Gun Street Girl (24 page)

David Pike answered the door. He was dressed in a suede Levi jacket and blue jeans. On some people, yes; on him, no. The security man was standing by the open safe, the big glass-fibre suitcase beside him.

‘They've called,' I said, ‘and made the meet. Is that the money?' I nodded at the case.

‘Yes,' replied David.

‘Is it all there?'

‘Of course.'

‘Doesn't look like much.' By the look on his face, David was offended by my comment. I changed the subject. ‘What are you carrying?' I asked the guard.

‘What?'

‘Your gun, what is it?'

He looked at David, who nodded at him to speak. ‘A thirty-eight Taurus.'

‘Give it to me.'

‘Not a chance.'

‘We're wasting time,' I said to David Pike.

‘Give it to him,' he said to the guard.

‘I can't do that, I don't even know him.'

‘For Christ's sake, hand it over,' I said.

‘Do as he says,' instructed David. ‘I'll take full responsibility.'

Reluctantly the guard unbuttoned his coat and slid the revolver from its holster and gave it to me. The gun was nickel plated with a short barrel and a nice heft. I checked the cylinder. It was fully loaded with five thirty-eight special cartridges.

‘Thanks,' I said. ‘I'll get it back to you.' And I slid the gun into the waistband of my jeans and pulled the shirt tail out to hide it. The metal of the gun was cool on my skin and it dug into my hip uncomfortably.

‘Got any spare ammunition?' I asked.

The guard scowled and pulled his jacket back. In five loops on the leather of his shoulder holster were five spare cartridges.

‘I'll take those too.'

He squeezed them out and dropped them into the palm of my hand. I put them in the back pocket of my jeans.

‘So where is this meeting then?' asked David.

‘That's my little secret,' I said.

‘You won't leave here with the money unless you tell me.'

‘Suits me,' I said. ‘I don't intend to.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘You'll see.'

I walked past the guard and hefted the case. It weighed a ton, but I supposed it would have to with all that cash inside. I picked it up and took it over to the desk and hoisted it on top. The guard looked at David, but he calmed him with a glance. I flicked the catches and they opened. I lifted up the lid and looked at one million pounds sterling in the flesh for the first time. It was quite a sight. I heaved the case up and emptied the money out. The neatly banded bundles skidded across the leather, some tumbled to the floor. I went to the bookcases and started pulling out maroon-bound volumes and putting them in the case.

‘What the hell are you doing?' demanded David.

‘I'm doing what your father should have done years ago. I'm going to get a little justice for your sister Catherine.'

I finished filling the case with books, closed the lid and snapped the catches closed. I swung the case off the desk and felt it for weight. It was pretty close to when it had been full of cash.

‘But the money –'

‘Fuck the money, David Pike, and fuck you too!'

‘I've never heard such –'

‘Shut your fucking mouth,' I said, ‘or I'll punch your fucking lights from here to Christmas.' Mercifully he did. ‘I need the Rolls,' I said. ‘Can you speak to Vincent from here?'

‘If he's in his room.'

‘He will be, I guarantee, and expecting the call. Tell him to meet me in the garage with the keys. Just that. Not a word about anything else, understand?'

‘I will not.'

I took the Taurus from under my belt and pointed it at his chest and hiked back the hammer. ‘Do it, David,' I said. ‘Or it's goodnight.'

‘You wouldn't,' he said.

‘Want to bet your life on it?'

He obviously didn't. He stepped over the money on the floor and opened the top lefthand drawer of the desk. There were two telephones inside. He lifted the receiver of one and spun the dial. It was answered immediately. ‘Vincent,' he said, ‘will you meet Mr Sharman in the garage with the keys to the car?' He paused, then replaced the receiver.

Gotcha! I thought.

‘Right, in the safe,' I said. ‘The pair of you.'

‘We'll suffocate,' protested David.

‘You'll be okay for a few minutes. I'll make sure someone comes up and lets you out. Go on.' I gestured with the gun and both men stepped into the safe. I slammed the door, turned one key and left the room. I shlapped the case downstairs to the kitchen, using the stairs. Miranda was by the stove.

