by Hugh Fraser
I leave the Cortina in Hall Road and walk round the corner to the flats. As I’m approaching the glass door, the lift gate opens on the other side of the foyer and Dawn steps out, wearing my Givenchy coat and carrying my shoulder bag. My first thought is to confront her, but then I decide to follow her and try and find out what her game is. I back off to the side of the building and watch from round the corner as she opens the glass door, walks to the road and stands on the pavement. After a moment, she puts her arm out, a taxi stops and she gets in. I run into Hall Road, jump in the car and gun it round the corner onto Maida Vale. There’s a cab moving off from the traffic lights ahead. I floor the throttle and just make it through the lights behind it. I can see Dawn’s blond barnet through the back window as the cab goes under the streetlights of Edgware Road. It turns left into St John’s Wood Road and then along the north side of Regent’s Park to Camden Town. When we go up Camden Road I get a good idea where we’re heading. Once past Holloway prison, where I spent a couple of months among the charming ladies some years ago, we’re almost at Brindle’s place.
The cab stops in Parkhurst Road and I pull into a parking space while Dawn gets out and pays the driver. As she walks into Brindle’s street, I get out of the car, run to the corner and watch as she approaches the house. She takes a quick look in at the front window and knocks on the door. I can’t see who opens it, but when she goes inside I head for the house, creep up the entry at the side, climb over the wall and get to the back window in time to see Dawn take my Smith & Wesson out of the shoulder bag and point it at Brindle’s head. He says something to her, then he throws the glass he’s holding at her, kicks the gun out of her hand, dives for her neck and she screams as she goes down under his weight. I smash the window with my elbow, scramble over the sill and grab the gun from where it’s landed on the floor. As I straighten up with it, Brindle gets up, kicks me in the stomach and I drop the gun and double over. Dawn jumps on his back but he shakes her off, punches her on the jaw and she falls back against the wall. I reach out and pick up the gun but he rips it out of my hand, swings it at my head and it goes dark.
12
I’m lying on a hard floor. It’s pitch dark, my wrists and ankles are tied and my head feels like it’s been hit with a sledgehammer. I roll over and look around for any trace of light that might give me a clue as to what kind of place I’m in but there’s nothing but darkness and silence. I strain against the ropes that bind my ankles, then the ones holding my wrists behind my back, but they’re solid. I lie on my side for a while until the pain in my head eases, then I slowly roll over and over until I come up against a wall. When I shift round so I can get my hands to it, I can feel that it’s metal and I reckon I’m most likely in the back of a van or a truck. I work my way along the wall and across the floor in search of a sharp edge to cut myself free, but find nothing but a couple of packing cases and some metal rods and poles.
I’ve almost drifted into sleep when there’s a wrenching sound, a door swings open, light floods in and Brindle steps up onto the bed of the truck and stands over me. ‘Well well. If it isn’t Florence Nightingale.’
He takes out a knife and cuts the ropes binding my wrists and ankles, then he gets down off the truck and beckons me to follow him. I get to my feet and check that he’s taken my gun and blade. When my eyes adjust to daylight I can see by the cranes and derricks towering all around, and the big warehouses, that I’m somewhere in the docks. The truck I was in is parked among the rest of the film vehicles that I last saw in Hoxton Square and there are men unloading equipment. Brindle takes my arm. ‘Gentle walk to my trailer, like you’re visiting the set again, and a nice cup of tea, or would you’d rather I put you back in the truck and cut your tits off?’
‘Cup of tea, I reckon,’ I say.
As we’re walking, a bloke who I recognise as one of the electricians on the film approaches us. Brindle hands him a set of keys.
‘Cheers Frank.’
‘No worries. Your ears should have been burning last night.’
‘How come?’ says Brindle.
‘Them American producers was in the bar singing your praises.’
‘Yeah?’ says Brindle.
‘They reckon you’re on your way.’
