by Deborah Finn
“In your car,” Farren agreed.
Jango pressed his big boot against the broken glove compartment that kept falling down. “It’s a stupid idea, being in a van.”
“You agreed to it,” Farren reminded him. “No one ever notices a white van.”
“Yeah, until everyone said that no one notices a white van, and now everyone notices a white van.”
“No, they don’t,” Farren disagreed. “You can sit parked in a van and no one thinks anything of it. They think you’re just waiting on a job or something. You sit around, two blokes in a Merc, that doesn’t look right, does it?”
Jango leaned forward, tugging in a sulky way at his boilersuit. “Do we even know he’s in there?”
“That’s his car,” Farren said, nodding at the Fiat 500.
Jango shook his head and laughed. “You’d be fucking ashamed, wouldn’t you? And what’s those bars sticking up on top?”
“They’re for boats,” Farren said. “For fastening them on. My brother in law’s got them. He goes out fishing on the sea. It’s alright. I went with him once.”
“Yeah?” Jango said dubiously. “I’d rather go down the chippy, cod and chips. Not going to catch that on your boat, are you?”
“I could murder a bag of chips,” Farren said.
“Yeah, me too,” Jango agreed. “Let’s drive round and get some. There’s nothing happening here.”
“No,” Farren said. “One of us should stay. The driver, that is,” he said, laughing. “It’s only round the corner. You can walk. You’ll be there in a minute.”
“Walk?” Jango said.
Farren laughed. “Yeah, mate, walk! That’s what you have me doing, isn’t it? You see how the other half lives now, eh?”
Jango sighed and then reached for the door handle. “Alright. What do you want?”
“I don’t want fish. I’ll have chips and curry sauce, but I want the sauce in a pot, not on the chips. And I don’t want a load of vinegar.”
“Alright, Meg Ryan.”
“Hey, shut up.”
Jango slammed the door and walked round the front of the van. Just as he got to the pavement, Farren wound down the window to stop him.
“Mate,” he hissed urgently. “Get back in. Look who’s coming out the house.”
Jango looked across to the house. “What? That old woman? What of it?”
“Get back in,” Farren said again. “Don’t you recognise her? That’s the old woman who was at the flat that time. Don’t you remember? She scared the shit out of us.”
Jango looked across at her. “Are you sure?” he asked. He looked a bit longer. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed.
He jumped back into the van and slammed the door as Farren started up the engine.
“Hang back a bit,” Jango said. “Let’s see where she’s going.”
“She’ll be going to the bus,” Farren said.
“Yeah, you’re right. What the fuck’s she doing here? Fucking hell, this is messed up.”
“She’s seen our faces,” Farren said. “She’s seen us at that dead woman’s flat. She could ID us.”
Jango nodded, watching as the old woman neared the corner of the street. “She could tell that bloke. Do you think that’s what she’s been doing in his house? Go after her,” he said. “We better have a little word with her.”
Farren glanced sideways at him. “She’s an old lady.”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Well, you know,” Farren shrugged. “She’s like your nan, or something, isn’t she?”
“I never knew me nan,” Jango said, as the van slowly took the corner.
The old woman walked lopsidedly. And she walked slowly.
“I can’t go slow enough,” Farren said. “I’m going to overtake her, and then pull in.”
Jango stared at the old woman as the van went past her. “Old bat,” he muttered. “I’m going to find out what she’s up to.” He opened the van door and waited for her to get closer. He lifted a piece of paper off the dashboard and looked at it, as if he was a delivery driver looking for an address. When she got within a few feet, he stepped into her path.
“Alright, love,” he said.
She looked up, a vague smile on her face. Farren watched in the wing mirror as her expression changed. There was a moment of confusion, and then a sudden rush of fear. Her mouth opened and her lips trembled but at first she made no sound, then a thin wail came out of her. She started to move away and stumbled on the pavement.
Jango reached out to catch her and grabbed her arm roughly. She clutched at her shoulder as her face screwed up in pain. She moaned louder then.
