Reap the Whirlwind

by Mark Timlin

  ‘I don’t believe in God, and I don’t do threesomes,’ she said when we approached her.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said JB taking the lead. ‘We just want a word.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘About him,’ I said, bringing out the photo of Ronnie. ‘His mum misses him.’

  ‘Are you cops?’

  ‘No,’ said JB.

  ‘He looks like cop.’ She nodded at me.

  ‘No,’ said JB. ‘He’s just ugly.’

  The girl cracked a smile at that.

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘You hungry?’

  She nodded.

  ‘There’s an all night burger bar round the back. Fancy a bite?’

  ‘OK, but I don’t get in no cars.’

  ‘You’re safe,’ I said. ‘Come on.’

  The restaurant, if you could use that word about it was warm and dry. I ordered three cheeseburgers, two coffees, and a coke, and took the tray to a table at the back away from the few other punters. ‘What’s your name?’ I said when the food was in front of us.

  ‘Sheila,’ she said.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘No,’ she came back. ‘None of that is any of your business.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  By that time her cheeseburger had vanished and I pushed mine towards her.

  ‘Cheers’ she said and dived in.

  ‘So Ronnie. The lad in the photo. Do you know him?’

  ‘Might do.’

  ‘We mean him no harm,’ said JB. ‘His mum is really worried.’

  Sheila shrugged. I imagine a lot of my mums and dads were worried that night. Sheila’s included.

  ‘I heard he was in country,’ I said.

  Sheila nodded. ‘Makes sense.’

  I shrugged too, and she went on, ‘I did see him.’

  ‘Really.’ Me again.

  ‘I’m not lying,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Never thought you were,’ I said. ‘Where?’

  ‘Euston, last week.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘Catching a train.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Dunno. Didn’t ask. He looked rough though.’

  ‘But he had a ticket?’

  ‘Sure. They’ve always got tickets.’

  ‘Who? The carriers?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ she asked. Though I knew.

  The second burger and most of her coke had gone by then, and JB passed her untouched food over. Sheila grabbed a handful of paper napkins and wrapped it neatly and stowed it away in her rucksack. ‘Breakfast,’ she said.

  ‘You were saying,’ I said. ‘About the carriers. What do they carry?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Drugs, stupid.’

  ‘And you don’t know where Ronnie was going.?’

  She shook her head. ‘It was the last train though. The station was nearly empty.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Thanks. You’ve been a big help. Where are you staying tonight?’

  She shrugged again, and I took out my wallet, pulled out five twenties and slid them across the table. ‘Get somewhere warm,’ I said. Then put my card on top of the cash. ‘Call me if you see Ronnie again, or hear anything, or just to talk.’

  ‘About?’

  It was my turn to shrug again. ‘Anything,’ I said. ‘I’m a good listener.’

  The money and my card followed the cheeseburger into her rucksack, and she got up to leave. ‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear.’ And with that, she left.

  ‘Do you reckon she was lying?’ I asked JB as I took a sip of my cold coffee.

  She shrugged too. ‘Who knows?’

  We were to before too long.

  We got home around two, and chatted about what we’d heard and seen, then hit the sack.

  It was about ten the next morning and we were both still asleep when the house was shaken by hammering on the front door, and continuous ringing on my flat bell. My downstairs neighbours were away again, and besides, they weren’t the types to get that sort of disturbance to their beauty sleep.

  I dragged on jeans and a t-shirt and left JB rubbing her eyes as I headed downstairs. Two characters were standing outside the front door, and I didn’t need to see ID to know they were plain clothes cops.

  ‘Nick Sharman?’ Demanded one, a man mountain in leather jacket and jeans.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘About her.’ he showed me a photo on his phone. It was tiny, but I recognised Sheila, even though one eye was black, her nose was sideways, and there was a stitch in her top lip.’ Christ,’ I said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We thought you might know.’

  ‘Leave off. She was alright when she left.’

  ‘Left where?’

  ‘You’d better come in,’ I said.

  We all trooped upstairs and JB was waiting looking the business, which kind of stunned the cops. ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  ‘Someone smacked Sheila around after we left her last night.’

  ‘Her name’s Pam.’ Interjected the second cop. ‘Leastways that’s the ID she had on her. Pam Dixon.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said JB. ‘You don’t think we…’

  ‘She had your card in her hand.’ Said cop number one.

  ‘Which I left after doing that to her I suppose,’ I said. ‘I don’t beat up little girls.’

  ‘Did you give her money.’

  ‘I gave her a ton to find somewhere safe for the night.’

  ‘That worked out well.’ Cop two.

  ‘Funny.’

  ‘Not so’s you notice.’

  ‘Listen,’ said JB. ‘Whatever you think he’s capable of, that’s not me. We bought the girl some food, sorted her for a couple of nights lodging because she told us about a boy we’re looking for. That’s it. Nothing else. Then we came home.’

  The cops looked frustrated. ‘Right,’ said the first one. ‘We’ll be talking to the girl as soon as she’s able. We know about you Sharman. And it’s not good.’

