‘Shit!’ I extended my hand. ‘Sorry.’ I overdid the apologetic shrug, trying to look harmless. ‘Thought you were someone else.’
Behind me I heard footsteps coming to a sudden halt; I swung around, still holding the woman’s hand. There was my tail, a surprised expression on his sweaty face. Our eyes locked, then he turned to run. I made sure the woman was safely on her feet before I set off after him. I did think about calling back an apology to the old dear, but a pro knows when to save his energy. Besides, she was carrying excess, so I figured she needed the work-out.
The man turned back into the High Street, and from his jerky head movements I sensed he was going to use my trademark trick with the traffic. Sure enough, the spook darted across the busy road, getting a couple of horn blasts for his pains. Bummer! I’d spent ages perfecting that move and “Running Man” just copies it straight off.
I ghosted through the traffic, no loss in stride, intent on catching the sucker fast. Ahead, my ex-tail, having turned tail, dodged left into Adson Street. I knew I had him then. Only a short sprint away was a cut-through to Adson Street only Weighton old boys knew about. “Laughing Boy” was clearly from outta town. I took the short-cut and moved into top gear, my breathing hard but steady.
When I reached the end of the cut-through, I skidded to a halt and peered around the corner. The son of a gun was lumbering along, his pace slowing now that he thought he was safe. No mistakes this time. I matched the heavy footfalls to the heavy breathing, and in one movement stepped out of the shadows and into sunny Adson Street. The crooked nose pulled up abruptly in front of me, and I struck it, pulling my punch slightly. Stunned, the man wobbled backwards, his hands coming instinctively to his face as blood began to weep from his nose. I grabbed him by the throat and thrust him up against a shop window.
‘Start singing for Eddie.’
‘My nose. You broke my nose!’
The accent was strange, not local, and not Jamaican.
I winced slightly at the mess I’d made of his face. ‘It looks better. I did you a favour.’ I hoped he wouldn’t see through the medium-paced sarcasm. ‘How about a trade? Talk to me!’
I noticed his big eyes dart over my shoulder, his jaw dropping at the same time. I smiled. I wasn’t about to fall for that old gag. Did he think I’d missed the script meeting?
‘I think someone wants you,’ he bleated.
His over-shoulder stare persisted.
‘Sure, shit-face.’ I gave him the “hold steady” look. ‘Don’t tell me. It’s Jean-Claude Van Damme? Am I right?’
He shrugged, his shiny face creasing like a cheap cotton shirt, suggesting I wasn’t far wrong.
To my everlasting surprise I felt a huge hand rest firmly on my left shoulder. Without thinking, I turned to see a six-foot-seven, barrel-chested, overgrown behemoth standing right behind me. He looked to be in his forties, but the close-cropped silver hair didn’t fit. As my grip on the tail loosened, he pushed my hand away and wriggled clear. I swung back to see him legging it. The sneak was in full flight, the piston motion of his legs, cartoon-like, carrying his knees way beyond his chin.
‘For crying out loud,’ I moaned. ‘That’s the second time he’s got away.’ I made to go after him, but the large hand on my shoulder tightened like an industrial clamp. I turned back to “Muscle Head”, pretended to relax and let my body go limp. I gave him my most endearing smile.
‘Looks like you’ve got me, Ace.’
He smiled back, and his grip softened a little. A fraction of a Cherokee second was all it took for me to switch modes to attack, my fist hardening instantly. With as much energy as I could channel into my right hand, I struck the inside of his elbow joint with the legendary Eddie G k-chop. The hulk didn’t flinch. From the recoil, I launched a straight karate punch to the guy’s nose. He blinked and sniffed, looking entirely unimpressed. When I went for the combination punch, his arm caught my wrist, deflecting the follow-on. He held my arm vice steady and for the first time I realised I could be in trouble.
His smile widened when he saw that look in my eye. ‘Yer cumin’ wi’ me,’ he mumbled in a heavy northern accent.
‘And you are?’
‘Tommy.’
‘Okay, Tom. Tell me why I’m to go with you?’ One question at a time was all I figured the dummy could handle.
‘Boss wants to see yer.’