Farren jumped down and ran around the back of the van.
Jango was leaning into her face. “Fucking shut it,” he shouted, but she was still wailing, her eyes casting about wildly.
“Jango, lay off, for Christ’s sake,” Farren shouted.
“Shut up,” Jango yelled again. The woman carried on wailing.
Farren looked up and down the street. At any moment, someone could appear on the pavement. “Just leave it,” he shouted at Jango. “Let’s get away.”
“Get back and drive,” Jango shouted. He pulled open the side door of the van, picked up the old woman and dumped her in. He climbed in behind her.
Farren watched, not moving.
“Shut the fucking door,” Jango growled. “And drive.”
Farren slammed the door shut and ran around to the driver’s seat. He floored the accelerator and the van took off. Between the cab and the rear of the van there was a plywood partition, but there was a small hatch cut into it. He could hear a muffled thumping noise in the back.
“What are you doing?” he yelled. He turned to glance through the hole, but could see nothing.
“Stupid cow was trying to get out the door.”
“Fucking hell,” Farren muttered under his breath as he slowed for a red light. “Jesus wept. Get me out of this.”
He turned back to the hatch. “I’m going to drive out to the old airfield, alright. Then we can figure out what the fuck to do.”
“Alright,” Jango shouted back. “Just don’t get stopped. Slow down, alright.”
Farren lifted his foot off the accelerator and checked his speed. It was hard to stay under 30. It was better when they got to the edge of town and he could get up to 50.
“Alright back there?” he shouted.
Jango’s face appeared at the hatch and Farren jumped, making the van swerve wildly before he got it back on track. “Fucking hell, mate. You look like a ghost. We’re nearly there.”
He looked out for the broken gate in the chain link fence. There were derelict sheds inside with broken asbestos rooves and plants growing through the boarded up windows. He pulled up outside a shed and put on the handbrake. For a moment he leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. Then he opened the door and jumped down onto the cracked concrete ground. He walked around the back of the van and pulled the side door open. Jango was sitting on a little plywood bench that ran along the side of the van. When the door was opened, he jumped down and walked away. There was an old tractor tyre lying there, and Farren watched as Jango sank down onto it, lowering his head onto his crossed arms.
Farren turned back to look inside the van. The old woman was lying there on her back. One of her shoes had come off, and the contents of her handbag were strewn around the van. She looked almost peaceful, except that her eyes were open and she wasn’t moving.
“What the fuck have you done?” he screamed. “She’s fucking dead!”
Twenty Four
Steve Mitchell shook the sheaf of papers in his right hand. “Lester, mate, we can’t ignore this any longer.”
Lester Gallagher felt like ripping the papers to shreds. He walked up to his old friend and put a hand on each of his shoulders, looked him in the eye. “Steve,” he said. “I’m a businessman. I do deals. Nothing is ever one hundred per cent legit. You know that. You want me to open my books for public scru
tiny? It’d be suicide.” He smiled an ingratiating smile, his intense gaze flicking back and forth between Steve’s eyes.
Steve tilted his head sideways and lowered his eyes. It was like a gesture of submission to the leader of the pack. “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough. But could you stop winding them up?”
Gallagher rearranged his face into a question. “What do you mean, Steve?”
Steve coughed. He looked uncomfortable. “You need to tone it down a bit sometimes, give them a bit of the old Lester charm.”
“I do, do I?” Lester stepped back and crossed his arms. He could feel power surging through his muscled arms.
Steve was looking at the carpet. “I was thinking,” he said “what about those pills you take sometimes when you get wound up? Maybe you should be using them a bit more?”
Gallagher felt anger thickening in his throat, but still he laughed. “They’re not to calm me down, you retard.”
Steve flinched, his bunched jaw working at the insult.
Gallagher rolled his eyes. Not for the first time, he remembered that he couldn’t lose Steve, not right now. “I’m joking mate,” he said.
