Quick Before They Catch Us

by Mark Timlin

  ‘Mine. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I make my own decisions. Well, mostly anyway.’

  ‘So what about these police?’

  ‘They’re coming back tomorrow for some answers. And if I don’t come up with any I think I’m going to take a little ride with them. Them and a couple of rubber hoses.’

  ‘Don’t, Nick, you’re scaring me.’

  Truth to tell I was scaring myself. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I don’t intend to be here.’

  ‘But you can’t run for ever.’

  ‘Sounds like a line from one of those films you like to watch in the middle of the night. Van Johnson is it? Or George Montgomery?’

  She shook her head. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ she asked.

  ‘I dunno. I just wish Meena or Paul would call.’

  But of course they didn’t. No one did.

  That night was a pivotal one for Melanie and me. It was the night that I felt her begin to slip away. Slip through my fingers like sand as so many other women had done.

  She slapped a couple of frozen pasta meals from Marks & Sparks into the microwave and opened a bottle of red wine she’d brought with her. It was cool from the air outside and refreshing. I sipped at it as I watched her set the table. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’d’ve done that, but I thought we might go out.’

  ‘Not tonight, Nick,’ she said. ‘And besides, I want to talk.’

  Why did those last six words bring dread to my heart?

  When the food was hot she served it and we sat down. I was watching the phone as if somehow, by concentrating, I could make it ring. But it remained silent.

  ‘Have you ever thought about having more children, Nick?’ was Melanie’s opening salvo.

  Fuck me, I thought. Where the hell did that one come from? Tonight of all nights. I tried not to choke on my food as I answered. ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just a thought. You know it’s my birthday next month.’

  And the old biological clock’s ticking, I thought. ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘I’m not getting any younger.’

  ‘Nor are any of us.’

  ‘It’s just that sometimes…’

  ‘You feel the need to breed.’ Not a particularly sensitive thing to say, I’ll admit.

  ‘When you put it like that…’

  ‘Sorry. But this is all a bit of a surprise. Apart from your approaching birthday what’s brought it on?’

  ‘Being away over the weekend. Being together.’

  ‘We’re together now.’

  She sighed. ‘Until tomorrow when I go back to work.’

  ‘You want to give up work, is that it?’

  ‘We could manage.’

  ‘We, White man,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t like the idea of “we”?’

  ‘Melanie,’ I said, after a sip of wine which was warming in the room, ‘I’ve got one child. A grown-up now. Who I hardly ever see. I’ve got another in a grave not many miles from here. Both their mothers are dead. I’m not exactly an actuary’s dreamboat. Women don’t have a long shelf life round me.’

  I was trying to be flippant but it wasn’t working. Not for Melanie and certainly not for me. I’d spent too many sleepless nights wondering what if? What if I’d been a better husband to my first wife Laura, what if I’d kept my second wife, Dawn out of harm’s way and not involved her in a particularly nasty case involving drug smugglers? Too much guilt to be flippant. ‘I don’t know if I can take the risk of long-term commitment again. I’m not a young bloke any more. I’ve got too much baggage. Too many bad memories. And right now, after today’s visit from the thin blue line I don’t even know if I’ll have my freedom for much longer.’ Why do women have to bring up this sort of subject at the most inopportune time?

  ‘I know, Nick. But I watched you with Caroline in that hotel room. You’ve also got a lot of love to give. It would be too bad to see that turn to bitterness as you grow old alone.’

  ‘Who says I’m going to grow old? And I sometimes think I’m meant to be alone.’

  ‘No one is.’

  ‘There’s always someone.’

  ‘You see I’d like a child, Nick, and God help me I’d like you to be the father.’

  ‘You can certainly pick ’em.’

  ‘I picked you the first day we met. Remember? At that restaurant?’

  ‘How can I forget. You were gagging for it.’

  ‘I hate that expression.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I used it.’

  ‘We’re good together, Nick.’

