Her Last Call To Louis MacNeice (3 page)

Cassie lunged forward, tore the sheet off, leaving us bare-assed.

‘He didn’t tell you … ’cos you’re just another cheap whore … and young … the same age as our daughter.’

‘Daughter!’

I moved and Cassie levelled the pistol. ‘Do … and I’ll shoot your balls off.’

The barrel of the gun swung towards Lisa, she began to whimper.

Cassie said, ‘You stay away from my man, you hear me. You wanna suck on something, try this.’

And squeezed the trigger.

The bullet slammed into the headboard between us. Splinters of wood flying outwards. Lisa curled up in a ball, screaming. Now Cassie turned to me, asked, ‘Did you memorise the lines?’

‘What?’

‘Tut-tut … it’s the dunce’s cap for you, hot shot. Alas, I must bid adieu. What’s that shit you guys say here … tootle-pip … cheery-bye, whatever … later dude.’

She backed out and closed the door. I tried to put my arm round Lisa but she slapped it away, her crying got louder and full-blown hysteria got set. I pulled her round, slapped her face, measuring out the words.

‘Shut the fuck up.’

She did.

I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, headed cautiously to the front room. On the coffee table, in a glass, was one fresh red rose. I sighed … ‘cute’. Made some scalding hot tea, laced it with sugar. The best remedy for shock, my hands were doing an Oirish jig … no, downright hornpipes. So, I got the brandy, poured some dollops in. As I held the bottle I thought … fuck … and took a swig. Hell to Henry, it burned like a sucker punch to the gut.

Took the tea to Lisa who was sobbing quietly. Forced the mug into her two hands.

She said, ‘Don’t want it.’

‘Drink the fuckin’ thing.’

‘You bastard, never said you were married.’

‘I’m not. She must have found the spare keys when she was here yesterday.’

And argh … could have bitten my tongue for adding yesterday. The fuck was wrong with me, I was a mine of information, mister extra detail.

‘Yesterday … you had her here
YESTERDAY
and then brought ME here last night?’

Before she could get into full shout, I snapped her off.

‘Leave it alone … OK … just drink the bloody tea.’

She took a sip, said, ‘It’s too sweet, don’t you have Sweetex.’

‘Hey … hey Lisa, cut me a bit o’ slack … alright?’

‘Are you going to call the Old Bill?’

‘No, I’m going to call the doctor.’

‘Don’t need the doctor.’

‘I sure as hell do.’

He came round in twenty minutes. Today he was wearing a bright green tracksuit that had the logo ‘Charlton’s Arms’, and white Doc Martens. I’d never seen them in white, asked, ‘I thought you only ever wore black ones.’

‘So … I can’t change. Is this what you called me for, to talk footwear?’

Lisa was in the shower, I was in tatters and told him the events. He gave a slow whistle.

‘A raven.’

‘What?’

‘Lunatic … she’s completely ape-shit.’

‘That’s your diagnosis, lucky I called you, else I wouldn’t have known.’

‘Yo Cooper, none of your lip, I didn’t shoot at you but you’re not too big for a flaming good puck in the mouth.’

Doc picked up a piece of paper, scanned it, said, ‘Think this is for you, fella.’

I guess it was meant to accompany the rose, it read:

‘Gotta keep it together
while I’m falling apart’

(Martina McBride)

I didn’t know who the fuck this was, asked, ‘Who the fuck’s this?’

Doc laughed, said, ‘A country and western singer and if I may say so
me fein
, a real cutie pie.’

I balled it, flicked it across the room, said, ‘Jeez, the whole thing’s like a bad country and western song.’

‘I did some reading on your account last night.’

‘On my account.’

‘Yeah, checked out MacNeice, best if you know who you’re dealing with.’

‘And?’

‘That’s right Coop, be grateful, it’s probably what you do best.’

‘You’re going to tell me or wot, you want what … flattery …?’

‘Yeah, you’re so good at it. OK, here goes. He was born in 1907 in Belfast. His oul lad was a Church of Ireland clergyman and you know what happens to their offspring.’

‘What?’

‘’Ary Jaysus, don’t you read the
News of The World
? What class of ignoramus are you. Anyway, he’s regarded as the poor fourth.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘In relation to the big three … C.S. Lewis, Auden, and Stephen Spender. No doubt you’re familiar with those boyos.’

‘Sure.’

‘I thought so. He had a brother with Down’s Syndrome.’

‘So?’

‘So Orson Welles had a brother who was mentally handicapped and his father had him locked away for ten years after which he became a social worker. A natural progression you might say. David Bowie has a brother who was also hidden away.’

