Guns Of Brixton (64 page)

    Butler
took Jimmy's gloved hand in his own and shook it. 'It's been good seeing you
again, Jimmy,' he said. 'And all being well, we'll meet again in a few days.
Just do the business and everything in the garden will be lovely.'

    'I'll
do it,' said Jimmy, disentangling his hand and following Bob out of the house.
They went back to the barn, where things seemed to have hotted up in their
absence. Inside it was as steamy as a sauna, and they pushed their way to the
front where Bob grabbed Jimmy's arm and said: 'Your two o'clock.' Jimmy glanced
over and saw an immensely fat man in a suit sitting next to a small redhead who
looked as if she was one visit to the plastic surgeon over the limit.

    'Fatty?'
said Jimmy.

    'That's
the boy,' replied Bob. 'I hope he's enjoying himself. It's his last time here,
so I believe.'

    Almost
his last time anywhere, thought Jimmy, if I do it right. But he said nothing.

    'Come
on then,' said Bob. 'You've seen enough. Your car's outside.'

    They
left the barn and walked to the makeshift carpark where Bob showed Jimmy a huge
black American car that looked something like an oversized Jaguar. It had the
same number plates as he'd seen on the paper Butler had given him. Further into
the shadows was an anonymous- looking, dark-coloured saloon was parked. 'This
is yours,' said Bob.

    'Untraceable.
Even so, try not to get any parking tickets,' and left him alone with a
cheerful wave.

    Nervously,
Jimmy climbed in behind the wheel. He found the ignition and turned on the
engine; it responded immediately and ticked over smoothly. It took Jimmy a few
minutes to find the light switch and he inspected the control panel, which
seemed to have many more dials than the cars he used to drive. He just
shrugged. It was automatic which was a help. Jimmy engaged reverse, eased out
of the space and, changing to drive, headed for the gates. Once outside on the
dark lanes he realised he didn't know where he was going, but trusted to luck
and, after driving around aimlessly for twenty minutes or so, found a signpost
to the A12; before he knew it, he was heading in the direction of London and
quite enjoying the experience. The roads were deserted at that late hour which
was a relief but, when he reached the suburbs, he was surprised at the amount
of traffic. He cruised across the river at Southwark Bridge and was soon in
Brixton, where he parked as close to his flat as he could and was in bed by
four thirty.

    He
was awake again by ten and, after a brief toilet and a cup of tea, which was
all he could stomach with the nerves he was feeling, he hopped in the car and
drove until he found the supermarket at Nine Elms. Satisfied, he headed down to
Croydon, little knowing that he had actually passed the street in which his
family were now living.

    New
Addington had always been a strange mixture. On the one hand there were the
mansions of the old and new rich, sitting right next to one of the largest and
roughest council estates in Europe. The rich and poor coexisted uneasily, but
somehow managed to get along without too much trouble.

    Jimmy
drove slowly past the target address a couple of times. It was a mock Tudor
pile, with neatly mown lawns and flower beds filled with flowers terrified into
military formations. There was a high wall round the property and iron gates
topped with vicious spikes. The back of the property was accessed via a small
service lane and that looked to be his best bet. Jimmy thought he'd better get
himself some climbing boots before he attempted to get inside and went back to
Brixton to do shopping. He then spent the rest of the day in his flat, watching
TV waiting for night to fall.

    By
ten o'clock he was back in Addington, the car park in a forecourt two streets
away from the Smith residence, and Jimmy was strolling down the lane that
backed on to the property.

    There
was no one about, though Jimmy had seen a couple of people taking their dogs
out for a late night constitutional on his way there. He; wondered if the
Smiths were pet lovers, but decided that, if they were, Danny Butler would have
told him about it. Or maybe not. Just a little surprise to keep him on his
toes? With a quick glance up and down the dark thoroughfare, he was up and over
the wall, glad of the time he
'd
spent in the various prison gyms during
his incarceration.

