Guns Of Brixton (33 page)

    They
left the car as the sun began to rise over the river behind them, turning the
windows in the tower block they were heading towards golden. Jed took a
sledgehammer, Fish carried a pump action shotgun loaded with six rounds and
Benny held his Colt.45 down by the side of his leg.

    They
walked in single file to the entrance to the block and up the two flights of
steps to the first floor. They saw no one, and as far as they could tell, no
one saw them. The Aylesbury wasn't a place of early risers. Late returners
possibly, but that particular morning no one seemed about. It was ten past five
by his watch when Fish tapped Jed on the shoulder and said, 'Do it.'

    Jed
hefted the sledgehammer and whacked the reinforced door with all his strength.
The metal boomed and he hit again, the door sagged and he kicked it open with the
steel-reinforced toe caps of his boots. He dropped the hammer, pulled the Glock
20 out of his coat pocket and ran into the hall screaming, 'Police! Everyone
stay where they are!'

    They
slammed open doors as they went into the interior of the flat. Bathroom clear,
kitchen clear, living room clear, but full of the detritus of a night on the
toot. The glass-topped coffee table was smeared with white dust, a crack pipe
made out of a coke can and the barrel of a cheap ballpoint pen lashed together
with sticky tape, stood to attention amidst a scattering of rocks. There were
roaches, beer cans and dirty cups and glasses everywhere, but no one was in the
room.

    The
two bedrooms were in the back of the flat looking out over the courtyard and
the trio thundered towards them, Jed hitting light switches as he went. There
was a bedroom door on either side of the hall. Jed took the left hand one and
Benny the right. Inside Jed's, a black man was sitting up in bed and reaching
for a pistol on top of the bedside table as the door hit the wall and bounced
back. 'Steady,' said Jed and the man froze. The black woman in the bed beside
him wailed as she pulled the covers over herself. 'Police,' yelled Jed again as
he kicked over the table and the Browning automatic bounced across the carpet.
'Don't fucking move.'

    The
black man lolled back against the bedhead as if this sort of thing happened
every morning. A sort of wakeup call if he forgot to set the alarm.

    Simultaneously,
Benny smashed the door opposite and found it occupied by a young girl, just a
teenager, with a baby in a crib next to her bed. Of Jimmy Hop there was no
sign. 'Shit,' said Benny as the baby started crying and the girl threw a
hairbrush at his head.

    'Don't
be bloody silly,' he said and dragged her from under the sheets. She was naked
except for a pair of red knickers. He yanked her though the door and across the
hall into the other bedroom where its two occupants were under the twin gun
barrels of Fish and Jed. 'Where is he?' demanded Fish.

    'Who?'
replied the black man.

    'You
know bloody well,' said Fish. 'Jimmy Hop. Your fucking brother. Where is he?'

    Benny
walked across the room dragging the girl behind him carrying the Colt in one
hand. The woman in the bed was still squealing and the baby was crying and Fish
knew that things could go very wrong at any moment should a bunch of real
policemen arrive on the scene. Not that it was likely, he knew. A call from the
Aylesbury being no copper's priority, the response time wouldn't exactly be
record breaking.

    'Gone
away,' said the black man, almost seeming to enjoy the scene being played out
in his bedroom.

    'Where?'

    'None
of your business.'

    Blimey,
thought Fish, this isn't going the way it was planned. So he clouted the black
man around the face with the barrel of his gun. Some blood flew from the wound
and dappled the sheets. The black man touched his hand to his head. 'You ain't
five oh,' he said. 'Who the fuck are you?'

    'Never
you mind,' said Fish. 'We've come for the gear.'

    'No
gear here,' said the black man.

    'Bollocks,'
said Jed, raising his gun. 'Give it up.'

    'All
gone,' said the black man. 'Just like Jimmy. Gone away.'

    'You're
lying,' said Fish. 'We want the dope or we want the cash and we ain't got all
day. What do you think this is? A fucking debating society?'

    The
black man sucked his teeth and shook his head.

    'Get
that fucking baby,' Fish said to Jed. 'Let's get this bloody show on the road.'

    The girl
Benny was still holding began struggling even harder and he threw her down on
the bed. 'Don't make us,' he warned.

    Jed
came back with the carrycot the baby had been sleeping in. He put it on the
floor and Fish stuck his gun against the baby's chest, which started it
screaming even louder. 'I'll do it, you fucks, if you don't talk.'

    The
girl in the red pants said: 'There's nothing here, honest.'

    'You
don't know the meaning of the word, love,' said Fish and pulled back the hammer
on his gun to emphasise the remark.

    'OK
man.' said the black man, 'Leave the baby. What are you people anyway? Even I
wouldn't threaten a little child for a few quid.'

    'More
than that, I think,' said Fish. 'Now tell us.'

    'In
the kitchen, pull out the fridge. It's all there.'

    'Jed,'
said Fish, 'go see.'

    Jed
went back into the hall to verify the truth of the black man's story. It only
took a minute and he came back and nodded, carrying two ASDA carrier bags which
sagged under the weight of their contents.

    'Now,
that was wise,' said Fish. 'But we need the money too. Christ knows how much
you've used out of this little lot.'

    'We've
got no money, man,' said the black man, but Fish knew that he was lying. Every
black man lied, as far as he was concerned. That was a constant.

