Civvies (21 page)

Shirley was doing the tricky bit round the window frame when Dillon and Harry showed up. She let them in and went back to her scissors, straight edge and paste brush. ‘Did you get that Roller organised?’ she asked Dillon, who was standing near the door, looking round the room. It took him a second to cotton on. He nodded, lifting a dust sheet. ‘Cliff’s handling that personally.’ ‘Well that’s all right then.’ Shirley peeled away the edge of the wallpaper, snipped three times, pressed it back. ‘… Mavis is givin’ me my dress at cost price, if Susie wants anythin’ run up, shirts, blouses, she’ll —’ Dillon spotted it, under a sheet of newspaper on the sideboard. ‘We’ve just come to pick up the elephant.’ He grabbed it, stepped over paint cans on his way to the door. ‘Oh!’ Shirley glanced round with a surprised smile. ‘Can you change it?’ Dillon looked at her and then looked at Harry, who shrugged. What’s she on about? Down in the street, Harry opened the rear door of the security wagon and they climbed in. Sitting opposite one another on the steel benches, Dillon held the elephant in both hands and gave it a gentle shake, then a harder one. ‘Is it hollow?’ Harry sucked at the fringes of his moustache. ‘You don’t think it’s drugs, do you?’ ‘It’s not hollow, doesn’t sound hollow.’ Dillon snapped the trunk off where Cliff had fixed it and tapped the solid part with his fingernail. He held the elephant up, turning it this way and that. ‘Can you see joins?’ Harry had a brainwave. ‘Ivory, it’s illegal — he’s bringin’ in ivory! Is that ivory, the tusks?’ ‘Harry,’ said Dillon wearily, ‘the tusks are an inch long — he’d need twenty tons of them. Come on, let’s get back to camp.’ Harry reached for the handle that wasn’t there; the inside of the door was smooth welded steel with a horizontal slit near the top. ‘Ohhh shit! You can’t open the doors from inside,’ Harry suddenly remembered. ‘It’s a security device…’ Dillon closed his eyes. ‘It’s okay,’ Harry said, peering through the slit. He whistled. ‘Oi… Oi, Shirley!’ About to dump a black plastic bag in the bin at the garden gate, Shirley looked round. Harry’s eyes squinted at her through the slit. ‘Can you just open the door, Shirley… we’re locked inside.’ Shirley doubled over, shaking with laughter. ‘Call yourselves a security firm…!’

There must have been ten thousand items in the warehouse. Rack upon rack of carved wooden figurines, brass ornaments, beaded cloths, ashtrays, beaten copper tea trays, ebonite letter openers, brass wind chimes, pregnant fertility goddesses, tigers, elephants and snakes of baked terracotta with bits of coloured glass for eyes. The peoples of the Indian sub-continent were paid starvation wages for churning out the stuff. Barry Newman imported it by the container-load and slapped on a mark-up of twelve hundred per cent. It was what was known as enterprise initiative. Newman moved along the racks, his gaunt, hollow face as stiff as one of the carved heads. Jimmy walked behind him, stepping lightly as if he were treading on eggshells. ‘Frank said you gave it to him!’ Jimmy protested, not liking the wheedling tone of his own voice, especially after the third or fourth time. Newman stopped. Seized by a sudden fit of rage, his bony hand shot out, sent one of the metal racks toppling, hundreds of cheap and nasty artifacts and ornaments crashing to the concrete floor. ‘I am gettin’ tired of repeating myself, Jimmy,’ Newman said flatly, not even raising his voice above the clattering echoes. ‘He was given one from the first shipment, but the missing one came from the second! What did he do? Switch them?’ Jimmy backed away, hands raised. ‘It’s just a mix up, leave it with me and I’ll sort it. You’ll have it tonight!’ he promised. He turned and hurried out as two of Newman’s men started to clear up the debris. What bloody game was Dillon playing? Messing with Newman, he wanted his bumps feeling. Newman had been mates with the Krays and had picked up one or two of their nice little habits. And added a few neat twists of his own. Like carving his initials in people’s faces, using knee-caps for target practice. Dillon wasn’t part of the Maroon Machine any more, he was in civvies, and if he didn’t wake up quick to that fact, he’d soon wake up dead.

‘Go on,’ Dillon urged Harry, who was standing over the elephant with a hammer. ‘Smash it!’ Jimmy walked in and saw the elephant on the desk. He said in a relieved voice, ‘Frank, you got it!’ and then saw Harry, hammer raised high. ‘No! Wait… !’ Horrified, he watched as Harry clouted it one, smashed off a chunk and knocked the elephant to the floor. Dillon picked it up, set it back on the desk. ‘Hit it again…’ ‘Come on, don’t mess around,’ Jimmy said, frantic. ‘Give it me!’ Harry brought the hammer down, this time the arse-end and one of the back legs fell off. ‘It’s solid, Frank,’ was Harry’s considered opinion. The phone rang, over in the corner. Distracted, Jimmy looked round and saw it was on top of the filing cabinet where Cliff has left it. He snatched up the receiver, eyes fixed on Harry, who was hefting the hammer for another crack. ‘Yeah?’ Jimmy almost snarled into the phone. ‘What? Shit.. .’ He covered the mouthpiece. ‘It’s a geezer wantin’ a cab to Gatwick… Don’t smash it, Harry!’ Jimmy flapped his arm desperately. ‘Harry — wait!’ Too late.

