Guns Of Brixton (51 page)

    'All
right,' said Wiltse. 'He'll keep it buttoned. Now come on, Lionel, let's get on
with it. We haven't got all day.'

    'No
problem,' said Lionel, now sure of his place in the pecking order. 'Jack!' he
shouted.

    After
a moment, another man, heavily built, wearing a leather jacket and jeans,
entered the room carrying an identical bag to Wiltse's. He put it on the table
and unzipped it. 'There you go,' he said.

    Wiltse
put his bag next to it, and opened it too. Inside were a number of tightly
bound, clear plastic bags containing white powder. 'It's good stuff,' said
Wiltse.

    'It
had better be,' said Lionel.

    Wiltse
opened the first bag and looked inside. When he looked up there was a puzzled
expression on his face. 'What's this?' he said.

    'The
money,' replied Lionel. 'Twenty thousand.'

    'What
about the rest?' asked Wiltse.

    'A bit
of a problem,' said Lionel. 'Cash flow.'

    'Fuck
cash flow,' said Wiltse. 'The deal was you paid up to date. Fifty K. You taking
the piss or what?'

    Sharman
saw the look between Lionel and Jack and knew that it was all starting to go
wrong. Or at least that's what his instinct told him. He unbuttoned his jacket.

    'You
see, last time the merchandise wasn't up to scratch. Whoever walked on it had
big boots,' said Lionel.

    'It
was good gear;' protested Wiltse.

    'Once
upon a time,' said Lionel.

    'Are
you saying we're doing you up?' demanded Wiltse.

    'It's
all in the mix,' said Lionel, 'We want to make sure this lot is OK before we
part with any more dough.'

    'John
isn't going to like this,' said Wiltse.

    'How
about this then?' said Jack and pulled a small revolver from the pocket of his
leather.

    Fuck,
thought Sharman, reaching for his gun.

    What
happened next changed him from the man he was - a small-time chancer with an
attitude - to what he was to become for the rest of his life: a man who went to
sleep at night with ghosts around his bed.

    The
first shot from Jack's pistol went wide, digging plaster from the wall beside
Sharman's head, as the copper fired back hitting Jack in the shoulder and
spinning him round. Then Lionel tugged a big automatic from somewhere inside
his shellsuit and Sharman fired straight into his face. The man tripped over
his feet and the gun went off and a huge gout of blood exploded from Wiltse's
neck and he fell to the floor. Jack shouted something Sharman couldn't
understand and brought his gun up and Sharman finished him with a shot to the
chest. He stood in the smoke- filled room, ears ringing from the gunshots, and
looked at the three dead men on the floor. 'Fuck,' he said aloud as he lowered his
warm gun. 'That's me fucked.'

    'They
were his very words when he told us the story,' said Jenner to the two young
men.

    'What
happened?' asked Tubbs. 'Did he go down?'

    'Sharman?
You're having a laugh, aincha?' said John Jenner. 'Slipperiest fucker in all
Christendom was our Nick. And still is, from what I hear.'

    'So?'
asked Mark who hadn't heard that particular story before.

    'He
stuck his gun in Tony's hand, fired it again using his finger, cold blooded
bastard, so that the body would have powder residue on it. Then took the dough
and the gear and strolled down to the motor, cool as you like, and made Ricky
drive him up to Lawson's office. Dumped the lot on David's desk and asked for
another two grand. One each for both the geezers he'd shot. Never looked back
after that.'

    'Christ,'
said Tubbs.

    'Christ
is right,' said Jenner.

    'But
of course you only had his word for it,' said Mark.

    'Do
what?' Jenner said.

    'How
do you know that he didn't collect the whole fifty, shoot everyone and keep the
thirty grand for himself?'

    'You're
a cynical bastard, Mark,' said Jenner. 'And I do like that in a man. In fact,
it did cross my mind at the time. But I don't think so. Sharman was cold, but
not that cold. Maybe later it would've been something he'd do, but that was
early days. Anyway, it's all water under the bridge now. Over twenty years ago.
Who cares? Not me. He more than made up for it later with little jobs he did
for us. I wish he was here now.'

    'Don't
you trust us, Uncle, is that it?' asked Mark.

    But
before Jenner could answer, Tubbs's phone rang.

    The
trio looked at each other, then Mark nodded and Tubbs fished his phone out of
his pocket. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Oh, it's you, Eddie. No. Everything went fine.'
He looked at Mark who gestured for the phone which Tubbs passed over.

    'Hey,
Eddie,' said Mark. 'How you doing?' he listened. 'Good. Tubbs did great, but he
could've been in big trouble. So next time, we do the biz, OK?' A pause. 'Fine.
Look, let's meet up tomorrow at the usual place in Stockwell. We'll talk then.
Right. Midday. See ya.' And he closed the phone.

    'Listen,'
said Tubbs, when Mark gave him the phone back. 'I'd better be off.'

    'OK,
Tubbsy?' said Mark. 'You heard that?'

    Tubbs
nodded.

    'Twelve
o'clock in the Four Feathers. We'll plan our strategy.'

    'Sounds
good,' said Tubbs and got to his feet. 'Later, Mr Jenner,' he said.

    'Be
careful driving home,' said Jenner. 'You did well tonight. I owe you.'

    'I'm
being well paid,' replied Tubbs.

    'Money
isn't everything.'

    'Only
rich people say that,' said Tubbs. 'You take care too,' and Mark saw him to the
front door.

