Guns Of Brixton (49 page)

    Tubbs
was getting nervous. He didn't know if Mark had managed to follow him, and even
if he had, what could he do if things kicked off?

    Moses
rapped on the door of the flat, gave the thumbs up to the spyhole in the metal
and, after a moment, with a rattle of chains and the
^:
clicking of
at least three locks, it swung open. Moses held up the plastic bag of money and
said 'Result,' to Karl, who was standing in the hallway with a machete in his
fist.

    Charming,
thought Tubbs, who could feel the reassuring weight of the Browning down the
back of his strides. He wondered how often Karl had used his weapon.

    Tubbs
was hustled in to the flat and to the living room, which was surprisingly neat
and tidy. He'd expected a crack den at least, but in fact it was more like his
old Aunty Hilda's place in Peckham, where he'd been raised. The carpet was
thick and red, a three piece suite in front of a widescreen TV that came with
satellite, video and DVD hookups. A huge music centre sat on a dark wood
sideboard, and vinyl albums and CDs were stacked on each side. Aunty Hilda
wouldn't have had all the high tech equipment but she would have approved of
the picture of Jesus nailed to the cross on one wall. Very religious was Aunty
Hilda, and he hoped she was with the Lord right now looking down on her
favourite nephew and keeping him from harm.

    Curtains
were drawn across what looked like balcony windows. Beretta was sitting in one
of the armchairs, watching football. He was dressed in black suit pants, an
unbuttoned black waistcoat and a gleaming white dress shirt, open at the
throat. He looked a bit like a preacher on his day off, thought Tubbs, and,
aside from the greyish tinge to his face, he appeared as healthy as a horse. A
young black woman looking just too thin and scrawny in her short skirt and top
was stretched out on the sofa. This must be the crack whore Mark had told him
shared the accommodation. Between Beretta's chair and the TV set was a large
glass coffee table, upon which sat a couple of crack pipes, a bag each of rock
and powder, and the makings of spliff. A large ashtray in the centre was full
of roaches and cigarette ends and the air was filled with the aroma of
marijuana. Next to the ashtray was a foot-square mirror upon which half a dozen
chunky lines of powder had been neatly cut.

    Beretta
stood as the three men entered the room. 'Lulu,' he said to the girl. 'Get lost
baby. We got business.'

    'Oh
honey,' she said, looking round at Tubbs with lowered eyelashes. 'Do I have to?
The Simpsons
is on in a minute.'

    
'The
Simpsons
is always on in a minute,' said Beretta. 'Go watch it in the
bedroom. Take a rock. Have fun.'

    She
made a disgusted sound with her tongue, but seeing Beretta's expression change,
she got up, took a yellowish piece of crack from the bag, a cheap plastic
lighter and one of the pipes and flounced out, slamming the door behind her.

    'Stupid
bitch,' said Beretta. 'But she gives good head. Maybe you'd like to try her
out, Tubbs.'

    'Another
time maybe,' said Tubbs. 'We're here for business, ain't we?'

    'Business
and pleasure can always be mixed,' said Beretta with a wolfish grin. 'My Lulu
is a good earner when she's in the mood.'

    'Fine,'
said Tubbs. 'But what about the powder?'

    'No
problem. You searched this boy?' he said to Moses who shook his head.

    'Do
it.'

    Fuck
it, thought Tubbs as Moses gave him another shakedown, this time coming up with
his mobile and the niner.

    'You
don't trust us, man,' said Beretta when Moses passed the gun to him and tossed the
telephone on to the floor. Beretta pressed the button on the butt of the pistol
to release the magazine, put it on the coffee table then slid back the action
and caught the shell which popped out and dropped it into his waistcoat pocket.
'Souvenir,' he said.

    'Nothing
personal,' said Tubbs. 'But I was carrying a lot of cash.'

    'You're
safe with us,' said Beretta. 'No one messes with our bidness.'

    'I'm
glad to hear it,' said Tubbs.

    'Sit
down, man,' said Beretta, all at once the perfect host. 'Take the weight off
your feet. And you sure got some weight there.'

    Karl
laughed as Tubbs sat in the seat that Lulu had vacated, Karl next to him, Moses
standing by the sideboard counting out the money from the plastic bag.

    'Drink,
smoke, coke?' said Beretta also sitting again.

    Tubbs
shook his head. 'Where's the stuff?' he asked.

    'Patience,
man,' said Beretta. 'Moses?'

    'All
there, boss,' said Moses. 'Nice dirty notes.'

    'That's
good,' said Beretta, swooping down on the mirror and snarfing up one of the
lines. 'I like a man who's exact.'

    Although
he was being friendly, Tubbs felt the tension in the atmosphere like water
running down the walls and wondered if he'd walk out of the flat alive, or be
carried out dead and dumped in some obscure and deserted part of the city.

    Moses
brought the money to Beretta who sat up and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He
tossed it on the table and some slipped on to the carpet which he ignored. 'Two
thousand quid this morning, ten tonight,' said Beretta lighting a cigarette.
'You've got access to lots of bread, Mr Tubbs.'

    'I
told you, I got backers.'

    'Anyone
we know?'

    'I
doubt it. City folks. More money than sense and a big liking for cocaine.'

    'How'd
you meet these city folks, you just out of the slammer and all?'

    'I
made contacts inside.'

    'Yeah?'

    'Yeah.'

    'But
you was in there for weed, am I right? It's a big jump from weed to powder. You
talking serious Class A here.'

    'Might
as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb,' replied Tubbs. 'If I ever get nicked
again I go away for a long time. I mean to make some money and go back home.'

    'Where's
home?' 'JA.'

    'You
ever been there?'

    Tubbs
shook his head. 'But I think about it all the time.'

