Guns Of Brixton (31 page)

    'You're
lovely,' he said.

    'Oh,
Mark,' she said, sitting next to him on the bed. 'Why did I let you talk me
into this?'

    'Because
you wanted me to?'

    'Course
I did. I haven't had a man touch me since Andy died. I was drying up inside.
When I saw you yesterday I almost passed out, I wanted you so much. How come
you can still do that to me after so long?'

    'Because
we were meant to be.'

    'Meant
to be what?'

    'Together,
of course.'

    'We
can't be. Don't you understand? It could never work. Not now. Not after all the
things you've done.'

    'And
how many women do you think I've had since I left?'

    'Loads,
probably.'

    He
shook his head. 'Only one.'

    'Sure.'

    'It's
true, I promise you.'

    'Don't
promise me, Mark. You break promises.'

    He
shrugged. 'Yeah, I know.'

    'So
who was she?'

    'A
Vietnamese girl I met on my travels.'

    'You've
been to Vietnam? I don't believe you.'

    'No.
It was in Paris. I worked for her grandfather.'

    'Doing
what?'

    'Bad
things.'

    'What
was her name?'

    'Lan.'

    'Was she
beautiful?' Mark nodded. 'What happened to her?' 'We split up. Culture clash.'
'And there's really been no one else?' 'No. You can believe me or not. But it's
the truth.' She looked at him long and hard through narrowed eyes. 'OK,' she
said. 'I believe you. I'm bloody amazed, but I believe you. Got any more
revelations?' 'Your father gets out of prison soon.'

    'Thanks,
Mark. Now you've really made my sodding day. Shall I meet him at the prison
gates with Luke and Daisy in tow? Look kids, here's grandpa. What a surprise.'

    She
started to cry again and Mark took her in his arms. 'I know I was wrong coming
to see you, but I couldn't not do it. Not once I'd seen you again. I love you,
Linda, always have, always will. Maybe it's wrong or foolish or whatever, but
it's the truth. At least let me have that.'

    She
turned and looked him in the eye: 'Oh dear, Mark. But God forgive me, I love
you too.'

    Mark
and Linda stayed in the flat for a few minutes more. She insisted that she had to
leave, he begged her to stay. His only thought was that, once they were apart
again, she would change her mind. Something terrible would happen and she'd
stop loving him, or worse, because so many people he'd known were dead, that
she would die too.

    He
knew that he was being morbid and Linda laughed at his fears when he told her.
'I'll be fine,' she said. 'We've found each other again, and whatever happens I
don't intend losing you for a second time. It'll all be fine. Trust me.'

    'Will
it?' he said.

    'Yes.
It will if we want it. But we have to be strong. You'll be strong for me, won't
you?'

    He
nodded, but he knew they would be faced with almost insurmountable problems. 'I
just wish we could stay here forever and never leave,' he said.

    'Me
too. But we can't. Now I've really got to go. They'll be wondering where I've
got to. I said I was only going to pop round IKEA to look for some bits and
pieces for the kitchen.'

    'And
you're going home empty handed.'

    She smiled.
'I'll tell them I met a nice young man in the bedding department who kept me
occupied.'

    He
smiled at that. 'So when can I see you?'

    'Soon,
I promise.' It all seemed too simple to Mark. Too easy.

    But
eventually they left the flat with the rain still pouring down. Beside the tube
station they parted to find their respective cars. Mark held her close and
smelt the water in her hair before he watched her walk across the main road and
disappear down a side street. A few minutes later he was still standing by the
station entrance being buffeted by the wind when the Toyota appeared, turned in
the direction of Streatham and vanished into- the traffic. He watched until its
red taillights disappeared before walking back to his motor.

    Instead
of the elation he should have been feeling, his mind was full of dread. He sat
behind the wheel of the cold car for five minutes before he switched on the
engine. The rain was coming down even harder and it was impossible to see
anything except the jewels of the street lamps and car lights through the water
on his windscreen. His breath fogged the inside of the glass, and in his hand,
like a talisman, he held a piece of paper with Linda's mobile phone number
written on it. They'd exchanged numbers before leaving and he'd made her
promise to ring him as soon as she'd arrived safely home. Eventually he started
the engine and turned on the air conditioning and wipers. The world suddenly
came back into focus and he carefully pulled out into the traffic.

    Just
before he reached Jenner's house his mobile rang. He pulled into the kerb and
answered it. 'I'm back,' said Linda. 'Safe and sound.'

    'Is
Luke all right?' asked Mark. He already felt like part of the family, but knew
it could be a big mistake.

    'Perfect.
They just got home.'

    'And
Daisy?'

    'She
was sleeping like a baby - well, she would - in the back of Greta's car.
Everyone's fine, Mark. You mustn't get paranoid.'

    'I
know. Will you ring me tomorrow?'

    'Of
course.'

    'Are
you going shopping?'

    'I
might.'

    'Perhaps
we could have a coffee again.'

    'That
would be nice.'

    'Ring
me before you leave.'

    'I
will.'

    'I
love you,' said Mark.

    'I
love you too,' and after a moment's silence she disengaged.

    Mark
sat with the car's engine running and his phone in his hand for another few
minutes before continuing his journey.

    Deep
in the bowels of Brixton prison, Jimmy Hunter heard about the Loughborough
Junction shootings that same afternoon, via his transistor radio, permanently
tuned to the London news and talk station, LBC. He listened to the report as
the rain lashed down outside. His only view was a square foot of sky through a
double thickness window that distorted his vision until he thought he might go
blind. Jimmy Hunter loved the outside. He loved those precious minutes when he
was under an open sky, and would have welcomed the rain on his face.

