by Mark Timlin
'I've been savouring it for over twenty years.'
'Brooding on it, more like.'
Jimmy shrugged agreement.
'Then a little longer won't hurt, will it?' Jimmy didn't reply. 'Now Gerry Goldstein's been putting it about that you want work,' said Butler.
'Need money more like. That shyster stitched me up.' 'That's not what he told me. He says he gave you a fair return on your investment.'
'Bollocks.'
'He could've said he'd lost the lot. Have you checked the stock market lately?'
'No. I cancelled my subscription to the Financial Times when I went inside. Forget Gerry. Tell me about the grass.'
'Just another traitor, Jimmy. He was up for something very serious, and put you lot in it.'
'But who?'
'Like I said, Jimmy, all in good time. Let's get down to business.'
Jimmy sighed, but knew there was no shifting Butler when he was being stubborn. All in good time is right, he thought. 'OK. What's the job?'
'Be patient, Jimmy. But I can tell you it's big. And it'll be soon. But at the moment it's on a need to know basis and…'
'… And I don't need to know?'
'Not at this moment. You've been away a long time. No one knows, including you, if you've still got the old…'
'Bottle,' said Jimmy.
'Precisely,' said Butler. 'I think you should test yourself first on something small.'
'Are you taking the piss, Danny?'
'When it comes down to business, I never take the piss, Jimmy, you should know that. Now how's the kids?'
Sean Pierce knew that Jimmy was out. He'd got the information even before Jimmy himself was made aware of his release date. And on the morning that Jimmy reappeared into the world, he'd been watching the front of Brixton Prison from a doorway in flats across the road. Sean had made it his business to know what Jimmy looked like after twenty years. Which was just as well, because he would never have recognised the middle-aged man who walked out of prison as the young father he remembered. He followed Jimmy as he hopped from bus to bus on his way to Holborn, too busy gawping at the sights to realise he was being tailed. And he'd stood outside Goldstein's as Jimmy had transacted some unknown business there, then he'd trailed him again to the tailor's shop and even managed to utter the immortal words 'Follow that cab' to a taxi driver after Jimmy had taken a cab to the hotel in Russell Square,
But then Sean was due at work and he had to return to south London, where a split shift and the eventual need to sleep prevented another visit to the hotel until Friday afternoon. By that time, Jimmy had already checked out. Even so, Sean knew his father wouldn't be far away and that he would turn up soon.
Sean was still living in the garage flat adjoining Linda's house. He could've moved out months before but somehow it seemed easier to just stay put, to become increasingly involved in the upbringing of his niece and nephew, and to offer babysitting services on his lonely nights off when they happened to coincide with the nanny's. But Linda rarely ventured out after dark any more and no one ever visited. And over the past few months, Sean had watched her become increasingly jumpy and nervous, lose weight and begin biting her nails again, just like she had when she was a young girl. He tried to ask her what was wrong, but every time he did, she turned on him, and he soon stopped. Women's problems, he surmised.
But just as she was without a man, he was without a woman. He'd received a good few offers from women he met at work, both in and out of 'the job'. But he hardly, if ever, took them up on it. The shadow of his father's release sat heavily on his shoulders and Sean didn't need any further complications in his life. He'd actually made a date with DI Sally Cooper, who he'd met at the murder scene at Loughborough Junction, but it hadn't really worked. Her rank, and the fact that she'd talked shop all evening, had put him off.
Luckily, Linda's moods didn't seem to influence the children, who were both of a sunny disposition. So he left well enough alone and hoped that she'd eventually come through whatever crisis she was suffering. But in her own time.
That Friday evening, after he'd lost contact with Jimmy Hunter, he knocked on the kitchen door at the back of the house and Linda let him in. The children were in bed, the nanny was off at some au pairs' gathering - where they moaned about the meanness of their employers and the behaviour of the children in their care - and Linda had been sitting alone at the kitchen table. Alone, that was, apart from a bottle of white wine, a single glass, a packet of cigarettes, a lighter and an ashtray.
He frowned when he saw the clutter. 'I didn't know you were smoking again,' he said.
