Guns Of Brixton (80 page)

    Armed
police appeared as if by magic from every direction, dressed in dark blue
boiler suits, padded with body armour, their heads encased in tight helmets,
their eyes hidden by tinted goggles and gas masks covering the bottom of their
faces. They lobbed tear gas grenades and the building filled with acrid smoke.
The cops were screaming and shouting for everyone to drop their weapons and get
down on the ground, robbers and guards both. But no one paid any heed. Jimmy
calmly raised the shotgun and fired, and a copper went down, blood spurting
from his legs. Jimmy knew better than to aim for the body, and Mark couldn't
help but grin.

    His
nervousness gone, Mark pulled the Glock from under his jacket and started
firing. He was as calm as if he were on a shooting range as he picked his
targets. He stayed close to Jimmy and yelled above the noise of the chopper,
the motors and the sound of gunfire and men screaming: 'Jesus Christ man, we've
been screwed.'

    Everyone
was shooting by then, coppers at robbers, guards at robbers, and the robbers at
anything that moved in uniform. The muzzle sounds magnified inside the confines
of the building, the bullets fizzing through the air and ricocheting off the walls.
But Mark somehow knew that it wasn't his time. Not yet. It might be his day to
die, but his work wasn't over yet. Mark kept shooting until the Glock's
mechanism blew back empty. Next to him, Les took a round in the chest and fell
on his back, the AK-47 he was carrying hitting the deck. Mark didn't have time
to reload the Glock so he stuck the gun back in its holster and picked up Les's
weapon. It was set for full auto and Mark fired off a burst, not caring who or
what he hit.

    Behind
the building, away from the action, Sean stood by his car and watched the whole
thing go off from a distance. He was dressed in old jeans and a leather jacket.
In the boot of his car was a Kevlar flak jacket. The vest was hot and
uncomfortable, especially on a day like this, and he always felt like a fool
wearing one. But rules were rules and Sean believed in keeping them, so he
reluctantly he took off his leather, put on the vest and pulled his jacket back
over it. He watched the Volvo truck blowing the gates, the guard hut and the
main door to hell and gone, the helicopter arriving and armed police entering
the warehouse. Then the shooting had started and he knew this was going to be a
big one. His informant had been right, and now he wanted his reward, and it
irked Sean to be the one to give it to him. But these were the breaks, so he
just stood, watched, and waited for Steve Sawyer to make it over to him.

    Inside,
as the firefight grew hotter and the gas more dense, Mark knelt beside the
Chevrolet and fired at the doorway and saw a cop hit the ground. He grabbed
Jimmy. 'This is fucked,' he said. 'Let's get out of here.'

    Jimmy
nodded, and they left the shield of the vehicle and legged it across the floor
towards the offices at the back of the building. There were bodies everywhere:
robbers, guards and coppers too. Mark and Jimmy raced through the open-plan
offices, jumping over desks and dividers, heading for the rear. 'What about the
others?' gasped Jimmy as they dropped behind a filing cabinet for a breather.

    'Fuck
'em. Let them take care of themselves,' said Mark.

    'How
the fuck did the filth know?' said Jimmy.

    'It's
fucking obvious. Someone grassed.'

    'I'd
like to know who.'

    'Me
too,' said Mark. 'But there's no time for that now. Are you coming?'

    'Just
show me the way.'

    That's
exactly what I wanted you to say, thought Mark and he shoved Jimmy down a
corridor, yelling that there should be a back door close by, and there it was,
just like Sean had told him, like he'd seen on the building plans he'd so
carefully studied at Butler's briefing. A metal-covered door right at the back
of the building. Sean had said it would be open, but Mark didn't want Jimmy to
know that, so he emptied the Kalashnikov into it before pulling it open. He
dropped the empty gun and shouted at Jimmy, 'Come on, man, let's get gone.'

    Jimmy
took one last, longing look back in the direction of the precious stones, then
shrugged and followed Mark.

    There
was no one outside in the parking area, and they dashed through the rows of
vehicles towards the gate. This was where Sean said he would be waiting.

    Mark
spotted it. He hit it with his shoulder and it flew open. 'How…?' said Jimmy.

    'Just
lucky.'

    The pair
of them dived through the door to where Sean was waiting next to his unmarked
Mondeo, Mark's getaway car. He was holding a pistol in his right hand and his
police radio in his left. Jimmy skidded to a halt and raised his shotgun.

    Sean
looked shocked at the sight of two masked men instead of the one he expected.
He brought up his gun, too. 'What's going on?' he shouted.

    'Surprise,'
said Mark. 'It's OK, it's me, Steve.'

    'Who's
this, then?' said Sean, his gun on Jimmy.

    'Don't
you recognise him?' said Mark. 'No, of course you don't. Jimmy, take that
stupid mask off and meet your son.'

    'Jimmy?'
said Sean.' Not Jimmy…'

    'Hunter,'
said Mark. 'The one and only.'

    Jimmy
ripped off the balaclava and looked back at Mark. 'What the fuck's going on?
Who's this? What about my son?'

    'Don't
you recognise him? Christ, are you thick or what? He looks just like you,
Jimmy. It's your son, Sean.'

    Jimmy
peered at Sean as the sound of gunfire continued on the other side of the high
wall.

    'Sean?'
he said.

    'Yeah,'
said Mark. 'Your son. Who's also Old Bill. It's a reunion, Jimmy. Aren't you
going to say hello?'

    Jimmy
stood mystified, his shotgun hanging from one hand. 'But what's he doing here?'

    'I
told him we'd be here.' 'You did…?'

    'That's
right, Jimmy. I grassed us up.'

    'Why?'

