by Ken Bruen
‘Ever listen to Stevie Nicks?’
‘Not unless it’s absolutely unavoidable.’
‘She said – “they are poets of nothingness”.’
‘Are you any good?’
‘Well, there isn’t anyone good enough to know if I’m hot or not.’
‘You should meet the Doc, he’d know. But a poet – bit like being a shepherd in London.’
He took out a pack of Camels, a Zippo, cranked it, blew out a batch of smoke, coughed, said, ‘Hits the goddamn spot I think.’
‘I thought Americans were violently anti-nicotine.’
‘I like one of your writers, the Martin Amis guy, one of his characters wants a cigarette even when he’s smoking one.’
‘Sounds like madness to me.’
‘Hey, what I did say – I said I was a poet – did you hear me say I was sane, did I run that by you. Amis reckons cigarettes are a relaxant and writers are the great un-relaxed.’
‘David, I could give a toss whether you smoke through your arse.’
‘Whoa, testy – I’m only making conversation here, OK’
‘What about yer sister, wot am I to…?’
‘Lemme play a hunch here – you did her a good turn?’
He laughed loud, said, ‘I imagine John Dillinger said similar as he walked outa the Bijou Theatre and into the guns.’
‘I’m not Dillinger.’
‘And heavens-to-Betsie, neither was Warren Oates but go figure. I made a shit-pile of bucks back in the manic ’80s when Ginko was hoodwinkin’ Wall Street. But heck, what have I got to show for it – a crazy sister, some property, and a heap of bad poetry.’
‘You’d be different poor?’
‘I probably wouldn’t admit to the poetry. Next time she gets in touch – and she will – call me, any hour. Hell, call anyway, how would that be. Here’s my card.’
‘Aston Towers.’
‘Yeah, impressive huh?’
As we left, he said, ‘My old man, he was like… fifty-five when they had me. Yeah, on his deathbed he said, “Sorry I was old.”’
I didn’t know how to respond so I said, ‘Just like my old man.’
‘He said the same?’
‘No, he said… Argh…’
Thought of something, then thought… check it out. Called, ‘Em… David… Dave, wait up.’
Calling your own name, you feel like a horse’s ass. He had the same thought as he answered in a high-pitched voice, ‘Yes David.’
Shades of Tiny Tim and other obscenities.
‘Cassie’s daughter, wot’s the story.’
He shook his head. Not good, said, ‘There is no daughter. She had an abortion when she was nineteen… a botched job. After, she began exhibiting signs of psychosis. Then she invented a daughter and to explain her absence, she added abduction, not by aliens but Moroccans. Hardly an X-File but certainly spooky.’
I said more to meself, ‘No Ariana.’
He gave me a playful puck to my shoulder. Jesus, I loved that! And said, ‘No more eagles either but is that really such a bad thing.’
I said, ‘She needs help.’
‘Yo… Mister Cooper… didn’t I just run that by you… didn’t I just goddamn park in that space… pay attention… alright.’
And then he was gone.
Of all the things I was doing then, paying attention was definitely not one of them.
I didn’t head for home till late in the evening. Turning from Clapham Road, coming along Ashmole Estate, I saw the fire engines. The entrance to my street was cordoned off but I could see the blaze clearly. My house was in full flame and I thought, ‘Jeez, lucky I removed the guns and ammunition else it’d have taken out at least three firemen.’
I parked and walked towards the police line. A cop said, ‘No passage here Sir, please go round.’
‘That’s my home.’
Standing a piece further down was Noble, the flames reflecting off his face, making it glow. He was wearing the grubby raincoat, turned to greet me, ‘Mr Cooper, come through.’
As if I had a choice. He said, ‘What rotten luck eh, the decorators are hardly out the door. You’re covered I presume.’
‘With wot?’
‘Insurance man! Good heavens, you are insured?’
‘Of course, I’m a citizen.’
‘You’ll be devastated all the same, I can read it in your face.’
His smirk was blatant.
‘As long as it gives heat to the neighbours, can we really call it a total loss.’