'There's a lot of things you don't know about me,' she said, fetching another glass from the cupboard and pouring him one. He sat down, opposite her chair.
He waited for her to enlarge on the remark, but when nothing was forthcoming he said: 'There's one thing I do know.'
'What's that?'
'He's out and on the move.'
For a second there was a flash of something in her eyes. Something like interest. Something like the old Linda. 'Who?' she asked.
'Our father.' He didn't add 'who art in heaven'.
'Oh, him,' she said, the interest dying as suddenly as it had appeared.
'Who did you think 1 meant?' he asked.
'Forget it.'
'And he may try and look us up.'
'If he does I'll stick my finger in his eye,' she said and lit another cigarette.
'My kids,' said Jimmy in reply to Butler's question. 'I don't even know where they are. Whether they're alive or dead.'
'But I do,' said Daniel Butler. 'Both very much alive, I'm happy to report. Did you know you're a grandad?'
Jimmy's eyes widened. He'd often thought it was a possibility but hadn't dwelt on it. Despite the excitement Butler's words generated, he fought to remain calm. Butler had too much on him already and knew far too much about him as it was. 'No,' was all he said.
'Well, you are. A boy and a girl. Luke and Daisy.'
The news was almost too much for Jimmy on top of everything else that had happened recently. 'Christ. Where are they?'
'You're in south London, I believe,' said William.
Jimmy nodded.
'Then not far away.' He smiled an unkind smile. 'And your boy. Sean, isn't it? Did you know he was a copper?'
Jimmy couldn't believe his ears. 'Do what?' he almost shouted.
'Detective Sergeant,' said William. 'Doing well. Course, not with your name. That would never do. They don't even know who his real father is.'
'How do you know all this? And how's Linda?'
'Proud mother of two. Sean hasn't married. Not even got a girlfriend. No, don't worry Jimmy. He's not a shirtlifter. He just seems more interested in looking after his widowed sister and her little brood and moving up through the police service than in playing happy families in suburbia.'
'Widowed?' Jimmy couldn't take it all in. 'What happened?'
'Car crash a year or so ago. Left her with a tiny baby girl who never knew her daddy. Linda came out of it quite well though. Got a decent pay-off as I understand.'
'So how do you know all this?'
'It always pays to know things, Jimmy. Information is power, isn't that the expression? And as we're such old mates, I made it my business to keep an eye on them. A friendly eye, of course. I've never interfered. Just filed every drop of information away for future reference. And if you're with us, I'll be able to give you the full SP.'
'Thanks,' said Jimmy. 'Thanks a lot.'
'But before you rush off to your family's waiting bosom, we need to talk business.' 'Yeah.'
'Yes, I've got a little job for you, Jimmy. Interested?' 'What and how much?' 'I want you to kill some people.' 'Do what?'
'That's what you do isn't it, Jimmy? Kill people?' 'Not recently.'
'But once a killer, always a killer - that's what they say, isn't it?' 'Who says?'
'The elusive "they". But let's not get metaphysical. Will you do it or not?'
'They're here. At the entertainment. By the way, did you enjoy it?'
'I saw more claret when we invaded the nonces wing at Gartree and gave them a good seeing to.'
'I'm sure you did. But we digress. The target is a man named Smith. Rodney Smith.'
'And who is he?'
'Just another traitor, Jimmy. It doesn't matter who he is and what he's done. It only matters that he did it, and now he has to pay.'
'And who's the.other?'
'His wife. A horrible little ginger slapper. She won't be missed.'
'Is she a traitor too?'
'She cohabits with one, but otherwise she's just a tart.'
'So why do I have to kill her?'
'Because she'll be with him. They're always together. In fact, it's a kindness to put her out of her misery. She'd only pine with him gone… Just one moment.' Butler stood up and went over to an antique, roll top desk, where he opened the centre drawer and took out a pair of thin, black leather gloves which he tossed to Jimmy. 'I hope they fit,' he said. 'Put them on.'
Jimmy did as he was told. The gloves were skin tight and he made a fist of each hand to ease them on. 'They'll do,' he said.
'Come here, please,' said Butler.
