Guns Of Brixton

by Mark Timlin

  'And he knows my name,' said Jed.

  The black woman in the wet red panties decided at that moment to wake up and get back in the show. She jumped to her feet and ran towards the door. Fish brought up the shotgun without really thinking and fired a round into her back which severed her spinal cord and blew her stomach and its contents across the wallpaper, where it steamed like half-cooked stew and stank like a backed up toilet.

  There was a stunned silence. Then the black man dived for the Browning. Jed shot him behind the ear before he could get there, the powerful handgun blowing it clean off his skull. It flew on to the carpet and lay there like a piece of thick cut bacon.

  Benny, almost at exploding point by then, smiled, walked over, to the woman in the bed and put three rounds into her chest. The dirty white sheets turned crimson and he said: 'What about the baby?'

  'Leave it,' said Fish. 'The social will look after it.'

  'Serves the fucker right for being born,' said Benny, and without a backward glance the three stepped over the two bodies on the floor, walked through the smoke and stink of cordite and bodily fluids and left the flat. Incredibly, only a few minutes had passed since they entered, and the estate was still snoozing the early morning away.

  'Better go and tell Mr Jenner what occurred,' said Fish.

  'Do you think he'll get all humpity?' asked Jed.

  'Fuck his luck if he does,' said Fish. 'He's got his gear and his dough back.'

  And carrying their weapons and the bags quite openly they returned to the car and drove away.

  'We don't know exactly what happened,' said Chas. 'But those fuckers left three dead in that flat.'

  'And they know you instigated it?' asked Mark. 'The Yardies, or whatever they are, I mean.'

  'I think even lemonades can add two and two,' said Chas.

  'Well, fuck me,' said Mark. 'You certainly know how to pick 'em.'

  'They were the best we could do at short notice.'

  'But business is business,' said Mark. 'They knew the risks.'

  'But this got a bit personal.'

  'How come?'

  'There were three Hop brothers,' said Jenner. 'Jimmy, who owed us the dough. Benny, who got offed in the flat, and Cy.' 'Yeah?' said Mark, but he'd already guessed. 'Cy goes by the street name Beretta,' said Chas. 'Well, of course he does,' said Mark. 'And he's got the hump, right?' 'Just a bit,' said Jenner. 'Won't be happy until we're all brown bread. And he means it.'

  'Terrific. No wonder you've got tight security here.' Chas shrugged. John Jenner was still gazing into the distance. 'I'm going upstairs,' said Mark. 'I need to make some phone calls.' 'So you're going to help?' said Jenner, turning his head slowly in Mark's direction.

  'Looks like I don't have much choice, do I?' he replied and left the room.

  Chapter 18

  Mark went straight to his room, closed the door and sat on the bed. The curtains were open and, although there was no light on, the garden shone from the frost that had settled on the lawn.

  Wearily, regretting his return south of the river more with every moment - aside from seeing Linda again - he switched on the bedside lamp, found his bag and fished out a battered black leather-bound notebook. He held it in his hand for a moment before opening it at the first page and reaching for his mobile. It had been a long time since he'd used the book. A lifetime, for some.

  The first number he tried rang and rang into the bitter night, and he looked at his face reflected in the black mirror of his bedroom window. Eight years, he thought. What're the odds?

  The second number was unobtainable, but the third rang for just a few seconds before it was answered with a grunted, 'Hello.'

  'Is Diz there, please?' asked Mark, realising as he said it how ridiculous it sounded.

  'What?'

  'Diz. Dizzy. Dizzy Dawes.'

  'Christ. No one's called me that for years. Who's this?'

  'Is that you Dizzy?'

  'It's Eddie. Who's this?'

  'Mark.'

  'Mark who?'

  'Mark Farrow.'

  'It can't be.'

  'It Is.'

  'Mark Farrow?' 'Yeah.' 'Christ.! 'It is. Dizzy.'

  'It's Eddie now. Always Eddie.' 'Sorry. I can't believe you're still there.'

  'You can't believe me. Bloody hell, man, it's been… how long?' 'Eight years, more or less.'

  'And you can't believe it's me. I can't believe it's you, Mark.' 'It is.'

