Guns Of Brixton (45 page)

    Hazel
took him in her arms and held him tightly. 'Mark,' she said. 'I'm so sorry.'

    'She
waited for me before she died,' whispered the boy. 'She told me to take care of
everything. How could she?' and he sobbed into the collar of Hazel's jacket.

    'It
was all too much for her,' Hazel said back. 'She couldn't cope.'

    'But
to do that…' said Mark.

    'Have
the police been?' asked John Jenner.

    Mark
nodded. 'There's one somewhere. I didn't say much.'

    'Good,'
said Hazel.

    'Has
anybody seen Thomas?' asked John Jenner.

    Mark
looked up at him and shook his head. 'He wasn't there. I said I wouldn't go
round if he was…' Once again he couldn't finish the sentence.

    It
was then that Bobby Thomas arrived through the doors of AE. He was pissed
and belligerent. Mark had left a message with the neighbours downstairs, who'd
come out to see what all the fuss was about. 'Where is she?' he demanded in a
voice slurred from alcohol and God knew what else. 'Where's my little Susie?'

    Mark
lost it. He pulled away from Hazel, and before anyone could stop him, his blue
eyes dark and wild, he pulled back his tight fist and hit Bobby Thomas full in
the face. Thomas's nose burst and more blood speckled Mark's suit jacket. He
went down hard and curled himself up into a ball and stayed there.

    Chas
grabbed Mark in a bear hug before the boy could follow through, lifting him
clear off the floor and pushing him hard against the wall. 'No, son,' he said.
'Not here, not now.' Mark struggled for a moment, but the bigger, older man
kept whispering in his ear for him to be calm, and, after a few seconds, he
was.

    A
nurse, alerted by the commotion arrived and shook her head as she surveyed the
scene. 'Can't you people take it outside?' she said. 'We have enough trouble
here as it is.'

    Hazel
went to her, apologising profusely. 'Sorry, nurse,' she said. 'The boy just
lost his mother.'

    'I
know,' replied the nurse. 'Now are you going to stop or do I go and get that
policeman?'

    'It's
stopped,' said Hazel. 'It's all over.'

    The nurse
went to Thomas's prone form and turned his head to look at his nose. 'It's
broken,' she said. 'Come on, get up. I'll fix it.'

    Thomas
staggered to his feet and, giving Mark a look of pure loathing, followed the
nurse back into the ward.

    John
Jenner went over to Mark who was leaning against the wall looking at his
swollen knuckles. 'Come on, son,' he said. 'Let's go home. There's nothing we
can do here except get nicked. We'll come back tomorrow and sort everything
out.'

    'Susan
was Thomas's wife,' Hazel reminded him. 'The arrangements are down to him.'

    'No,'
said Mark. 'I want to do it.'

    'And
so you shall,' said Hazel. 'Tomorrow. Things will look different tomorrow.'

    Different,
thought Mark as she led him out to their car. Not better - different. And
that's how it's going to be from now on".

    Bobby
Thomas didn't press charges against Mark, and because he was skint as usual, he
allowed Mark to arrange the funeral and John Jenner to pick up the bill. Mark
didn't see him again until the inquest - the verdict was suicide - and again at
the funeral in Greenwich cemetery. John Jenner paid for the headstone too, but
Mark rarely visited his mother's grave. It brought back too many painful
memories. Just once every twelve months, when he was around, on the 9th of
April, with a bunch of flowers to replace the dead ones that had lain there all
year.

    Mark
assumed that he would never see Bobby Thomas again after that, but he was
wrong. They were to meet again quite soon, and once more it would be a
life-changing event for Mark Farrow.

    It
was a beautiful spring evening in May when it happened. One of those perfect
days in London when everything fits together perfectly. The temperature was in
the low 70s, with a warm breeze blowing in from Africa, pollution was down and
the grass was green and sweet.

    Mark
got a call at a pub where he was collecting money for John Jenner. Mark tried
to make the extortion as pleasant as possible. He'd have a mineral water with
ice and lemon and engage the publican or his wife in some conversation. The
owners of this particular boozer went along with the fiction that Mark was just
another customer, unlike some of the calls on his list where he was treated
with as much caution as one might afford a rabid dog. With respect, but no
friendship, and most of them were more than happy to see the back of him as
quickly as possible. It was just part of the job, and Mark had stopped caring
long before.

    'Call
for you, Mark,' said the barman, holding up the phone.

    Mark
went behind the jump and took the receiver.

    'Mark?'
said John Jenner's voice.

    'Yes,
Uncle.'

    'What
are you up to?'

    'Usual.'

    'Right.
I need to see you.'

    'When?'

    'Now.'

    'Where?'

    'Dev's
scrap yard.'

    'Why?'

    'You'll
find out. How long will you be?'

    'Half
hour. Maybe less.'

    'Good.
Just toot your horn when you get there, Chas'll let you in.'

    'What's
all this about, Uncle?' asked Mark.

    'I told
you, you'll find out when you get here.' And he hung up.

    Mark
replaced the receiver, smiled a thanks to the barman and went back to his
drink. The brown envelope stuffed with cash was in his pocket and he finished
the water, wished everyone a pleasant good night and left. What they said about
him when he was gone was irrelevant as far as he was concerned.

    He
went out to his car and headed towards Heme Hill and Dev's railway arch.