  ‘We are,’ I agreed. ‘But it’s a big step.’

  ‘A step you don’t want to make. Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘But you’re not exactly putting out the flags.’

  I had to agree I wasn’t. ‘And if the answer’s no?’ I said.

  ‘Then what we were talking about on the phone may happen.’

  ‘You not being here, you mean?’ I said.

  ‘That’s about it.’

  I felt that old cold hand on my heart again. ‘Do I have to give you an answer right away?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course not. It’s a big step like you said. I’ve been thinking about it and so should you.’

  ‘I will,’ I promised.

  ‘Just don’t take too long. I’m not a young maiden any more.’

  ‘And I’m not exactly the answer to a young maiden’s prayer,’ I replied.

  ‘You can say that again,’ she said, and we both laughed. But the laughter had a hollow ring about it.

  52

  We went to bed reasonably early but didn’t make love. That seemed to be happening more and more lately. I know she had her period, but that had never stopped us before. Like I said, Melanie was slipping away, as a lot of other things seemed to be doing that autumn night when the leaves dropped softly to the pavements and the streetlights were haloed with gold.

  The next morning she went off to work, giving me just a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and me giving her the perfunctory promise of a call soon. Somehow things had changed, and I knew they could never be the same again. But we both put a brave face on it as if nothing had happened. ‘Be careful,’ she said as she walked through the door, her only reference to my troubles. Seemed like I was on my own now.

  But then that was nothing new.

  I spent the rest of the day in the flat waiting for Paul or Meena to call and wondering what to do about avoiding Detective-Inspector Ramsey and Sergeant Patterson.

  In fact I only got one call all day. It was from Paul’s mate Henry. ‘I’ve got some news,’ he said.

  ‘What kind of news?’ I asked. The way things were going it could only be bad.

  ‘About Paul and Meena.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Not on the phone,’ he said. ‘Can we meet?’

  ‘Do you know where they are?’ I pressed. If he did, there was a chance a lot of others did too. Including the cops, maybe.

  ‘I told you, not on the phone. I need to see you.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said, but I wasn’t happy. ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  It was my night for rendezvous obviously. ‘What time?’

  ‘Eight o’clock, at the same place.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ I said, and he hung up, leaving me looking at the dead phone in my hand and wondering just exactly what the hell was going on.

  I left the house early and went for something to eat, although I had no appetite and it was just to kill time and avoid the law. Eventually it was time for my appointment with Henry and I drove to Streatham Common again.

  He was sitting by the bar when I arrived and I joined him. He seemed nervous and was sucking on a cigarette
like it was going to be his last. ‘Hi Henry,’ I said. ‘What’s up?’

  When he saw me he reached for his pint and nearly knocked it flying. ‘Calm down, son,’ I said. ‘It’s too expensive to waste.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he replied.

  ‘Want another?’ I said.

  ‘Sure. Lager.’

  I ordered a couple of pints and whilst we were waiting for them I said, ‘So what have you got for me?’

  He looked round nervously. ‘Let’s talk in the back,’ he said.

  I paid for the drinks, picked up mine and we went into the little back bar which was empty. We sat down and Henry lit another cigarette. ‘So?’ I said. ‘You’ve got something to tell me.’ If it was the fact that Paul and Meena were on the Isle of Dogs it was old news. But if it was their actual address I was more than interested.

  ‘Someone wants to see you,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  He looked towards the door of the bar and my eyes followed his, half expecting Ramsey and Patterson to be on the premises. Or even Meena and Paul themselves. But instead, standing there grinning, were Peter Jeffries and his two mates from the building site, Yellow and Blue Hat. Except of course, this being after working hours, they were bareheaded. ‘Thanks a lot, Henry,’ I said. ‘This is all I fucking need.’

  The trio came into the bar and over to our table. ‘We meet again,’ said Peter Jeffries like someone out of a spaghetti western.