‘And who be da “Boss”?’
‘Mister Cartwright.’
Oh shit. It was the closest I’d come to feeling fear and dread mixed together. The combination spread like a virus.
~
So Weighton’s answer to Al Pacino in Scarface – minus the scar – wanted to see me. The guy was bad news at the best of times. He was like the Mafia, the Triads and the Serious Fraud Office all rolled into one. Known locally as “Mr Underworld” – even though his city centre office was on the ninth floor – Cartwright was Weighton’s undisputed kingpin of crime. Officially he was not only a leading city councillor but also a well-connected and philanthropically-minded businessman. Then there was the rather touchy and closer-to-home issue of his many run-ins with one Samuel Greene, a.k.a. my “old man”. All things considered, it didn’t bode well for a dandy introduction. But I had to admit, respect was certainly due to Mr Jimmy “Kingpin” Cartwright.
I smiled warmly at Jimmy’s emissary. ‘Why didn’t you say so earlier, Tommy lad? Always happy to oblige Mr Cartwright. You know that. Now don’t go telling him I was uncooperative. Caught me at a bad moment is all. What d’you think, should I take him some flowers?’
~
Tommy prodded me into Cartwright’s office, which was big, plush and featured more black leather than Argentina. The blinds on the windows were shut and gaudy pictures covered the walls.
The man himself sat behind a huge black desk: the Kingpin on his throne, flanked by his gorillas-in-waiting. I stared upon his reverence, awed at the legend in his lair. He had sleek, oily black hair which matched his thick, bridging eyebrows. His medium frame seemed fit and well-toned. A hint of a tan made him look younger than he probably was, which I guessed to be early fifties.
The bad news: he wasn’t smiling.
Worse, the two attendant gorillas, Tommy’s brothers from other mothers, were. They had the look of Roman legionnaires waiting for the games to begin.
I felt a shove from behind, courtesy of Tommy playing to the gallery. Exploiting the momentum, I took a stride forward and extended my hand across the desk.
‘Great to see you again, Mr Cartwright,’ I bluffed. ‘You’re looking well.’
Cartwright declined my hand, his eyes unblinking. The ungrateful mofo didn’t even get up. What do good manners cost, hey?
‘We ain’t met,’ he grunted. ‘I’d remember an ugly fucker like you.’
At least he liked to josh.
‘I’m not saying that’s why I remember you, Mr Cartwright,’ I said, counting his guns, ‘but I do recall the experience most certainly. We matched each other, mojito for mojito, over at that “Texmex” place on Dixon Street. You even said for me to call you Jimmy, Jimmy.’
‘Yeah? Who won?’
‘You did.’
Cartwright beamed at his men. They nodded approvingly. Then he tipped his head back at me. ‘How many we drink that night?’
‘You were drinkin’ em, Jimmy, I was just servin’ em, but Jesus, it must have been a shitload.’
The gorillas froze in mid-nod. The beam on Cartwright’s face disappeared, and a berry-blue vein bubbled up on his forehead. ‘Don’t fuck with me, Greene.’
‘No way, Jimmy, I wouldn’t do that. And it’s Eddie. Call me Eddie. For old-time’s sake.’
‘Okay, Eddie,’ he said slowly, his left eye twitching. ‘What’s a Mexican waiter doing talking to DCI Hobbs, eh?’
I blinked twice, playing for time. ‘Bein’ a good citizen is all. Helping with enquiries. No big deal.’
Cartwright wagged his finger at me, a thin smile showing. ‘You’re fuc
king with me again, Eddie. I don’t like that. Now what did you tell them about Porson?’
I don’t mind admitting, the situation was beginning to stink worse than Blackpool beach. I wondered how much Jimmy knew. Probably more than me, so there was no point pulling his dick. What I couldn’t figure out was his interest? I’d have to come back to that later.
‘What could I tell ‘em? I don’t know anything.’
‘Why the pull then “Tex”?’
‘I found her. They had to take a statement.’
‘So what did you tell them?’ repeated Cartwright, leaning forward. ‘You had to give them a reason for being there?’
I felt my brain complete a neat back-flip. ‘I told ‘em I was there to do her garden.’