‘I need it by eleven in the morning, but it’s got to be white,’ Cliff said to Fernie. They were standing outside the main workshop doors, a weak sun playing hide-and-seek behind some threatening clouds. Fernie wiped his hands on an oily rag, looking round the yard. ‘That’s all I’ve got,’ he said finally, pointing a black-rimmed fingernail. Cliff goggled. It was a hearse. Chromium-plated cherubs supporting the coffin guide-bars in the long rear window. ‘I can put seats in the back,’ Fernie offered helpfully. The portable phone beeped on the Granada’s dashboard. Cliff reached inside to answer it. ‘Who? What? Gatwick?’ He frowned into the phone. ‘But I’m out of gas! Hang on…’ He patted his pockets, pulled out an Oddbins receipt, and turned to Fernie. ‘Can you lend us twenty quid till tomorrow?’ Fernie just stared at him.

The last of the stragglers were heading off home when Susie arrived at the schoolyard. She went through the gates, struggling with two Tesco carrier-bags laden with shopping, a skirt she’d just collected from the dry cleaner’s in a plastic wrapper under her arm. Stupid woman had got the tags mixed up, which was why she was late. The last of the kids had gone by now, the yard empty except for two boys aimlessly kicking a football about. She went over to them. ‘Do you know Phil and Kenny Dillon?’ One of the boys shrugged, while the other simply ignored her, balancing the ball on his instep. The caretaker came out with a bunch of keys. Same question, and pretty much the same response. Susie trailed back to the gates, a breathless, fluttery sense of panic in her chest. But they couldn’t have gone far, they’d been told time and again not to wander off. They were good kids really. She looked worriedly up and down the street… just wait till she got her hands on the pair of them! One of the boys called out, ‘They were picked up, ‘bout fifteen minutes ago.’ Frank? But he was working. Then who? Susie started running.

The pressure was on. Dillon felt he was in the middle of a Marx Brothers movie, not sure whether he was Groucho, Chico, Harpo, or Karl. First Cliff rang in: transport for tomorrow’s wedding job sorted, which was one headache less, at least. The instant Dillon put the phone down it rang again. Marway. Appointment with the bank manager fixed up. Could they make it for ten in the morning, on the dot? ‘Yeah!’ Dillon was excited. ‘Yeah, we’ll be there…’ With the elephant under his arm, Jimmy was halfway to the door. ‘Wait… !’ Harry, who was on his way out, came back in. ‘Not you, Harry, go on, get out — put that back!’ Dillon said to Jimmy, pointing at the desk. He spoke into the phone. ‘Sorry, Mr Marway… yes, okay, and thank — thank you very much.’ He banged the phone down and darted for the door, yelling, ‘Harry! Harry — wait!’ and caught up with him in the passage. ‘We got an appointment at the bank with the manager.’ Dillon counted the tips of his fingers. ‘Now, we’ll need all your deeds, an’ all our commendations from the Army, an’ —’ The phone rang. Jimmy shouted from the office, ‘Frank, it’s Susie!’ ‘Ask her what she wants,’ Dillon called, not quite through. He was still on his third finger, trying to remember what it was. Somebody knocked on the door, making him forget completely. ‘See who it is, Harry,’ Dillon said, turning back. ‘Bloody hell, what you think I am, a yo-yo?’ Harry grumbled, opening the door. ‘Tell me one thing, then —’ Two engineers in trim grey overalls, British Telecom logo on their breast pockets. ‘Frank!’ Harry yelled over his shoulder. ‘Hey, Frank, better come out here…’ Halfway through the door, Dillon swayed back from the hips, got a peek, and dived into the office. Jimmy was saying into the phone, ‘He’s just comin’… what? No, we bin here all afternoon.’ He held out the receiver to Dillon with one hand and picked up the elephant with the other. ‘Put that back!’ Dillon ordered, grabbing the phone off him. He jerked his thumb. ‘There’s two blokes out there from the
GPO
, take care of them!’ Jimmy opened his mouth as if to protest or perhaps explain, but Dillon wouldn’t give him the chance. ‘I warned you about connecting the phones — just sort it out.’ Reluctantly, dawdling, Jimmy turned away. ‘Sue?’ Dillon said. And then through his teeth: ‘Give that here, Jimmy!’ Sighing, Jimmy put the elephant down on the desk. The engineers were just outside the door, looking up at the electric box. One of them unclipped a pencil torch. ‘Is there a problem, mate?’ inquired Jimmy heartily. He glanced behind at Dillon and pulled the door shut. ‘Only we just moved into the premises…’ Dillon sat on the edge of the desk, frowning at the elephant, what was left of it, with its decorative head-covering of tiny beads and glass baubles, vaguely trying to concentrate on what Susie’s agitated voice was saying. ‘Sorry, love, what… ?’ Not drugs, the thing wasn’t hollow. Not ivory. He couldn’t think what else. He said, ‘Aren’t they with your Mum? Well — I’d have told you if they were with me.’ He listened, nodding, pushing a hand through his hair. ‘Okay, call me back.’ Dillon put the phone down, still gazing at the elephant, now wondering about Kenny and Phil. He wasn’t unduly worried, not at this moment, but it was yet another niggle he could do without, On top of this weird Nelly the Elephant business, the bank appointment in the morning, and now the damn
GPO
snooping around. He’d warned Jimmy, but Jimmy wouldn’t be told. He knew all the angles. Which corners to cut. How to bend rules and regulations, con the VAT-man, dodge standing charges. Always shading the odds in his favour, living by his wits and a winning smile. Dillon looked at his hands, flexing his fingers. That’s what Jimmy was to him, Dillon thought, like one of his own vital, indispensable hands that had turned rogue. Jimmy Hammond. His Bad Left Hand. Jimmy pushed the door open with his own left hand, edging in backwards. ‘They were already connected, we just got the one line,’ Dillon heard him telling the engineers. ‘I mean, why do we have to pay a connection fee if we’re already connected?’ Puzzled, querulous, an innocent child falsely accused. He sidled round the door, and with a guarded look at Dillon, shoved one of the telephones into a drawer. Dillon slammed it shut. He hissed at Jimmy, ‘We got to get all our references, we’re in the bank ten sharp for the loan.’ Jimmy’s face registered disappointment, even hurt. ‘I was gonna set that up…’ ‘Well I’ve done it. So you sort them —’ jabbing towards the passage. ‘If we have to pay, then pay up.’ Having given an order, Sergeant Dillon marched out, double-quick time, the elephant under his arm.

