by Mark Timlin
‘Good. Make sure you do.’
‘Do you know when they’re getting in touch?’
I shrugged. ‘No. Seeley was too out of it when he dropped me off last night. But I’m working tonight. It’s Saturday. They might pop in.’
‘Right, I’ll get you some cash tomorrow. Are you working?’
‘Day off – all day.’
‘Doing anything?’
‘The Observer crossword. And catching up on lost sleep.’
‘You are getting old. I’ll be round about six.’
‘You’d better give me your number, just in case.’
‘Right,’ he said, and went through his pockets until he came up with a scrap of paper. ‘Got a pen?’ he asked.
‘Is this the new face of the Met then?’ I said. ‘High-tech, computer-literate, but still short of a biro?’
‘I’m old-fashioned.’
I shook my head and found one, and he scribbled down three numbers. ‘Home, car and bleeper,’ he said. ‘Twenty-four hours a day. Like you said, high-tech.’
‘I am impressed,’ I assured him.
‘I’d better split,’ he said. ‘Things to do.’ He finished his coffee and left. I made more tea and read the paper until it was time to get ready for work.
17
I was on time for work that night. Early in fact. I rolled in about six. The place was fairly full, and JJ and the two barmaids were busy.
‘Want a hand?’ I asked.
‘Clear the tables will you, Nick?’ said JJ. ‘It’s been a bloody nightmare in here this afternoon.’
I took off my jacket and got stuck in. At six-thirty the shifts changed. That Saturday night we had a chef on, JJ worked the restaurant, and I ran the bar with one barmaid. By eight the place was buzzing. At eight-thirty Seeley and Hughes arrived. They came straight over to me.
‘Can we have a table?’ asked Hughes.
I looked through. One couple was just leaving and there was no one else waiting. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘No problem. Want a drink?’
‘Two Pina Coladas,’ said Seeley. I knew it. I knew eventually they’d have to have Pina Coladas.
‘I’ll bring them through.’
‘Take a break. Join us,’ said Hughes.
‘It’s a bit busy right now.’
‘Join us,’ said Hughes, and his tone was almost menacing. ‘We need to talk.’
I didn’t like the sound of that one bit. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I said. ‘Go through and sit down. I won’t be a minute.’
I checked with the barmaid as I made their drinks. ‘Can you manage on your own for a minute?’ I asked.
‘I’ll cope,’ she said.
I took the drinks through to their table.
‘Sit down, Nick,’ invited Hughes.
‘I haven’t got much time.’
‘You’ve got time for this. I’ve been hearing some funny things about you.’
That sounded ominous. ‘Such as?’ I said, pulling out a chair.
‘Such as you used to be a copper.’
‘Is that all? I suppose Kylie told you.’
‘Yes. She told me last night after you’d gone. She thought I’d know.’
I shrugged. ‘It’s no secret. Did she also tell you I was busted out of the force?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it’s true. Years ago. That’s all finished with now. What’s the problem?’
‘Once a copper…’ said Hughes.
‘You reckon. I’ve got news for you.’
‘What did you get busted for, Nick?’ asked Hughes. As if he didn’t know.
‘Didn’t Kylie tell you that, too?’
‘You tell us,’ he said.
‘For stealing from the evidence lock-up.’
‘What kind of evidence?’
‘Evidence from a drugs bust. Cocaine.’
‘How much?’
‘Enough.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
Hughes looked at Seeley. ‘What did you do with it?’
‘I used some. I sold the rest.’
‘And you got captured?’
I nodded.
‘Didn’t they prosecute?’
I had to laugh, though it wasn’t funny. ‘No,’ I said. ‘They didn’t need the publicity. It was all hushed up. They let me resign, and I lost my pension.’
‘Who did you sell the drugs to?’ asked Seeley.
‘A contact.’
‘Who?’
‘Do leave off.’
‘Nick, listen. Be reasonable. You saw what we had last night?’
‘So?’
‘It was part of our stock.’
I looked around the restaurant. ‘Do you think this is the right place to talk about stuff like that?’
‘Where better?’ asked Seeley. ‘It’s noisy. No one’s listening.’
‘I still don’t know what it’s got to do with me. Your business is your business. I just want a quiet life.’
‘Nick,’ said Seeley. ‘We know you didn’t get that motor you’re driving by serving beer in this dump. You’ve obviously got a pedigree.’ From him I suppose that was a compliment. ‘We buy and sell. Now, if you know a buyer…’ He left the sentence unfinished.
‘Yeah.’
‘You could do yourself a bit of good. Do us all a bit of good. So, what’s his name?’
I pretended to think about it for a minute. ‘Brady,’ I said.
‘Where’s he based?’ asked Hughes.
‘Kennington.’
‘Shifts a lot, does he?’
‘He has his moments.’
‘Could we make a meet?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you could ask.’
‘Sure.’
‘And Nick.’
‘Yeah.’
‘It had better be kosher, or you’re dead.’
‘It’s kosher. Don’t worry,’ I said. Fucking hell, I thought. I wish I’d never started all this.