    'He's
right,' said Mark as they stood in the hall. 'You were the business.'

    'Like
riding a bike,' said Tubbs. 'Just what you said. I miss the old days, and this
is just the same.'

    'If
you say so, Tubbs,' said Mark and he hugged his old friend before opening the
front door. 'Be safe.' 'I'll try.' Tubbs went to his car and headed home.

    Mark
went back to where John Jenner was rolling the latest in a long line of
spliffs. 'So far, so good,' he said.

    'Yeah.
But the hard part's still to come,' warned Jenner. 'The killing bit.'

    Mark
went upstairs and called Linda on his mobile, but her machine picked up. He
didn't leave a message.

    The
next day, Mark was early for the meet in the pub, but Eddie had beaten him to
it. He was sipping Guinness and looking longingly at the tightly skirted
backside of the barmaid who was bending over the lower shelves, too busy
bottling up to notice his glances.

    'You'll
go blind,' said Mark, once he'd joined him at the bar.

    'Jesus,
but that's a work of art,' said Eddie. 'Just look at those buns.'

    Mark
grinned and when the barmaid noticed he ordered a lager. 'Why don't you ask her
out?' he said when he'd been served.

    'Fat
chance.'

    'You
never know until you try.'

    'I
ain't been out with a woman for… Christ. More than two years.'

    'So
your old right hand gets plenty of exercise?'

    'Not
really. After a bit you don't miss it anymore.' '

    'But
if you get this money…'

    'I'll
clean up my act. Lose some weight. Go to the gym. Buy some decent clothes and a
car.'

    'Or go
to JA with Tubbs and cook chicken.'

    'It's
an option. You say the boy done well?'

    'Oscar-winning
from what I can gather. I was outside hiding in the garbage. It was a solo
effort on his part.'

    'He's
got some bottle.'

    'Always
had, remember. It's not something you forget.'

    'I
dunno, Mark,' said Eddie. 'I'm shitting myself - straight up.'

    'You'll
be OK, Ed,' said Mark. 'Trust me.'

    'I
do.'

    Just
then Tubbs himself came in through the front door and joined them at the bar,
ordering a small lager for himself. 'They've been on.' 'Who?' asked Eddie.

    'The
pros from Dover,' said Tubbs. Taking in his mystified expression, he added:
'Beretta.'

    'That
was fast,' said Mark.

    'Tell
me about it. It was six this morning.'

    'Don't
he ever sleep?' asked Eddie.

    'With
all the charlie he's got, I doubt he does,' said Tubbs. 'Probably sits up all
night in that flat with his bird sucking him off and wondering what next for
world domination.'

    'What's
he want?' asked Mark.

    'See
if I wanted more.'

    'What'd
you say?'

    'That
I was working on it.'

    'Good,'
said Mark. 'That means the ball's in our court. We name the time and place,
then we take them down.'

    'In
the flat?' said Tubbs.

    'No.
Too confined. Too many places they can lie low. Remember what Uncle John told
us about that geezer Sharman.'

    'Who?'
asked Eddie.

    Mark
summarised Jenner's tale of the previous night. 'We take them outside, clean.'

    'What
about the cops?' asked Eddie.

    'Cops,'
said Mark. 'Fuck 'em. What do they know? These days they're only interested in
catching speeders and making money. We'll be gone before they know what's
happening.'

    'But
what about the dope?' said Tubbs. 'And their dough? It'll be up in the flat.'

    'So
we do them in the street, then go get what we need.'

    'We
don't know where they keep it.'

    'It's
a small council flat. Where are they going to put it? How long did it take -
Karl, was it? - to fetch it?'

    'A
minute.'

    'There
you go. It was probably on the kitchen table in clear sight.

    These
fuckers think they're fireproof.'

    'You
make it sound so simple.'

    'It
is.'

    'And
then we split the profits.'

    'That's
the game,' said Mark. 'And then Eddie can ask that barmaid out on a date.'

    'Fuck
off,' said Eddie. 'If I'm rich I want to go out with someone with class as well
as arse.'

    'There's
no answer to that,' said Tubbs. 'So when do we do it, Mark?'

    'Soon
as. Give them a day to think you've been working hard at shifting that gear,
then we go.'

    'Sounds
like a plan,' said Tubbs.

    And
it was. A simple plan. But even the simplest plans have a habit of going awry.

    Though
not at first.

    As
Mark had instructed, Tubbs held fire for twenty-four hours. He'd received a few
calls from Beretta, checking on how things were going, but he just played it
cool, telling him things were progressing nicely and that the product was going
well, that everyone involved was happy with the quality. More than happy, in fact.

    Then,
early on the following morning, the three met at John Jenner's house and put
the second part of the plan into operation.

    Tubbs
called Beretta on his mobile. 'Hey man,' he said. 'It's me, Mr Tubbs. Things
are going better than expected and I'm almost dry. What's the chance of a
meet?' He nodded. 'That's good. I'm holding large.' He nodded again at what was
being said on the other end of the connection. 'Twenty-five. Yeah. You can do
that today? Fine. No more on the phone. How about a drink in that boozer where
we first met, later? Yeah. Last orders? That'll be fine. Around eleven then.
See you there. And maybe we can go on and celebrate. That'll be dandy. Later
then.' And he pressed the kill button. 'You heard,' he said to Mark and Eddie. 'We're
on.'