‘Hey,' I said, ‘want to do me another favour?'

‘Certainly,' she said. ‘What is it?'

‘In exactly five minutes from now run upstairs to the study and open the safe. The key's in the lock. David Pike will be eternally grateful.'

‘Why?' she asked.

‘Don't ask,' I said, ‘just do it.'

‘If you say so.'

‘Is there any sticky tape around here?'

‘What kind?'

‘Any kind, as long as it's strong.'

‘Try the first aid kit in the top drawer of the dresser.'

I went over to a handsome Welsh dresser and pulled open the drawer. Inside was a big white enamel box with a red cross on top. I lifted it out by its handle and opened it. Packed inside was everything useful in the event of a small domestic accident, including a large roll of flesh-coloured Elastoplast. I took the roll and stuffed it in the side pocket of my jeans. ‘Bless you,' I said and I kissed her full on the lips. She tasted like the best thing I'd tasted for ages.

‘Another thing, Miranda,' I said.

‘After that, anything.'

‘Pack my clothes and stuff for me. I don't think I'll be back here in a hurry.'

I left her looking confused as I dragged the suitcase down to the basement garage.

Vincent was waiting for me. He was holding a set of car keys in his fist. I humped the case over to the car and wrestled it onto the front passenger seat.

‘You wanted these, Mr Sharman?'

‘Yes, I want them,' I said, and took the keys from him in my left hand. ‘Where is the switch you told me about that locks the passenger doors?'

He opened the driver's door and leant in and pointed to a small stalk that protruded from the steering column. ‘That's it.'

‘Can you still open the doors from inside?'

‘Yes, they all work independently, just use the handle as normal. They can't be opened from the outside, that's all.'

‘Thanks,' I said. He turned as if to leave. I slid the gun from the waistband of my jeans with my right hand.

‘Hey, Vincent.'

‘Yes?' He turned and I hit him with the barrel of the Taurus. He went down on one knee. I hit him again and he went all the way down. I tossed the gun onto the front seat of the car. I took him by one foot and dragged him across to some cold water pipes that ran up one wall. His head bumped gratifyingly on the concrete floor as we went. I undid his belt, tugged it out of the loops and used it to truss him to the pipes. I went back to the driver's seat of the Rolls-Royce. I stuck the key in the ignition lock. The car started with a purr and only the gentlest vibration betrayed the fact that the motor was running. I engaged drive, slipped the hand brake and the monster limo crept towards the ramp. I touched the pad on the dash-mounted electronic eye and the garage door began to open. I pushed my foot on the accelerator and the car bumped up the incline and out into the mews. I left the door open behind me. I guided the car over the cobbles and left into Curzon Street, left again into Park Lane, through the lights, around Hyde Park Corner and west along Knightsbridge in the direction of Hammersmith. The traffic was light and the heavy car was a joy to drive. As I got used to the big steering wheel and the light power-steering, I started really to put it around the roads. I drove across the west of town at speed. It was a beautiful day, already hot, but I didn't use the air-conditioning, just opened the driver's window and guided the car one-handed as I drove.

I slid the Rolls into the narrow street at the back of the Shakespeare Grove development at seven o'clock precisely by the clock on the dash. I slowed the car to a crawl. The street was empty of life, not even a stray car or dog. A few nondescript cars and vans were parked up by the kerb. On one side of the road loomed the window-less back of a block of LCC flats, on the other the high wooden fence that guarded the building site, bare but for a few fly-posted advertisements for pop singles and albums and concerts and some brutal spray-painted graffiti. At the end of the street two chainlink gates that led onto the site stood open. Heavy-duty dry clay tyre marks scarred the broken pavement.

I halted the car and took the gun from the waistband of my jeans and the roll of Elastoplast from my pocket. I tore three long strips off the roll and taped the gun under the dash, butt outward, just far enough in so that it was invisible from above. I was careful not to cover the trigger guard or any of the moving parts. Then I tripped the switch on the steering column and locked all the doors from the inside.

