Dan has also described the assassin he saw back in Essex. She fits a certain type I am aware of, though it is far more common now for agencies to use women across all disciplines. But I am quite familiar with this type of operative from an ex-Soviet perspective.”

  “What did you mean by that, exactly?”

  “I am saying that we cannot rule out military or government intelligence origin for this assassination attempt. I would also say these tactics and these types of personnel have been used against Russian interests abroad before.”

  “Are you saying this is a Russian hit? Don’t be ridiculous.” There was a pained laugh breaking across Eva’s face.

  “It sounds ridiculous for you, Miss Roberts, because you are not from the Soviet Bloc. For me, all these things are entirely plausible. But, I repeat, this may not be Russian. It may be another country. It could even by the British government. Or none of these, maybe they are ex-security service mercenaries. I am merely trying to help…”

  “Eva,” said Dan, “We can deduce two things. This shit isn’t cheap for whoever’s paying the bill. They are paying top whack to make this happen. That suggests state sponsorship or very wealthy gangsters.”

  “It doesn’t rule out our old friend either…”

  “No. But it adds some interesting riddles to the equation.”

  “I don’t need riddles now, Dan. I need answers.”

  “Yes, Eva. But we need to ask the right questions first.”

  Patronising poppycock. What the hell was she supposed to do with that? Go and seek asylum at the US Embassy? No, it was the kind of information which intimidates, raising the stakes without providing any benefit. Eva made a stern face and looked at neither man. She sipped her coffee as Georgiev continued his diatribe on the Russian security services, and its global reach. But Eva was withdrawing, calculating, dealing with what could be dealt with. Dan read her face and body language, but said nothing. When they had walked through South Bank’s backstreets and their coffee cups were empty, they drew to a halt.

  “Thanks, Georgiev, thank you, Dan. I’ll bear that in mind. But your theory just adds confusion. Why would a government agency shoot Maggie Gillespie? It would make sense for a husband to send a killer after his wife, but not the security services. After all, why would they shoot his wife and aim for me too? We are totally unrelated. Where is the motive? What is the benefit to any party? It doesn’t make sense. I’m no dissident, and neither was she. She was the craziest old dyke you’ll ever meet, and I am… I was just a private detective.”

  “That’s not true. You are a great private detective. There’s only one Eva Roberts. Always will be.”

  She gave Dan a half smile. “I need to keep this simple, Dan. The only way forward for me is to go and see the man himself.” She saw Dan’s face change. “No matter what the risk.”

  “Eva, if it’s him he’ll kill you on sight.”

  “And if not, I’ll be killed anyway. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. But I need some facts here, some light, and I don’t have any, Dan. You understand, don’t you?”

  Dan frowned, but Georgiev was nodding. “At some time we must know the truth, and we must take a stand.”

  Maybe Georgiev wasn’t so bad after all.

  She and Dan didn’t agree on a matter of crucial importance once again. There was nothing n
ew under the sun. Right now, feeling like a woman on a fast and lonely walk to the grave, the last thing Eva needed was more conspiracy and complexity. Jess had gone. That was over. But she needed Dan now. And here he was serving up more reheated old tripe about Mother Russia and her tendrils in the west right when she needed him to be her main man again. There were hints of strength about him, and his head seemed straighter than it had been in a long while. So why did she feel like walking away and leaving these two dreamers to their long walk? She looked around, wondering if the bullet was here, waiting for her at the South Bank.

  But if not, if she had time, Eva was going to find Brian Gillespie. Maggie had spoken at length about how he was shacked up with an awful peroxide blonde gangster in North London. Maybe Maggie didn’t have everything wrong about Brian or his relationship. Could it be that this gangster woman was playing an unseen hand? There was only one way to find out. But if she was wrong - no matter how careful she played her approach - there was still a severe chance of death in North London.