    It
was just another shooting as far as he was concerned. There seemed to be more
and more of them every year, and what were three Pakis' lives to him? Good
riddance, he thought, if he thought anything at all. But when Terry the Poof
brought him his supper he had more information. The prison grapevine was as
reliable, if not more so, than any of the outside media. Terry had the names of
the deceased before they were reported in the news. 'Christ,' said Jimmy, his
tea and toast forgotten. 'Are you sure?'

    'Sure
I'm sure,' said Terry, sitting on Jimmy's bed, before a look made him stand and
lean against the wall. Jimmy didn't like his bed disturbed unless he asked for
it.

    'I
used to run with those fuckers years ago,' said Jimmy. 'When I was webbed up
with John Jenner.'

    'Is
that right?' asked Terry. He knew when to show interest in what Jimmy said, and
when to keep it buttoned.

    'Bloody
right. It was all a bit up in the air at first because some cunt tried to
stitch us up over a deal. It all involved Ali and Tommo, see. But Johnny always
was a bleedin' diplomat, so when he susses out that the Pakis can shift gear
for us, we made our peace.'

    'When
was this?' asked Terry.

    'Early
70s. We had a bit of a name by then, the Jenner mob. There was half a dozen or
so of us. We were supplying spliff, speed, downers and a bit of coke all across
south London, and uptown too. But we had to be careful. North of the river
there were a lot of faces that didn't like anyone dabbling in their business.
We was all tooled up of course. Guns were easy to get then, and Johnny
especially wasn't frightened to use 'em. Good days. The only fly in the
ointment was Billy Farrow. He'd joined the filth by then. What a fucking
surprise that was. And believe me, Johnny wasn't best pleased. None of us were.
The thought of some copper who'd once been one of us was enough to freak anyone
out. But Billy had sworn he'd never let on. Just as well that he was walking
the beat right on the other side of town. Me, I wanted to top the fucker soon
as. I heard, but Johnny wouldn't have it. Course I did in the end, but that's
the way it goes. See, they'd been mates, Billy and him, since junior school.
But to be fair, I think Billy kept his promise. Mind you, he'd've been dead
meat if he hadn't. He knew that. You didn't cross Johnny and come out ahead,
let me tell you.

    'Anyway,
we were selling dope to a couple of bands, and Johnny sussed that vans loaded
with equipment might be the ideal way to bring the gear into the country. It
was simpler then. There weren't sniffer dogs at every port like now. So John
gets hold of a tour manager for one of these groups. Quite famous they were, as
it goes; Bad City Blues, they were called.'

    Terry
shook his head. He'd never heard of them, but then UK Garage was more his
style. And who gave a fuck about what some group of long hairs had done practically
before he was born?

    Jimmy
ignored him. 'It was a Saturday,'-he continued, 'in the summer of '71.1
remember because there was a big concert on up at Crystal Palace Park that
afternoon. I think Jeff Beck was playing and we were going. Celebrating the
deal, if you get my drift. We had comps. Johnny organised them. He always could
get in anywhere could Johnny, I'll give him that. Anyway, the band's roadies
were due in that day from Germany They'd been on tour for a couple of weeks and
Johnny had arranged for the tour manager bloke to pick up a load of hash on the
border. A couple of grand's worth. And you've got to remember, in those days
people were still buying two quid deals, so that was a lot of money.' Jimmy
smiled at the memory. 'Now, the tour manager was a bit of a lad, clever with
his hands. Into electronics, if you know what I mean. He'd split some speakers
and amps and stashed the stuff inside. All was sweet. We were due to collect it
from the place they stored their equipment at in Wandsworth. An old shop the
band had rented with a garage at the back for the truck. One of those big
Mercedes, it was. Really plush, with aircraft seats and space for amps,
speakers and instruments right at the back. A nice little package.

    'We
were due to collect at three o'clock, as I remember. Me, this bloke Chas,
Johnny's number two, Johnny himself and a big twat called Martin drove round in
Johnny's Jag. Mark Ten, beautiful set of wheels, maroon with black leather
interior. Johnny loved that motor. Stacks of room.

    'So
anyway, we're all tooled up like I said, except for Martin who you couldn't
trust with anything more powerful than a pea shooter, though he'd been
promised. But promises are like little fingers - easily broken. And Johnny wanted
to be early. He had a nose for a stitch up and he was bloody well right, as
always. It was real hot and quiet that afternoon, as I remember. We'd been in
the pub and had a few whilst we were waiting and I'd taken a load of speed.
Always was a fucking mug for amphetamine in those days. Coke's OK, but you
can't beat a real nosebleed load of speed. So there's the four of us in the
Jag. Me and Martin in the back, Johnny driving, Chas next to him in charge of
the music. Cassettes only, of course, and I remember he'd got a tape he'd made
of the Who. Banging it was, and Johnny'd fitted about eighteen speakers all
round the inside of the motor. So we've got the windows down and the music real
loud. Bunch of stupid kids really, because if we'd got pulled we'd've been for
it. One stop and search and we'd've been well nicked.

    'So
we get to the Wandsworth Road about two-thirty and there's a little alley round
the back of the shop by the garage that's just wide enough to take the truck.
We drift round and it's parked up and empty. But there's another motor there as
well. An old Cortina 1600E. Well, Johnny boxes them both in and we go and have
a shufti. Inside the garage is this tour manager bloke and another long haired
git who's the driver of the Merc, plus some German hippy bird they'd picked up
in Dortmund or some Godforsaken hole and she'd come along for the ride. Well
handsome she was, with one of those floaty dresses they wore then, nearly see
through and not much on underneath.' He smiled at that memory.