Reap the Whirlwind

by Mark Timlin

  All, it had seemed, had been well. But it obviously wasn’t.

  33

  It’s Over – Roy Orbison

  The three of us went through the front door, and there was Chas at his post. When he saw John he came to attention, then he frowned as his eyes turned to Madge, and over to the deserted rotisserie. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry, ’ she said. ‘Chicken’s off.’ His frown deepened.

  ‘With me, Chas,’ said John, and he marched across the shop floor towards the security camera room, with Chas, Madge and me following him, our little convoy receiving puzzled looks from any staff who clocked us going by.

  John ushered us through the door where the other security guard on duty, Tom, another black bloke, swivelled his chair at our entrance. The tiny room seemed claustrophobic with us all crammed in. John grabbed the only other chair in situ and gestured for Madge to sit, which she did.

  ‘Can I have your phone?’ he said to Madge.

  She obliged, and he pulled up the video on the screen. He peered at it and said to the seated guard, ‘Tom, show me the main doors at twelve twenty three.’

  Tom pushed some buttons and up popped the video. It ran on for thirty seconds or so, then there was a tiny glitch, almost too brief to notice unless it was being searched for. The time line at the bottom of the screen jumped back, once again only visible if being closely examined.

  Chas’s face blanched and he staggered close to collapse. Madge jumped up and between us we sat him down. ‘Head between your legs,’ she ordered.

  He did as he was told and the room seemed to shrink even more, and get warmer.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ gasped Chas. ‘After all you’ve done…’ he didn’t finish.

  ‘Why, Chas?’ asked John.

  ‘They threatened my family,’ he said, ‘They know where I live.’

  ‘Who?’ John again.

  ‘Kids. Young men. They hang around. Black kids.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They make me load up trolleys. Then when I’m on the monitors they steam in and grab the stuff…’

  ‘But the screens,’ John interrupted. ‘How the hell did you do that?’

  ‘One of them. Blood. He learned how to fix them at his college.’

  Tom sucked his teeth.

  I asked. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Unfortunately. Him and his crew are a bloody nuisance. Carole’s the boss. Then there’s Bez and Blood. Always smoking dope. Messing around.’

  I think if Madge hadn’t been in the room, he’d have used stronger language. ‘They’re here now. Out front.’

  ‘Are they?’ said John.

  ‘What are you going to do, guv’nor?’ said Chas. ‘I never made a penny. I swear.’

  ‘I should call the police,’ said John, but by his tone I knew he wouldn’t, and that was when he became my friend. ‘But I won’t. You’re going on holiday. Take the family down to my place in Sussex. When you come back you’re going to the Dulwich shop.’ He turned to me. ‘Nick. What can you do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied. ‘But I know a man who can.’

  34

  The Lobster Song – The Naughty Boys of Finchley (The Coastels)

  I took charge then. I called Robber from my mobile. He was at Brixton nick. Less than five minutes away. I gave him the bare bones of the story. I told him this was unofficial. He wasn’t impressed. I told him he’d have my undying gratitude. Ditto. I told him he’d be helping a soldier who’d suffered for his country. Ditto again. Then I mentioned that John Coffey would be grateful, and he changed his tune. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Are those blokes there now?’

  ‘Tom,’ I said, ‘show us the bit of the car park where these kids hang out.’

  He pulled up the image. Three hoodies, smoking spliffs by the looks of it. Cool as a trio of cucumbers. That was soon to change.

  ‘They’re there now,’ I said.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ and he hung up.

  ‘He’s coming,’ I said to John. ‘Looks like he’s going to be your new best friend.’

  ‘I’ll cope.’

  It seemed almost at once that my phone rang. ‘I’m outside,’ said Robber. ‘Leaning against a new Mercedes.’

  ‘Don’t scratch the paintwork,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘Not you, Chas. Sorry. Tom, let’s go.’ I would have normally left Madge if it looked like trouble, which it did, but she was more than capable of handling herself, and, of course, she had cracked the case single-handedly, so I didn’t even mention her staying put. Probably just as well for my health.

  Once again, our small group headed across the shop. More funny looks. Outside Robber was waiting by the Mercedes talking to John’s driver. I was surprised he wasn’t giving the cellulose a polish while he waited. ‘Round here,’ said Tom.

  There they were at the side of the shop. The hole in the wall gang. Three black steamers, smoking spliffs, who looked at us as we went into the road with a mixture of contempt and amusement. Like I said, that would soon change.

  Robber palmed his warrant card and led the way. ‘Carole,’ he said. The tallest one, who was leaning back against the shop wall, narrowed his eyes. Robber showed him his brief. ‘Detective Inspector Jack Robber,’ he said. ‘You’d better remember that.’

  Carole lifted the blunt to his lips. Robber brushed it away in a shower of sparks. ‘Empty your pockets.’

  ‘Fuck off, man,’ he said.

  Robber grabbed him by the throat and slammed his head back so that it hit the wall with a satisfying thunk. ‘Empty your pockets, or I will, and if there’s anything sharp, and I cut myself, I’ll castrate you. Do you know what that means? I. WILL. CUT. YOUR. BOLLOCKS. OFF.’

