by Mark Timlin
‘He bloody well would be,’ said Lomax.
‘He wants to stay.’
‘He’s going to stay. His mother’s still sick.’
‘He doesn’t seem to spend much time with her.’
‘He has his moments.’
‘I’m sure he does. By the way, I believe we’re dining together tonight.’
‘Is that so?’
‘I got an invite from the boss himself.’
‘You’re honoured.’
‘Then on to a party.’
‘The Miracle’s reception. Should be a hell of a thrash. Any other time and I’d’ve been looking forward to it.’
‘I’m escorting Ninotchka.’
He gave me a funny look. ‘Is that so?’ he said again.
‘It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. Suddenly I felt like the arsehole. ‘Sorry, pal,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mean it. I’m tired.’
‘Aren’t we all?’
‘Did the coppers put you through it last night?’
‘No. Not really. I demanded a phone call and dragged our lawyers out of bed. One mention of their name and the police were very polite.’
‘So I noticed. I wish I could afford that kind of muscle on my side all the time.’
‘You’ve got it for the duration. You’ve been under the corporate umbrella from the moment you signed on.’
‘That’s reassuring to know. But I wonder how long it’s going to last.’
‘We’ll have a better idea later. I’m going to talk to the crew. Tell them that anyone who wants to split, can. No hard feelings, a flight home, and a month’s pay. I can’t expect these people to stay here and wonder if they’re going to be next for the chop.’
‘So he’s won?’
‘Who?’
‘Whoever’s behind all this.’
‘Looks like it.’
‘I think a lot will stay.’
‘I hope you’re right. Then we might get this album released on time.’
‘Are you?’
‘What?’
‘Staying.’
‘Sure. Dependable old Roger. I’ll be here ’til my boogie shoes wear out.’
‘Even though you can’t stand Pandora?’
‘Hey, he’s not the worst guy in the world to work for. There’s plenty make him look like a real prince. Man, I could tell you some stories would make your hair curl. I’ll survive. And very nicely too. Anyway, he’s not the only one in the band. I don’t have to see all that much of him if I don’t want to. But don’t let’s talk about it. It’s depressing. Are you coming to the meeting?’
I shook my head. ‘You can tell me all about it later. At dinner. I’ve got a few things to do this afternoon.’
‘Like?’
‘Nothing much. A few errands to run is all.’
He looked at me strangely. ‘Be careful.’
‘I’m only popping down the shops.’ Which I was in a way.
‘Don’t take any wooden nickels.’
‘I’ll try and avoid it.’
‘OK then.’
I finished my beer. ‘Catch you later,’ I said, and left.
I wandered down to reception. Always the place in a hotel to catch the gossip. I arrived at the same time as Shapiro arrived back from the hospital. He had Lindy Hopp on his arm, and a pair of Premiere bodyguards with him. They burst through the front entrance to an accompaniment of flash bulbs and shouted questions from the press corps outside. As soon as Shapiro and Lindy were in, the security men blocked the doorway behind them. I ambled over.
‘Morning,’ I said.
‘Jesus!’ said Shapiro. ‘This place. I wish I’d stayed in hospital.’
‘You’re not a bad judge,’ I said. ‘Good morning, Mrs Shapiro.’
‘Lindy,’ she said, and to my surprise bobbed up and kissed me on the cheek. I took it I was forgiven for upsetting her before.
‘What’s going on, man?’ said Shapiro. ‘What the hell happened to Turdo? Jesus, that guy was like one of the band.’
‘Not a healthy thing to be right now,’ I said.
‘He’s right Trash,’ said Lindy. ‘We should split right now.’
‘I can’t, Lindy. The album…’
‘Screw the album!’
‘If I do, I screw myself. I spoke to Keith this morning on the telephone. He called me at the hospital. I agreed to stay.’
‘I hope you don’t regret it. Or me,’ she said.
I didn’t want to get involved in a domestic. ‘Listen, I’ve got things to do,’ I said. ‘I’ll catch you two later, OK?’
