by Mark Timlin
Chas grabbed Mark in a bear hug before the boy could follow through, lifting him clear off the floor and pushing him hard against the wall. 'No, son,' he said. 'Not here, not now.' Mark struggled for a moment, but the bigger, older man kept whispering in his ear for him to be calm, and, after a few seconds, he was.
A nurse, alerted by the commotion arrived and shook her head as she surveyed the scene. 'Can't you people take it outside?' she said. 'We have enough trouble here as it is.'
Hazel went to her, apologising profusely. 'Sorry, nurse,' she said. 'The boy just lost his mother.'
'I know,' replied the nurse. 'Now are you going to stop or do I go and get that policeman?'
'It's stopped,' said Hazel. 'It's all over.'
The nurse went to Thomas's prone form and turned his head to look at his nose. 'It's broken,' she said. 'Come on, get up. I'll fix it.'
Thomas staggered to his feet and, giving Mark a look of pure loathing, followed the nurse back into the ward.
John Jenner went over to Mark who was leaning against the wall looking at his swollen knuckles. 'Come on, son,' he said. 'Let's go home. There's nothing we can do here except get nicked. We'll come back tomorrow and sort everything out.'
'Susan was Thomas's wife,' Hazel reminded him. 'The arrangements are down to him.'
'No,' said Mark. 'I want to do it.'
'And so you shall,' said Hazel. 'Tomorrow. Things will look different tomorrow.'
Different, thought Mark as she led him out to their car. Not better - different. And that's how it's going to be from now on".
Bobby Thomas didn't press charges against Mark, and because he was skint as usual, he allowed Mark to arrange the funeral and John Jenner to pick up the bill. Mark didn't see him again until the inquest - the verdict was suicide - and again at the funeral in Greenwich cemetery. John Jenner paid for the headstone too, but Mark rarely visited his mother's grave. It brought back too many painful memories. Just once every twelve months, when he was around, on the 9th of April, with a bunch of flowers to replace the dead ones that had lain there all year.
Mark assumed that he would never see Bobby Thomas again after that, but he was wrong. They were to meet again quite soon, and once more it would be a life-changing event for Mark Farrow.
It was a beautiful spring evening in May when it happened. One of those perfect days in London when everything fits together perfectly. The temperature was in the low 70s, with a warm breeze blowing in from Africa, pollution was down and the grass was green and sweet.
Mark got a call at a pub where he was collecting money for John Jenner. Mark tried to make the extortion as pleasant as possible. He'd have a mineral water with ice and lemon and engage the publican or his wife in some conversation. The owners of this particular boozer went along with the fiction that Mark was just another customer, unlike some of the calls on his list where he was treated with as much caution as one might afford a rabid dog. With respect, but no friendship, and most of them were more than happy to see the back of him as quickly as possible. It was just part of the job, and Mark had stopped caring long before.
'Call for you, Mark,' said the barman, holding up the phone.
Mark went behind the jump and took the receiver.
'Mark?' said John Jenner's voice.
'Yes, Uncle.'
'What are you up to?'
'Usual.'
'Right. I need to see you.'
'When?'
'Now.'
'Where?'
'Dev's scrap yard.'
'Why?'
'You'll find out. How long will you be?'
'Half hour. Maybe less.'
'Good. Just toot your horn when you get there, Chas'll let you in.'
'What's all this about, Uncle?' asked Mark.
'I told you, you'll find out when you get here.' And he hung up.
Mark replaced the receiver, smiled a thanks to the barman and went back to his drink. The brown envelope stuffed with cash was in his pocket and he finished the water, wished everyone a pleasant good night and left. What they said about him when he was gone was irrelevant as far as he was concerned.
He went out to his car and headed towards Heme Hill and Dev's railway arch.
It was around eight when he arrived, and the evening had taken on a lavender tinge. The yard was up a half-demolished street of ancient slums, next to a council tip. The whole area was up for redevelopment and, at that time of night, was deserted. It stood behind high walls topped with razor wire and the only entrance was a pair of chain-link metal gates.
When he got there, Mark bipped his horn. After a few moments, Chas appeared and the gates swung open. He waved Mark through and closed them tight.