Once again Jimmy did his bidding. The drawer was empty except for a small automatic pistol with a fitted silencer, a set of car keys and a folded sheet of paper. 'The gun has been cleaned inside and out,' said Butler. 'No prints on it or on the ammunition. Likewise the keys. The car is outside and clean too. You take it away with you tonight.'
'I haven't driven in over twenty years!' protested Jimmy. 'And I don't have a licence.'
'So you'll be breaking the law. What a surprise. Just drive carefully, Jimmy, and you'll be fine.' Butler picked up the paper, unfolded it and handed it across. On it was an address and a car registration number… 'Learn these,' said the white-haired man, 'then give it back.'
Jimmy looked at the address - which was in New Addington near Croydon - committed it and the car number to memory, before handing the paper back to Butler who used a gold cigarette lighter to set it on fire, before dropping the burning remains into the cold fireplace and crushing them to fine ash. 'Bob will point them out to you, and their car. It's a Lincoln. Very rare over here. You can't miss it. This is what you do. Tomorrow is the bitch's birthday. Rodney has booked a table at the Ivy for dinner. They'll drive up. They should be finished by eleven and home some time after midnight. The house is large, with a two-car garage under remote control. They'll drive in and you'll be waiting. The place is alarmed to the hilt, but don't worry about that. You don't need to be inside. Just follow them through the garage doors and do the business. You'll be in and out in seconds. Then take your car and drive it to Sainsburys at Nine Elms. You know it?'
. Jimmy shook his head.
'Then find it some time tomorrow before you go. Park the car there with the keys on the back offside tyre and it'll be collected. Vauxhall Bridge is just a few minutes away. Drop the gun in the river, then go home and have a good night's sleep. Simple.'
'I'm not a shooter,' said Jimmy.
'That's not what Billy Farrow would say - if he could.'
'That was a shotgun. This is a pistol.'
'Thanks for the lesson in ordnance, Jimmy, but I can tell the difference. You've used one of these before, haven't you? Some time during your illustrious career?'
'Twenty five years ago.'
'You'll manage. Otherwise, forget it. I'll say goodbye, get Bob to drop you where you want to go, and no hard feelings.'
'No,' said Jimmy, picking up the pistol. He dropped the magazine out of the butt, pulled back the slide to make sure the chamber was empty, checked the load in the clip and slapped it back home. 'I'll be fine.' Then he unscrewed the silencer, put it in the inside pocket of his jacket and the pistol into the right side pocket. He lifted up the keys and stuffed them into his trouser pocket. 'What's in it for me?'
'Rodney and his wife both wear very expensive watches. Rolexes covered in diamonds. They're worth maybe eighty, maybe ninety grand altogether. Stupid waste of money.' The irony of the fact that he was wearing a handful of rings with more diamonds that Jimmy had ever seen seemed to escape Daniel Butler. 'They're yours. There have been a number of robberies by so called 'Rolex raiders' over the last few years. Some of them sadly ended in tragedy. This will be one such. Personally, I'd dump them into a drain as far away as possible, but it's up to you. They'll be the hottest pieces of torn in London by noon the day after. Still, maybe Gerry Goldstein will take them off your hands. Rodney always carries a fat wallet full of cash. That's yours too, and his and hers credit cards. But once again the best bet is to lose them somewhere where they'll never be found.'
'So all I get is a bit of cash.'
'And my eternal gratitude, Jimmy. That's worth more than gold round here. And of course, I'll know you're up for the job I'm planning, and I'll let you know who grassed you up all those years ago. You'll get a result, Jimmy. And there's always the matter of Sean and Linda and your pretty little grandchildren…' The way he said it was almost a threat.
Jimmy knew he was buggered. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.
He shrugged. 'You're not setting me up here, are you?' he asked.
'Don't be silly, Jimmy. If you get captured it'll be your own stupid fault. There's no connection between you and them. Not that any dumb plod could work out anyway. You don't know them, they don't know you. Just do it.'
'OK, Dan,' said Jimmy. 'Let's have a gander at them then.'
