Guns Of Brixton

by Mark Timlin

  'But you've never been able to get him.'

  'No. He had some help for a while from a bent copper named Sharman. Kept him one step in front of us for years until the bastard got found with his fingers in the drugs cupboard at Brixton nick and slung out. He was still around 'til recently, pretending to be a private detective. But now he's gone missing too.'

  'A lot of people go missing round Jenner.'

  'You can say that again. Vicious bastard. Here we are.' The car drew up outside John Jenner's house and the two coppers got out into the cold morning air. The black Mercedes was parked opposite with two up. Childs nudged Sean. 'What do you reckon about that?' he asked.

  'God knows.'

  'Maybe we will too. I've got the number.' Childs rang the bell next to the gate.

  'What?' a voice demanded after a minute.

  'If that's Chas,' said Childs. 'Be nice now.'

  'Who is it?' the voice asked.

  'DC Childs from Streatham nick and DS Pierce.'

  'What do you want?'

  'To come in?'

  'Got a warrant?'

  'Don't be silly. Just a chat. Nothing heavy.'

  The speaker was silent for half a minute and Childs pulled a face. Then, without warning the gates swung open. 'Welcome to the house of fun,' said Childs and they walked up the drive past the cars parked there.

  The door was opened by Chas, who stood like a statue with a sneer on his face. 'Childs,' he said. 'I thought you were dead.'

  'Hoped more like,' said the detective.

  'If the cap fits.'

  'This is Detective Sergeant Pierce,' Childs said. 'New in the manor. Come to make your acquaintances.'

  Sean just nodded.

  Chas pretended that he didn't know the younger man, but he would've recognised him in a crowd. He was the spitting image of Jimmy Hunter at the same age, and it took all of his self control to keep his hands off him. Billy Farrow had been a friend of his, and Chas was a firm believer that the sins of the father should be heaped upon the son unto several generations.

  'Come in then,' he said. 'Mr Jenner's in the living room.'

  John Jenner was sitting in his armchair, a rug around his knees. 'I'd stand,' he said as the two policemen came in. 'But I've not been well.'

  'I'm sorry to hear that,' said Childs.

  'Course you are.'

  'This is DS Pierce,' said Childs, introducing Sean. Jenner gave him a look that could have frozen meat, and Sean had a sudden intuition that Jenner knew exactly who he was. But how could he?

  'Sit down,' said Jenner. 'You're making me dizzy.' The coppers sat on the sofa and Jenner said: 'So what brings you here?'

  'Your name came up,' said Childs. 'With regard to a drugs deal. You might've seen it on TV or in the paper. Day before yesterday down near Basingstoke. There was a car chase…'

  'Can't say that I have,' said Jenner. 'Don't read the papers much these days, the news is too depressing. And I prefer nature programmes on TV.'

  'Yes, John,' said Childs. 'Of course you do.'

  'Mr Jenner will do nicely,' said Jenner. 'I'm not your mate.'

  'You can say that again.'

  'So what do you want?'

  'Just to see if you had any idea why someone would mention your name.'

  'No idea.' But Jenner was very interested. Very interested indeed. He wanted to know who'd put his name in the frame so that he could deal out retribution. If not personally, at least through a third party. Mark Farrow to be precise. A whisper had reached him that the word was out about the exchange and the word had turned out to have been correct.

  'So who was it?' he asked, hardly expecting an answer.

  And he wasn't to be disappointed. Childs grinned and almost laughed out loud. 'Never you mind, Mr Jenner,' he said. 'Just let's say that someone doesn't like you.' Of course, he didn't add that neither of the coppers knew who the informer was either. But Childs had always pretended to know more than he did.

  'Nothing new there then,' said Jenner.

  'Fair enough. Mind if we take a look round?'

  'Mind if I look at your warrant?'

  Childs smiled again. 'No warrant. But as you're an upstanding citizen we thought you might like to help.'

  'I'd like to help you leave,' said Jenner. 'All my life people like you have been coming here on the off chance. And what did you ever get to show for it? A few months on remand. I'm a businessman. My name is known. People don't like my success. They get jealous. They try and stitch me up.' He shrugged as if to say: 'What can you do?'

  'Your name's not as well known as it used to be,' said Childs.