The electrician moves on and I can feel the glow of smug satisfaction coming off Brindle as we walk between two tall stacks of pallets to his trailer. When he opens the door there’s a moment when I could lamp him, but there are people about and I reckon I need to know more, so I step inside and sit at the table like before. I’m wondering why Brindle hasn’t followed me inside and I look out of the window and see him talking to Kirsty. He sticks his head round the door. ‘You want a bacon roll?’
He’s knocked me out, tied me up and locked me in a truck for the night and now he’s offering me breakfast!
‘I’m all right thanks,’ I say.
He steps into the trailer, slides onto the seat opposite and fixes me with a cold stare. ‘You’re taking the piss, you are.’
‘Where’s Dawn?’
‘Where you won’t find her.’
I’m still holding his look of contempt when there’s a knock at the door. Brindle tells the visitor to enter and Kirsty comes in. We exchange smiles as she puts two plastic cups and a paper bag on the table and leaves. Brindle takes a bacon roll out of the bag and bites into it. As soon as I smell the bacon I’m ravenous and wishing I’d had one. I sip my tea while Brindle chews. The silence is supposed to scare me but I’ve been more frightened by dogs than this nasty little git. He finally swallows the last bite, screws up the paper bag and chucks it on the floor.
‘No one’s ever going to find the bitch again if you don’t do Preston, like you’ve agreed,’ he says.
‘I was just about to, until I found out you’d given her back to the Teales.’
‘Like fuck you were.’
‘Of course I was.’
‘I know you’ve marked Preston’s card.’
‘Why would I do that when I know you’ve got a fucking army?’
‘Either way, it’s time to stop fucking about. You do him quick, or I finish Dawn.’
‘How do I know you haven’t finished her already?’
He swigs back his tea and stands. ‘Come on.’
I follow him out of the trailer and across the dockyard to a tugboat moored at the quay and we get on board. He takes a set of keys out of his pocket, unlocks the wheelhouse, goes inside and opens a padlock on the door to the cabin. Dawn is lying on a bunk. She’s turned away but her shoulders are moving slightly as she breathes. Brindle closes the cabin door and locks it.
‘You’ve got two days,’ he says.
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘It’d better be, or she gets it.’
I watch his back as he minces off towards his trailer, greeting a couple of crew members on the way, like the big movie star, and I stifle the urge to follow him and put an end his film career right now. I look around me at the stacks of pallets and the rows of forklift trucks. I can see a ship’s mast and funnel beyond them and I reckon the place will soon be starting up and the work of loading and unloading will begin.
My head’s still throbbing as I walk towards the gate of the dockyard. I put my hand in my jacket pocket and I’m thankful when it closes round my car key. Brindle’s had my other gun and I’ll need to see Bert to get new ones. There’s a small crowd outside the gate and a bloke with a clipboard who’s picking men out for a day’s work and sending them into the yard. I’ve no idea where I am when I get out onto the road but I keep walking and soon find myself in Wapping High Street. I check my jeans and find a ten bob note in my back pocket and the keys to the flat. I see a cab and flag it down.
On the way to Finsbury Park I try to decide what I’m going to do about this mess. Dawn was stupid to go after Brindle and I’m chafed with her for nicking my gun and my coat and running out on me. I understand the anger that made her do it, but she’s landed herself back where she started, o
nly this time she can’t walk away from him. He’ll move her from that boat and he could bang her up anywhere. If I kill him without finding her there’s no guarantee she’ll survive and I haven’t got it in me to leave her to take her chances. I could go back and follow him when he leaves the film set but I’ve no tools and no money and he knows my car. As the cab pulls up beside the Cortina, I begin to get an idea.
It takes a while to drive to Maida Vale through the early morning traffic. When I finally get home, I find them digging up Hall Road and I have to drive round the block and leave the car in Hamilton Terrace. When I get to the flats Dennis is handing over to Keith for the day shift.
‘Morning Miss,’ he says.
He walks over to the lift and opens the gate for me.