By then I was getting dirty looks from JJ and the barmaid, so I made my excuses and went back to work. Seeley and Hughes had their meal, paid the bill and left.
As he went out, Hughes called me over. ‘We’ll be in touch,’ he said. ‘Get hold of your man. We can all do well out of this, Nick.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s done,’ I said.
And so am I, I thought. If this little caper goes wrong.
18
The rest of the evening passed by without excitement. We finally cleared the place of the last drunk about eleven-forty. The last drunk was an Arsenal fan, as it goes, so I suppose it’s not surprising he was always on the piss. When we’d tidied up, I had a final coffee with JJ. I knew he was dying to make some comment, so I let him.
‘You’re mixing with a funny lot lately,’ he said.
‘No more than usual.’
‘That’s not the way it looks to me.’
‘I don’t get this, JJ,’ I replied. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’
‘It’s to do with me when you leave the bar when we’re busy.’
‘Do me a favour, JJ,’ I said. ‘I was only gone for a minute.’
‘It seemed longer.’
‘I didn’t realise I had to clock on and off.’
‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I spoke.’
‘And talking of time off,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to work on Wednesday night. Is that OK?’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve got a date.’
‘A date? With a woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘Christ, what’s come over you?’
‘Leave it out, JJ,’ I said. ‘I’m not in the mood. Just remember I won’t be here Wednesday night, all rig
ht?’
‘It’s fine by me, Nick. I wouldn’t dream of coming between you and a woman. I was beginning to wonder about your sex life.’
‘Don’t. Just cover for me on Wednesday. Now I’m off. I’ll see you Monday.’
‘Night, Nick,’ he said, and I left. I hadn’t brought the car that evening. I didn’t mind the walk home. It wasn’t far. I was used to avoiding the vomit and greasy chip papers that littered the streets on a Saturday night.
When I got home, I wasn’t tired. I put some music on the stereo and made coffee and chased down half a dozen large Grand Marniers, and found a bit of hash hidden away in the bathroom cabinet and rolled a fat joint. Now that’s how to get a good night’s sleep.
I surfaced about ten and went down for the papers. When I got back I made sausage, egg, bacon, mushroom, tinned tomatoes and a fried slice, and ate it reading about what a soap-opera star was getting up to between the sheets with his brother-in-law. I took my second mug of tea over to the comfortable chair and got stuck into the crossword.
About three o’clock, I heated up a pizza in the oven and washed it down with a couple of beers. Then I finished reading the papers and waited for Brady.
He was dead on time. ‘All right?’ I asked.
‘No problems,’ he replied. ‘I’ve just come from a meet with the boss. He sent you this.’ He hauled a thick brown envelope out of the pocket of his leather jacket and tossed it to me. I opened it and pulled out a wodge of fifties and counted them. One thousand pounds exactly.
‘Do I have to sign anything?’ I asked.
‘Yeah. I always carry a Metropolitan Police receipt book with me when I’m working undercover.’
‘Endesleigh’s getting very trusting.’
‘You weren’t thinking of ripping us off, were you?’ he said with that mad look back in his eyes.
‘No. I wasn’t.’
‘There you go, then. So what’s new?’
I told him.
‘Brilliant,’ he said. ‘I’m beginning to think the boss was right about you. We’ve been trying to crack that pair for months.’
‘You should have called me earlier,’ I said as drily as I could.
‘How do you get in touch?’
‘I don’t. They get in touch with me.’
‘That’s not so good.’
‘That’s the way they wanted it.’
‘Fair enough. But try and get a contact number if you can.’
‘It’ll be a mobile.’
‘Yeah, I know. But it could be useful.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Want a drink?’
‘What you got?’
‘Everything. I work in a bar, remember. I get it wholesale.’
‘Jack Daniel’s?’
‘Now you’re talking.’
And that, I’m afraid, was the end of Sunday night.
We drank two bottles of the stuff between us, and I poured Brady into a mini-cab at about midnight.
Then I went and threw up in the bathroom.
19
Monday I nursed a hangover all day, and fed it with coffee and aspirin. The big trouble with too much Jack Daniel’s is that the aftertaste lingers forever.
I turned into the bar just before six-thirty. Mondays were always quiet. There were just two or three customers in, when I arrived. JJ was sitting at a stool, gazing into an empty coffee cup.
‘Evening,’ I said.
‘You look rough.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Been on the piss?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You’ve had a couple of calls.’
‘Who?’
‘Dunno. They didn’t say.’
I had a pretty good idea. ‘Male or female?’ I asked.
‘Male.’
‘No message?’
He shook his head.
‘Well, I’m here now if they want me.’
He nodded, then mooched off to play with his motorbike, and I took over. It stayed quiet. A few faces I knew dropped in and out. One of them bought me a cold beer, which helped my head. At twenty past seven the phone rang. ‘JJ’s,’ I said when I picked it up.
‘Nick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Roy. Roy Seeley.’
‘Hello, Roy,’ I said.
‘I’ve been trying to get you all day. That geezer you work with wouldn’t give us your home number.’