    'We
all do, man,' said Beretta, looking at the wall as if he could see though it
and picture white sands and blue sea. 'But not many make it.'

    The
atmosphere had lightened as the men talked, but suddenly Beretta was all
business again. 'Karl,' he said. 'Fetch the gear.'

    Karl
stood and left the room. A minute later he returned with another supermarket
bag, this one weighed heavily down. He gave it to Beretta who reached inside
and brought out two plastic bags full of white powder that Mark might have recognised
as being part of the consignment he'd delivered to the warehouse at
Loughborough Junction. 'I'm giving you a good deal here, Tubbs,' said Beretta.
'Two K for ten K.'

    Tubbs
pulled an approving face.

    'See,
we kinda got this through the back door,' Beretta went on. 'A bargain.'

    Not
for the three poor bastards you gunned down in cold blood, thought Tubbs, but
only said: 'Cheers.'

    'But
I expect more business from you, big man,' said Beretta. 'This won't last an
hour in the city. They got Hoovers for noses, those bastard suits.'

    'You
can say that again,' said Tubbs. 'May I?' And he reached out his hand.

    'What
a polite boy,' said Beretta, 'Sure, Mr Tubbs. Have a sample.'

    Tubbs
picked up a single-sided razor blade from the table and made a small slit in
the plastic. He dipped in one sausage-like finger and licked the powder off it.
He made a sour face as his mouth numbed out, and Beretta laughed. 'Good or
what?' he said.

    'Better
than good,' replied Tubbs as he made saliva to try and get some feeling back
into his dead lips and tongue. 'Man, that's prime.'

    'I
told you, didn't I?' said Beretta, hardly able to keep the pride out of his
voice. 'When I say my product's good I mean it. Now, you want a beer, man?'

    All
that Tubbs wanted was to leave in one piece and find Mark, but he could feel
that to make too swift an exit might set Beretta off. Besides, he reckoned that
the Yardie wanted to talk, and any information would be useful. He only hoped
that Mark would be patient.

    'Sure,'
said Tubbs. 'A beer would taste good.'

    'Karl,'
said Beretta, and Karl went out of the room again. He was obviously low man on
the totem. The gopher. Messenger boy.

    He
returned with four bottles of Red Stripe, moisture condensing on the glass. He
passed them round. 'To business,' said Beretta, and he tapped Tubbs's bottle
with his own.

    'And
pleasure,' replied Tubbs, remembering the start of their conversation.

    'Sure,
pleasure,' said Beretta. 'You want to go see Lulu, make her forget about the
fucking
Simpsons'

    Tubbs
was just about to make another excuse when his mobile rang. The room went
silent except for the electronic trilling.

    He
reached for it but Beretta was too quick for him. He snatched it off the floor,
pressed the answer button and said: 'Mr Tubbs's phone. How can I be of
assistance?'

    He
listened for a moment. 'I'm afraid he's in conference at the moment. Can I ask
who's calling?' He was as polite as a secretary, and Tubbs could see that
Beretta was not one to be underestimated.

    'I'll
see if he can come to the phone,' he said. Then to Tubbs. 'A Mr Marks for you.'

    'Cheers,'
said Tubbs, taking the instrument and feeling the sweat on his palm. 'Hello,'
he said.

    'It's
me,' said Mark. 'You OK?'

    'Never
better,' said Tubbs.

    'Thank
Christ for that. I thought you were dead. I'm outside.'

    'No
problem,' said Tubbs, smiling at Beretta as he said it. 'Everything's just
dandy here.'

    'Good.
You going to get out all right?'

    'A
perfect meeting,' said Tubbs. 'I'm just having a beer.' 'I wish I was,' said
Mark. 'I'm freezing. This place stinks and I'm starting to get some funny looks
from the residents.'

    'Then
just chill, my friend,' said Tubbs. 'I should be free and clear within the
hour.'

    'I'm
already chilled to the fucking bone, thanks very much,' said Mark. 'Get back to
mine, and make sure you're not followed.'

    'Sweet,'
said Tubbs, and clicked off the connection.

    'You
got friends waiting?' said Beretta. 'Checking you out?'

    'They
worry,' said Tubbs taking another swig from his bottle. 'You know how it is.'

    'City
boys,' said Beretta. 'Don't trust anyone an inch.'

    'That's
life these days,' said Tubbs. 'And I'd better be moving. Things to do, people
to see. Money to make.'

    'Sure,'
said Beretta and Tubbs knew that this was going to be the toughest part. 'Karl.
See Mr Tubbs to his car. Make sure he walks unmolested through our brethren.
He's carrying a serious and valuable cargo.'

    'Sure,
boss,' said Karl, sliding the machete up the sleeve of his jacket.

    Tubbs
shook hands with Beretta and Moses, picked up the carrier bag and made to
leave.

    'Ain't
you forgotten something, Mr Tubbs?' said Beretta and Tubbs felt sweat break out
all over him. Was this the sting? The bit where they took him down and ended up
with money and drugs?

    Beretta
pointed to the table where the Browning lay. 'You may need that,' he said.
'Those City boys take no prisoners, I hear.'

    Tubbs
breathed a sigh of relief and picked up the gun and the clip and stowed them in
separate pockets. 'Nearly forgot,' he said. 'Glad my head's screwed on or I'd
forget that.'

    'Keep
it screwed tight, my man,' said Beretta. 'And keep in touch. I'm only a phone
call away.'

    'Will
do,' said Tubbs. 'Thanks.' And with that, he and Karl left the room. Karl
opened the fortified door to the flat and they went down to the car. Many eyes
followed their progress, but no one made a move. Tubbs drove the Beemer off the
estate and down the first side street he came to. He stopped at a gap by the
kerb and sat shaking for fully five minutes before he headed back to John
Jenner's house.