Guns Of Brixton (19 page)

    'Make
your own tea I expect,' said Chas as he put down the tray and drew the curtains
on to another cheerless London morning.

    'Yeah.
That'd be right.' Jenner looked at his old friend as he fussed around the room,
tidying piles of clothes and magazines. 'Jesus, Chas, you're getting more like
your mum every day.'

    'She
was a good old sort, my mum,' replied Chas. 'She patched us up enough times.'

    'God,
but she did too. And hid us out from a few foes.'

    'She
loved it,' said Chas. 'Now drink your tea before it gets cold.'

    'All
right, mum.'

    Chas
pulled an ugly face and went to the door. 'Oh and young Mark's getting antsy
about doing the drop later. You'd better come down and give him the full SP.'

    'He's
a good boy, Mark, isn't he?' said Jenner. 'He'll do.'

    'He
needs some back up. It's too much for one.'

    'He
must still know some geezers he can row in. What do you reckon?'

    'I
suppose,' said Jenner. 'I was just thinking about the old days. The Goon and
Wally.'

    'What
a fucking pair they were.'

    'Wally
could never handle it.' 'He did his bit.'

    'Yeah.
But the Goon…'

    'Martin,
you mean.'

    'I
never could get used to calling him that,' said John.

    'Me
neither.'

    'But
you've got a lot to thank him for.'

    Chas
leant against the door jamb.

    'He
saved my life that time.'

    'Yeah,
and paid the price.'

    'We should
go visit his grave. We haven't been for ages.'

    'And
his mum's next door.'

    'He
always was fond of his mum.'

    'Another
fine pair.'

    'We'll
do it, eh, Chas?'

    'Yeah.
Soon as the weather improves.' And with that he was gone. Jenner drank his tea,
got up, went to the lavatory where, as usual, it took him a few minutes to get
a dribble of urine to flow. 'Fucking cancer,' he said to himself in the mirror
as he shaved. 'It'll be a good job when I'm out of all this.'

    He
dressed and went downstairs where Mark was moodily watching morning TV. 'You
all right, son?' asked Jenner as he entered the living room.

    'Not
too bad. But I'll be happier when that gear's out of the house and you've got
your money.'

    'All
in good time, son,' said Jenner, looking at his watch. 'This afternoon will do
it.'

    'Where?'

    'Cash
and carry in Loughborough Junction. But this time you'll be doing the carrying
and they'll be paying the cash.'

    'How
much?'

    'Enough.
A tidy little profit for all of us. You'll be able to get some new jeans.'

    Mark
looked ruefully at the faded pair he was wearing. 'These have got months left
in them yet.'

    'Get
yourself a nice suit. Some white shirts and some knitted ties.'

    
'
You've
been watching them Quentin Tarantino films again, Uncle, haven't you?'

    'No I
ain't. I was watching Michael Caine the other night in
Get Carter.
What
a bloke.'

    'What?
Fat and bloody useless.' Mark knew how to get Jenner riled. He'd teach him to
take the piss out of his best Levis.

    'Caine
is king,' said Jenner.

    'Used
to be maybe. Now he's just a soppy old luvvie.'

    'Bollocks,'
said Jenner, easing himself into his armchair with a grunt.

    'You
all right, Uncle?'

    'I
will be. Where's Chas?'

    'Sainsbury's.
He took the Bentley.'

    'He
bloody would. Fancy making us a nice cup of tea then?'

    'Yeah,
all right. Then I want to know exactly what's happening after this. OK?'

    'Done.'

    Mark
went about his chore and returned with two cups.

    'Right,'
said Jenner when he'd taken a sip. 'The cash and carry's run by a pair of Paki
likely lads.' He told Mark the address. 'It's right behind the station at
Loughborough. I've been doing business there for years. They're good as gold
for ragheads.'

    Mark
smiled. 'Do you call them that?'

    Jenner
dismissed the question with a scowl. 'Tommo and Ali run the joint,' he
continued. 'You'd think they were as poor as church mice from the way they
carry on, but believe me these boys are minted. Both got nice houses in
Southall. But they dress like tramps and they always try and beat down the
price. But I've done a deal. Now the only problem is, sometimes they're a bit…
you know… slipshod in their counting. So you're going to have to count the cash
on the spot I'm afraid.'

    'How
much?'

    'Three
hundred thousand.'

    'And
I've got to count it?'

    'Terrible
job counting money, ain't it? What's the matter with you? There'll be a nice
bonus in it for you when you come home, don't worry.'

    'The
geezer yesterday had a note counter. You got one?'

    'Fuck
off. Let your fingers do the walking.'

    'All
right, Uncle. Do I go on my own?'

    'That's
the plan. Don't worry, they ain't going to kill you and eat you. You ain't
Halal.'

    'Funny.'

    'I
try.'

    'It weren't
them who put the word out about the swap, was it?'

    'No.
Why would they? They want that stuff as bad as we want their money.'

    Mark
hung about the house for the rest of the morning, waiting for the time to pass
until his appointment. At two-fifteen Jenner got the bag of cocaine out of the
safe. 'I'll take the gun too,' said Mark.