Mark got out of his BMW and joined Chas. 'What's going on? he asked.
'Got a surprise for you,' said Chas.
'I don't like surprises.'
'You'll like this one.'
They walked together through the piles of old motors, thirty and forty feet high, that always seemed to Mark to be on the verge of toppling down and crushing anyone underneath.
At the back of the yard was a huge structure like a wall-less barn, the roof supported by eight metal braces, each as thick as a tree trunk. In one corner was a Portakabin.that Dev used as an office, and in the other, the crushing machine. It was a huge beast of a thing, battered and black with oil from countless engines, with a crane at one end to lift the hapless motors to their destruction and eventual end as three-foot-square cubes of metal, glass and rubber.
In the centre of the barn was a sunken drain to take the effluent from the cars and wash it away to God knew where. All in all it was a very iffy concern and Dev only managed to keep it running because of the compulsory purchase order that was on the land, and a few well chosen backhanders that kept council and environmental health officials turning a blind eye to what hazards went on behind the closed doors.
John Jenner's latest motor, a new Jaguar saloon, was parked up empty next to the Portakabin.
'Inside,' said Chas.
Mark turned the handle of the cabin and went in. It was dark apart from one dim bulb burning in a desk lamp, but Mark could still see who was there. John Jenner was perched on one edge of Dev's untidy desk. In front of it, in a swivel chair, was Bobby Thomas. His arms were tied behind him with rope, and his ankles were constrained with more of the same. His mouth had been taped shut. 'Hello, Mark,' said Jenner. 'Glad you could make it. Look what the cat dragged in.'
Thomas strained at the ropes.
'Stop it,' said Jenner, who got down from the desk and slapped him hard round the face.
'What's he doing here?' asked Mark.
'Went out for a walk and didn't go home,' said Jenner.
'He was going down the pub,' said Chas. 'Drowning his sorrows.' Then he looked at Mark and said: 'Sorry.'
Mark shook off the bad choice of words. 'I thought he'd left London.'
'I told him to,' said John Jenner. 'At the funeral I explained what would happen if I saw him again, but he must've thought I was joking.'
'Bad idea,' said Chas.
'Let's hear what he's got to say,' said Jenner and ripped the tape off Thomas's face, leaving tiny blood bubbles in the pores on his lips and chin.
'You bastards!' ranted Thomas. 'If you don't let me go I'll have you for kidnapping!'
Jenner laughed. 'Kidnapping. Hear that, Chas? He says he'll do us for kidnapping. What do you think he'd say if I cut his dick off and shoved it down his throat?'
'Not much,' replied Chas. 'With his dick in his mouth and all.'
'From what I've heard, the size of it, he'd hardly notice,' said Jenner.
'Mark,' said Thomas. 'Tell 'em. It wasn't my fault your mum killed herself. She wasn't well.'
'And whose fault was that?' said Jenner. 'Anyway, you won't be missed. Remind me, 'what do you do for a living?'
'I'm unemployed at the moment,' said Thomas.
'At the moment,' said Jenner. 'You ain't done a day's work since you me
t Susan. You lived on her pension and the dole. Well, the pension's finished now, and so are you.'
'What are you going to do?' asked Mark.
'That's up to you, son,' replied Jenner. 'What do you think?'
Mark said nothing.
'Now where's that…' said Jenner. 'Ah, here it is.' And he moved some papers on the desk revealing an automatic pistol with a silencer screwed to the barrel. He picked up the gun and worked the action, forcing a round into the breech. Thomas went white and the smell of shit filled the room. Sure enough, a dark stain spread over the crotch of his trousers.
'Oh dear,' said Jenner, sighting down the barrel of the gun. 'He's messed his pants. What a shame.'
'Don't, please,' begged Thomas.
Jenner handed the gun to Mark. 'Here you are, son, it's all yours.'
Mark hefted the front-heavy weight of the pistol in his hand. This was what he'd been waiting for years. A chance to get even with Thomas. But looking at the flabby, scruffy, shit-stained alcoholic sitting in front of him, he couldn't dredge up enough energy to pull the trigger.