    'You
fibbed about the dope and I know you're fibbing about the cash. You've been
selling gear out of here and I don't reckon you take Barclaycard, so produce
the cash, black boy, or the baby gets it.'

    The
young woman in the red pants was producing a keening noise from her mouth that
was getting on Benny's nerves. 'Shut it,' he said and backhanded her across the
face. The keening increased in volume instead of abating and he punched her
hard, which seemed to have the desired effect as she collapsed silently to the
floor, piss running down her leg.

    'Leave
her, man,' said the black man. 'Check the bathroom. The cabinet comes off the
wall.'

    Jed
did as he said, ripping the glass-fronted cabinet from its screws and sending
it crashing into the bath. Behind it, a cavity had been made in the
plasterboard and inside that were blocks of money in plastic sandwich bags. Jed
pocketed the lot, figuring it was about five thousand pounds. He went back into
the bedroom and gave Fish the thumbs up.

    'Fine,'
said Fish. 'We'll be going now. Give Jimmy our regards and tell him we're sorry
we missed him.'

    'Who
shall I say called?' asked the black man, regaining his cool now.

    'Just
a few mates looking for a line or two.'

    'OK,'
said the black man. 'But I'll remember you, my friend, and one day we'll meet
up again.'

    'You
sure?' asked Fish.

    The
black man nodded. 'And I got a memory like an elephant. Believe me.'

    Fish
pondered for a second. Him and his mates weren't local, but did a lot of
business in south London, and who knew when the black man or one of his women
might catch a glimpse? 'I do,' he said. 'I'm afraid I do. I wish you hadn't
said that.'

    'You
should've worn a mask, white man,' said the black man.

    'Yeah,
we thought about it but decided to pass,' said Fish.

    'And
he knows my name,' said Jed.

    The
black woman in the wet red panties decided at that moment to wake up and get
back in the show. She jumped to her feet and ran towards the door. Fish brought
up the shotgun without really thinking and fired a round into her back which
severed her spinal cord and blew her stomach and its contents across the
wallpaper, where it steamed like half-cooked stew and stank like a backed up
toilet.

    There
was a stunned silence. Then the black man dived for the Browning. Jed shot him
behind the ear before he could get there, the powerful handgun blowing it clean
off his skull. It flew on to the carpet and lay there like a piece of thick cut
bacon.

    Benny,
almost at exploding point by then, smiled, walked over, to the woman in the bed
and put three rounds into her chest. The dirty white sheets turned crimson and
he said: 'What about the baby?'

    'Leave
it,' said Fish. 'The social will look after it.'

    'Serves
the fucker right for being born,' said Benny, and without a backward glance the
three stepped over the two bodies on the floor, walked through the smoke and
stink of cordite and bodily fluids and left the flat. Incredibly, only a few
minutes had passed since they entered, and the estate was still snoozing the
early morning away.

    'Better
go and tell Mr Jenner what occurred,' said Fish.

    'Do
you think he'll get all humpity?' asked Jed.

    'Fuck
his luck if he does,' said Fish. 'He's got his gear and his dough back.'

    And
carrying their weapons and the bags quite openly they returned to the car and
drove away.

    'We
don't know exactly what happened,' said Chas. 'But those fuckers left three
dead in that flat.'

    'And
they know you instigated it?' asked Mark. 'The Yardies, or whatever they are, I
mean.'

    'I
think even lemonades can add two and two,' said Chas.

    'Well,
fuck me,' said Mark. 'You certainly know how to pick 'em.'

    'They
were the best we could do at short notice.'

    'But
business is business,' said Mark. 'They knew the risks.'

    'But
this got a bit personal.'

    'How
come?'

    'There
were three Hop brothers,' said Jenner. 'Jimmy, who owed us the dough. Benny,
who got offed in the flat, and Cy.' 'Yeah?' said Mark, but he'd already
guessed. 'Cy goes by the street name Beretta,' said Chas. 'Well, of course he
does,' said Mark. 'And he's got the hump, right?' 'Just a bit,' said Jenner.
'Won't be happy until we're all brown bread. And he means it.'

    'Terrific.
No wonder you've got tight security here.' Chas shrugged. John Jenner was still
gazing into the distance. 'I'm going upstairs,' said Mark. 'I need to make some
phone calls.' 'So you're going to help?' said Jenner, turning his head slowly
in Mark's direction.

    'Looks
like I don't have much choice, do I?' he replied and left the room.

    Mark
went straight to his room, closed the door and sat on the bed. The curtains
were open and, although there was no light on, the garden shone from the frost
that had settled on the lawn.

    Wearily,
regretting his return south of the river more with every moment - aside from
seeing Linda again - he switched on the bedside lamp, found his bag and fished
out a battered black leather-bound notebook. He held it in his hand for a
moment before opening it at the first page and reaching for his mobile. It had
been a long time since he'd used the book. A lifetime, for some.

    The
first number he tried rang and rang into the bitter night, and he looked at his
face reflected in the black mirror of his bedroom window. Eight years, he
thought. What're the odds?

    The
second number was unobtainable, but the third rang for just a few seconds
before it was answered with a grunted, 'Hello.'

    'Is
Diz there, please?' asked Mark, realising as he said it how ridiculous it
sounded.

    'What?'

    'Diz.
Dizzy. Dizzy Dawes.'

    'Christ.
No one's called me that for years. Who's this?'

    'Is
that you Dizzy?'

    'It's
Eddie. Who's this?'