  ‘Is this it?’ I said to Henry. ‘How much was I worth?’

  ‘A pony,’ said Jeffries. ‘Cheap at twice the price.’ And he took Henry’s cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it into my glass where it hissed as it went out.

  ‘Mulled ale,’ I said. ‘My favourite.’

  ‘Time to take a walk, Sharman,’ said Jeffries. ‘We’ve got business to finish.’

  ‘Remember what happened last time,’ I said and winked at him.

  ‘We’re ready for you this time,’ he replied.

  ‘And if I don’t want to go?’

  ‘Then we’ll do you here.’

  Blue Hat pulled a gravity knife from his pocket and let it drop open with an oily click.

  ‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ I said.

  ‘You too, Henry,’ said Peter as I got up and they hustled me across the floor into the main bar and towards the front door, Jeffries on my left, Blue Hat on my right, his knife hidden in the folds of his long jacket and Yellow Hat and Henry close behind. I knew if they got me outside I was in for a kicking. I wasn’t going to get the better of them for a second time in a straight fight.

  As we got to the front door it opened and we met two good-looking girls coming in. ‘Ladies,’ I said and grabbed one and shoved her at Jeffries.

  ‘Oi,’ she screamed. ‘What the –’ But I was gone, out to the front of the pub, taking a hard right and right again in the direction of my car, the door slamming behind me.

  I skidded into Greyhound Lane and not ten yards in front of me, standing in the middle of the pavement was a massive figure. The silhouette reminded me of someone I recognised but it couldn’t be. Then I realised it was. All neat in shiny suit and turban, there in front of me blocking my escape was Rajah. ‘Oh shit,’ I said as I skidded to a halt in front of him. ‘If you want a piece of me you’d better get in the queue.’

  ‘Having trouble, Mr Sharman?’ he said as my pursuers rounded the corner behind me. ‘You do seem to attract it.’

  ‘What the fuck –’ I said, but he brushed me aside like a gnat as Peter Jeffries and his posse came tumbling after me.

  I half expected them to be in it together, but I was proved wrong as Rajah swung a mighty fist into Jeffries’ face and dropped him like a stone to the ground. Blue Hat was right on his tail, his knife in clear view and Rajah caught his hand, crushing the handle in his fist with the unmistakable sound of breaking bones. Using Blue Hat’s own momentum he swung him up and over the fence of the house we were in front of, where he landed with a crash on top of a metal dustbin. Rajah pivoted on his toes with incredible grace for such a huge man and smashed his elbow into the throat of Yellow Hat, who was coming up hard behind him, without missing a beat, and left my third assailant gasping and choking on the floor next to Peter Jeffries. Henry had stopped at the sight of the carnage and was trying to backpedal away when Rajah grabbed him by his short hair and shoved him out into the street where he hit the side of a passing bus and bounced back, tripping over the kerb and going full length on to the pavement face first.

  The whole incident had only taken a second or two but people were stopping and the bus had halted at the lights. I could see faces peering back at us from inside.

  ‘Come on,’ said Rajah who was not even out of breath. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘My car –’ I said

  ‘Not that thing. Leave it. Mine’s down there.’ The Mercedes was parked twenty or thirty yards down a side street out of sight, facing towards us. ‘Come on before the police arrive.’

  We legged it across the street past the small crowd that had gathered, down to where the car was waiting. Rajah slid behind the wheel and I jumped into the front passenger seat as he started the motor and headed down Greyhound Lane in the direction of Mitcham. ‘We’ve got to get another car,’ he said. ‘Someone’s bound to have got the number of this one.’

  ‘Where did you come from?’ I asked. ‘And what’s going on?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask them?’ he said and pointed a thumb behind him. I looked into the back seat, and there, wide eyed and as quiet as two mice, were Paul and Meena.

