Guns Of Brixton (5 page)

    The
Range Rover and escort pulled away from the kerb again, drove down Elm Park, turned
right on Brixton Hill and headed towards the centre of Brixton. 'It's called
Tootsies,' said Jenner. 'The place we're going.'

    'Sounds
great,' said Mark.

    'Don't
take the piss. You'll love it, I promise,' said John Jenner as the car eased
its way through the heavy lunchtime traffic, past Brixton prison, which he
didn't give a second glance, although he felt the small hairs on the back of
his neck rise at the sight of it.

    'That
fucker's in there, isn't he?' said Mark Farrow as if reading Jenner's mind.

    'Yes.'

    'Told
you I kept in touch. Nice to know he's banged up and we're going out for a
meal.'

    'If
you say so.'

    'I
say so, Uncle. It's a been a long time, but soon I'll get to meet him one way
or another. Then it'll be all over.'

    'Are
you sure you want that?'

    'Sometimes
it's been the only thing keeping me going.'

    'Fair
enough.'

    'Fair
enough it is, but I'm not going to let him spoil you buying me lunch.'

    Being
stuck in a queue of cars, trucks and buses, Mark Farrow had plenty of time to
look around as they inched along. 'You're right, it bloody Well has changed
round here,' he said. 'What happened? Where's all the dumpy old shops that
looked like they hadn't made a sale in twenty years? The ones with a cat asleep
in the window on top of a pile of dead flies?' 'The trendies moved in. Turned
the place upside down.'

    'I
never would've believed it.'

    Jenner
told Mark to turn the car off the main road towards Clapham, where they took a
right and spotted a smart-looking restaurant with a neon sign over the door
that read
Tootsies
in blue and orange script.

    There
was an empty parking meter a couple of doors up and Mark slid the Vogue on to
it. The two men exited the car and Farrow put coins in the meter. The Mercedes
pulled up behind it, and, as Mark looked around, John Jenner went and had a
word. When he got back, he said: 'They'll be here, and I've told them to feed
your meter if it runs out.'

    'It's
not a problem, the car isn't registered to me.'

    'Never
thought it was, but they tow them away these days.'

    'Bastards.'

    'You
said it.'

    The
pair went through the glass door of the restaurant to be met by short black man
in a tight, shiny, black single-breasted suit and a snow white button-down
shirt open at the neck without a tie. 'Mr Jenner,' greeted them. 'What a
pleasant surprise.'

    'Got
a table for us-, Delroy?' asked John.

    'Always
for you, sir,' replied the black man. 'Your usual?'

    'If
it's free.'

    'Of
course.'

    They
were led through the warm, spicily scented room to the back, where a table for
four was set on a cloth as white as his shirt.

    'Delroy,
I'd like you to meet Mark Farrow,' said Jenner before they sat.

    'A
pleasure,' said Delroy, shaking Mark's hand.

    'Nice
to meetcha,' said Mark.

    'He's
been away for a while,' said Jenner as Delroy cleared away two of the place
settings before taking their coats, gloves and scarves. 'Just showing him the
changes round here.'

    'A
miracle of regeneration,' said Delroy in reply.

    'I
hardly recognised the old place,' said Mark.

    Delroy
swiftly offloaded their outer garments to the cloakroom, then took their order
for drinks. Gin and tonics for both.

    'You
all right to drink, Uncle?' asked Mark when the black man was at the tiny bar.

    'No.
But who cares?'

    In a
moment Delroy was back at the table. 'Any water, gentlemen?' he asked. 'Not for
me,' said Mark. 'Uncle John?'

    'Uncle
John,' echoed Delroy. 'You two are related?'

    'Not
really,' explained Mark Farrow. "It's just what I call him. Always have.
But we're more family than most families, if you know what I mean, Delroy.'
Delroy nodded.

    'And
no water for me either,' said Jenner. 'I know what fishes do in it.'
A
joke
which Mark had heard a thousand times before, but which still brought a smile
to his face. John Jenner never changed much. 'So what's good today, Del?'
Jenner asked.

    'My
mother's pumpkin soup, special today.'

    'The
pumpkin soup,' echoed Jenner. 'Got to have some of that. Bloody marvellous.
Where is Tootsie, by the way?'

    'In
the kitchen as always, Mr Jenner,' replied Delroy, and as he noticed Mark's
puzzled look, he explained. 'Tootsie's my mum, Mr Farrow. The finest Caribbean
chef in London bar none.'

    'I'll
second that, Mark,' said Jenner. 'Is she coming to see me, Del?'

    'She'll
be out later as usual, Mr Jenner. I'll tell her you're here.'

    'Send
her in a rum and tonic on me.'

    Delroy
smiled, showing a mouthful of teeth as white as his shirt. 'No problem. She'll
appreciate that.'

    'So
what else is on the menu?' asked Jenner.

    'The
usual. Jerk chicken, goat curry. All very good.'

    'We'll
take some of each,' said Jenner, looking oyer at Mark.

    'Fine
by me. You order for both of us. Seems like you know the place.'

    'Mr
Jenner is one of my favourite regulars,' said Delroy. 'And his lovely daughter.
How is she today, sir?'

    'Just
dandy,' replied Jenner. 'And bring us some dirty rice and peas, okra and maybe
a little something with chilli. And Delroy, take something

    out
to the boys in the Mercedes outside if you don't mind. The black one. They'll
be hungry I expect. Put it on my bill, of course.'

