Hearts of Stone

by Mark Timlin

  ‘You’d better come in and wait, I suppose,’ said Alfie, but I could tell he wasn’t creaming his jeans at the thought.

  Just then I heard the sound of a high-powered engine, and I looked round. Brady’s Porsche swung round the corner and drew up in front of the Ford. The top was down, and his long hair was loose and tangled from the slipstream. He hopped out and bounded across the pavement. ‘Right on time,’ he said. ‘Good. In you go.’

  I went inside and he followed me, and we all stood awkwardly in the tiny hall.

  ‘Upstairs, Alfie,’ said Brady. ‘Find something to do. I’ve got business to discuss with Nick. Then we’re going out.’

  Alfie tossed his head and did as he was told, but I could tell he wasn’t happy.

  ‘Through here,’ said Brady, and led me into the kitchen. ‘Coffee?’ he offered.

  ‘Sure.’ There was an electric percolator plugged into the wall socket. He fetched down a mug from the cupboard and filled it. ‘Milk?’

  ‘Yeah – and one sugar.’ I took the mug and perched on a kitchen stool and accepted one of his cigarettes and took a light.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘This is the way it goes. You introduce me as the buyer. I’m the street man. The funky geezer. You know the type: a right arsehole. Of course, I have a principal. The money man. So I want a test sample now. Today. And when I report back that it’s OK, I make a small purchase. And then, if that’s good stuff, the biggy. That’s when we move in and bust the fuckers. But it has to be a very big buy. Big enough to lead us to the top cockroaches. These two we’re meeting today are trash. Scum. The only reason they’re useful to us is that they can identify the ones we really want. And faced with a long time away, they’ll do a deal. I know it. Shit, they’d peddle their grandmother’s pussies to stay on the outside.’

  ‘What about me?’ I asked.

  ‘You’ll be looked after, don’t worry.’

  ‘But I do.’

  ‘Trust me.’

  ‘You’re a doctor, I know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Are we fit then?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Are you going to be carrying?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What do you think? That cannon of yours, of course.’

  He pulled his leather jacket open so I could see the holster he was wearing. ‘I told you I always do.’

  I looked up at the ceiling ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry. I keep telling you.’

  ‘Trust me, I know.’

  ‘That’s right.’ And the mad grin was back. I could never quite get to believe that grin. ‘I’ll just say goodbye to Alf,’ he said. ‘Gotta keep him sweet. You know how it is.’

  I knew exactly how it was, but once again I said nothing. He got up and left the kitchen. He was only gone for a minute. When he came back he said, ‘Come on then, if you’re coming.’ And we went out to his car.

  ‘Will my motor be all right here?’ I asked.

  He laughed. ‘You’re worried about a parking ticket, with what you’re into?’ And he shook his head in disbelief.

  I didn’t bother to answer. I climbed into the passenger seat of his car. He started the engine with a roar, slapped the gearstick into first, pulled round in a tight three-point turn, and away with a yip from the back tyres. We screeched into the Kennington Road and accelerated down towards the Cross and turned into Kennington Lane, and he pulled up at a parking meter opposite a parade of shops.

  ‘Hardly worth bringing the car,’ I said, when we’d stopped.

  ‘I like to. It gives me a sense of security. That’s us over there.’ And he pointed.

  The wine bar was on the parade between an old-fashioned tailor’s shop and a greengrocer. It was small, with a plate-glass window containing a menu chalked on a blackboard, and over the front ‘Everly’s’ was sign-painted in gold on a green background. Brady put the top of the Porsche up, and we got out of the car. He fed a few coins into the meter, and we crossed the road. I pushed open the door of the wine bar at five to three.

  It was a long, narrow room with a polished wooden bar running down the right-hand side. One punter was sitting on a stool in front of it, gazing into space. A big mirror ran down the wall opposite. The bar ended in a half wall. Beyond that, Everly’s opened into a back room full of white tables and chairs. A Commodores’ tape was playing on the sound system.

  Seeley and Hughes and a woman were sitting at a table in the far corner, as far away from the bar as was possible. The woman was sitting with them, but not close, whilst they talked. Her chair was pulled back from the table, and she was checking her make-up in the mirror of her compact. She was wearing a bright green two-piece suit. Seeing her there reminded me of Lana Turner in The Postman Always Rings Twice. The original version that turns up on TV every now and then, not the dopy remake. She had blonde, almost white hair, and she was hard-faced with it. Even from across the room I could tell that.

  ‘They’re here,’ I said. ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘His old woman,’ replied Brady. ‘Come on, introduce me. Don’t forget, I’m not supposed to know them.’ I led him through to the back. The two men looked up as we entered. The woman ignored us.

  ‘Roy, Pat,’ I said. ‘This is Brady.’

  Roy got up. ‘Just Brady?’ he said.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Brady, and the grin appeared. Don’t push it, I thought.

  Roy shook his hand – and so did Pat, but he remained sitting down.

  ‘Brady, Nick, this is my missus, Jools,’ said Seeley.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she said, still looking in the mirror and ignoring us.