He walked through his front door to hear Helen’s voice from the living-room going on about calling the police or something. Then Susie rushed into the hallway, her face white as a sheet. ‘Frank! Are the kids with you?’ ‘No, why?’ Dillon said, the telephone receiver in his hand. ‘The ruddy phones in the office are off, I’ve got to contact Cliff —’ It all came out in a rush. ‘They’ve been missing all afternoon Frank I’ve called everyone I don’t know what to do Frank I can’t…’ ‘Al right, love.’ Dillon went very still. Carefully he put the phone down. His voice was calm, his movements unhurried, even gentle, as he led her into the living-room. ‘… All right, I’m here now. How long they been gone?’ There was a knock at the door. Susie tried to pull away from him but Helen got there first. Jimmy came in —’Hi, Frank, you still got it?’ — his gaze fixed on the elephant, which Dillon had placed on the sideboard. Susie burst out, ‘Nobody’s seen them since four, a lad said they’d been picked up,’ while Helen broke in, ‘I been round the estate and back to the school three times—’ ‘One at a time, Susie — picked up by who?’ ‘What?’ Jimmy looked quickly from one to the other. ‘Somethin’ happened to the boys?’ ‘I don’t know…’ Susie bent forward, hands clenched, and screamed at the top of her voice, ‘I don’t know!’ The phone rang. Dillon held up his hand as Susie made a move. ‘I’ll answer it.’ He went into the hall. Susie watched him, her eyes large and bright, her body straining forward as if waiting for the starter’s pistol. ‘Oh please dear God, please let it be them…’ She saw his shoulders tense. He turned then, and when she saw his face, rigid, the muscles twitching in his jaw, Susie nearly had heart seizure. Barely moving his lips, she heard him say, ‘You touch a hair on their heads an’ I’ll swear I’ll —’ ‘What is it? Frank? Frank?’ Dillon put the phone down. His teeth bit deep into his lower lip, forcing the blood out, while his dark hooded eyes bored into Jimmy’s with an intense smouldering anger. He said hoarsely, ‘Jimmy and me’ll bring ‘em back.’ ‘Where are they…?’ Susie whispered. ‘Frank?’ ‘Stay put, Susie, it’s just a misunderstanding. .. stay here! Mum, look after her!’ Dillon slowly brought his hand up and pointed at Jimmy. ‘You, with me. Move.’ Down on the second landing, Dillon said, ‘That bastard’s got my kids, Jimmy. He’s got my kids.’ They reached the courtyard just as the black Jaguar Sovereign was ghosting in from the street, Newman’s chief minder Colin in the passenger seat, his bruiser’s mug bearing the marks of Harry’s night ops. Kenny and Phil waved through the rear window, loaded up with Indian temple bells, papier-mache masks, brass candlestick holders and sundry other Third World trash. Colin stood by the open door as they tumbled out with their spoils. ‘Mr Newman just wanted to show you how easy it is, Frank.’ Dillon stepped forward, fists bunched, and Colin held up his hand, smiling. ‘Not in front of your boys, Frank…’ He got back in the car, slid the window down. ‘You’ve got something that belongs to our Guv’nor. Hand it over — simple as that.’ His eyes shifted from Dillon’s face. ‘Tell him, Jimmy.’ Dillon stood between the boys, hands on their shoulders, his face carved from stone. ‘You tell Newman I’ll bring it to him,’ he said as the car pulled away. ‘Personally.’