  There was a long pause. 'So?'

  'I'm back, Eddie.' It sounded strange to Mark's ears to call his old friend that. It had heen Dizzy Dawes since school. 'So what do you want me to do? Dance, sing?' 'Listen, I know I just vanished, but I had my reasons.' 'Reasons to be cheerful part three.' An old Blockheads hit. That was more like Dizzy, thought Mark. 'Yeah.' 'So? Why the call?'

  'I was wondering what you were doing.'

  'Sitting here in front of the telly, smoking spliff, drinking strong lager, same as every night.'

  'Where's Bren?' Bren was Brenda. Eddie's wife. A sweet girl, if a little simple, Mark remembered.

  'Gone. Took the kids and pissed off with a driving instructor from Cheam.'

  Mark didn't know if he was being serious. 'Kids?' he said. 'Two now. One you met in his bassinet, the other came later, after you split.' 'Boy or girl?'

  'Does it matter, Mark? They might as well not exist as far as I'm concerned. They're living in Nottingham or Birmingham or some bloody ham or another now, I don't know.' 'I'm sorry, mate.'

  'Yeah, sure. So what's the real reason for this new year communication? Forget to send me a Christmas card? Want to know what I got from Santa? What?'

  'I'm trying to find the boys.'

  'What boys?'

  'Our boys. The old crew.'

  'Christ, Mark, where you fucking been?'

  'Around. I'll tell you if you let me. We could meet.'

  'That'd be good. Talk about old times. Old mates who never call.'

  'Listen. I'm sorry, Diz. I mean it.'

  'I told you, it's Eddie these days. Don't call me Dizzy. I don't answer. to that name anymore.'-

  'OK Eddie. Are you working?'

  'Me? Fuck no. That's one of the reasons Bren did a runner. No gainful employment. No regular fucking income. I can hear her saying it now, the cow. No, mate. I'm sitting here in my flat waiting for the bailiffs, living high on what the government supplies every fortnight in Giro form.' 'Maybe I can do something about that.' 'Like what?'

  'Put a little work your way.' 'What kind of work?' 'Dirty work.' 'Real dirty work?' 'The dirtiest.'

  'Are you kidding me? You ain't seen the state I'm in.' 'It's well paid.' 'How much?'

  'Not on the dog, mate. Like I said, we could meet.' For the first time, Edward 'Dizzy' Dawes sounded interested. 'When?' he asked. 'Tomorrow.'

  'Sounds all right. I've nothing else to do.'

  'Fine. I've got someone else to see first, I think. How about late afternoon?'

  'Whenever.'

  'I'll call you…'

  'What? In eight years time?'

  'No. Tomorrow lunchtime. We'll make a meet. You're still in Stockwell?' Course he was. Stupid question.

  'No. I'm at Claridges, but I've had my calls diverted.'

  'Sorry mate. I'll bell you, all right?'

  'You do that.'

  Mark clicked off the connection and put the phone on the bed. He decided to wait until talking to Dizzy, or Eddie, or whatever he was calling himself these days, before trying to find more old friends. His welcome in that quarter could hardly have been called warm. Only the mention of money had made Eddie soften up, and even then it was little more than a faint thaw of the chill that had gripped his voice when he'd discovered who was calling. But who could blame him? Mark had been the leader of the firm and he'd just split without warning. They hadn't known what had caused him to leave - and they never would as far as he was concerned.

  Mark switched off his mobile and went downstairs. Both Chas and John Jenner had gone up to
their respective rooms and Martine's absence made him suppose that she was on one of her boozy nights out. Thank God for that, he thought. The last thing he needed was a rerun of the previous night's events. Or the recriminations he was sure it would eventually bring.

  He switched on the TV, found a bottle of brandy in the cupboard, poured a decent glassful and lit a cigarette before sitting in front of the box and staring mindlessly at the screen.

  Shit, he thought, I wonder where all this grief is going to end. He couldn't know what the future held, but perhaps if he had, he would have just got up and walked out into the cold night, never to return.