    'Because
I wanted you to meet your son. And because you killed my father,' said Mark,
and he took off his glasses and balaclava and showed Jimmy his stubbled face
and his blue eyes. The exact same colour blue eyes that had looked at Jimmy
from Billy Farrow's face seconds before Jimmy had killed him. 'Do you know me
now, Jimmy?' said Mark. 'Don't you know who I am, either?'

    'Farrow?'
said Jimmy, his face full of confusion. 'Billy? It can't be you'

    'No,
it ain't. I'm Mark,' said Mark. 'My dad was Billy. I'm Mark. You killed Billy
Farrow and left me and my mum to live alone.'

    'I
don't get it.'

    'Then
you're more stupid than you look, Jimmy.'

    'But
the job…'

    'Fuck
the job. I only took the job to get next to you. I fixed your mate Toby Lee so
they'd hire me.'

    'And
you did all this to get me?'

    'That's
right. And Butler, too. He was the architect on that bank job when you killed
my dad. I owed you both.'

    'But
how did you find me?'

    'It
wasn't hard. I've got good at it over the years.'

    'What
do you mean?'

    'I
found Sean, didn't I? And Linda, too.'

    'What
are you on about?'

    'Your
daughter. Linda. Remember her? I know you do, because I saw you once outside her
house. Yeah. I didn't know who you were then. Christ but I wish I had. I'd've
run you down like a dog.'

    'Have
you hurt her? Linda?'

    'Yeah.
But not how you mean. We fell in love and I dumped her.'

    Jimmy
couldn't believe his ears. 'You did what?'

    'I
fell for her. We were going to be married, but something happened.'

    'What?'

    'My
mum killed herself. After you killed Billy she took to the booze and got mixed
up with a right bastard. He fucked her up good and proper and one night she slashed
her wrists and I found her lying in a bath full of blood. Then I killed the
fucker who was responsible. At least one of them. You're the other. I've been
waiting for you to get out ever since. You brought out the killer in me, Jimmy.
You and him. And that's what I've been doing ever since. Killing people. And
now it's your turn.' And he reached inside his boot for the.38 concealed there
and raised it and aimed it at Jimmy Hunter's heart.

    'No,'
said Sean, pointing his pistol at Mark. 'No. I'm arresting you both.'

    'We
had a deal,' said Mark.

    'I
had a deal with Steve. You're not him. So I'm arresting the two of you for
armed robbery. Other charges may follow.' He began to read them their rights.

    'You've
got some balls, I'll give you that,' said Mark.

    'No,'
said Jimmy, pointing his shotgun in Sean's direction. 'I'm not going back
inside. Not for you or anyone else. Son or no son.'

    So
there they stood, as the gunfight diminished inside the building behind them.
Mark pointing his gun at Jimmy, Jimmy pointing his gun at Mark, and Sean moving
the barrel of his gun between them both, not sure who was the most dangerous.
'Put your guns down, both of you,' he said.

    'Fuck
off,' said Mark. 'Take your best shot, Sean.'

    But
the tableau was disturbed as two armed coppers ran through the door behind
them. 'Armed police,' they shouted in unison. 'Put down your weapons.'

    'I'm
job,' shouted Sean, 'Don't shoot.'

    'Put
down your weapons,' screamed one of the men his arm bleeding from a bullet.
'Now.'

    Jimmy
fired once at the cops who returned fire, their bullet! thudding into his chest
and knocking him off his feet. 'That's my father,' screamed Sean, and without
thinking fired too, his bullet going through the right-hand lens of the wounded
marksman's goggles and blowing the back of his skull into his helmet. As he
fell, dead before he
hit the ground, the second copper fired at Sean,
blowing holes in his leather. The bullets meant for his chest were absorbed by
the flak jacket and he was knocked back against the body of the Mondeo, sending
his radio flying from his hand and out of sight.

    Mark
pulled the trigger of his revolver, aiming at the legs of the second copper.
The bullets blew meat from his thighs and he folded up like a concertina. As he
fell his finger pulled the trigger one last time and the bullet his Sean in the
groin beneath the Kevlar protection and he screamed in pain. Mark turned and
looked at Sean, as he leant against the boot of the car, blood pulsing from his
wounds and darkening the denim of his jeans. Calmly he walked over to Jimmy
Hunter, prone on the ground, his eyes staring at the sky. Mark felt for a pulse
but found none. 'Dead,' he said without emotion. 'Good bloody riddance. I'm
just sorry it wasn't me who did it,' and he leant over Jimmy's body and closed
his eyes with the palms of his hands.

    'Ambulance,'
wheezed Sean. 'I need an ambulance.'

    'I'll
take you,' said Mark, and pushed him into the back of his car. But before he
could get behind the wheel, the copper he'd shot in the legs came back into the
game, pulled his semi-automatic pistol from its holster and fired. The bullet
hit Mark low in the back and he cried out, 'Bastard!' as he fell into the
driver's seat.

    The
keys were in the ignition and he switched on the engine, chucked the car into
gear and took off in a cloud of dirt, dust and stones as the policeman fired
again and the side window of the Mondeo imploded, the bullet ending up
somewhere in the roof lining. Mark slammed his foot on to the accelerator and
the car went temporarily out of control, fishtailed and almost spun until he
dragged it back on to the straight. He bounced it across the wasteland and on
to the main road, wrenched it hard around, geared up, put his foot down and headed
in the direction of the City Airport. Sean was moaning behind him, and suddenly
a police car appeared in his rear view mirror, lights flashing and two-tone
siren screaming. 'Shit,' said Mark, and accelerated harder, only for another to
come from the opposite direction and turn to block the road ahead. Mark

    twitched
the wheel and the Mondeo mounted the pavement, demolished a road sign and
scraped along a brick wall in a cloud of sparks.