Cartwright laughed. ‘Don’t give up the night job, Eddie.’
The gorillas laughed along with their boss.
‘Already did. Hours were a bitch.’
Jimmy resumed. ‘And did Hobbs fall for our ex-Mex waiter’s story?’
I nodded confidently. ‘Sure. I told him about how Mrs Porson saw me doing her neighbour’s garden and asked me to help out at her place.’
‘That was it? They let you go?’
‘Shit, Jimmy, you know what they’re like. Hobbs and Bugg make “Dumb and Dumber” look overloaded with the smart stuff. If they’d found a bent shovel they would have charged me.’
Cartwright shrugged. ‘Don’t be naïve. Sometimes they’re paid to be dumb.’
‘Yeah? That include Hobbs?’
‘Now who’s being dumb?’
‘Sure thing, Jimmy.’ I gave him the secret wink.
The Kingpin started to study his nails while the gorillas exchanged looks I couldn’t even guess at. Tension filled the void and my t-shirt felt a size too small. I got the impression it was standard procedure for them, but I wasn’t thrilled with the silent routine.
‘Right,’ I said, ‘if that’s all, then …?’
‘Where’s the fire, Eddie?’
‘Nowhere. I just know you’re a busy man.’
Cartwright came right over the desk. ‘Yeah, and I’m busy talking to you.’
I felt another showboat push from Tommy, and Jimmy settled back in his chair. ‘Tell me, Eddie, what exactly were you doing at Porson’s?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘The boys love a good story. Go right ahead.’
My insides were twisting like crazy, but I smiled and nodded. What choice did I have?
‘Things weren’t working that great at the bar,’ I said. ‘There was no money in it and not many laughs. Except when you came in, Jimmy.’ The menacing glares from his gorillas forced a hasty explanation. ‘You know, with the big tips and the place livening up and everything.’ Jimmy’s blank expression didn’t budge. ‘Anyway, I got out of that game. Thought I’d try my hand at private investigation work. As for Mrs Porson, well, she hired me.’
‘What, she see you doin’ some at her neighbour’s?’ He bellowed out a big laugh, and the partisan crowd grunted along with him.
I smiled. ‘Nice one, Jimmy. But no, I put an ad in the paper.’ I traced a banner headline above my head. “Weighton’s first and foremost P.I.”. It’s all about the razzmatazz, right? Anyway, it must’ve worked because she called me.’
‘What exactly were you investigating?’ asked Jimmy, fixing me an intense look.
Shit. Questions, questions. I was beginning to miss Bugg. But the big question was how much Jimmy knew I knew.
‘She never really told me,’ I bluffed again. ‘First time we met she was just checking me out, see if she could trust me. She hinted it was to do with some hanky-panky, but I don’t know.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Second time, well, she wasn’t very talkative. I put it down to her being dead.’
Cartwright stared at me, his head rocking slightly. Then he got up and walked around the room, all the while fiddling with his cuffs. Finally he perched on the desk, right in front of me. ‘If you’re lying to me, well, let’s just say this town ain’t gonna miss you.’
‘My mum’d be distraught. I wouldn’t give you anything but twenty-twenty.’
‘Well, let’s hope so. For your mum’s sake.’ He slapped my cheek gently. ‘Now, I want you to leave here, and forget all about me. Forget about Mrs Porson. Stay right out of it. You don’t say another word to Hobbs. Got it?’
‘Wouldn’t have it any other way.’
‘Remember, Eddie, I’m a big noise in this town.’
‘I hear ya.’
His eyes compressed into a narrow stare. ‘Then hear this. Stay out of it, Eddie, or I’ll kill you.’
I made a definite nod. ‘Yes, Jimmy. No problem.’
‘I’m telling you,’ he repeated, leaning closer. ‘Don’t fuck with me now. This isn’t a game.’
In the way of head movements, I wasn’t sure what was required, so I nodded and shook my head, repeating the pattern.
As I was leaving, Cartwright called out, ‘Your Dad had a big mouth, too.’