I threw up my arms, said, ‘Enough, you’ve gone a tad too Irish for me.’

Doc gave a hard stare at his footwear, said, ‘Any chance of a sup of tea, here I am trying to wise you up, you won’t as much as wet a man’s whistle.’

Lisa came out of the bedroom wearing one of my shirts. At this rate I’d be shirtless. I already was clueless. I didn’t mention it, just old-fashioned gallantry I guess. But Doc leapt in.

‘I recognise the shirt but the coleen, now surely ’tis not the bould Lisa, you filthy article, what would your mother say?’

Lisa didn’t blush but her body language tried to convey she knew the feeling, answered, ‘My mum would say, I hope you took precautions.’

I was with her mother, she sure got my vote. Doc said, ‘Do you like me shoes.’

‘They’re white!’

‘Aye, as pure as the driven, any chance you’d give a man a drop of tea?’

She did. I had another jolt of coffee. I wasn’t in the mood for pissing about with tea, I wanted my caffeine naked and lethal. Doc asked her, ‘You wouldn’t know what a spike is me girl?’

‘Like on a railing?’

‘No, like a shelter for homeless men. Years ago when the drink had a grip, I went down the shitter and ended up in Gordon Road. Not just once either. Well, if you’d been living rough, they de-loused you.’

He paused to sip the tea and Lisa said, ‘How awful.’

‘’Twas that and all. Then they gave you a white boiler suit. God in heaven, the mortification! You stood shivering in them white suits and everyone knew you’d been sprayed.’

‘Was it dangerous?’

‘Compared to what? You tied yer shoes round yer neck while you slept, if such a thing could be had among a multitude of farting roaring men. But the smell … ah … now there’s a memory.’

‘Of urine … and … things?’

‘That … sure, but I meant the other. The very smell of desperation, of lost men in a lost place.’

I’d heard this yarn before so figured I’d shower. It’s not a story you like better through repetition. As I shaved, I could hear his soft brogue.

‘There was a fella there … Grogan. He gave viciousness a bad name, he’d steal the eye outa yer head and blame you. Men hold on to any shred of individuality … anything to mark you from the horde. His trademark was his boots, the old Doc Martens. One night in February, a cold bastard of a Friday, I heard him thrashing. Nothing unusual in that but I looked up anyway and saw two fellas moving away from his bunk.’

Lisa gave an excited cry.

‘They were stealing his shoes?’

‘They’d tried but the bastard had sea-manned the laces, merchant navy knots, and they’d strangled him.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘Yeah… but I got them loose.’

‘You saved his life.’

‘No, I saved his boots.’

Lisa left shortly after and the Doc said, ‘You could do worse, in fact you’ve frequently done worse.’

‘Thanks. So what do you reckon on this Cassie lunatic?’

‘I’ll put the word out, how hard can she be to find. Plus, I think she’ll stay close, she seems fond of you.’

‘You don’t think I need get another shooter.’

‘Naw, I’ll do it, a fella offered me a grand yoke last week, I was going to buy it anyway.’

‘What is it?’

‘A Smith and Wesson 38. The Bodyguard Airweight one. It holds a little heavy in yer hand but I like that.’

‘Where’d he get it?’

‘You know those holiday apartments over in Kensington, the Arabs rent them? Turning one of those over, he found it in the fridge.’

‘On ice so to speak.’

‘Yeah. Best of all, it has a shrouded hammer.’

‘Which does what exactly?’

‘Stops it tangling if you’re carrying it in yer pocket.’

‘Ammunition?’

‘Does the Pope have beads.’

The first bank we took was in Chingford. Yeah, like that, how many folks have you met who’ve been there … let alone heard of it. These small areas, who’d rob them … who’d bother. Yet they usually hold a shitpile of money. Can’t be bothered moving it on and security is a joke. We didn’t see it as a career move, we were hurting for readies and didn’t want to play in our own manor. Doc said to me, ‘I’d like to rob a bank in Chingford.’

‘They have a bank?’

‘Let’s find out.’

First we had to find the whorin’ place. But even then, the pattern was being set. We ‘borrowed’ a car in Ealing and hit off. Went in hard. Wearing balaclavas and boiler suits, shouting like fuck. I thought all the roaring was to intimidate the customers and staff. But it’s to keep you rolling, keep you hyper. It was so easy, they near threw the money at us. In and out in six minutes and the buzz was so manic, we took down the post office as well. Fuck knows, we’d have gone in the building society but they’d closed. I was cooking, a white energy moving through me, like sex, I wanted to rob every premises on the High Street. Doc grabbed my arm, shouted, ‘Enough, let’s go … get a fucking grip on yourself.’