    Delroy
smiled. 'All in order, Mr Jenner. Wine for you both?'

    'Something
white and light and cold if the chilli's hot.'

    Delroy
smiled again. 'I know just the thing,' he said and left for the kitchen as a
beautiful black woman brought their drinks.

    'Got
this place sussed, Uncle John,' said Mark when she had gone.

    'Put
a bit of dough in as well,' said Jenner. 'Del was having a rough time with some
ragamuffin boys. I sorted it all out.'

    'Where
are they buried?'

    Jenner
laughed out loud. 'That's not the way we do it around here, | these days.'

    'What
then?'

    'Just
a few words.'

    'I
can imagine. And, talking of the lovely Martine, what happened; between her and
her old man? He wasn't knocking her about, was he?'

    'Knocking
Martine about? I don't think so. About as much chance of her| taking that as
her mum. No. Like I said, he was playing away and he got! captured. She moved
out of the house in Guildford and back in with me. He got a bit lairy, but I
sent Chas down with her when she cleared her stuff out.'|

    'I'd
like to have seen that.'

    'Me
too. Anyway she left him a few memories.'

    'Like?'

    'She
cut up all his flash suits and poured the contents of his wine cellar into the
swimming pool.'

    .'And
he didn't object?'

    'No.
Chas made sure of that.'

    'How
old is she now?'

    'Still
six years younger than you, and looks like a dream.'

    'I'm
sorry I missed the wedding. How long ago was that again?'

    'Five
years.'

    'So
long… Does she still hate me?' 'She never hated you, Mark. She bloody
worshipped the ground you Walked on. Trouble was, you always ignored her.'

    'She
was a bloody nuisance though, Uncle John, wasn't she? Always bloody hanging
round putting in her two penn'oth. Always nicking my things and hiding them.' He
laughed at the memory. 'Christ, but I had to lock my bedroom door every time I
went out.'

    'I
remember.'

    'Is
she at home now?'

    'No.
She got herself a job up west. I told her not to bother, I'd take care of
things. But she's independent, just like Hazel was at her age.'

    'Hazel,'
said Mark raising his glass. 'Here's to her.'

    Jenner
touched his glass to Mark's and they drank. 'I'm looking forward to being with
her soon,' said Jenner.

    'Don't
say that, Uncle John.'

    'It's
true.'

    'I'm
sorry, really sorry. I can hardly take it in.'

    'Now
don't get maudlin on me, Mark,' said Jenner as a waiter appeared with two
steaming bowls of soup and the bread basket, then went off for the wine which
Jenner tasted and approved of. The waiter filled their glasses, wished them bon
appetit and left them alone. 'Get into this soup. Just the thing for a day like
this,' said Jenner, smacking his lips in appreciation as he took a mouthful.

    Mark
tasted some too and raised his eyebrows. 'Bloody hell,' he said. 'You're right.
This is fantastic.'

    'Old
St Lucian recipe, handed down from mother to daughter. Or son In this case.'

    When
the edge of their appetites was sated, Mark put down his soup spoon and said. 'OK,
Uncle John, we've had the sentimental journey, and you're spoiling me with good
food and booze. So tell me, what exactly is going on?'

    Jenner
blew though his teeth, put down his spoon also and said: 'Well, Mark, it's a
long bloody story.'

    'I've
got no pressing appointments.'

    'OK,
son, I'll tell you.'

    He
gathered his thoughts as the waiter reappeared, cleared away their soup dishes,
and poured more wine, before Delroy himself bought out the main courses,
covering their table with steaming dishes of delicious-smelling food. 'Enjoy,'
he said when everything was set to his satisfaction. 'Your men have food, and
Mother will be out to see you when you're finished.'

    'Fine,
Delroy,' said Jenner. 'We'll look forward to that.'

    'Come
on, Uncle John,' said Mark Farrow when they were alone again. 'I'm trembling
with anticipation.' __

    'It's
all going to hell, Mark,' said Jenner, tinkering with the food on his plate.
'To hell in a hand basket. You know what I do. How I earn a crust. It used to
be easy, but things are changing. Changing fast. I mean, just look around you.
No one ever expected this part of the world to end up like this. Half a million
pound houses and carrot cake for sale at the local flea pit. But underneath the
surface it actually hasn't changed that much. Just take a walk through the
council estates. Burnt out flats and cars, syringes in the stairwells. What you
see on top is cosmetic. What's really changed is the gap between the rich and
the poor. And there's some seriously rich people round here now. Biggest growth
industry apart from organic food is security systems. Those rich folk aren't
fools. They want to protect what they've got. And at the other end of the
scale, the conmen and thieves know there's a lot more to score.'

    'Sorry,
Uncle, I still don't get your point,' said Mark.

    'Listen,
son,' said Jenner. 'Society came off the rails in the Eighties. If you can't
handle that you're a fool. And I ain't one. I got O levels. Christ knows how.
Few enough I'll admit. But in hindsight I know that with a bit of graft I
could've got a lot more. Maybe even gone to university. But boys like me didn't
go to university in those days. Or precious few. But I read books. I studied
politics. That's how I got to be boss. Now I'm dying. There's no oddsing that,
and to be honest it's all slipping away. There's all sorts of chancers coming
up. All sorts of gangs trying to muscle in on my territory. Portuguese,
Chinese, Asians, and blacks. The blacks are the worst with their crack and guns.'