The bastard had known all along.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thursday – 16:12 (still the day before)
I switched buses three times until I was sure Jimmy’s men had given up following me. And with the whole of 9B’s back row to myself, I had space and time to think. I had lots of questions but no solid answers. Why was Cartwright interested in Porson? Had he been blackmailing her? Had he killed her? Who was the tail from the police station? I was pretty sure the guy was from out of town, but if he was one of Jimmy’s men, why had he run off when Tommy appeared? How long had Kate waited for me at the café? Would she speak to me again? Why was I in this shitty mess?
With the sun streaming through the bus window, I sat back and practised my breathing. Doctors say it’s the only way to live. My mind began whirling like a cement mixer, and I dared not stop in case it got stuck. Meanwhile, sleep took my ticket.
A crashed gear woke me, snapping my head forward. Startled, I was afraid to look up, half expecting to see one of Cartwright’s heavies glaring down at me, but it was only a young redhead with kid in tow, smiling from a row further down. I jerked my head from side to side to take in the surroundings, pleased to see comfortable familiarity standing to attention on both sides.
I had missed my intended stop, and was now deep in the heart of Eddie G country. Meanwood Street was one stop away. Gee, it was great to be back home.
I checked my watch and sure enough it was food time. Mum would be pleased to see me. Of course she would.
Like all mums, my mum knew when I was about to dock. As I arrived at the gate, she was standing tall at the front door. She would have made a great detective. She had Magnum beat no problem. Mind you, that applied to most people.
My hand wasn’t even on the gate when she spoke. ‘What’s going on, Edward?’
‘Good to see you, too. And it’s Eddie, you know.’
‘Me and your dad – God rest his soul – christened you Edward. That’s how it stays.’ Her long arms folded slowly.
I swung the gate open. ‘What’s for tea? I’m starving.’
‘Not before you tell me.’ She filled her chest with air, making it seem like the door frame had shrunk.
‘Tell you what?’
‘You know what?’
I shook my head. ‘What is what?’
‘Don’t lie to me, Edward. I know you’re in trouble.’
‘Define trouble?’ I put one foot on the doorstep, staking my claim.
‘I’m not stupid and I’m not talking about calls from school or visits from Mr Clement about his bloody shed window.’
I gave her the “no way” headshake. ‘All down to William Moore. You know that. His cricket ball, his bat, his mistimed cut. He had previous with Clement, too. If Rough Justice ever gets its bloody act together the world will know the truth.’ I held up three fingers. ‘We have forensics, motive and a smokin’ gun. Case dismissed.’
She just looked at me, her face implacable.
Then the penny dropped.
‘I get it, now,’ I said. ‘Bob “The Louse” Jones called you, yeah?’
The brief look of puzzlement on her face was genuine. ‘I haven’t heard from him. And he’s not a louse.’
‘So who’s been tweetin’?’
She eyed me carefully. ‘First I had a visit from a Detective Bugg. Then three men called at the house on behalf of Mr Cartwright. Said you’d know them.’
‘Ah,’ I said, taking a backward step, ‘takeaway it is.’
~
I was sitting at the kitchen table reading the Post, and half way through a second cup of tea, when Mum raised the subject again.
‘Come on, Edward, what’s going on? Is it to do with this case you’ve taken on?’
She was straight on the money. Pinpoint enough for a whole case of cigars. I pressed my hands around the hot mug until they began to burn. ‘If I tell you, promise not to worry?’
She leaned against the gas cooker, crossing her arms. ‘I’m your Mother. It’s like asking me not to open your mail.’
‘Deal or no deal?’
‘You will tell me, and I will still worry.’
I tried a partial change of subject. ‘A man is blessed to have so many visitors in one day, don’t you think? Did these impertinent fellows say what they wanted?’
‘The police had a look around and left.’
‘Without a warrant?’ I made the “sheesh” noise. ‘You know better than that, Mum. You did live with a policeman, remember?’
She raised a finger and wagged it in that “watch your step young man” fashion. Then she switched back to Bugg mode. ‘Why did the police come here?’
‘Probably looking for a bent shovel,’ I wondered out loud.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing. What about the others?’
She paused and looked at me before replying. ‘They were looking for you, wouldn’t say why. They told me not to worry; they’d find you in town.’
Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 Page 4