  I think Carole got the message. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and produced a decent-sized bag of weed.

  Robber grunted and pocketed it. I often wondered what he did with the drugs he took off miscreants. Did he use them, or use them to fit up other poor sods? I know he never passed any on to me.

  ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

  Carole shook his head and Robber let it pass. This wasn’t his raison d’etre today. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘it’s come to my notice that you three stooges are stealing from Mr Coffey, and have threatened a decorated hero of our country, who has not been well, and his family. Including a young boy.’ Carole’s head hit the wall again and this time left a blood stain. Skull versus concrete. Concrete two, skull nil. ‘That’s against the fucking rules. And from now on, these are the rules.’ Another bang, and Carole went a bit cross-eyed, and I saw one of the three’s blue jeans go a shade darker as he pissed his pants. A strong smell of cannabis-flavoured urine filled the air.

  Robber smiled. ‘You three never, I repeat never, darken the doorstep of any of Mr Coffey’s stores again. I will be watching as I do my regular shop.’ He looked at John who nodded. Nothing needed to be said, but I knew Jack had a free pass. ‘The occasional lobster tail or steak and chips for my supper.’ Another look, another nod from John. ‘And you know where the bloke you threatened lives. Make sure you’re never seen close. You or your mates. In fact, if I ever hear that him or his family as much as have a hair out of place, no matter what the cause, I will find you whether you had anything to do with it or not, and make your lives more miserable than they already are. Understand?’

  Carole nodded.

  ‘Say it.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Carole. That’s a girl’s name isn’t it?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘And don’t think I won’t be looking you up in criminal records. I know you’re in there and I’ll find you. So Carole from now on, you and your little girlfriends are my bitches. Understood? Remember my name. Jack Robber. I want all three of you to think of my name when you go to beddy bye at night, and when you wake up in the mornin
g. And another thing, I know you boys love to cry police brutality. Forget it. This meeting never took place. I’ll swear to that, my friend Nick will swear to it, that nice lady will swear to it, Mr Coffey’s security man will swear to it. And most importantly, Mr Coffey, a huge influence in your community, and well known to be as honest as the day is long, will swear to it.’ Yet another nod from John, which I think is what finally sealed the deal and even got through to this dope-addled trio. ‘Get the picture?’

  Carole and his pals had the picture. Any more might have been too much, and Robber knew it. He was a master of interrogation, always knowing when less was more. ‘So, my little friends, that’s us,’ Robber said. ‘Now fuck off and thank your lucky stars and Mr Coffey that this goes no further, unless you make the mistake of pushing it.’

  He stood back, and Carole and his mates slunk off, never to be heard off again, at least in that neck of the woods.

  His last words were, ‘Carole, put some TCP and a plaster on your head. It’ll heal quicker.’

  Then he turned and grinned at us and lit a cigarette. Case closed.

  I got to keep John’s cheque and I took Madge out for lunch as promised. Not the Ritz, but the Savoy where her husband used to take her for a treat. It was my pleasure.

  35

  I’m Going To Get Me A Gun – Cat Stevens

  Back to the present.

  It was getting late, but Madge seemed to get by on little sleep, so I didn’t feel guilty giving her a bell. She had, after all, asked to be part of my life, and me hers, all that time ago, and like I said, she’d helped me out more than once when I needed an ally.

  ‘It’s me, Nick,’ I said, when she picked up. ‘Hello,’ she said back. ‘I thought you might call.’

  ‘Knew I would, you mean.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I need a place to stay again. Mine’s a bit warm.’

  ‘The spare bed is made up as always.’

  ‘And I need some of my stuff.’

  ‘It’s all here, cleaned and loaded.’

  ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Anytime. You know that.’

  ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’

  ‘I’ll leave the door on the latch.’

  I packed a few necessities in a leather holdall and left. Luckily, the black guy had let me keep all my keys, so I went to my car, started it, and drove off. I parked it on a quiet back street, locked it up, then walked to Madge’s. When my guy had fitted new security, he’d put in a motion-sensitive light by her front door, but she’d switched it off, and the whole house was in darkness. The door was on the latch as she’d promised, and opened quietly. I closed it behind me, and said into the darkness, lit only by two tiny green eyes belonging to Schmoo the cat, ‘OK, Madge, you can turn the light on now,’ I whispered, though it wasn’t necessary.

  She did as I said.

  ‘Hello, Nick,’ she said, ‘you’ve been busy.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

  ‘Come through and tell me. It’s still so bloody hot and humid. Reminds me of the tropics. We can sit on the veranda. I’ve made you some sandwiches and coffee. And there’s a glass of brandy.’

  ‘Madge, you’re a lifesaver,’ I said. ‘I can’t remember when I last ate. Hope you weren’t doing anything important.’

  ‘Just watching TV.’

  ‘Nothing good, I hope.’

  ‘Something about buying property. Awful. Jesus, TV presenters and estate agents in one show. Great examples of two kinds of people who are convinced you can polish a turd.’

  ‘Madge!’