'Get him outside,' said Jenner, and Chas lifted the man, seat and all, and carried him through the door of the Portakabin and dumped him on the filthy concrete outside.
'Are you going to do it?' asked Jenner. 'He's all yours.'
'He's pathetic,' said Mark.
'Yeah. He is now. But if we let him go, he'll be boasting about it in some boozer before the week's out. Saying we've gone soft, and we might never have the chance again.'
'Can't we just let him go? Get him out of London?'
'I've done that once, like I said. He's taking the piss. Do you want me to do it?'
Mark shook his head. He knew that Jenner was right. And he also knew that whatever happened, whether Thomas walked or not, the night would haunt him forever. The same way the sight of his mother dying in the bath had filled his dreams every night since the night he'd found her.
'What did she tell you?' pressed Jenner. 'When you found her?'
'She told me to take care of everything.'
'So do it,' said Jenner. 'Do it for her.'
Mark nodded and stepped outside to find that Chas had knocked Thomas off the chair. He was lying on the ground squirming against his bonds like a slug in salt.
Mark walked over to Thomas and turned him over with his foot. 'I remember everything you did, Bobby,' he said quietly. 'I remember how you spoiled my mum's life. And mine.'
'No, Mark,' begged Thomas. 'We had some good times. Going to football. You remember…'
Mark shook his head. 'We never had one good time, Bobby,' he said. 'From the day you met her it was all crap. It all went to hell.'
'Please, Mark…'
Mark raised the pistol in his fist as if it weighed tons instead of pounds and said: 'How many rounds, Uncle?'
'Nine,' came the reply.
Mark smiled and pulled the trigger half back and Thomas crabbed across the concrete as if he could somehow escape. 'You're not going anywhere, Bobby,' said Mark, adding a slight pressure with his finger. The gun fired. The first bullet hit Thomas in the thigh and he screamed. Then Mark pulled the trigger again, and again, hitting the prone man in his torso and his groin, until finally he blew half his head off and kept firing until the action blew back and the gun's magazine was empty. But even then he kept trying to pull the trigger.
'Get the car,' said Jenner to Chas. 'And start the crusher.'
'He's going to leak all over the place,' moaned Chas.
'Then get the fucking hose and sluice it down. Come on, Mark. I'll take you home. Chas'll bring your motor.' Jenner gently extracted the gun from Mark's hand and gave it to Chas. 'And make this disappear.'
Chas nodded and walked from under the roof of the barn to where an ancient, once red Vauxhall Viva was parked up. He got in, started the engine after a couple of tries and drove it up next to the crusher.
'Time for us to go,' said Jenner, leading the younger man to the Jaguar and helping him into the passenger seat before getting in behind the wheel and driving back to the gates.
The last Mark saw of Bobby Thomas was Chas loading him into boot of the red Viva.
Mark was opening the gates for his uncle's car when he heard crusher start up.
Chapter 24
Sitting in his car, looking up at Linda's living room window, still lit through drawn curtains, Mark shook his head at his own stupidity as he thought back. Inside that flat was heaven. The only heaven he'd ever known or wanted. And the chance of a future with the one woman he'd ever really loved. But he'd turned his back and walked out, possibly never to return. And for what? To get back to the killing - and there'd already been too much of it in his life.
He started the engine and drove off with just one backward look into his rearview mirror at the tightly closed front door, wondering if he'd ever see her again.
He drove the short distance to Tulse Hill and slowly drifted his car down the hill towards John Jenner's house. He quickly saw the gleam of the reflected street lights on the red cellulose of Tubbs's BMW and its lights flashed once briefly.
Mark parked behind the Beemer and joined Tubbs in the front.
'What's the story?' he asked.
'Beretta called me an hour ago. He'd got ten grand's worth of coke and wants to do a deal.'
'And has to be tonight?'
'Right.'
Mark shook his head wearily. 'Fucked up my evening, I can tell you.'
'Sorry about that, but I thought you'd want to know.'
'Course I do. Right, come on, let's go inside and get the cash. You going to be all right doing this on your own?'