I turned the Rolls onto the site and followed the rutted track, which tried even the smooth suspension of the big car, deep into the construction. I passed piles of brick and sand, silent plant machinery large and small, buildings that were complete, almost complete and mere foundations, until the road ran out in the middle of a yellow dust bowl between two mini skyscrapers shrouded with green netted scaffolding. In the middle of the bowl was parked a grey Mercedes estate. Three men were standing beside it. Through the slightly tinted windscreen I could just make out a blonde head belonging to the rear seat passenger.

I let the Rolls drift to within fifteen feet of the reception committee. I stopped the car and let the engine die. The dust it had raised settled gently. It was so quiet on the site that I imagined I could hear the particles patter on the bodywork of the Rolls-Royce. I stayed put and looked the trio over. It was made up of Ginger, the wide man and another man, older with thick grey hair and a face lined from years in the Australian sun. Ginger and the wide man each held the inevitable Berettas with silencers attached. The older man was unarmed. Ginger was grinning, obviously enjoying the whole thing. ‘G'day, bro,' he said. ‘Don't just sit there. Get out of the car and join the party.'

I did as I was told and stood by the open door. The three men crossed the space between us.

‘Mr Lorimar, I presume,' I said to the older man. ‘I can't tell you how much I've been looking forward to meeting you properly.'

The older man said nothing.

‘Shut up,' said Ginger, his good mood evaporating. ‘Turn round and put your hands on top of the car.' I did as I was told again. ‘Search him,' he ordered his companion. I glanced round. The wide man slid his gun under his jacket and, being careful not to step between me and the ginger man's pistol, came close enough to touch me. He frisked me thoroughly from shirt collar to shoes. ‘He's clean,' he said. ‘No gun, no wire.'

‘Smart boy,' said the ginger man. ‘Where's the cash?'

‘In the case on the front seat,' I replied.

‘Get it,' he said to the wide man who walked round the back of the car to the passenger door and tried the handle.

‘It's locked,' he said. He sounded surprised.

‘I'll get it.' Before anyone could stop me I slid into the driver's seat and flicked the switch on the steering column. The passenger door opened and the wide man lifted the case out and threw it onto the bonnet of the Rolls as if it weighed nothing at all. He flicked the catches and opened the case, and as Lorimar and the ginger man's eyes shifted over to him, I reached under the dash and ripped the Taurus from where I had taped it.

The wide man swore in surprise at the contents of the case and hurled it off the bonnet of the car, scattering the maroon-bound books onto the ground. I brought the gun up into sight, cocking it as I did so. In the silence that followed his expletive and the violence of his action, the sound of the hammer locking back was as loud as a curse in church, and three pairs of eyes turned back to me.

‘Drop the gun,' I told Ginger. His face turned into a mask of anger, but he didn't speak, just let go of his Beretta and allowed it to fall with a thud onto the ground where it raised a small cloud of dust. I stepped out of the Rolls. I needed to hold on to the element of surprise to splinter the group. The way they were standing, I couldn't keep them covered properly. ‘You, Fat Fuck,' I said, and shifted my eyes over to the wide man. ‘Take your gun out, just use the tips of your fingers. Don't get smart, or I'll shoot you down like a dog.'

He looked disgusted, but did what he was told and dropped the gun.

‘Kick it away,' I said. ‘Right away.'

He did as he was told again and the gun spun twenty feet and hit some breeze blocks where it bounced into a clump of wild grass. I ripped the strands of tape from the Taurus. ‘Lorimar, come here,' I said. He obeyed. I pushed back his jacket and ran my hands under his arms and around his waist. Nothing. I pushed him away. ‘All of you move back towards your car,' I ordered. ‘We're going to talk.'

‘You stupid bastard,' said the ginger man. ‘We know you had the money, why didn't you just bring it and do the deal? Now we'll have to kill you.'

‘Shut up.' I turned to Lorimar. ‘Did you kill her?' I asked.

‘Who?'

‘Catherine Bennett, Catherine Pike, whatever you call her.'

‘She's in the car,' he said.

‘Not her,' I said. ‘I mean the real Catherine Bennett.'

Lorimar's face seemed to collapse in on itself.

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘Get real, Lorimar,' I said. ‘It was a good try, and it almost worked, but not quite.'