He turned away and sat down on the leather desk chair. He swivelled around to stare out at the city view. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m losing my touch. The old Lester charm.”
“You just need to unwind a bit. That’s all.”
Gallagher stared at the view. “Yeah,” he agreed in a flat voice. He swivelled round suddenly. “You know, Steve, sometimes I wonder if it’s fucking worth it. I could just jack it all in.”
“It’ll be worth it,” Steve said. “When you’ve got that House of Commons headed notepaper...”
Gallagher looked at Steve. He could hear the eagerness in his voice. He’d invested in this too, and he needed it.
“It’s the influence, Lester,” he said. “It’s real power.”
“Yeah,” Lester said, without enthusiasm. He wanted power, he knew that. But was this the right way? These last few weeks, it was getting too big, like it could destroy everything he’d made.
“We can deal with this stuff,” Steve said, waving the papers. “They’ve got nothing hard. It’s just people talking, saying you’ve got the Planning Committee in your back pocket.”
“I wish to fuck they were,” Gallagher said bitterly. “If people only knew how hard it is to get anything off the ground these days. You’d think I was trying to build a nuclear power plant in the middle of the town centre. It’s an urban regeneration scheme. Don’t they get that? Regeneration? Do they want the whole fucking place turned into charity shops and poundland?”
Steve laughed. “It’s not me you’ve got to convince. You just stick with that line: you’re bringing prosperity to this city, new jobs and trade; you’re a businessman with long established links to this city; you’re not here to make a quick buck and then piss off.”
“Yeah,” Gallagher agreed. “And what about this public scrutiny bit?”
“Leave that to me,” Steve said. “Everything’s got to look cleaner than clean, but I can handle that. You haven’t got any moats and duck houses you need to tell me about have you?”
Gallagher laughed. “No, I’m alright on that,” he said wearily. “Thanks Steve. You’re doing a great job. I don’t tell you enough.”
Steve faked a bashful look and they both laughed. There was a silence for a moment before Steve spoke up again. “But I meant it, mate. You do need to cool it a bit.”
Gallagher felt the words like an irritating insect bite. Instantly, the pilot light of his anger was ignited, a low flame burning. “Alright. I got the point,” he muttered.
“It’s all about the image,” Steve went on, with a wheedling tone. “People don’t remember what you say, they remember how you act.”
Gallagher nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “But they go out of their way to wind me up.”
“Yeah, and people are noticing.” Steve looked away uneasily.
Gallagher narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Steve shrugged. “It’s nothing. It’s just head office.”
“What about head office?”
Steve tilted his head from side to side as if weighing something up. “There’s talk. Some people think you’re... well, a bit of a liability when you get going.”
“Me?” Gallagher pointed at his own chest. “Those tossers down south think I’m a liability?”
Steve made a patting down gesture. “Only some of them, Lester. We’ve still got solid support.”
“I should fucking hope so,” Gallagher exploded. “Jesus Christ, sometimes it feels like everyone is lining up to take a pop. It’s no wonder it gets to me.”
“I know,” Steve said. “And you can do this, you know. You’re a performer. You just need to smooth it out a bit. Go out there looking calm, collected and totally in control. Alright?”
Gallagher swung his chair away swiftly, swallowing his anger. He gave one brief nod.
“OK,” Steve said. “I’ll prepare a release about the project. You’re on for a walkabout at three, unless we’re rained off. Why don’t you go have a shower, wind down, relax for an hour?”
Gallagher locked his jaw. Giving him advice like he was some kind of kid. He stared out the window, refusing to acknowledge it. He heard Steve move away, then heard the door close behind him. Sometimes it felt like they were closing in on him, trying to knock him back where he’d come from.
He turned back to his desk and picked up his mobile. There was a message from Jango to call him back. Christ on a bike! Could that idiot not do anything without being told every last detail?
He punched the call button and listened to it ring. Finally Jango answered.
“Boss,” he said. “There’s been a bit of a complication.”