‘Cheers Dennis,’ I say.
I get out at my floor and knock on Lizzie’s door. Moments later she’s there, looking soft and sleepy in a silvery silk dressing gown. I almost fall into her arms and she holds me for a moment and then takes me into her bedroom. I sit on the bed and she pours two drinks and gives me one. She sits down and puts her arm round me.
‘You look knackered my darling.’
‘It’s been a bit of a night.’
‘Work?’
‘Not really, I got caught up in a bit of nonsense and got a slap.’
‘Where are you hurt?’
I touch the back of my head where Brindle got me. Lizzie strokes her fingers over the bruise, then she kneels on the bed behind me and massages my shoulders and neck. As she works her fingers into me my head falls forward, and then she’s putting me into bed and I’m drifting off.
• • •
I wake from a deep sleep and I can’t think where I am. I feel panicky for a moment while I look round the room and then Lizzie opens the door and comes in. She’s wearing a black jacket and pencil skirt with a white blouse, sheer stockings and black heels.
‘You’re looking the business,’ I say.
‘Signing the lease for the office today.’
‘Office?’
‘The Escort Agency. I told you.’
‘It’s all on then?’
‘Looks like it. Gerald’s really going at it. He’s got the office sorted, I’ve lined up the girls and a photographer’s taking their pictures for the brochure this afternoon.’
‘Where’s the office?’
‘Ebury Street.’
‘Belgravia?’
‘Yeah.’
‘There’s posh.’
‘That’s how we want it. I’ve told him we should do it all on the quiet, by word of mouth, through porters at the gents’ clubs and hotels and that, so we don’t get any Sicilians wanting a slice if it goes well.’
‘Keep it discreet.’
‘That’s the idea.’
She looks at her watch. ‘I should go.’
She sits on the bed and gives me a kiss, ‘How’s the head?’
‘Not bad.’
‘You take care now.’
I watch her leave and wish she’d stay and get into bed. I doze for a while, then I get up, put on my clothes, let myself out of the flat and go across the hall to my place. The bed in Georgie’s room is messed up and Dawn’s left mine in a right state. The wardrobe’s open, there are clothes on the floor, the drawers of my dressing table are pulled out and I can see she’s been through the contents. I check the top of the wardrobe and find she’s taken the few quid I keep in there, as well as the gun. In the bathroom, I’m relieved to see that the bath panels are in place and she hasn’t found my real money. I pick up the phone in the hall and dial Bert’s number. I let it ring and ring in case the old lush is asleep and eventually he picks up.
‘Yeah, what?’ His voice is thick and grumpy.
‘I need to see you.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Gone one o’clock.’
‘Walmer Castle. Half an hour.’
I put the phone down, go into the bathroom, unscrew the panel on the side of the bath, take out a bundle of fivers and a blade. I turn on the bath and while it’s running I tidy the bedroom, put my clothes back in the wardrobe, along with the blade, and straighten up my dressing table. I have a quick dip to wash away the memory of the bed of that truck and put on fresh jeans and my leather jacket. I give my hair a quick brush, put on a lick of make-up, stuff the wad in my inside pocket and head for the car.
I drive to Notting Hill, park in Artesian Road and walk round the corner to the Walmer Castle. As I’m about to go in, Bert’s white Jaguar pulls up on the other side of the road. When he sees me, I signal to him to stay in the car and cross over. He opens the passenger door and I get in.
‘I need a shooter,’ I say.
‘All right.’
‘Two, in fact.’
‘You joining the rodeo?’
‘I wish I was.’
‘Smith & Wesson again?’
‘May as well.’
‘I’ve got a couple of nice Berettas.’
‘I don’t do automatics.’
‘You don’t like picking up the casings.’
‘I don’t like the Old Bill picking them up. Any other revolvers?’
‘Only a Colt Python.’
‘Too big. I’ll have the Smiths.’
‘I’ve got a .38 and a .44.’
‘Are they at the yard?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Ammo?’