  ‘As good as,’ said Roy.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. Like it wasn’t. But it was immaterial, anyway.

  ‘Hello, Jools,’ I said.

  She looked at me for the first time, and she had that look in her eye that said: Don’t bother, son. You’ve got no chance. But that look made you want to try all the harder. And she knew it. ‘Hello, Nick,’ she said. ‘That’s a nice suit. Are you wearing it for a bet?’

  ‘Shut up, Jools,’ said Roy.

  ‘Sorry, I’m sure,’ she said.

  I had to laugh. ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I said to her.

  ‘Well, you won,’ she said, and winked at me.

  I wondered what I’d won – and when I’d collect.

  21

  ‘So what are you drinking?’ asked Seeley, rubbing his hands together like the original hail-fellow-well-met.

  ‘What you got there?’ said Brady. Pointing at the single bottle on the table.

  ‘A rather fine Cabernet Sauvignon,’ said Seeley.

  ‘That’ll do.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Seeley, and he went to the bar. Brady and I pulled up chairs and sat down.

  ‘Nick here’s been telling me all about you guys,’ said Brady.

  Hughes looked at me. ‘Like what?’ he said.

  ‘Just what you told me,’ I said.

  ‘Fine,’ said Hughes, shifting his shoulders under the slubbed silk jacket he was wearing.

  Seeley came back with two bottles of wine and two more glasses. He made like mother, and I took a sip. It wasn’t bad. I took out my cigarettes and offered them round. Only Jools took one. I lit both and she looked at me through the smoke they made. Green eyes, she had. Almost exactly the colour of her suit.

  ‘So,’ said Seeley to Brady. ‘I understand you and Nick have known each other a long time.’

  ‘Years,’ said Brady.

  ‘And you do a little business together.’

  ‘A little,’ said Brady. ‘You’ve got to keep the wolf from the door, you know.’ And he turned and fixed me with a stare.

  ‘So true. And perhaps we can help you keep it even further away,’ sai
d Seeley.

  ‘I don’t know you,’ said Brady. ‘And I don’t know her.’ He moved his eyes over to Jools, which didn’t seem to bother her in the least.

  ‘She’s all right,’ said Seeley. ‘She’s with me.’

  ‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better?’

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ asked Jools.

  ‘No,’ said Seeley. ‘You stay where you are.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ said Brady. ‘I’m only here because Nick told me you were OK. I didn’t come to be sociable. I’m interested in one thing and one thing only. Profit.’

  ‘I think Nick can testify to the quality of our product.’ Seeley again.

  ‘He has. But that was your personal stuff.’

  ‘What we sell is of the same calibre.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Brady.

  ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ interjected Hughes.

  Brady sniggered. It wasn’t a pretty sound. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘We all know there are degrees of quality. I don’t doubt that any sample you show me will be excellent. But quantity merchandise is sometimes a different story, and I don’t want to be left holding a bunch of duff gear, now do I?’

  There was silence at the table, and the Commodores’ tape had finished and been replaced by Roy Orbison.

  ‘I guarantee that won’t be a problem,’ said Seeley.

  ‘That’s what they all say,’ said Brady, and the expression on his face told us all what Seeley could do with his guarantee.

  ‘So what do you suggest?’ asked Hughes.

  ‘You have got a taste with you?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Hughes.

  ‘OK. I live just around the corner. I have everything there I need to test the stuff. If it comes up to my benchmark, we’re in business for a buy. But just a small one.’

  ‘And?’ Hughes again.

  ‘If that’s of the same quality, I can shift all you can supply.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Hughes.

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Perhaps we will.’

  ‘Let’s go, then,’ said Brady. ‘Get out the old chemistry set.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said, and started to get up.

  ‘We don’t all need to go,’ said Hughes. ‘You stay here with Jools.’ I looked at her, and she looked about as happy as if she’d just found a scorpion in her panty drawer.

  ‘If that’s OK,’ I said.

  ‘I couldn’t care less,’ said Jools. That was obvious.

  ‘Later,’ said Brady, and the three of them left.

  When the door had shut behind them, she said, ‘Did you enjoy your evening at Sonny’s?’

  I looked at her.

  ‘Don’t worry. I know all about what Roy gets up to when I’m not around.’

  ‘It was OK,’ I said.

  ‘I wouldn’t bother taking your friend with you next time.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘He’s bent, isn’t he?’

  I nodded. ‘Very observant of you.’

  ‘Thought so.’

  ‘You can tell?’

  ‘Usually. You aren’t.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed.

  ‘You don’t swing both ways?’

  I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. He doesn’t like women much, does he?’

  I almost said that I didn’t know him that well, but bit down on my tongue just in time. I’d have to watch things like that. ‘Depends on the woman,’ I said instead.

  ‘Cheers. Can I have another cigarette?’

  ‘Sure.’ I offered her the packet, and she took one, and so did I. I left the packet open and put it on the table. ‘Help yourself,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks. Roy tells me you met him in a bar.’