  Five

  Eva was up before dawn. She settled her hotel bill in cash drawn the night before, and cleared out in time to see the street cleaners still busy clearing the streets of last night’s detritus. The living-it-up never stopped in London town, whether a pauper or a prince, it was an endless cycle of consumerthon. She checked the surroundings around London Bridge, seeing only the usual kinds of threats. Lone walkers, inebriates, people looking menacing, mad people and the homeless. There were threats everywhere when you looked for them, but if you looked like you knew what you were doing – if you looked confident enough – there were none whatsoever. Eva assessed them all as she walked along, heels clacking on the pavement as she passed the early sandwich shops and few lit windows. She couldn’t see any threats which she recognised as the assassin. She guessed the big man would lay very low for a while. Maybe they would send a replacement. At London Bridge she bought a strong coffee and took a tube across town towards North London. The trains were frequent enough, but early in the morning the stations were far emptier and the gaps between trains stretched far too long in her imagination. For stimulation and a prop, Eva bought a copy of The i newspaper. She digested its micro-news reports and yet felt she’d learned absolutely nothing by the time she had finished. The paper lasted around ten minutes. Long enough for the tube to arrive. She dropped the newspaper from her face as the train whooshed into the half-lit tube station. The faces on board whizzed past. Eva managed to see many of them considering the train’s speed. Some of their eyes caught hers too, and she knew there were good honest reasons why that could happen. Chance. Attraction. Madness. Or murderous intent. One face stuck in her mind for no obvious reason. A young mixed race male with full lips, wearing a striped hooded top and a body warmer. There was no reason to believe he was connected to the attempts on her life, and chances were she would never see him again. But, in him and many other strangers she saw so much fear and loathing. She saw so much potential for harm Eva wondered if there was any way to feel peace in the city. London was a place she had loved for many years. But right now the fear and danger was reflected back at her in every glance she received, and in almost every person she passed.

  The tube was half full and she glanced at the people around, assessed them, disregarded them, and began to plot her journey on the line map above the door. She was aiming for Holloway Road. That was where Gillespie had been bedding down over the last few weeks, if Maggie and Kendra’s intelligence had been right. She settled down again with The i newspaper, opposite the doorway, preparing to spring out if necessary, and ready to fight if there was no other option.

  At eight fourteen, Eva emerged into the light from the ancient grimy edifice of Holloway Road Tube Station. She looked to her left and saw a railway bridge. She looked across the road to her right and saw a structure with a face of jutting tinfoil attached to the London Metropolitan University building. It was a modern building trying to justify itself with pretentious art. Whatever happened inside the building it still looked like an eye-catching piece of tinfoil. It was the busiest time now and people were everywhere, teeming like ants on the pavements and in between the buses and cars stranded in the slow moving traffic. Eva grabbed her phone and opened her notes screen. Boneyard Lane, Fitzpatrick House. She’d only picked up the haziest details from Maggie Gillespie, and Kendra had given her zip apart from the doctored photograph, so back after their first coffee shop meeting, Eva had needed to do some research. The North London crew Brian Gillespie had supposedly gotten involved with surrounded one woman. She was based at Fitzpatrick House. And if Kendra was to be believed whatsoever, so was Gillespie. That seemed more than a quick marriage of convenience. It seemed like a sudden joining at the hip. Falling head over heels and acting a silly fool for love was unbecoming thing for a gangster of Gillespie’s stature – surely he would have had the sense to see that – but he’d moved in with her anyway. Without a camera on the wall in Fitzpatrick House Eva was never going to understand the dynamics. But she already understood one thing. Whether love was involved or not, the move had to be strategic. In Gillespie’s businesses, everything was strategic, because being a gangster was essentially a military career. This trip was going to be dangerous. No, that was an understatement. A visit direct to Fitzpatrick House was possibly another rat run straight to the grave. In any case, Eva had to back herself. Were there any good choices right now?