‘For both.’
‘How much?’
‘Three hundred for the two.’
‘All right.’
‘Have you got the notes with you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Let’s go.’
Bert starts the engine and eases the Jag away. I put the radio on and settle back into the soft leather and I have to put up with Frank Ifield yodelling his way through ‘I Remember You’ because Bert likes it. When we get to the end of Ledbury Road, he turns right into Westbourne Park Road and pulls up outside the coal yard opposite the El Rio. He tells me to wait, gets out of the car, goes into the yard and I see him go round the back of the shed, which is just inside the gate. A truck is being loaded in the yard and the driver’s leaning against the cab having a fag. The digger scoops up a load of coal from the pile and dumps it in the back, the bucket swings away and the digger’s engine dies. The driver climbs into the cab, starts up and drives the truck up the slope to the gate. The engine roars while he holds it on the clutch until a bus passes and he’s able to pull his load onto the road. I look across at the El Rio. There’s a black bloke in a zoot suit, with the long jacket and baggy trousers, standing outside. He’s holding a tambourine and tapping it against his leg. He sees me looking at him and comes loping over the road to the car. He leans down to my window and gives me a broad smile. ‘Hey honey. You looking for a taste?’
I smile back at him and shake my head just as Bert comes out of the yard carrying two plastic bags. Tambourine man takes one look at him, skips back over the road and goes into the El Rio. Bert gets into the car. ‘What did he want?’
‘Just selling,’ I say.
Bert hands the bags to me. ‘Fifty rounds for each.’
I take the .38 out, hold it under the dashboard, break it and spin the chamber. I close it again and check the safety catch, then I do the same with the .44. Both guns are good, so I put them back in the bags.
‘Cheers Bert.’
‘Fancy a swift one?’
‘I ought to get moving.’
He starts the car and does a right turn into Chepstow Road.
‘You anywhere near Brindle?’ he asks.
‘Getting there.’
‘George wants it done.’
‘Don’t we all?’
The car pulls up next to mine. Bert turns to me and puts a hand on my arm.
‘Be careful on this one, eh?’
I give him a nod and a smile and we get out of the car. Bert goes round the corner to the Walmer and I drive home.
It’s dark by the time I’ve hidden the .44 under the lo
ose floorboard in the kitchen, loaded the .38, pocketed my lock picks and a blade and set off for Wapping. I make good time through the City, leave the car a couple of streets away from the film location and walk to the dockyard. As I approach the gate I see one of the film trucks pulling out and driving away. As I quicken my pace two more trucks appear, followed by a Land Rover towing a caravan. The security man, who I saw when I first went to the set in Hoxton, is standing in the road and waving the vehicles out from the gate. I keep my distance in case Brindle’s about to make an exit. When there’s a lull in the traffic and the security man goes and stands beside the gate, I cross the road and approach him.
‘Is Johnny still around?’ I ask.
‘You’ve just missed him love.’
‘On his way to the new location?’
He nods and waves a car through the gate. I can see Ed the assistant in the back seat. He’s reading some file and he doesn’t look up as the car passes.
‘He did tell me, but I can’t remember which one’s next,’ I say.
‘Birmingham.’
‘Of course it is, yeah.’
I walk away from the security man until I’m out of sight, then I run to the car. I drive back to the gate in time to see what looks like the truck I was banged up in being waved out on to the road. When it pulls out, I see the bloke Brindle got the keys from at the wheel. The security man stops the one coming after it and waves me through. I get in behind it and hope I’ve got enough petrol to get me to Birmingham.
13
I have a job keeping up with the truck as we make our way through Holloway and East Finchley and I have to jump a few lights to stay with him. When we get to Watford and on to the M1 he settles into a steady fifty miles an hour in the inside lane and I’m able to relax a bit. There’s no speed limit on the motorway and after a while I’m tempted to get in the fast lane and see what the Cortina can do, but that way I’d lose Brindle and never know if my plan would have worked.