  'Just as well. Keeps you lot out of my face.'

  'Nice car,' said Childs, changing the subject suddenly.

  'What?'

  'The Bentley. Nice motor.'

  'They're famed for it,' said Jenner.

  'Expensive.'

  'I can see you don't miss much. What are you driving these days? A Nissan or something?' Childs ignored him.

  'And the Range Rover. Whose is that?'

  'Mine. I took it in payment for a debt.'

  'Something from Basingstoke, was it?'

  'You've got bloody Basingstoke on the brain. No.'

  'And who's in the Mercedes parked opposite?'

  'Friends.'

  'Not good enough friends to invite in?'

  'Look, Childs,' said Jenner. 'And you, whatever your name is,' he added in Sean's direction. 'Come to the point or do one.'

  Childs could see that they weren't going to get much from the interview and all Sean wanted to do was leave. Jenner had been giving him stony looks from the off.

  'Well,' said Childs. 'Thanks for all your help, Mr Jenner. We'd better be on our way. We'll see ourselves out.'

  'No you won't,' said Chas from the doorway. 'You wouldn't want to take the wrong turning, would you? Who knows what you might leave behind. Incriminating evidence. That sort of thing.'

  'As if,' said Childs.

  He and Sean got up and Chas shepherded them to the front door.

  'Your mate don't say much, Mr Childs, does he?' he said as they left. 'Cat got his tongue?'

  Childs said nothing and Sean ignored him too. Chas watched as they walked down the drive. He opened the gates for them to leave and closed them again firmly once they were through. 'Bastards,' he whispered when they'd gone, making a point of giving the Mercedes another look on the way.

  He went back to where Jenner was sitting. 'What was all that about, boss?' he asked.

  'A fishing expedition. Somebody talked about what was happening the other day just like we thought. But they've got nothing.'

  Mark Farrow came quietly down the stairs. He'd been waiting for the police to leave, not wanting anyone to know he was back until he was ready. He heard his uncle and Chas talking and when he joined them he said: 'I was bloody lucky doing that pick up, wasn't I? They definitely knew it was going to go down.'

  'They did. It goes with the territory these days. Fuckers will grass you up for the price of a packet of fags these days.'

  'Sure,' said Mark, not convinced. 'But it should never have happened. I could've been captured, easy.'

  'Plod from the sticks,' said John Jenner. 'No match for you, my boy.'

  'But those two weren't plod from the sticks, were they?'

  'No,' agreed Jenner. 'They weren't. Far from it. Did you recognise the quiet one?'

  'No,' said Farrow.

  'Jimmy Hunter's son.'

  Mark almost literally felt his jaw drop. 'Never. What him, a copper?'

  'Yeah. Amazing isn't it? Thought I wouldn't know him, little bastard. But I've been keeping up with his career. He's just moved over from north London to get a promotion. Living down Croydon way with his sister and her sprogs.'

  'What?' said Mark, the colour leaving his face. 'What did you say?'

  'Thought you'd be interested,' said Jenner. 'You fancied her once, didn't you?'

  Fancied her, thought Mark. Jesus, that was putting it mildly
.

  It was a chance remark Mark overheard between John Jenner and Chas that had started it all off in the first place. One night, thirteen years earlier, the three of them were driving God knows where, and 'I see she's got married again,' was all that Jenner said.

  'Who?' asked Chas.

  'Marge Hunter.'

  'No.'

  'It's the truth. Bloke named Pierce, works for the bloody Gas Board of all things.'

  'I didn't know her and Jimmy were divorced.'

  'Yeah. Been seeing the bloke awhile. Gave the bold Jimmy the big E a bit back.'

  'How do you know?' asked Mark from the back of the car.

  'Blimey,' said John Jenner. 'I almost forgot you were there, you're so quiet.'

  'So how do you know?' Mark pressed.

  'I like to keep tabs on people,' said Jenner. 'Know your enemy.'

  'Is she your enemy then?'

  'No. But her ex is. And yours.'

  During the drive and subsequently, Mark kept on at his uncle for details until eventually Jenner gave in. 'I know a private detective,' he said one sunny May afternoon. 'I keep him sweet with a few quid and he noses around for me. Nothing formal. Nothing in writing.'