  ‘He met me. I work there. I’ve got the same car as he has.’

  ‘That bloody thing. He can’t handle it. He’ll kill himself some day.’

  I made no comment. ‘I’ve never seen you there with him.’

  ‘Roy doesn’t take me out much.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Well, he’s brought you today.’

  ‘Lucky old me.’

  I filled her glass.

  ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pity.’

  In the background Roy Orbison sang Only the Lonely. Dum Dum Dum Dumee Doo Wah.

  I smiled. ‘Are you two getting married?’

  ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘Roy said…’

  ‘Roy says a lot.’

  ‘So you’re not?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  And that just about said it all. We stayed there drinking and smoking for another fifteen minutes or so, until the rover boys returned. Seeley and Brady were chatting away like old friends. Hughes looked as morose as ever. Brady stopped at the bar and ordered champagne.

  ‘I take it everything went OK,’ I said, when he came over with the bottle and a handful of fresh glasses.

  ‘Better than.’

  ‘Good. Deal done?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Fine. Then you won’t need me again.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. You haven’t even started yet. You’re going to be the messenger boy. Just to keep everything in the family.’

  ‘That will be nice.’

  ‘Come on guys,’ said Seeley. ‘No secrets. We’re all friends now.’

  ‘Just putting Nick in the picture,’ said Brady.

  ‘Fine,’ said Seeley and raised his glass. ‘Here’s to Brady and Nick. I think we’re going to do great things together.’ Seeley was rapidly getting to be a big pain in the arse.

  Brady raised his glass in return. ‘And here’s to Roy, Pat and Jools. I hope you’re right.’

  I saw Jools’s mouth twist sardonically, but she raised her glass with the rest of us.

  When the bottle was empty, I said I had to leave. Brady checked his watch and said he’d come along with me. We said our farewells and left. I felt Jools’s eyes burning into my back as we went through the door.

  22

  Brady gave me a lift back to my car, ‘I’m going to need to talk to you soon,’ he said.

  ‘I’m working tonight.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Day off – but I’m busy in the evening.’

  ‘I’ll call you in the morning, buy you lunch.’

  ‘I can hardly wait.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘I will, tomorrow.’

  I left him and went back to my car, drove home and got ready for work.

  It was an uneventful evening. Nice and quiet and I didn’t see anyone I knew except maybe to say hello to. That suited me fine.

  As I had all Wednesday off, I took a spare set of keys home so that I could open up on Thursday morning.

  The next morning the phone rang about eleven. It was Brady. ‘You fit?’ he asked.

  ‘For just about anything.’

  ‘Good. Listen, I’ve got an errand or two to run. I’ll pick you up in an hour.’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said, and hung up in my ear.

  The doorbell rang at twelve o’clock precisely. I grabbed a jacket and went downstairs. When I opened the front door Brady was leaning against the porch wall, smoking a cigarette.

  ‘Morning,’ he said.

  ‘Morning,’ I replied, and closed the front door behind me.

  ‘We’ll take my car,’ he said.

  ‘Fine by me.’

  We walked to h
is Porsche, standing at the kerb, and climbed in. When he turned on the ignition, something jazzy and Hammond-organ-led oozed out of the speakers. I fastened my seatbelt.

  ‘What’s the story?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ve got to talk about our mutual friends and what’s happening.’

  ‘I was afraid of that.’

  ‘You worry too much, Nick. You’ll get ulcers.’

  ‘I should live that long.’

  ‘You will. So, what about lunch?’

  ‘OK. If it’s your treat.’

  ‘It is. Where do you fancy?’

  ‘I’m easy.’

  ‘So I heard. I’m fucked off with South London. Hampstead suit you?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ve had some very expensive lunches in Hampstead.’

  He grinned and selected a gear, revved up the engine, and the car burned rubber when he dropped in the clutch.

  The way he drove, it didn’t take us long to get to the river, then we got caught in a long jam through Holborn, but that more or less cleared by the time we got to Camden Town and we drove up Haverstock Hill to reach Hampstead High Street just after twelve-thirty.

  Brady chose the Dôme for the first stop. He parked his car in a back street behind the main road, and we walked to the bar.

  Inside it was crowded with rich kids and their boy/girl friends, and au pairs looking for a rich kid of their own, and middle-aged women who had once been rich kids themselves and were trying to remember what it was like.

  There were no seats free until two of the au pairs, tired of the game, finished their orange juices, paid, and slipped off their stools at the bar. Brady and I moved in and took them, just beating off a pair of eighteen-year-old boys in five-hundred-quid leather jackets.

  We ordered a beer each and I looked around. From where we were sitting I could see through the foldback windows at the front which had been opened wide to make the bar part of the street outside, and which let in the Hampstead dirt, road noise and petrol fumes on a slight breeze from the south.

  ‘I had a long talk with the boss last night. He’s very pleased with the way things are going,’ said Brady.

  ‘I’m glad someone is.’

  ‘Meaning you’re not?’

  ‘Not particularly. Why do I have to mule the merchandise?’