  Eva stopped for breakfast when she was within a five minute walk of Boneyard Lane. There was a place which looked like it was pretending to be a Wimpy Bar with a red sign that said Winky instead. With her nerves fraying and her stomach feeling queasy, Eva was not a choosy customer. She chose a booth seat facing the window so she could see any possible threat coming. Behind the counter a guy with a coffee coloured pock-marked face smiled at her and offered Eva a laminated menu. It had photographs of all the food. The man gave her a smile and a wink, then got on his way. Eva shook her head and decided in five seconds to go for coffee and a tea cake. Winky took the order but didn’t wink this time. Eva didn’t mind.

  The coffee was poor and the teacake was adequate. She paid four pound coins which included a tip, then headed for the door with a rush of blood in her ears. She was trying to hold herself together, while a voice in her head was telling her to go and buy just a tiny wine bottle – just to take the edge off. She slammed that voice down, and opened the door into a flurry of hasty people and street noise. She gasped. The door was still open in her hand. Across the street was a very well dressed woman. She had continental skin, Southern European colouring - Greek, Spanish, Italian, or as far over as Hungary and the Balkans. The woman looked beautiful but cold and hard edged. There was no sign of a smile on her face. Eva sized up her body. She was strong and athletic rather than slim and girly. The woman had her hair tied back and was among those waiting to cross the road. She was watching the traffic and waited for the light. Eva looked at the expensive brown leather handbag held against her stomach. Inside there would be a gun with a bullet or two just for her. The woman’s head slowly turned. She looked across and met Eva’s eyes. Their eyes locked, and everything else faded out. The woman didn’t smile. She didn’t acknowledge her. But Eva’s heartrate spiked, and she dropped back inside the door. She walked backwards a few steps on the tiles and the door closed. Winky laughed.

  “You changed your mind? You want a proper breakfast now?”

  “Um. Have you got a toilet?”

  His smile faded. “Sure. For customers only, but as you’re a customer. Back that way.” He pointed to the back of the wipe-clean restaurant towards a cheap flimsy door with a brass coloured handle. The smell of the food was making Eva feel sick now. She moved fast. The restaurant was darker back here. She pushed the door open and found a tiny room with a door going off either side, male and female. She pushed into the female room and shut the door. It was a single toilet room. Eva got busy. In a rush, she emptied her handbag onto the closed toilet lid, and snatched up the so
uvenir from last night. The small cold and heavy pistol. She looked it over, across its grooves, and flicked at the handle, until the cartridge of bullets came free. The cartridge was full of dull gleaming golden bullets. She clicked it back. The weight was reassuring. She’d removed the silencer from the front so it would fit in her bag. She aimed it a little, practicing with its weight in front of the mirror. It was a small gun but looked large in her slender hands. Eva took a handful of tissues for wiping the gun if she had to use it. She waited. The door into the toilet area creaked as it swung in, and smacked the wall behind it. Eva breathed once and waited. Then she heard the door creak as the visitor backed out and returned into the restaurant. Eva breathed out. Slowly, quietly she unlocked the door, filled her bag and slid it onto her shoulder. She pulled the door open, and stepped into the tiny void between the male and female toilets. The flimsy door to the restaurant on the other side was all that now divided Eva from a confrontation. She wasn’t going to be a victim. Not now. Not ever. Eva gritted her teeth and teased at the door. She pulled it gradually, pushing the door against its hinges to keep it from creaking. As it drew back, she saw the shape of a man in the shadows, waiting. If he had wanted to use the toilet, he would have finished and gone. His back was turned. Eva finally had the upper hand. Using the door to hide her intention from the restaurant owner, Eva levelled the gun at the man’s back. Her aim was bad but good enough. Lungs, heart, liver, any of them were enough. It felt good to be in charge for once, to dictate the pace. Then the illusion of control began to fade. The man shifted his feet, his shoulder was twisting round. The man was turning. Where were the others? They would be waiting for her too. Better to shock them and take one down now? They would overwhelm her of course. There was no way out now, not now they’d found her. But she would go down fighting. And if there was the slimmest chance at all, Eva would take it. Somehow they’d tracked her down. But if she survived long enough to see Gillespie, if she could fend them off until then, maybe there was still a faint chance to stop this mess before she was killed. Shooting one of them might be just the distraction she needed…