  'So tell me,' said Mark.

  Jenner told him about Marge and the two children, almost grown then, called Sean and Linda, about Tom Pierce and the divorce, the subsequent remarriage and where the new family were living in East Croydon. 'One day,' he said, 'you'll have your revenge on that little mob.'

  'Yes,' replied Mark. 'I will.'

  Mark pondered on the information for a few days, and decided to do a bit of snooping of his own. By then he was nineteen and very much part of the Jenner organisation. He had money in his pocket and drove a new BMW.

  The following Monday morning he got up early, dressed casually in a sweatshirt, jeans and loafers, took his car keys and headed south.

  With the help of his A-Z he found the address that his Uncle John had mentioned and by eight o'clock he was parked up just down the wide suburban street, under a horse chestnut tree.

  The morning exodus from the street was well under way and after just a few minutes an ordinary looking bloke in an ordinary looking suit carrying a briefcase - Mark assumed he was Tom Pierce - left the house, got into a Ford Sierra and drove off. Next, a young, good looking boy a few years younger than Mark came out of the front door, pulled a bike from the side passage, got on, and pedalled off. That must be Sean, thought Mark.

  A few minutes later, two girls of about sixteen, dressed in school uniform, came chattering down the street, went up the front path and knocked on the door. It opened a moment later and Mark's life changed for ever. In the doorway he saw the most beautiful girl he'd ever clapped eyes on, dressed in the same school uniform with a school bag over her shoulder. She was taller than her friends and, even from a distance, Mark could tell she was the gang's leader.

  She shouted something back through the open door, closed it behind her and the trio headed out into the street, Mark's way.

  He sank down in his seat and watched them over the top of the dashboard. Linda Hunter, or Pierce as she now was, filled his eyes, making the others all but invisible. As she got closer he drank in her every detail. All thoughts of revenge were forgotten and the only thing he could think of was how he could get to talk to her.

  The three girls passed the parked BMW without giving it a second glance, turned the corner at the top of the street and vanished. Mark just sat where he was for ten minutes before switching on the engine and returning home.

  It didn't take much research to discover which school the girls' uniform belonged to, and a couple of days later Mark headed back to Croydon. He left his car in the Pontins garage underneath the Whitgift centre in the middle of town and took a wander. The school, a massive mixed comprehensive, was close to East Croydon railway station and next to a park. Just before lunchtime, Mark was sitting on a bench with a good view of the school's main gates, as an ice cream van with its tones blasting out Popeye The Sailor Man arrived. At nineteen, Mark was an extremely handsome young man and he knew it. His dark hair was long over his ears, his skin was smooth and unblemished and that morning he hid his blue eyes behind dark glasses.

  He was casually dressed again. A white T-shirt, leather jacket, skinny, faded Levis and black loafers.

  He heard the sound of a school bell and the doors of the main building burst open and hundreds of youngsters aged between eleven and seventeen headed for their hour of freedom.

  Suddenly Mark realised that maybe it wouldn't be as easy to spot Linda Pierce as he'd first imagined. Maybe she'd stay in for lunch. Maybe she was studying during her free time, or maybe she wasn't even at school that day.

  Some of the kids headed for the centre of town, some hung around the playground and others came into the park where they grabbed what seating was there or else sat on the grass under the warm sun.

  One kid, a boy of about thirteen, joined Mark on his bench. Mark lit a cigarette and the boy said: 'Got a spare fag, mate?'

  Mark looked at him coolly through the dark lenses of his glasses. 'You're too young to smoke,' he said.

  'Bollocks. I've been at it since I was ten.'

  'I bet you have,' said Mark taking a cigarette from his packet and giving it to the boy. He offered him a light and the boy inhaled with obvious pleasure. 'Cheers,' he said. 'Don't let a teacher see you.' 'Fuck 'em.'

  'Big school,' said Mark.

  'Bleedin' dump.'

  'Aren't they all?'

  'Dunno. Ain't been to them all.'

  Mark smiled at his cheek. 'Mine was.'

  'Where was that?'

  'Brixton.'

  The boy nodded and smoked on.

  'Know someone called Linda Pierce?' asked Mark casually after a minute.

  The boy thought carefully. 'How old?'