“You don’t say?”
“It’s erm...” Jango’s voice tailed off.
“It’s what, Jango? I haven’t got all day.”
“Do you remember the old lady?”
Gallagher sucked in a breath, let his eyes fall closed in exasperation. “No, Jango. What old lady?”
“The one in the flat. You remember, when we went round there, there was an old lady in the flat.”
Gallagher nodded. He remembered now. “Yeah, what of it?”
He could hear Jango suck in a shaky breath. “We saw her again, only she was... she was at that bloke Halton’s house.”
“What?” Gallagher leaned forward in his chair, suddenly alert. “Hang on. The old woman who lived upstairs from Marilyn was round at Halton’s house?”
“Yeah,” Jango said, his voice shrill. “It’s weird, right?”
Gallagher thought for a moment, trying to understand. “You saw Halton talking to her?”
“We saw her coming out the house, boss. We thought we’d better tail her and see what was up, like.”
“You followed the old woman?”
“Yeah, it seemed like a good idea,” Jango said. “At the time.”
Gallagher felt something cold spreading over him, he could feel it coming. “What the fuck have you done, Jango?”
“I didn’t mean it, like,” he said. “She just started yelling and we didn’t have no choice. We had to get her off the street, so we shoved her in the van.”
Gallagher ran a hand over his eyes. He was going to kill him with his bare hands. He took a few breaths and deliberately lowered his shoulders. “And where is she now, Jango?”
“She’s in one of them sheds at the old airfield.”
“What?”
“She... err... she...” Gallagher could hear his voice shaking.
“What have you done to her?”
“It was nothing,” Jango protested. “I just gave her a smack cos she wouldn’t shut up. She was talking all about you, boss. She was saying she knew all about you. ‘That evil man’, she kept saying. She was going on about you and that bint, Marilyn. She was talking about the police and everything. I mean, what else was I supposed to do?”
&
nbsp; “She’s dead?” Gallagher asked.
“Yeah,” Jango agreed. “But what else could I do, boss?”
“Yeah, Jango, I heard you,” Gallagher said. He laid the phone on the table top and put his head in his hands, thinking for a few moments. What did the old woman know? What had she told Halton? He had to get some leverage her. The kid was it. He picked the phone up again. “For once, Jango, you might have done the right thing. Where are you now?”
“We didn’t know whether to go back to Halton’s. That’s why I called.”
“I want you to get back there and I want you to get that kid.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Jango, I want you to snatch the kid. Is that plain enough for you?”
There was a long silence.
“Can you handle it?” Gallagher asked. His free hand gripped tightly onto a pen on his desktop, clipping and unclipping the lid.
“Yeah, boss,” Jango said at last. “We can do that.”
“Alright. Get round there and scope it out. I want it done quietly, OK. Watch the house for the next day or two until you can get the kid on his own. And don’t call me until it’s done.”
Martin stared at the photos spread out on the table.
“Christ,” he said, pointing to a photo of Ben in fancy dress. “That was months ago. Wasn’t that Halloween?”
Beth looked over his shoulder at the picture. “Yeah, I think it was,” she said. She picked up the picture and looked at the back. “Oh well, she’s helpfully labelled it for us. Yes, it was Halloween.” Her tone was bitterly sarcastic.
“She’s dead, Beth,” Martin reminded her.
“I know,” she said.
Martin turned round on his chair to face her. “I meant what I said, Beth. I want you and Ben to go away somewhere, go on holiday, get away from all this.”
“And I meant what I said,” Beth countered. “If we’re going to cope with this, we have to do it as a family.”
“We haven’t been that for a while,” Martin said. He watched her eyes drop from his face. She was looking at her own painted toe nails digging into the thick pile rug.
“I know,” she said.
Martin felt his chest tightening. There had been so many moments when he’d got it wrong. He took everything the wrong way, or so she said. “Do you want us to be a family again?” he asked. He braced himself for her response.