He took my arm, whispered, ‘It’s too early to say for sure but it might be deliberate.’
I shook his hand off, said, ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Ah Mr Cooper, I have many shortcomings, that’s not one I’m prone to.’
‘Who’d torch my house, Noble.’
‘I was hoping you’d answer that.’
‘No idea.’
‘I must say I admire your stoicism. Most people, they’d be in a highly emotional state.’
‘I must be in shock, wouldn’t you say. Drawing on your vast well of human experience, don’t you think.’
‘But the basics. Where will you stay?’
‘Don’t worry about me Noble.’
He moved right into my face, I could smell mints, ‘But I do – you’re almost family, what with the amount of time I think about you.’
‘I’m touched.’
‘And if not now, you will be. You’ll be sorry to hear our Sergeant Quinn had an accident. Come now Mr Cooper, you can’t have forgotten him. I know he thinks of you, if not fondly, at least persistently.’
‘Car accident was it?’
‘Sporting mishap actually.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, two sports with baseball bats did a number on his legs. What you might term – a bad break.’
‘I didn’t reply but he read my face, said, ‘Ah, you think I’m being facetious… no. You can tell me, strictly off the record, man to man.’
‘OK – I think you’re a prick and a bad bastard to boot. Being a cop you’ve been trained to it but, I think you were born a nasty piece of work.’
He was delighted, leastways his face was all lit up, answered, ‘Good, excellent. I relish frankness and let me reciprocate. I’ve checked up on you, did yer stretch for GBH, a hard man. But I’m gonna have you Cooper, oh yeah. You took out the wrong cop, I’m not so easy.’
‘Hey shithead, if I went after Quinn, I wouldn’t need help.’
‘See, yer hard like I said. Near time for you to go travellin’ – yer mate has fucked yer business, yer home is gone… oh yes, and I’ll be there, count on it.’
I pushed him aside, said, ‘I hope that’s a promise.’
And walked away. I didn’t look at my ex-house, I could feel the heat. Went to the pub and ignored Lisa’s barrage of questions, ‘Was that your house!…’
Got a large Scotch and a corner to sulk.
No way in the world did I believe the fire was an Act of God. Course, I knew He was capable, the evidence was my life but I didn’t think He could be bothered. I tried to remember what Cassie had said in her letter, something about no longer writing to me at that address as I wouldn’t be able to receive mail. Exhibit A for the prosecution, pretty damning. Plus, she was a total friggin’ nutter. Then there was the cops. Capable of anything but I wasn’t convinced. Arson seemed a tad extreme when they’d countless methods to put me in the frame. The jury was out on them. The third possibility was the worst, I really didn’t want to even consider it. Doc.
Ruthless and reckless enough to urge on my doubts about the bank job. He sure needed the cash and, if I had a similar motivation? Yeah, it was possible. I took a long belt of the Scotch and thought about Cassie pushing Laura under the train. Jeez, if Doc knew I was indirectly responsible – fuck, I’d have to shelve that.
I heard, ‘You have the appearance of a man with a new lease of apathy.’
Think of the Doc and the devil appears, or something to that effect.
I said, ‘Very quotable, almost deep.’
‘But not me own. Samuel Beckett it was, but at least ’tis the same country. What’s all this about a fire?’
‘Didn’t take long to reach you Doc.’
‘And aren’t you my best mate, curled up in a corner like a whipped dog. Sure they had to call me.’
‘Things are going down the shitter and fast.’
‘You’ll come home with me.’
‘No… no, I don’t think that’s too clever. Noble’s on the prowl and why make it easy for the bastard.’
‘Ah don’t mind him, the scut, he’s like a boy whistlin’ in the dark.’
‘He’s about to blow the flamin’ whistle on me.’
Doc pushed in beside me, put his arm on my shoulder, said, ‘Coop, listen boyo, they still need the oul reliable called evidence and there’s not a bit of it. C’mon, I’ll buy you a pint.’
‘I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, we’ll finalise the job details, OK.’
He gave me a worried look, ‘Are yah up to it? I mean, have yah the stomach for it now?’