  'Sixteen.'

  'She new?'

  'Might be.'

  'Good looking tart. Yeah, I know her. She's over there.' He indicated with his head to a crowd of girls just coming down the main drive, and Mark's heart raced as he saw her, a head and shoulder above the rest. 'Yeah, that's her,' he said. 'Your bird?' asked the boy. 'No,' said Mark. 'Fancy her, do ya?' 'Maybe.' 'Bit tasty.'

  Mark agreed with a nod. 'You chatted her up?'

  'Not yet,' said Mark as he got to his feet and walked towards the girls. 'See ya,' he said over his shoulder, and the boy nodded in reply.

  The girls had entered the park and found a shady spot under a huge oak tree where they sat in a circle and produced sandwiches, snacks and drinks from various bags that they dropped in the centre of their camp. Mark watched for a moment and went closer, the sun at his back so that his shadow preceded him. One of the girls, a plump blonde, noticed his approach and nudged the one next to her.

  Some boys of his age would have been intimidated by the young women, but Mark knew his worth. And he was no timid virgin. There were plenty of women camp-followers around the Jenner mob, and more than one of them had been happy to initiate a handsome young man into the ways of love.

  Still keeping the sun behind him, Mark stopped by the group and, speaking only to Linda, he said, 'Hello.'

  The blonde and one of her mates started giggling hysterically but Mark ignored them. 'Hello,' he said again.

  Linda Pierce blushed as she realised he was speaking to her. 'Hello,' she said back. The blonde could hardly contain herself, rolling on the grass and showing off her knickers.

  'Do you fancy an ice cream?' asked Mark.

  The blonde almost burst at that.

  'Oh do shut up, Bren,' said Linda. 'You'll wet yourself. And pull your skirt down. I can see everything you've got.'

  This only made the girl laugh harder and Mark had to smile too. 'Well, do you?' he asked, hunkered down on his haunches, took off his shades and gave Linda the full effect of his eyes.

  She thought for a second and twitched her nose. 'All right,' she said. 'If only to get away from her,' indicating the blonde.


  'She's enjoying life,' said Mark, standing up and extending his hand.

  'Too much,' said Linda and allowed him to pull her to her feet. At the touch of their skin, he felt an electric shock and knew she felt the same.

  'My name's Mark,' he said. • 'Linda,' she said, disengaging her fingers.

  'Hello, Linda.'

  'Hello, Mark.'

  And as they walked in the direction of the ice cream van, he heard the blonde say through waves of laughter. 'Blimey, Linda's got a boyfriend. That's a first.'

  'I can only be a minute,' said Linda. 'I've got some homework to catch up on.'

  'That's OK,' replied Mark. 'I'll just get you a small cone.'

  Linda just looked at him as if he was mad.

  'If that's all right.'

  'Yes,' she said.

  'Good.'

  'Tell me something.' 'What?'

  'Why did you come over just now?' 'To talk to you, of course.'

  'You've got a nerve,' she said as they stood in the queue, all the other kids' eyes upon them.

  'I wanted to speak to you,' said Mark. 'Before you went.' 'Those girls will be taking the mick forever now,' said Linda. 'Your mates,' he said. 'Bunch of loonies more like.'

  They got to the top of the queue and Mark ordered a pair of cones and gave one to Linda and they walked to a quiet corner of the park. 'I don't usually do this,' the young woman said. 'What?'

  'Let blokes pull me.' 'Have I pulled you then?' 'You know what I mean.' 'So, will you come out with me?' 'I don't think so. My mum and dad are pretty strict.' 'Just for a walk or something. No big deal. Nothing heavy. I understand about the school work. I wouldn't want to mess up your education.' 'You talk like a teacher.'

  'Do I?'

  'How old are you, Mark?' 'Nineteen.'

  'My mum would go spare.' 'Why?'

  'You're too old for me.'

  'How old are you then?' Although Mark knew.

  'Fifteen.'

  'And never been kissed.'

  She coloured again. 'I wouldn't say that.'

  'You got a bloke?'

  She shook her head.

  'Good.'

  'Don't go getting any ideas just because I let you buy me this.' She held up her ice cream. 'It was just to get away from Brenda. I thought she was going to die laughing.'