    'You
don't need a gun.'

    'I
think I'll be the judge of that.'

    'It'll
show disrespect.'

    'Only
if I have to show it, and if I do, it'll be me that's being disrespected, won't
it?'

    'Fair
enough.'

    Mark
strapped on the pistol and took the case of drugs to his motor. It was freezing
out and his shoes slid on the pavement. He drove carefully to Loughborough
Junction and parked the car on a meter in a side street close to the station.
He checked the roads around the cash and carry for suspicious-looking people
sitting in cold cars who could have been the Bill, but all seemed serene.

    Eventually,
as three o'clock struck from a church clocks he approached the old Victorian
building with its sign: 'Ali Tommo's Booze Emporium'. He could tell it
had once been a school, the tall windows now either entirely covered with sheet
metal or barred. The playground was a carpark/rubbish dump and he had to pick his
way carefully through the garbage. Mark squeezed through the thick metal
sliding front
door and into a warehouse packed with boxes of cigarettes,
wine, beer and spirits.

    A
little bloke in a turban was minding the store and Mark approached him. 'Tommo,
Ali?' he said.

    'Who
wants 'em, geezer?' the Asian replied in a cockney accent.

    'I
got a delivery.'

    'All
deliveries at the back. Can't you read?' and he motioned with his chin to a
sign on the wall that said just that.

    'I can
read,' said Mark. 'But I have to see them personally.'

    'Where
you from?'

    'John
Jenner.'

    The
Asian's face changed in a split second. 'Why the fuck didn't you say so,
geezer?' he demanded. 'Come on. I thought it might be you, but I had to make
sure. Can't be too careful.'

    He
slammed the sliding door shut and led Mark through the maze of shelves and
halfopened boxes to an office in the back. Two middle aged Asians were sitting
in front of a heater in a room that smelled of coriander, sweat and tobacco.

    'Geezer
for you from Mr J,' said Mark's guide.

    The
two Asians sat up and took notice at that. 'You're Mark?' said the older of the
pair. He looked like someone out of a 1970s sitcom in his flares, skinny
sweater and patchwork bomber jacket.

    'That's
right.'

    'I'm
Ali.'

    'Nice
to meet you.'

    'Same
here. Mr J says you the bizzo. Come in. Wanna drink?'

    Mark
shook his head and hefted the bag he was carrying. 'I've got this for you.'

    'No
problem.'

    'And you've
got something for me.'

    'Sure,'
said the other man in a suit two sizes too small. Mark assumed he was Tommo.
'Here.' He shifted a pile of newspapers to reveal a scruffy suitcase. He hauled
it on to the desk and unzipped it. Inside it was packed with cash.

    'I've
got to count it.'

    'No,
geezer,' said the Asian who'd brought him through. 'It's all there.'

    'Sorry,
I've got orders.'

    'Fair
enough,' said Tommo. 'Take your time.'

    Mark
started sifting through the money. It was in all denominations from tenners up.
Some was loose, some was banded and at the bottom there were a whole load of
fifties in bank bags marked '£5,000'.

    Even
so, it took Mark what seemed like hours to count it all. When he was finished
his fingers were stiff and his hands black with ink and dirt from the money.
The Asians had long ago checked the contents of the bag Mark had bought and
were celebrating by sampling the warehouse stock. 'I thought you lot didn't
drink,' said Mark when he was finished.

    'It's
God's gift to us all,' said Tommo raising a bottle of white rum. 'Enjoy.'

    'I'll
pass for now,' said Mark.

    'Is
it all there?' asked Ali slyly.

    'To
the pound.'

    The
trio all crashed their various bottles and laughed uproariously. 'Told you.
When Ali and Tommo make a deal it stays made.'

    'Better
to be safe than sorry,' said Mark, although he felt that somehow they were all
enjoying a joke at his expense. 'I'll be off now.'

    Suddenly
all business, Tommo put down his bottle and said. 'Use the back way just in
case.'

    'Just
in case of what?'

    'Who
knows?'

    Shit,
thought Mark. If some fucker's waiting outside…

    But
there was no one. Tommo let him out into a dimly lit alley and Mark slid his hand
into his jacket and felt the warm and reassuring butt of this pistol. And even
his car, although out of time at the meter, was ticketless when he got back to
it.

    Mark
shoved the money into the boot and drove home.

    'Everything
all right, son?' asked John Jenner when he got back into the house.

    'Couldn't
be better.'

    'All
the dough there?'

    'Every
penny.'

    'Diamonds
those two.' Jenner opened the case and found one of the bags of fifties in the
suitcase and tossed it to Mark. 'You've done well. Go out and spoil yourself.'

    'Cheers,
Uncle,' said Mark. 'Maybe later. Right now I'm going back to bed, it's been a
stressful few days.

    'Youngsters
nowadays,' said Jenner to Chas, who'd joined them. 'No fucking stamina.'

    Sean
Pierce was summoned into his DI's office the next morning.

    'Guv?'
he said.