‘Yeah, but the point is, do I want to. What worries me is Noble has minty breath.’
‘So bloody wot?’
‘A man who chews mints is an observer. They miss nothing and their agenda is not what’s on display.’
‘’Ary, you’re reading too much into it. He’s probably covering up the smell of booze.’
I stopped into the 7-Eleven and stocked up on essentials – toothpaste, coffee, milk, soap – siege supplies.
I’d decided to crash in the warehouse for a few days, let the dust settle. Prison teaches you to move in small spaces, to need almost nothing. Before settling on the army cot, I rang Letterman.
‘Yo – talk to me.’
‘David, it’s Cooper.’
‘What’s happenin’ bro’?’
‘My home’s been burned.’
‘And you wanna know is it Cassie, am I right.’
‘There are other candidates, would she risk that.’
‘Oh yeah…’
‘How do I go about finding her?’
‘She’ll find you when she’s ready for the next stage.’
‘Fuck.’
‘That too.’
‘OK, I’ll keep in touch.’
‘Adios amigo.’
Next morning I woke with an aching back and couldn’t figure where I was, said, ‘Jeez, where am I.’
The warehouse looked like shit and I complemented it. Course I’d no razor and the electric kettle went on the blink. Took a cold shower and froze my balls off. Invigorating, they say, which is not the term that sprang instantly to mind. And, I’d need clothes, not to mention a whole new life.
Sat and wrote out the hooker manifesto, had to word it just right. Then rang the number Jim had given me. She was home and arranged a meet for three in the afternoon. Next up was the bank, to withdraw a shit-pile of money. The cashier looked worried but then, that’s what they’re paid for. She said, ‘Excuse me a moment.’
‘Why?’
‘I need verification.’
‘Take my word for it, it’s my money.’
She gave one of them banking smiles, all teeth and malice.
‘It’s a rather large amount.’
‘No one said that when I lodged it.’
‘I’ll just be a sec.’
And off she went.
I looked round, professional interest. Maybe I’d return and do this one for spite, take a hop outa the cashier. Back she came with an older guy. He didn’t have a sign that read,
‘I mean business, very serious business
and I just know you’re not it.’
But he had the look, said, ‘If you’ll step over here a minute Mr Cooper.’
I did… and waited. He began, ‘Might I suggest with such a large amount that we consider other alternatives.’
‘No.’
He faltered; then rallied, ‘Of course Mr Cooper, any advice I can offer.’
‘Give me the money.’
He did. I don’t think my attitude had been covered in customer relations.
From there I went to the markets and bought three pairs of jeans, six shirts, three formal slacks, underwear, three pairs of shoes, and two hold-all jackets. Even at market prices, it burned a hole. Back to change and in the new gear I felt, if not renewed, at least ready. Said aloud, ‘Let’s burn a cop,’ and picked up the phone. Got the number of Scotland Yard, dialled, asked for the serious crime division. Put on hold, then a gruff voice: ‘Can I help?’
‘I dunno, you might want to hear that a detective named Noble, outa Carter Street, was helping an accountant named Arnold L. White. Mr White has been behind the series of bank raids up and down the country.’
Silence. What did I expect… glee? When a cop is ratted out, they like it as much as duty in Brixton, then, ‘And your name is…’
‘Concerned Citizen.’
Snort!
Which sound seemed appropriate to hang up on. I didn’t expect they’d rush out and nick Noble but, with the hooker’s call later, I wanted to muddy the water. Give the bad fuck something to suck mints about.
My hands were wet from tension. I should have known that a call like that wasn’t going to be simple. When they own you for two years, the automatic responses never fully fade. Like walking into a snake pit having previously been bitten and saying – ‘it won’t hurt so bad.’ Dream on sucker.
Almost immediately the phone rang and I jumped – ‘bloody hell,’ they’re on to me already?! Picked it up, said tentatively, ‘Yeah.’
‘David.’
‘Cassie.’
‘You recognised me lover, that’s promising.’
‘How’d you find me?’
‘In the book.’
‘Oh.’