  He thought about Linda. On the screen, an old James Bond film reeled in front of his eyes, and ridiculous people did ridiculously violent things to each other, then got up and carried on as if nothing had happened. In real life it wasn't like that, Mark knew. He killed the volume and used the landline to call Linda on her mobile. She answered quickly.

  'Is it all right to talk?' asked Mark without identifying himself.

  'Yes.'

  'I've been thinking about you,' he said.

  'Me too. Thinking about you, I mean,' she said.

  'Good.'

  'Don't be too pleased. You don't know what I've been thinking.'

  'True. But you're talking to me, so it can't be all bad.'

  'Don't you believe it.'

  'I meant what I said.'

  'About what?'

  'About you. And me.'

  'Mark. Seems to me I've heard that song before.'

  'Yeah, I know. But you'll end-up believing me.'

  'So you say.'

  'So I mean. Anyway. Tomorrow. How about lunch? We can't keep meeting in Safeway's - people will talk, and my grocery bill will go through the roof.'

  'Suppose so.'

  'Where then?'

  'Somewhere where no one will know us.'

  'Know you, you mean,' she said.

  'If you like.'

  'Sneaking around, like we used to?'

  'Linda. I've explained.' He watched the images on the screen flicker in front of him like cardboard cut-outs in glorious Technicolour.

  'But that doesn't make it right, Mark.'

  'I know. But tomorrow. You'll meet me?'

  'Yes. You know I will. I'm just a fool.' 'You're not.'

  'I wonder, would you have pursued me if Andy hadn't died?'

  'Would you have let me?'

  'The trouble is, Mark, I don't know.'

  He sighed. He didn't know either.

  'So where do we meet?'

  'Remember the Horniman Museum?'

  'How could I forget?'

  'There's a restaurant there. It's open for lunch. It's pricey. You can treat me.'

  'I'd treat you to lunch on the moon if there was a restaurant there,' said Mark.

  'Don't lay it on too thick, Mark.'

  'Sorry. What time?'

  'One-ish. We should be able to get a table without booking. I'll leave Daisy with Greta.'

  'You can bring Daisy if you want,' said Mark. 'I liked her, and I think she liked me.'

  'Dangerous territory. I don't want you bonding with my children, then taking off. They've suffered enough loss, thank you very much.'

  'I won't take off again.'

  'Don't make promises you can't possibly keep. You promised me you'd never leave me once before, and look what happened.'

  He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make it worse, so he said nothing.

  'So, I'll see you there,' said Linda after a moment's silence.

  'Sounds fine.'

  'Wait till you see the bill and you'll wish it was just your groceries you were paying for.'

  'I can handle it.'

  'And me, Mark. You always could handle me. Isn't that right? Now I've got to go.'

  When she switched off, Mark replaced the phone in the cradle. He realised that Martine had entered silently, her shoes in her hand. She was drunk. 'The bird,' she said. 'Has to be. Got a date?'

  'How long have you been there?'

  'Wouldn't you like to know?'

  'Not really.'

  'You're a fucking prick,' she said, the words slurring together.

  'I think you've already made that clear.'

  'Piss off.'

  'Why bother, Martine? Why don't we just coexist peacefully?'

  'And why don't you help my dad?'

  'That's just what I intend to do.'

  'What? Between shags with that bitch?'

  'Why do you hate her so much?'

  'Because she rules you, you bloody fool.'

  'And does that make you jealous?'

  'Jealous?' she almost screamed. 'You think I give a shit about you or what you do?'

  'If last night was anything to go by.'

  'Bollocks,' she said and walked out. Mark looked at James Bond and envied him his way with women. When he'd finished his drink he shut off the TV in the middle of the dramatic finale of the film and went to bed. If only the rest of his life was that simply sorted, he thought.

  The next day he hung around the house all morning communicating with no one and staying in his room. At noon he set off for Du'lwich and the Horniman Museum. He'd taken Linda one Saturday afternoon when they'd been going out together. Maybe not the obvious place for a date, but the Horniman had captured Mark's attention when he was a boy. It had been founded by the tea magnate of the same name and contained items he'd discovered on his travels to India and China. The dark exhibits excited something in Mark's soul and he wanted to share it with his first real love. But outside in the grounds their passion had gotten the better of them and instead of ancient artifacts, Mark and Linda had found a quiet corner to make love. It was the first time in the open air for both of them and they often laughed at the memory, especially the part when one of the attendants had come out for a smoke break and had stood not two yards away from where they'd hidden in the undergrowth.