Butler smiled, picked up the phone on the sideboard, pressed in a single number and whispered something into the handset. Within seconds, Bob opened the door, a big smile playing on his lips. 'Come on then, Jimmy,' he said. 'It's getting late.'
Butler took Jimmy's gloved hand in his own and shook it. 'It's been good seeing you again, Jimmy,' he said. 'And all being well, we'll meet again in a few days. Just do the business and everything in the garden will be lovely.'
'I'll do it,' said Jimmy, disentangling his hand and following Bob out of the house. They went back to the barn, where things seemed to have hotted up in their absence. Inside it was as steamy as a sauna, and they pushed their way to the front where Bob grabbed Jimmy's arm and said: 'Your two o'clock.' Jimmy glanced over and saw an immensely fat man in a suit sitting next to a small redhead who looked as if she was one visit to the plastic surgeon over the limit.
'Fatty?' said Jimmy.
'That's the boy,' replied Bob. 'I hope he's enjoying himself. It's his last time here, so I believe.'
Almost his last time anywhere, thought Jimmy, if I do it right. But he said nothing.
'Come on then,' said Bob. 'You've seen enough. Your car's outside.'
They left the barn and walked to the makeshift carpark where Bob showed Jimmy a huge black American car that looked something like an oversized Jaguar. It had the same number plates as he'd seen on the paper Butler had given him. Further into the shadows was an anonymous- looking, dark-coloured saloon was parked. 'This is yours,' said Bob.
'Untraceable. Even so, try not to get any parking tickets,' and left him alone with a cheerful wave.
Nervously, Jimmy climbed in behind the wheel. He found the ignition and turned on the engine; it responded immediately and ticked over smoothly. It took Jimmy a few minutes to find the light switch and he inspected the control panel, which seemed to have many more dials than the cars he used to drive. He just shrugged. It was automatic which was a help. Jimmy engaged reverse, eased out of the space and, changing to drive, headed for the gates. Once outside on the dark lanes he realised he didn't know where he was going, but trusted to luck and, after driving around aimlessly for twenty minutes or so, found a signpost to the A12; before he knew it, he was heading in the direction of London and quite enjoying the experience. The roads were deserted at that late hour which was a relief but, when he reached the suburbs, he was surprised at the amount of traffic. He cruised
across the river at Southwark Bridge and was soon in Brixton, where he parked as close to his flat as he could and was in bed by four thirty.
He was awake again by ten and, after a brief toilet and a cup of tea, which was all he could stomach with the nerves he was feeling, he hopped in the car and drove until he found the supermarket at Nine Elms. Satisfied, he headed down to Croydon, little knowing that he had actually passed the street in which his family were now living.
New Addington had always been a strange mixture. On the one hand there were the mansions of the old and new rich, sitting right next to one of the largest and roughest council estates in Europe. The rich and poor coexisted uneasily, but somehow managed to get along without too much trouble.
Jimmy drove slowly past the target address a couple of times. It was a mock Tudor pile, with neatly mown lawns and flower beds filled with flowers terrified into military formations. There was a high wall round the property and iron gates topped with vicious spikes. The back of the property was accessed via a small service lane and that looked to be his best bet. Jimmy thought he'd better get himself some climbing boots before he attempted to get inside and went back to Brixton to do shopping. He then spent the rest of the day in his flat, watching TV waiting for night to fall.
By ten o'clock he was back in Addington, the car park in a forecourt two streets away from the Smith residence, and Jimmy was strolling down the lane that backed on to the property.
There was no one about, though Jimmy had seen a couple of people taking their dogs out for a late night constitutional on his way there. He; wondered if the Smiths were pet lovers, but decided that, if they were, Danny Butler would have told him about it. Or maybe not. Just a little surprise to keep him on his toes? With a quick glance up and down the dark thoroughfare, he was up and over the wall, glad of the time he'd spent in the various prison gyms during his incarceration.
There was broken glass embedded in concrete on top of the wall, but it was old and dull and Jimmy avoided being cut. Dropping to the ground, he crouched for four or five minutes until he was sure no alarm had been raised. Eventually, he stood up and slunk across the back garden, through the shadows that made him almost invisible in his dark jacket and jeans.