‘OK,’ said Shapiro. And he and his wife, bodyguards in tow, made for the lift. I took the stairs. I went down to the garage. I always kept a faded old pair of jeans, a battered Avirex leather jacket and a pair of boots in the back of my car. In my game you never know when a change of clothes will come in handy.
19
I went to my suite and changed back into them. If I was going out to score, I at least intended to give some impression of street. True, they were teamed with a mustard-coloured linen shirt whose price tag had bitten a good chunk out of two hundred nicker. But then, who needs street that bad?
Ready for the off, I went up one more flight to Ninotchka’s suite. The boys in grey were still in evidence, chillin’ out over steak sandwiches and low-alcohol lager for lunch. She gave me a high-alcohol beer from the fridge behind the bar and we went into her office to get some privacy. ‘I’d hate to be famous,’ I said, lighting a cigarette. ‘You’ve got all this space, but you have to hide in here to talk.’
‘One of the penalties of fame,’ she said. ‘I have to change my phone number every two or three days at home.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Sure.’
‘Strange way to live.’
‘You get used to it.’
‘I don’t know if I could.’
‘You had your chance.’
I smiled. ‘Yeah, I know.’ Then I got serious. ‘What’s the deal?’ I asked.
She knew what I was talking about. ‘He’s at this address.’ She gave me a piece of paper. I looked at it. Smith Street, Chelsea.
‘Nice,’ I said.
‘What did you expect? A cold-water apartment in one of the projects?’
‘Come again?’
‘You know, public housing. What the hell do you call them over here?’
‘Council estates?’ I said.
‘That’s it.’
‘I don’t know what I expected,’ I said. ‘Is the gear paid for?’
‘It’s on my account.’
‘Knock three times and ask for Elmo, right?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Am I expected?’
She nodded.
‘By name?’
‘Just Nick.’
‘I hope everything goes OK.’
‘You’ll be all right, Nick. You even look like a junkie today.’
Funnily enough, she didn’t. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ I said. ‘How much am I getting?’
‘Enough.’
‘Give me a clue. Enough for me to go down for intent to supply?’ I didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘On second thoughts, don’t tell me,’ I said. ‘I’d rather not know.’
‘Oh, Nick. I am sorry. I don’t mean to get you into trouble.’
‘Forget it. It’s all part of the service. I’m sure I’ll be OK.’
I hope I will, I thought.
‘Are you going to take your car?’
‘No way. It’s too conspicuous. I’ll get a cab. Pull one off the street.’
‘Don’t be paranoid, Nick.’
‘If I wasn’t paranoid, I’d be dead by now.’
‘Y
ou know best.’
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I do.’ I put the piece of paper with the address on it in my pocket, kissed her on the cheek and left. I went downstairs using the lift, and out through the front entrance past the reporters and photographers who didn’t acknowledge my existence, and strolled out of the square looking for a cab. I didn’t have far to look. I picked one up coming along Brompton Road, and told him to drop me off at the corner of Smith Street and the King’s Road. It was a pleasant day. Pleasant enough to make me think that if I got my collar felt with a load of smack, how much I’d miss my freedom.
After I’d paid off the cab, I wandered down Smith Street just like a tourist. The address I was looking for turned out to be a pleasant, small, white-painted terraced house. I didn’t waste time going past and back again. But I went slowly enough to check out the parked cars on both sides of the road, and didn’t spot any suspicious-looking geezers in unmarked Ford Sierras. Mind you, if the place was under surveillance, Old Bill had had a lot more time to set it up than I had to suss it out.
I climbed the stone steps to the front door and rang the bell. As I waited I clocked the houses opposite. That’s where they’d be, if they were anywhere. Ninotchka had been right, I was paranoid.
The door opened behind me and I spun on one heel. I found myself looking at a fat, ginger-headed party with long sidies, half a dozen chins, the bottom one of which almost covered a puce bow tie at the neck of a blue-and-white-striped shirt that would have made a duvet cover for a kingsize bed. His gut was amazing. He blocked the entrance to the hall like a sumo wrestler ‘Elmo’? I queried.