  I thought he was going to tell me not to leave town.

  ‘And don’t leave town.’ He said as he left.

  ‘Christ,’ I said to JB. ‘Looks like someone didn’t like us asking questions.’

  ‘That poor girl. She thought she was so tough…’

  ‘It’s rough out there on the streets,’ I said. ‘Even for the toughest.’

  ‘We should do something for her.’

  ‘Don’t you think we’ve done enough?’ But of course she was right.

  Then, I’m afraid things went from bad to worse.

  Sunday afternoon my phone rang. It was Robber. ‘Just to let you know,’ he said. ‘We’ve found the body of a young lad.’

  I said nothing. Couldn’t.

  ‘Looks like your boy. His mum has been notified. It wasn’t pretty. It’s him though.’

  ‘Christ,’ I said.

  ‘Christ is right. He’s malnourished, and badly beaten.’

  Just like Shiela I thought.

  ‘OK Jack,’ I said. ‘Thanks for letting me know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault.’ And he hung up.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking that it was. I still do, after all this time.

  I told JB the bad news.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself,’ she said.

  ‘But I do, and I intend to do something about it.’

  ‘Nothing too drastic,’ she said.

  ‘Of course not,’ I said.

  Then there was Ronnie’s mum.

  The next morning after JB had left for work, I drove back to Hackney. The woman who
answered the door was just a shadow of the woman I had met before, and she’d been no more than a shadow then. ‘You heard,’ she said.

  ‘I still have a friend on the force. I’m so sorry. I thought I was getting somewhere.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘It matters more.’

  ‘Not to me. My life is over.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘It’s true. I should pay you for your time.’

  ‘I told you before. No charge. In fact I wish I hadn’t started. I feel responsible.’

  ‘Only the people who did this to Ronnie are to blame.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do.’

  And with that I left the grieving mother to her grief.

  Then I headed back to the chip shop where I’d met the junior drug dealer. He sat alone at the same table. The cafe was warm with moisture running down the windows inside. I sat opposite him again. ‘Help you?’ He asked with the same aggravating smirk.

  ‘They found Ronnie,’ I said.

  ‘Is he well?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sorry to hear it.’

  ‘I’m sure you are. Just short of another customer.’

  ‘Plenty of those. Here comes a couple now.’

  Two young girls came through the door, waved at our table, then went to the counter and ordered chips.

  ‘You know I don’t even know your name,’ I said.

  ‘People call me Sonny.’

  ‘People call me Nick,’ I said. ‘So tell me who’s the brains behind this country operation?’

  ‘As if I would.’

  ‘You will.’

  ‘No chance.’

  ‘Believe me.’ And with that I left my seat, grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket and dragged him across the floor, through the gap beside the counter, and round to the fryers.

  ‘You can’t,’ said the woman doing the frying.

  ‘Just watch me,’ I said and thrust Sonny’s hand down close to where the chips were bubbling at Christ knows what temperature. He screamed, the woman screamed, and the two girls putting ketchup on their chips screamed. I almost screamed myself.

  ‘OK, OK,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll tell you.’

  The woman had fled to the back of the shop yelling for the guv’nor, and I shoved Sonny back through the shop out into the cold morning and over to my car.

  I slung him in the front passenger seat, and cuffed him with plastic ties. ‘You can’t do this,’ he whined.

  ‘I’m doing it.’ There was no argument with that, and I went to the driver’s seat and took off, just in case the chippies had called the police. I drove to a quiet street, parked up, turned off the engine and looked at him. On the drive he’d protested even more, and had only shut up when I threatened to gag him.

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘you were saying.’

  He schtummed up then, so I had to show him I meant business, as if a deep fried hand wasn’t enough. ‘Listen Sonny,’ I said. ‘I’m taking Ronnie’s murder extremely personally. Plus a young girl I met ended up in hospital because she talked to me. I want to find out who was behind the attacks. Tell me, and you can go. Don’t tell me and I’ll break your pretty face. Now I know you wouldn’t like that.’

  I didn’t put a hand on him, just sat patiently looking at him, and after five minutes, he broke. Just like I knew he would.

  ‘If I tell you,’ he stuttered. ‘You’ll let me go?’

  ‘Scouts’ honour.’ He looked like he’d never heard of the scouts, or indeed, honour.

  ‘It’s a bloke. Campbell they call him. Just Campbell. He’s a wholesaler. Supplies me, and captures these silly kids. Promises them the world. Buys them shit. Computer games, trainers, clothes, booze, fags, drugs. And when they’re hooked he sends them all over the country delivering gear. If they do the business, all’s good. But God protect them if they screw up.’

  I liked the God part.

  ‘So where’s Campbell?’ I asked.

  ‘If he ever knew…’

  ‘He’s not here, I am. And I have all sorts of nasty things in this motor. Painful things.’

  As it happens I didn’t, but he didn’t know. ‘You carrying now?’ I said.