  53

  I looked at them with what must have been much the same amazement that I’d shown when I saw Rajah waiting outside the pub. Or when Peter Jeffries and his mates turned up inside. Or for that matter when the police arrived on my doorstep. Lately, I think I’d spent an inordinate amount of time looking amazed. ‘What the…?’ I said.

  Meena was now dressed in jeans and a sweater with her face uncovered, and she wore an ‘I’m sorry’ expression.

  I put two and two together fast. ‘He’s on your side,’ I said, looking at Rajah.

  Meena nodded.

  ‘Terrific,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing like trust between a detective and his clients. You might’ve told me.’

  ‘We couldn’t tell you,’ said Meena. ‘Not right away. Not until we were sure we could trust you absolutely.’

  ‘So what’s all this about?’ I demanded. ‘What makes you so sure you can trust me now?’

  ‘You were followed,’ interrupted Rajah. ‘That bloody stupid car of yours sticks out like a sore thumb.’

  ‘Who followed me?’ I asked.

  ‘Some friends of my father’s,’ said Meena.

  ‘And Rajah heard.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Rajah said.

  ‘So did the cops,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ demanded Rajah.

  ‘They were on my doorstep yesterday afternoon. After I saw you two,’ I added for Paul and Meena’s benefit. And Rajah’s.

  ‘What did they want?’ asked Paul.

  ‘What do you think? Your whereabouts.’

  ‘You didn’t tell them?’ said Meena fearfully.

  ‘No. Even though they threatened me with all sorts. I couldn’t tell them anyway. The Isle of Dogs is a big place. I had no idea where you were staying.’

  ‘Good,’ said Rajah.

  ‘And you came down to warn them when you heard I’d been spotted,’ I said to him.

  ‘I had to. I couldn’t let those two brothers of hers beat me to it. I collected them last night from where they were staying. Thanks to you it was blown.’ Rajah seemed much more articulate now than he had in Manchester.

  ‘Where did you stay last night then?’ I asked.

  ‘A B&B in Victoria.’ Rajah again.

  ‘So why are you he
re?’

  ‘Just as well we were,’ said Rajah. ‘Otherwise that bloke might’ve cut you a new arsehole. Sorry, Meena.’

  ‘It was your brother and his mates,’ I said to Paul. ‘Looking for revenge for the whacking I gave them. Henry sold me out.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Paul.

  ‘I think they’ve all lived to regret it. Rajah broke some bones.’

  ‘And we’ll regret it if the police got the number of this car,’ interrupted Rajah. ‘We need fresh wheels.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Not necessarily. You got any tools?’

  ‘In the boot,’ replied Rajah.

  By this time we were in the Mitcham one way system. ‘Pull into that pub,’ I said.

  ‘We haven’t got time to stop for a drink,’ said Rajah.

  ‘I know that. Just park up a minute.’

  He did as he was told and when we stopped at the dark end of the car park I said, ‘Paul, Rajah. Out.’

  They both complied and I got Rajah to open the boot and I dug three screwdrivers out of the box of tools he had in there. ‘Paul. You get the plates off the car. Rajah, we need a motor with the same year reg. Come on Paul, don’t hang about. You must’ve done this before.’

  Rajah and I, armed with a screwdriver each, walked through the car park until we came across a P-reg Volvo. He took the front and I took the rear and within a minute we had the plates off and I took them back to Paul who was waiting with the Merc’s registration. ‘Put these on,’ I said, handing him the Volvo’s plates and taking the Merc’s in exchange.

  ‘We’ll get these on the other motor.’

  ‘Just dump ’em,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you’d know better,’ I said. ‘The driver probably won’t notice that his plates have changed, but he might notice he’s got none at all. Now get on with it.’

  I stuck the Merc’s plates under my jacket and went back to the Volvo where Rajah and I had them on the car in a moment.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Quick, before they catch us.’

  We legged it back to the Mercedes and within a second or two were on our way. ‘Where we going now?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve borrowed a place. A cottage,’ said Rajah.