‘Policy of the bar, Roy. So, what can I do for you?’ As if I didn’t know.
‘Did you speak to your man yet?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he interested?’
‘Could be.’
‘Good. When can we meet?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘You’re keen.’
‘Always, when there’s business involved.’
‘What time?’ I asked.
‘When can you manage?’
I looked at the roster pinned to the wall next to the phone. I saw that I was due to work the next evening, and also that JJ had crossed my name off for Wednesday night. ‘Daytime,’ I said. ‘’Til six-thirty.’
‘Daytime it is, then. He lives in Kennington, you said.’
‘Right.’
‘Let’s make it local to him. No point in inconveniencing the man. That’ll do you, won’t it?’
‘Suits me.’
‘Good. There’s a wine bar down by the Cross. Hold on.’ The phone went dead as he covered the mouthpiece. I waited. ‘Everly’s,’ he said when he came back on. ‘Know it?’
‘No.’
‘You’ll find it. It’s opposite the Roebuck pub.’
‘Fine.’
‘It’s open all afternoon. How does three o’clock suit you?’
‘Depends if it suits him. I’ll give him a bell. See if he’s about. Give me your number.’ He did. It was an 0831 prefix. Mobile. ‘I’ll get back to you before closing,’ I said.
‘Good. I’ll look forward to your call.’
‘See you then,’ I said.
‘Bye.’ And he was gone.
I served a waiting punter and phoned Brady. I tried his home first. Alfie answered. ‘Is Brady there?’ I said. He didn’t answer, just put down the phone with a clatter.
A minute later: ‘Yeah?’ I recognised Brady’s voice.
‘Sharman,’ I said.
‘Nicholas. How goes it?’
‘Seeley was just on the blower.’
‘Was he? That was quick.’
‘He wants a meet.’
‘I bet he does. When?’ he asked.
‘Tomorrow afternoon. Three o’clock.’
‘Where?’
‘There’s a wine bar near you. Kennington Cross. Everly’s.’
‘I know it. Three, you say.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Couldn’t be better. Come round for me at two-thirty. We’ll drive down in my wheels. Put on a show.’
‘If you say so,’ I said.
‘I do. I’ll let the boss know. Tomorrow two-thirty, then.’
‘Right. And he gave me a number.’
‘Very good,’ said Brady. ‘Let’s have it.’ I read it out to him. ‘Great, Nick. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ And he hung up. So did I.
I phoned the number Seeley had given me about an hour later. I didn’t want anyone to think that Brady was too keen. ‘I’ve had a word,’ I said when I got through. ‘Three o’clock tomorrow is OK.’
‘Sweet, Nick. We could all earn nicely out of this.’
‘Hope so.’
‘Me too. I’ve got a good feeling about this one. See you there.’ He broke the connection before I could answer.
I didn’t. Have a good feeling, that is.
&nb
sp; 20
I didn’t sleep much that night. I just lay in bed thinking of the possible consequences of assisting the police in their enquiries. None of the options was particularly attractive. But it was too late by then to consider bailing out. Much too late. And that option was possibly the least attractive of them all. I got up about eight. The only good news was that my hangover had gone.
I didn’t have the patience to read the paper, and I didn’t fancy breakfast, so I just made cup after cup of sweet tea and paced the flat like a prisoner in a cell. And the irony of that didn’t escape me either.
By midday I was starving, but couldn’t face eating, and I’d smoked my last cigarette, so I decided to take a drive and buy some more. I put on a tan wool Valentino for the meet. I thought I might as well look the part, at least.
I drove up to the river. There’s a little bar on a wharf on the South Bank, not too far from where Brady lived, with tables outside and where no one knew me. I parked up, bought a beer and twenty Silk Cut, and sat in the fresh air to catch a little of the spring sunshine and try to relax.
I got a table as far away from the rest as possible, and watched the office girls feed the seagulls scraps of their sandwich lunches, and wished for the thousandth time that my life had taken a different turn somewhere. But it was pointless. We are what we are, and that’s that. No amount of wishing can change it.
I sat, hardly touching the beer, for an hour and a half. At two-fifteen I left the remains of the bottle and went back to the car. I got to the estate where Brady lived ten minutes early for my appointment. As I turned into the street, I saw a tall, dark-haired geezer come out of the front door of Brady’s house and get into a dark green Jaguar XJS parked outside. I drove the Cosworth past, turned right towards the end of the cul-de-sac and stopped out of sight of the house. Something, I don’t know what, told me not to let the driver of the XJS see me. I stayed where I was until two-thirty, and then did a U-turn and drove back and parked at the kerb outside Brady’s front door. The Jaguar was gone.
When I rang the doorbell, Alfie answered.
‘Is he in?’ I asked.
‘No, but I’m expecting him at any moment.’
Ripping one off with a handsome stranger, I thought, whilst the mouse is away, you naughty boy. A bit of revenge for what you think Brady’s up to. What’s good for the goose is good for the other goose. Interesting. And dangerous too. But I didn’t say a word.