‘Who wants him?’ His voice was surprisingly high, coming from such a massive frame.
‘Nick.’
‘Come in, do. He’s expecting you.’ He did a three-point turn in the narrow passage and led the way back through the house. I closed the front door behind me.
We did a sharp right into a tiny room stuffed full of furniture covered with bric-à-brac. One sideboard in particular, standing opposite the door, groaned with china ornaments, little animals made out of spun glass, photographs in tiny silver frames, wax fruit, and all sorts of other crap.
Sitting on a pile of Moroccan cushions in one corner, in front of a TV and video hook-up, sat a precious-looking youth in leather trousers and a white silk shirt. His highlighted hair hung around his shoulders and down to the middle of his back. He was rolling a joint on a lacquered tray balanced in his lap, and watching Neighbours. ‘A visitor for you, Elmo,’ carolled the fat man. ‘A nice man named Nick.’
Elmo squinted at me through his fringe. ‘For Nin, yeah?’ he said.
I nodded.
‘Can I get you a coffee, Nick, and perhaps a sugared biscuit?’ asked the fat man.
‘No, thanks. I ate at the office.’
‘Gloria,’ said Elmo, ‘get lost for fuck’s sake. I’ve got business and you make me nervous.’
‘Charmed,’ said Gloria, turned, and followed his belly out of the room.
‘Wanker,’ said Elmo. And for a moment I didn’t know if he meant me or Gloria.
He finished rolling the joint and stuck it into his mouth and lit it using a disposable lighter. ‘Big trouble back at the ranch?’ he said.
I nodded.
‘Too fucking weird. Guy gets a stake through his heart. It was on the news.’
‘Strange but true.’
‘Like a late-night horror movie on TV.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed again.
‘Puts a strain on my business.’
‘I’m sure Turdo would sympathise if he was still alive.’
‘Yeah. Bad vibrations. Still, he was only a roadie. They’re just like number eleven buses. Always another along in a minute.’
‘It’s a point of view.’
‘Want some of this?’ He offered me the joint.
‘No thanks,’ I replied. I think it would have choked me.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Business before pleasure, right?’
‘Right.’ I just kept on agreeing. It was one of the most agreeable conversations I could ever remember having. ‘You’ve done a lot of business at Jones’ since the band arrived?’ I asked.
‘Sure. Mega.’
‘Were you there on Monday night?’
He wrinkled his brow as he considered the question. ‘Could’ve been,’ he said after a minute. ‘I’m there a lot.’
‘I can imagine. But Monday?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘Doing deals?’
‘Yup.’
‘With whom?’
Just as he was about to answer Gloria came back in with a pinny the size of Surrey spread over his massive belly. He was wearing pink rubber gloves and holding a plastic washing-up brush in one hand. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you, Nick?’
‘Piss off, you fucking fat old queen,’ said Elmo viciously. ‘Go and polish your wok or something.’
Petulant. I know the type. I was married to one for long enough.
Gloria pouted. ‘Elmo dear,’ he said, ‘don’t be so nasty. Your friend Nick will think less of you if you are.’
‘So fucking what?’
‘Well, if you’re going to be like that, I’ll get back to the dishes.’ And he left.
‘You make a nice little living at all this.’
‘I get by.’
‘You supply a lot to Pandora’s Box?’
‘Amongst others.’
‘Like who?’
‘Visiting bands, diplomats, the royal family… you know the scene. You don’t get a house like this at my age,’ he gestured around the room, ‘punting spangles to kids outside school gates.’
‘This is your place?’
‘Sure.’
‘I would have thought…’
‘Then you thought wrong,’ he interrupted. ‘I own the real estate. Gloria does the cooking and cleaning and pops down the shops. He’s very big on popping down the shops. He’s very big on everything as a matter of fact. He’s OK. He earns his keep.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I said. ‘And talking of earning your keep, where’s the gear I’m supposed to collect?’