    There
was broken glass embedded in concrete on top of the wall, but it was old and
dull and Jimmy avoided being cut. Dropping to the ground, he crouched for four
or five minutes until he was sure no alarm had been raised. Eventually, he
stood up and slunk across the back garden, through the shadows that made him
almost invisible in his dark jacket and jeans.

    He
found the back of the garage and worked his way around. When he'd peered
through the gates earlier, he'd seen powerful spotlights mounted at the front
of the house, and remembering conversations he'd had with various burglars
inside, he suspected they were fitted with motion switches, so he stayed close
to the ground and behind them. He took the pistol out of one pocket and the
silencer from another, and screwed them together. He worked the action, putting
a bullet in the chamber and cocking the gun; he flicked off the safety catch
and settled down for his long wait until the Smiths returned home. He just
hoped that they hadn't gone on to a club or something after their meal.

    Whatever,
he thought. At least it wasn't raining.

    Time
dragged on for Jimmy as he waited. It was all quiet in New Addington that
night, and not even a cat or a dog fox disturbed his vigil. His eyes grew
accustomed to the half-light that night time had become, even in the outer
suburbs, and he could clearly make out the orange glow in the sky that was
London. He had plenty of time to think about the events that had led him to
this particular place at this particular time, and he wondered how things could
have been different. Under different circumstances, could he have been tucked
up in bed at home, an honest man with a wife, children and grandchildren who
were proud of him and wanted his love?

    Deep
down Jimmy knew that it was too late for all that. It was even too late for
regrets about what might have been. Even so, his mind went back to pleasanter
times when he and Marje, Linda and Sean had been together and happy.

    The
70s had been Jimmy's decade. The kids were just babies then. Thanks to a slight
problem with the law, Jimmy had spent most of the late 60s banged up in
Wandsworth, leaving Marje to keep their home together in Kennington. No
conjugal visits in those days, hence no patter of tiny feet. But Jimmy made up
for it over the next ten years. He was part of the Jenner gang then, and it was
during those ten years that John, Hazel, Billy Farrow, Chas and the rest really
made their impact on south London. Business was booming, even though the
streets were in a turmoil, what with strikes of public service workers, garbage
piling up and bodies lying unburied in the mortuaries. But it was the perfect
time to be a villain. As inflation spiralled out of control, the Jenner gang
calmly doubled their rates and watched the loot roll in.
The Sweeney
was
the most popular show on TV, watched by coppers and villains alike, and pretty
soon it was hard to work out which was which. Friday afternoons there was
almost a queue of unmarked cars outside Jenner's office as, one by one, Old
Bill on the payroll popped in for their brown envelopes bulging with cash. And
Jimmy still loved the music and the fashions, though he'd be loathed to admit
it now. Punk rock. That had been his. favourite, even though he might've been a
little old for it at the time. But not too old to appreciate the punk girls in
their gothic makeup and ripped fishnet stockings. And then came the 80s… and it
all fell apart.

    As he
waited for his quarry to return home, he heard a few cars coming and going, and
each time he tightened his grip on the pistol, but they were all false alarms.
Eventually - his cheap watch told him it was one oh six in the morning - the
sound of a vehicle approaching was followed by the rumble of gates opening at
the end of the drive. He knew then that he was in show business.

    The
car slowed as the security lights came on and Jimmy shielded his eyes against
the sudden light. The garage door began to roll up smoothly and Jimmy felt
himself tense.

    The
huge black car crept forward into the garage and Jimmy stood, his legs
cracking. Too old, he thought.

    As
the garage door began its downward journey, Jimmy ducked beneath it then jumped
up, gun at the ready. The Lincoln had stopped next to a Volkswagen Golf,
probably Mrs Smith's personal transport. The driver and passenger doors of the
big car opened in tandem and Rodney Smith and his missus stepped out on to the
concrete floor.