‘You met my brother.’
‘Jeez, what is this – you have private investigators on me?’
‘You’ve a high profile honey. So, has he been shooting you a line, telling you I’m whacko and stuff.’
‘He’s concerned – where are you?’
‘I’m real close baby, but you get the hell away from him. You hear what I’m saying?’
‘Or wot… you’ll burn my house down…’
The line went dead.
The hooker, Sharon, lived at Waterloo. Those small houses near the bridge, like a real Coronation Street. Rang the bell and she answered immediately. In her mid-forties, she was a brunette with trowelled on make-up. Carrying weight that looked like it was going to increase and wearing a lurex tracksuit, she said, ‘Jim’s mate, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You seem disappointed, was I supposed to brassen up. I thought this was other biz, not a shag call.’
‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure darlin’.’
And she sounded like a hooker then. A husky voice that was only part fake. Led me into a living room, it looked cosy like a home and she noticed my approval, said, ‘You were expectin’ a bordello.’
‘I expect very little.’
‘Can I get you something – tea, a drink.’
‘No… just a phone call. I have it written down, you just read it, I pay you and I’m gone.’
‘You up to a little action?’
‘Not today.’
‘You’re one of those men, don’t pay for it… right?’
‘Sharon, let’s quit the analysis. You shut the fuck up, read the script and we’re done, can you do that.’
‘Let’s do it.’
I handed her the sheet of paper, she read it but skipped comment. I gave her the number. Here’s what she read: ‘Metropolitan Police… yeah, can you put me on to the robbery division.’
She gave me a sick smile as she was put on hold, then, ‘I have information regarding the country-wide bank jobs.’
Hold again. She clicked her fingers, indicated a pack of Major and matches. I loved those clickin’ fingers but got her one and handed it to her. The
phone was now nestling between her chin and shoulder, so beloved of broads in movies and busy folks everywhere, she hissed, ‘The matches…’
Yeah.
I lit the cigarette and she drew dust from the very carpet. Her face contorted and was followed by a horrendous cough. One of those lungs to the roof of the mouth jobs. She spoke again. ‘Let’s say I was involved with one of the guys OK… yeah… fucked me over… get the picture. Hey, if you want to hear this or not… the proof? Well, if you go to the flat of Arnold White, accountant, you’ll find maps, diagrams, plans for all the jobs. The address?… wot, you want me to do all the bloody work, try detectin’ it. White, you want me to spell it… No… not Leonard… A… R… N… O… L… D… yeah, I’ll tell you how it works. These are the three big banks,
Barclays
Nat West
Lloyds
Yeah, in each of those, there is a clerk who supervises the transfer of large sums to provincial branches. Their names?… Detect them. They inform Mr White as to when and where. Yer cop Noble, he provides the data on local policing. Who and what to avoid. Course it’s simple… why cha fink it works.
‘ – Yeah, up yours too.’
And she banged the phone down. I said. ‘That went rather well, don’t you think.’
Her face was enraged and she moved to a cupboard, took out a whopper-size bottle of vodka, one glass. Poured a shoot amount, knocked it back clean. I remembered the gun dealer, his Yeltsin brand. If it hit the spot, she didn’t show it, said, ‘I’ve been a lot of things in my sorry time but never a grass. I don’t like the taste of it and I don’t think I like you a whole lot better – know wot I mean.’
I counted out her money, all crisp new bills, asked, ‘Do you like my new gear, only got it today.’
‘Wot?’
‘While you’re “finking”, lemme ask you this. When Jimmy told you about the job, did he say you’d have to like me, maybe we’d share sob stories, fight a little but eventually love would blossom? And we’d fade away to the Kinks playing in the background. Did he mention shit like that?’
‘Wotcha on about, course he didn’t!’
I stood, liked the way the new jacket hung – stylish but not blatant, said, ‘So, shut yer bloody mouth. I also suggest you forget this whole incident. You’re going to have to trust me on this but, you wouldn’t want me to come back.’
I expected further cheek but instead, ‘You’re an only child, aren’t you?’