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Inside pocket. Left hand side.’

  ‘Nothing sharp?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You’d better be telling the truth.’

  And he was. I reached into his sweaty jacket and pulled out a nice little parcel of goodies. Weed in see through plastic baggies, coke, I presumed in several silver paper wraps. Pills by the dozen. Speed, downers, ecstasy. I didn’t much care. I stuffed them back. ‘Campbell,’ I said.

  He gave me an address in North London maybe half an hour away, and I switched on the engine again. ‘So what will I find?’

  He sneered again. ‘Not something you’ll like. I guarantee that.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’ll find out if you’re stupid enough to go in there. Check the basement. But I promise you’ll never be the same again.’

  I chucked the motor into gear and took off.

  ‘Ain’t you going to let me go?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t be silly. I want to see the gaff first.’

  I headed off in a north westerly direction, and when we got close I made him direct me. Though it was winter, the street he took me to seemed darker than the ones that led there. Darker and colder and the air seemed thicker and more acrid smelling through my open window. The house he pointed to was a crooked house on a crooked street next to a crooked railway bridge that carried trains from London to the north, and seemed to lean close to the house, as if they were partners in crime.

  The house itself was dirty grey brick, with a dirty grey tiled roof, and dirty grey curtains covered every window as if to keep whatever secrets were inside, inside.

  The front door was dirty grey too, and the few pedestrians that passed by on that dirty grey afternoon, seemed to make a wide berth as they passed. If ever I’d seen an evil place, this was it.

  I called Robber then and told him what was cooking. ‘I’ll meet you there,’ he said.

  He arrived about thirty minutes later and parked his car close behind mine. ‘Who’s your friend?’ He asked when he climbed into the back seat.

  I explained.

  ‘Any sign of life at the house?

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied.

  ‘Well let’s take a shufti,’ he said.

  We trussed Sonny up where he sat and crossed the road that smelled slightly of brimstone. Even Robber wrinkled his nose. ‘Nasty,’ he said.

  We climbed the three steps to the front door, that, although the paint was peeling and the wood warped looked pretty secure. I pushed it and it felt like it pushed back, annoyed at being interfered with. ‘Shit,’ I said. ‘This one won’t be easy.’

  ‘You’re out of touch Sharman, Robber whispered back and pulled what looked like a short screwdriver from one of his pockets. He stuck the bit into the Yale lock, it purred happily, and the door slumped open, almost I felt against its will. ‘Simple when you know how,’ said Robber. ‘After you.’

  I went inside and wished I hadn’t. The place stunk like spoiled meat and old shit. Robber followed me and pulled the door shut behind him. Immediately all noise from the street ceased. When he spoke the words seemed out of sync to his mouth’s movements. Like one of those dubbed spaghetti westerns I watch on late night TV. ‘I’ve got a very bad feeling about this,’ he said. At least it sounded like him. A bit.

  ‘Downstairs, he said,’ I said. I pointed at another door, darkness behind it. Robber showed me the palm of his hand and said, ‘After you.’

  I pushed the door and felt round inside for a switc
h, and there was one, and when I pushed it down a dim light showed steps leading downwards. I went ahead and the smell was worse. I counted a dozen steps and then there was a rough concrete floor, in front of another door that I pushed open, found another switch and hit it. The single bulb that came on illuminated a single wooden armchair, a chest freezer plugged into the wall with a dim red light shining malignantly on its handle and in the corner a small chain saw next to what looked like a can of petrol. The chain on the saw was discoloured with some brown dried liquid. If it wasn’t blood then I was a monkey’s uncle.

  Then when I looked closely at the arms on the chair there were more brown stains that ran down to the floor and had once pooled on the concrete.

  ‘Nice,’ said Robber. ‘I think I could put this all together and make a decent case for murder.’

  I walked over to the freezer, tugged the top open against the vacuum and staring at me through a clear plastic bag were the eyes of my old friend Roy. Next to his head were his hands. I’d recognise them anywhere, especially as on his left hand ring finger was his wedding ring that he’d never been without, divorced or not.

  ‘Fuck,’ I said. ‘Let’s find this Campbell cunt.’

  ‘I’m right here,’ said a voice from behind us, and in the doorway was sight for sore eyes, or at least a sight to make your eyes sore. He was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin. And I imagine he was a he, though he could have been either sex. Or neither, or for that matter neuter. Whatever he, she or it was, was in a long black overcoat that badly needed darning. It’s face was rat like but cat like, but dog like, but human like, but none of the above. The only thing that was easy to describe was the sexy, matte black, Italian looking pump action shot gun with an underslung stock, and a bore that looked as wide as the Blackwell tunnel as it moved between me and Robber.

  ‘I’m not armed,’ I said.

  ‘That’s not like you Mr Sharman,’ he said. ‘Yes, I know you. Know of you. Now take off your coat and throw it over there.’ He gestured with the gun.

  I did as I was told.

  ‘Now your jacket. The same.’