    Rodney
was the first to notice Jimmy standing there. 'What the…?' he said, and Jimmy raised
the pistol. But looking at the pair of them standing there, Jimmy made the one
mistake that's unforgivable in the assassin's code. He stopped to think about
what he was doing and, as he did so, the gun began to tremble in his hand. He
had come down with what is known as 'shooter's shake', and all he wanted to do
was to drop the gun and do a runner. But the next thought that flashed through
his mind was, 'They've both seen me up close, now I've got to do it.' He
grabbed his right wrist with his left hand in an attempt to steady it, and
pulled the trigger. The silenced gun made hardly a sound as the first bullet
missed by a mile. 'Shit,' said Jimmy out loud and fired again. The second shot
punched a hole in Rodney Smith's neck, and exited in a spray of blood and meat.
Jimmy squeezed the trigger again and a round hit the fat man in the chest.
Smith put his hand on the roof of his car, blood flowing from both wounds and
tried to say one last word to his wife. But all that emerged was a bloody
gurgle and he fell to the ground with a crash. •

    Then
Jimmy turned the pistol on Mrs Smith. But his hesitation had given her time to
open the evening bag she was carrying and pull out a small, nickel-plated,
pearl-handled automatic pistol and point it at him. He couldn't believe his
eyes as they both fired together. His bullet hit her between her breasts and
hers skidded across the side of the Lincoln, spun up and went through the right
sleeve of his new leather jacket, chopping two neat holes as it entered and exited,
hitting the closed garage door behind him and ricocheting around the garage
before whacking into the wall of the house.

    Mrs
Smith's body hit the floor.

    Jimmy
stood for a moment before lowering his gun. He listened hard. The noise from
his silencer and her tiny-calibre gun had made hardly any sound, but as quiet
as it was outside, he wondered if the noise had carried to the neighbouring
houses. He listened again: nothing stirred. He went into action. He checked her
body first. She was still alive, but barely, and he held his gloved hand over
her mouth and nose until he heard a rattle from her throat and she was still.
He prised the gun from her fingers. It was a tiny.25 Sterling and he pocketed
it. Then he went to Rodney. He was dead too.

    Jimmy
pulled up Smith's jacket and shirt sleeve and, just as Butler had told him, he
was wearing a solid gold Rolex so covered in diamonds it was almost impossible
to read the time. Jimmy unclipped the clasp, pulled it off and stuck that in
his pocket. Inside his jacket, Rodney carried a thick wallet that was stuffed
with fifty pound notes and credit cards. The cash went into one pocket and the
wallet and cards into another. Then he checked Mrs Smith again. She wore a
ladies version of the same watch and Jimmy tugged it off and added it to his
loot. Her bag contained a purse, this time with just a few smaller notes but
several more cards. Jimmy took the lot. By this time he was dripping with sweat
and still shaking with nerves, but there was still no sound coming from outside
and he reckoned his luck was holding. He stood and took one last look around
before hitting the red button by the door, which, as he surmised, opened the
garage from the inside. The sound of the door opening seemed as loud as a small
war to his ears and he ducked through again and stood for moment in the harsh
light outside, before heading back the way he'd come.

    He
was over the wall in a moment, briefly checking that no one was in the lane,
and he walked as slowly as he could back to the pub car park, where his car sat
in solitary splendour in a dark corner.

    Once
inside, he controlled the shakes, started the motor and headed towards central
London, making sure he kept to the speed limit and obeying every set of lights.
This was not the time to receive a tug from some keen traffic patrol. The
Sainsbury's at Nine Elms was open all night and there were several vehicles in
the parking lot. Jimmy dropped off the car, left the keys as arranged, and
walked towards Vauxhall. He went on to the bridge and stood looking down at the
dark river below. Although there were plenty of cars around, there was very
little pedestrian traffic at that late-hour. After a minute's observation, he
dropped the silenced.22, Rodney's wallet and credit cards and Mrs S's purse
into the water. He thought about dumping her gun too, but there was always a
chance he'd need some firepower, the kind of people he was mixing with, and
decided to keep it, dangerous though it might be to do so. Then he turned in
the direction of home and walked most of the way, before picking up a night bus
that dropped him off outside Brixton tube.