    It
was around eight when he arrived, and the evening had taken on a lavender
tinge. The yard was up a half-demolished street of ancient slums, next to a
council tip. The whole area was up for redevelopment and, at that time of
night, was deserted. It stood behind high walls topped with razor wire and the
only entrance was a pair of chain-link metal gates.

    When
he got there, Mark bipped his horn. After a few moments, Chas appeared and the
gates swung open. He waved Mark through and closed them tight.

    Mark
got out of his BMW and joined Chas. 'What's going on? he asked.

    'Got
a surprise for you,' said Chas.

    'I
don't like surprises.'

    'You'll
like this one.'

    They
walked together through the piles of old motors, thirty and forty feet high,
that always seemed to Mark to be on the verge of toppling down and crushing
anyone underneath.

    At
the back of the yard was a huge structure like a wall-less barn, the roof
supported by eight metal braces, each as thick as a tree trunk. In one corner
was a Portakabin.that Dev used as an office, and in the other, the crushing
machine. It was a huge beast of a thing, battered and black with oil from
countless engines, with a crane at one end to lift the hapless motors to their
destruction and eventual end as three-foot-square cubes of metal, glass and
rubber.

    In the
centre of the barn was a sunken drain to take the effluent from the cars and
wash it away to God knew where. All in all it was a very iffy concern and Dev
only managed to keep it running because of the compulsory purchase order that
was on the land, and a few well chosen backhanders that kept council and
environmental health officials turning a blind eye to what hazards went on
behind the closed doors.

    John
Jenner's latest motor, a new Jaguar saloon, was parked up empty next to the
Portakabin.

    'Inside,'
said Chas.

    Mark
turned the handle of the cabin and went in. It was dark apart from one dim bulb
burning in a desk lamp, but Mark could still see who was there. John Jenner was
perched on one edge of Dev's untidy desk. In front of it, in a swivel chair,
was Bobby Thomas. His arms were tied behind him with rope, and his ankles were
constrained with more of the same. His mouth had been taped shut. 'Hello,
Mark,' said Jenner. 'Glad you could make it. Look what the cat dragged in.'

    Thomas
strained at the ropes.

    'Stop
it,' said Jenner, who got down from the desk and slapped him hard round the
face.

    'What's
he doing here?' asked Mark.

    'Went
out for a walk and didn't go home,' said Jenner.

    'He
was going down the pub,' said Chas. 'Drowning his sorrows.' Then he looked at
Mark and said: 'Sorry.'

    Mark
shook off the bad choice of words. 'I thought he'd left London.'

    'I
told him to,' said John Jenner. 'At the funeral I explained what would happen
if I saw him again, but he must've thought I was joking.'

    'Bad
idea,' said Chas.

    'Let's
hear what he's got to say,' said Jenner and ripped the tape off Thomas's face,
leaving tiny blood bubbles in the pores on his lips and chin.

    'You
bastards!' ranted Thomas. 'If you don't let me go I'll have you for
kidnapping!'

    Jenner
laughed. 'Kidnapping. Hear that, Chas? He says he'll do us for kidnapping. What
do you think he'd say if I cut his dick off and shoved it down his throat?'

    'Not
much,' replied Chas. 'With his dick in his mouth and all.'

    'From
what I've heard, the size of it, he'd hardly notice,' said Jenner.

    'Mark,'
said Thomas. 'Tell 'em. It wasn't my fault your mum killed herself. She wasn't
well.'

    'And whose
fault was that?' said Jenner. 'Anyway, you won't be missed. Remind me, 'what do
you do for a living?'

    'I'm
unemployed at the moment,' said Thomas.

    'At
the moment,' said Jenner. 'You ain't done a day's work since you met Susan. You
lived on her pension and the dole. Well, the pension's finished now, and so are
you.'

    'What
are you going to do?' asked Mark.

    'That's
up to you, son,' replied Jenner. 'What do you think?'

    Mark
said nothing.

    'Now
where's that…' said Jenner. 'Ah, here it is.' And he moved some papers on the
desk revealing an automatic pistol with a silencer screwed to the barrel. He
picked up the gun and worked the action, forcing a round into the breech.
Thomas went white and the smell of shit filled the room. Sure enough, a dark
stain spread over the crotch of his trousers.

    'Oh
dear,' said Jenner, sighting down the barrel of the gun. 'He's messed his
pants. What a shame.'

    'Don't,
please,' begged Thomas.

    Jenner
handed the gun to Mark. 'Here you are, son, it's all yours.'

    Mark
hefted the front-heavy weight of the pistol in his hand. This was what he'd
been waiting for years. A chance to get even with Thomas. But looking at the
flabby, scruffy, shit-stained alcoholic sitting in front of him, he couldn't
dredge up enough energy to pull the trigger.

    'Get
him outside,' said Jenner, and Chas lifted the man, seat and all, and carried
him through the door of the Portakabin and dumped him on the filthy concrete
outside.

    'Are
you going to do it?' asked Jenner. 'He's all yours.'

    'He's
pathetic,' said Mark.

    'Yeah.
He is now. But if we let him go, he'll be boasting about it in some boozer
before the week's out. Saying we've gone soft, and we might never have the
chance again.'

    'Can't
we just let him go? Get him out of London?'

    'I've
done that once, like I said. He's taking the piss. Do you want me to do it?'

    Mark
shook his head. He knew that Jenner was right. And he also knew that whatever
happened, whether Thomas walked or not, the night would haunt him forever. The
same way the sight of his mother dying in the bath had filled his dreams every
night since the night he'd found her.