'Gonna have to be, ain't I?' replied the black man.
'Where's Eddie?' 'At home. I could've put him in the boot with his sawn-off, but he gets claustrophobic. And they told me to come alone.'
'They would. What do you reckon, Tubbs? Are they going to rip you off?'
'They might try.'
'That's what worries me. You're going in blind with a lot of money. These fuckers are mental. They'll kill you soon as look at you.'
'Nice thought. But they want money. And they've got all that dope to shift. What they're not sticking up their own hooters. And believe me, they're doing plenty of that. I reckon this is a try out. See if I can come up with the money sharpish and if there's more where that came from.'
'I hope you're right.'
'If I'm not, I'm in trouble. You got a gun?'
'Several.'
'Good. Handy?'
'With the cash.'
'Thank fuck for that.'
'You've got to be so careful, Tubbs. How long is it since you used a firearm?'
'Not since you pissed off. But you never forget.' He paused and Mark saw fear flash in his eyes. 'Do you?'
'Like riding a bike. But I hope you don't have to find out. We need to know where the stuff is being kept. Who else is about. What security they've got and what they're carrying themselves. It's bound to be heavy duty. These fucking Yardies judge their manhood by the calibre of their weapons. They're toting fucking Uzis around London, shooting anything that moves.'
'I know. I read the papers. Now listen, are we going to do this or sit here all night?'
'I like your enthusiasm,' said Mark. 'Come on, we'll go in mine.' They left the BMW, walked over to Mark's car and he drove the short distance to the gates of the house. Mark opened them with the remote Chas had given him. The black Mercedes was parked across the street still, and he could dimly see two shadowy bodies inside.
'What's all that in aid of?* asked Tubbs.
'The fuckers you're going to make a buy off tonight and their mates.'
'Uncle John was always good at making enemies.'
'You can say that again.'
They left the car and crunched across the drive to the front door, which Mark opened with his key. From behind the living room door he could hear Michael Caine's voice. 'Come and say hello,' he said, opening the door and pushing Tubbs inside.
'Christ,' Jenner said when he saw Tubbs. 'The return of Django.' He killed the movie with the remote.
'Hello, John,' said Tubbs. 'Long time.'
'Christ, but it is. Too long,' said Jenner. 'I'd get up Tubbs, but my legs are bad tonight.'
'I heard about your troubles,' said Tubbs who went over and shook the older man's hand. 'I'm sorry.'
'That's what life's all about,' said Jenner who pulled the big man closer for a clumsy embrace. 'You look well. I can see you're eating regular.'
'Fried chicken,' said Tubbs. 'Always been my problem. Now I cook it for a living.'
'But not for much longer, I hear,' said Jenner. 'You're back in the world.'
'If I can hack it.'
'That's why we're here, Uncle,' said Mark. 'Tubbs is off to make a buy. We've come for the money and a little something to keep him healthy.'
'Buying back our own gear, it don't seem right.'
'It wasn't really our gear, Uncle,' said Mark. 'We'd already been paid for it once. It belonged to your mates at the cash and carry. If you want us to leave it…' He didn't finish.
'No,' Jenner almost shouted. 'No,' he said again more quietly. 'Sorry, boys. I'm upset by the way things are going. So tell me all.'
Mark quickly filled Jenner in on what had happened during the day and the older man frowned. 'Dangerous,' he said. 'Bloody dangerous. They'll pop you for ten bob, Tubbs, let alone ten grand.'
'That's the chance I've got to take,' the big man said.
'You going with him, Mark?'
'Not in his car. He was told to go alone. Besides, they might know me, and even if they don't, any white face is going to set them off. But I'll be close.'
'Good,' said Jenner. 'When're you going?'
'Now. As soon as Mark gives me the money,' said Tubbs.
'Go on then, son,' Jenner said to Mark. 'I'll keep Tubbs company.'
Mark left them, went down to the cellar where he made up a parcel of ten thousand pounds in a plastic supermarket bag and picked out the Browning 9mm he'd carried himself, checked the clip and took it all back upstairs. 'Here you go, Tubbs. Now be careful. I'll be about but I don't want to crowd you.'