  ‘Sorry. Naval language. I forgot you were never in.’

  ‘You’ve taught me well, though, over the years.’

  I picked up the cat and she purred hard, and we went out and sat at the same table where we’d had tea all that time before. She let the light from the big room leak out, and moths and midges made a halo above us. She’d made ham and mustard and cheese and pickle sandwiches. The coffee was hot and strong, the brandy was cold and even stronger. Between sips and mouthfuls, I gave her the full SP. She didn’t interrupt. That’s one of the things I most liked about her. When I’d finished, she said. ‘Well, it’s even more exciting than I thought. You know I’ve met men and women like your man Smyth, or whatever he calls himself.’

  ‘My friend Robber called him a “fucking spook”.’

  ‘He’s probably right. Sounds about par for the course.’

  ‘I lost the phone he brought me. And the cash.’

  ‘I’ve got cash if you need it. ’

  ‘I’d probably lose it too.’

  ‘And I’ve got your stuff.’

  She got up and went back into the house, and returned with the canvas bag I’d left with her after a previous adventure.

  Inside, all carefully wrapped in clean white cotton, was a Mossberg seven shot repeating riot shotgun with a pistol grip, a Colt .38 hammerless revolver, and a Browning nine, with spare ammunition for all of them, and a soft leather shoulder holster for the automatic, all carefully cleaned, oiled and loaded. I figured if any wild animals came out of the undergrowth at the bottom of her garden, we’d be able to fight them off with no trouble.

  All the time I sat there, the cat kept lookout for intruders.

  36

  Blood On The Tracks – Bob Dylan

  When I’d finished my meal, I lit a cigarette, and said, ‘I guess you’re harbouring a fugitive again.’

  ‘I’ll say you held me up at gunpoint.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘Let’s go inside, and I’ll make fresh coffee, then you can get some sleep.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ I said, stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray she’d brought out for me, and we both went into the sitting room.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ she said, and nodded towards my legs.

  There were bloodstains on the denim from the wounds on my legs leaking. ‘I’ve got plasters,’ I said. ‘But I might ruin your sheets.’

  ‘There’s always bleach and the washing machine.’

  ‘No need. I’ll buy you a new pair. Egyptian cotton.’

  ‘The first day I met you, Nick, I knew you were a man with good taste.’

  ‘And how right you were.’

  She was as good as her word, and produced more coffee in short order. Between us we finished the pot, and, leaving the crocks, both headed to our separate rooms.

  Mine was at the top of the house. The old servants’ quarters Madge told me. Walls had been knocked through and turned into a proper guest’s suite. Dormer windows had been fitted into the roof, and at one end was a double bed, and at the other, a sofa, two easy chairs and a large screen TV. Next door was an en-suite bathroom and lavatory.

  Madge had opened all the windows, but the air was still heavy with the remains of the day’s heat. It hung around me like a thick blanket, and caught in my throat as I tried to breathe.

  I carefully undressed, pulled off the plasters and looked at my wounds. Not too bad.

  I took a cool shower, dried myself off, and put on some of the plasters I’d brought with me.

  Then, just in my underwear, I lay on the bed and fell asleep.

  37

  Bed And Breakfast Man – Madness

  Next morning, at eight twenty by the digital clock by the bed, there was a knock on the suite door. ‘Are you decent?’ Madge called.

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ I replied.

  She came in carrying a mug. ‘I brought you a cuppa,’ she said.

  ‘If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?’

  ‘I’d say, don’t be a silly goose.’

  ‘You’ve got me there. Is that some new street slang?’

  She just shook her head an
d laid the tray down next to my bed. ‘How are the scars of war?’

  ‘Stinging a bit, but I’ll live. And no bloodstains on the bedding.’

  ‘Good. Breakfast in half an hour. Don’t be late.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  I was as good as my word and reported for my breakfast half an hour later. She served it up in the breakfast room next to the kitchen in the basement. At least it was cooler down there, the morning having dawned hot and heavy again. Madge had done me a full English, but this time the mushrooms and tomatoes were fresh, not tinned. I commented on that.

  ‘Did you know,’ she asked, ‘that when I was in the navy, if we had mushrooms for breakfast, the officers had the cups, and the ratings made do with the stalks?’

  ‘Life’s like that. A right bugger.’

  ‘I agree.’

  I finished the plate and went out for a cigarette.

  She followed me. ‘So what are you doing today?’ she asked.

  ‘Keeping a low profile, round here if you don’t mind. But first, I need a new phone. Old Bill nicked mine. And my other one ended up a burnt offering.’

  ‘That’s not even slightly funny. Anyway, I thought you had no cash.’

  ‘Luckily, both the cops and those two last night let me keep my wallet. Still got credit on my card. Great breakfast, by the way.’

  ‘I like cooking for a man.’

  ‘And I like eating what you cook.’

  ‘Joking aside. You should get yourself a wife.’

  ‘Been there, done that. What’s the weather forecast, by the way?’

  ‘More of the same. Hot, hot, hot.’

  ‘Oh well, I suppose we’d be complaining if it was raining.’

  ‘Not me, or my bedding plants.’