  Mark arrived early, found a parking space and went to find the restaurant. It looked very smart from the outside and he didn't know if it would work out in the wilds of south London. Still, he was prepared to give it a try, if only for old time's sake. And the fact that Linda had suggested the place made him think things could be going his way.

  Outside the building, only a few feet from where they'd hidden together on that long ago summer afternoon, Mark took out his mobile and keyed in Eddie Dawes's number. The phone was answered in a moment. 'Eddie,' said Mark. 'How you going?'

  'Hungover. Nothing new there.'

  Mark hated to hear his old friend talk like that. 'Are you about later?' he asked.

  'Yeah.'

  'Where?'

  'The Four Feathers in Stockwell,' replied Eddie. 'Our old hangout, remember?'

  'Sure,' said Mark, walking around to keep warm-.

  'Only it ain't the Four Feathers no more,' said Dawes. 'It's the Rat and fucking Parrot now. Times change.'

  'They do,' agreed Mark.

  'And people,' said his old friend.

  'True.'

  'What time?' asked Eddie. 'Though I don't know why I'm asking as I'm in there all afternoon, every afternoon. In fact, I was just on my way there now. I was just waiting for your call. Not that I really expected it, as you've been known to let me down before.'

  Mark ignored the jibe and the self pity in Eddie's voice. There was plenty of time to sort that out later. 'Will you be there around four?' he asked.

  'If the money holds out.'

  'Make sure it does. I'll bring a live injection.' 'How come you're in the money?'

  'I'll tell you later,' said Mark as he saw Linda's car coming down the drive. 'Someone's here.'

  'Wish I could say the same,' said Dawes, and he dropped the phone down with a bang.

  Mark waited as Linda parked her car and got out. She was wearing a long leather coat and looked fabulous. He walked towards her and they embraced. 'Just like old times,' he said.

  'But I'm not getting my knickers off in the bushes if
that's what you mean,' she said. 'It's too chilly. Besides it'd ruin my coat.'

  'I think we're both too old for that,' he said.

  'Speak for yourself.'

  They laughed, and arm in arm walked into the restaurant.

  The place was quiet. They were offered a table by the window, where they ordered bottles of wine and mineral water. The menu was pricey and the room was warm, with white linen on the tables, and glasses and cutlery sparkled in the subdued lighting.

  'Who would ever have thought it?' said Mark as he looked around. 'A place like this out here in the boonies.'

  'All sorts of things have changed round here,' she replied.

  'So I've noticed.'

  'Good. You should.'

  'I was thinking about you last night,' said Mark when the drinks had been brought to the table, the wine tasted, announced satisfactory and poured.

  'And me you, like I said.'

  'And?'

  'And I've come to a decision.'

  He didn't like the way the conversation was going. This is where she tells me she doesn't want to see me anymore, he thought. 'And?' he asked.

  'Simple. I will keep on seeing you, but…'

  He cocked his head like a dog.

  '…But I don't want you involved with my family. I don't want you seeing Luke or Daisy, and I don't want Greta to know what we're up to.

  And I especially don't want Sean to find out. I'll go out with you when I can, but nowhere where I'm known. I'll sleep with you when we can at the flat or wherever, but that's it. I don't want a boyfriend. I don't want a relationship.

  'You just want a shag now and then, is that it?'

  'If that's how you want to put it, yes.'

  'And I have no say in the matter.'

  'Course you do. You can take it or leave it, Mark.'

  He took a sip of wine which now tasted like vinegar. 'So I'll just be your bit on the side.'

  'If you like.'

  'I don't like.'

  She shrugged. 'Please yourself. I made out for eight years without you, and I daresay I can make out for a lot more. My family is what matters to me now. I enjoyed the other afternoon more than you'll know. I miss having sex. I enjoyed it with you years ago and I enjoyed it with Andy. But I made do without it after he died… and I'll make do without it when you go away again.'