Elmo scrabbled around amongst the cushions and came up with a brown envelope. He tossed it to me, and I caught it one handed. I opened the flap. Inside were half a dozen wraps. I took one out and opened it. It looked like brown sugar.
‘OK?’ he asked.
‘Seems to be. I’m no connoisseur.’
‘Nin is.’
‘And who else is that I might know?’
‘Why are you so nosey?’ he asked. A reasonable question under the circumstances, I thought.
‘Habit.’
He tensed. Wrong, Nick, I thought.
‘Relax,’ I said, ‘I’m not a copper. Just tell me who you’ve been selling to.’
‘That’s privileged information.’
‘So’s this address. But I’ve got it, and I can pass it on to any one of several interested parties I can think of.’
‘Go ahead. Then I’ll drop Ninotchka right in it. Don’t think I wouldn’t.’
I believed he’d sell his gran’ma for a kilo of sinsemilla. But I also believed, just from the look of him, that he’d tell me everything he knew if he was threatened with violence.
‘Elmo,’ I said, ‘if you don’t tell me who you supplied dope to in that hotel I’m going to pick you up and put your head through that window without opening it first. It’ll spoil your pretty face, believe me.’ I was tempted to do it anyway. Perhaps I would, just for badness. Just for what he’d said about Turdo.
He looked at me, all toughed up and spaced out as fuck. This time he took my word for it. Smart guy.
So he told me.
‘Thanks,’ I said, when he’d finished, and turned to go. Glor
ia was standing behind me, filling the doorway. Still in his pinny and rubber gloves, but he’d dumped the washing-up brush and found a wicked-looking kitchen knife with a blade about ten inches long that twinkled in the light.
I stood still. Just raised my hands in a deprecating way. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Elmo smile.
‘You slag,’ said Gloria. ‘Threatening my baby.’
‘Your baby sucks shit, Gloria,’ I said. ‘Sucks shit and fucks shit. You fat, ugly old cunt.’
‘Bastard!’ he spat, and came at me, knife hand foremost. I moved to one side, caught his wrist and let his bulk carry him past me. I didn’t let go, and the bone snapped like a celery stick. He screamed and ran full tilt into the knick-knack-covered sideboard. All his little treasures that were on it went flying. His other little treasure started to come to his feet, and I did exactly what I’d wanted to do to Pandora. I drop kicked him between the eyes and he flew backwards over the pile of cushions and landed on top of the TV and video. The whole lot went over in a shower of sparks.
I picked up the knife, stuck it between the door and jamb, snapped off the blade and dropped the handle on the floor. ‘Bye now,’ I said to Elmo. ‘You’d better get Gloria an ambulance. If he doesn’t get that wrist in plaster he won’t be able to rinse out your smalls properly.’ And I left.
I walked up the King’s Road and into The Chelsea Potter. I bought a beer and drank half of it. Then I went into the gents and into a stall and transferred a small amount of the heroin from one of the wraps into an envelope I found in the pocket of my jacket.
Then I went looking for another cab.
20
I got the cabbie to take me to the Cromwell, and wait. Once inside I asked for the doctor who’d looked after Shapiro during his stay. I was in luck. He was on duty. I found him in his office. I gave him the envelope and asked him to compare the sample inside with the heroin that had been found in Shapiro’s suite, that he’d had analysed. He agreed to do it. I went back to the cab and on to Jones’.
I delivered the gear to Ninotchka, then felt so lousy about just about everything that I went back to my suite, stuck a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door handle, yanked the phone and closed all the curtains. Then I went to bed. And that was that until I woke up with a freezing cold flannel in my face. I was dreaming about drowning, and when I came to, I was. You know how that is? When you’re suddenly woken up. I came awake like I’d been trapped under fifteen fathoms of black water. I was literally swimming on dry land. Pumping my arms and legs. I heard a yelp and saw Ninotchka jump backwards away from the bed. ‘What the hell…?’ I said.