Burned rubber outa there and tore off the masks. Those fuckin’ things are hot and itchy. As I hit fourth gear, revving like a lunatic, I glanced at Doc. He felt it too. Rivers of sweat pouring down his face and his eyes like major bullets, near popping out of his skull. The back seat was jammed with money. We knew we’d been incredibly lucky and blatantly stupid. But the foundation was good and I could see a blueprint for serious profit.

It was intended as a one-off, for walking round money. That evening, at Doc’s flat, he said, ‘You really got off on that, yeah.’

‘Fuckit, I never expected to take so much. If we’re not careful, we might be bordering on actual fuckin’ wealth here.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘You’re not happy with the cash, take less, what’s the matter with you.’

‘You liked it … the job I mean … no … you adored it. I’ve never seen you so … gimme a word …’

‘Delighted?’

‘Animated … electrified … you were all lit up.’

‘Still am.’

‘You’ve found the thing that everybody wants.’

‘Wot’s that then, mega bucks?’

‘Don’t be an eejit Cooper. Something that brings them out of the herd, lets them kiss the heavens and fly, to soar on high.’

‘Doc … hey … lighten up … OK. We’re loaded, we robbed a bank … we’re not banged up … it’s not bloody religion.’

‘But that’s exactly it, you found religion, you’ll be doing this again … and again.’

We’d bought half a dozen bottles of Johnny Walker, three dozen cans of special and a shit heap of Chinese. I took the whisky straight from the bottle, let it coast and burn, popped some chow mein and washed it down with beer. Let the whole shebang blend, pour the friggin’ works, let them go figure what sent where, I asked, ‘Saying you’re right, let’s just suppose you are, where does that leave you?’

He didn’t answer for a bit, then, ‘With you … wot else, you mad bastard. How does Huntingdon sound, like the ring?’

I did … Staines, Milton Keynes, Crawley, Kidderminster, Haysham, East Trilling,… away days … and the mountain of cash began to shape. But, you’ve got to have a front. The old Bill are going to come sniffin’ sure as shooting. You need chameleon image. What you can show but can’t be pinned down. They look you over, yer business could be gold, could be shite.

Repo men. Yeah … that’s what we put out. Ain’t it the way of the world though, how it turns. First you got to get it, then you’ve got to bloody hide it. ‘
GOD
REPOSSESSES
AND
SO DO WE’.

It wasn’t going to hurt me to be up to me ass in cars. Money follows money. We rented a lock-up in Victoria, got the phone in and put small ads in the trades, in the locals. Here’s what it read:

‘Cat got yer tongue
they’ve got yer car
if you want to re-possess
give us a bell
THE
R.R. (
RIGHTEOUS
REPO
).’

And fuck me, ain’t it rich, the business took off. According to the Met, there’s a car nicked every two seconds in inner London alone. Jeez we were swamped. Had to take on staff and rent more space. Exciting too, see how long it took to track and move a vehicle. Then the movie came out,
Repo Man
with Emilio Estevez. Business boomed. I half fancied I was a touch like Emilio meself, that broody dark shit … yeah. You figure we packed in the banks? Never happen, no way. The Doc had my number. It was my very adrenaline, the juice in my veins. Sure, I liked the repo, the cars it brought me in contact with, the money, but it was like comparing a hand job to wild sex, a spoon of shandy up against a bottle of Walker.

We figured on a few rules early. No partners, strictly a two-man operation. If it needed more, then pack it in. Trust no one. The Doc had a prayer for us:

‘God keep us smart, fast
and mobile
the rest we’ll handle
ourselves.’

Seems God was listening. Then.

We must have got Him on a good day. Thing is, I reckon He enjoys a bit of villainy too. Else how to account for the Tory party. And mostly what we got was careful. Kevin Costner as Elliot Ness in
The Untouchables
is urged by his wife to be careful. He says, ‘like mice at a crossroads’.

Learnt the shit as we went along too. Out with the wool balaclavas, got us some light cotton jobs. No cumbersome gloves either. Those surgical skin-fit ones that make people instinctively edgy.

Experimented with the art of deception. The Doc would wear a larger size shoe and we’re talking big here, and bring along flour or baking soda. Sprinkle some of that on our way in and leave a nice clear print. Jeez, the filth adore a cosy fat clue. I had some fun with tattoos, those washable chaps. Put ‘I Love Me Old Mum’ in bold letters on my arm and let the sleeve ride up as I scooped the cash. Some whiz-kid bank trainee was hot to trot. A major breakthru for the investigation. After that one, half the old lags who lived with their Mums were rounded up. Even the Krays got a shout. Accents too, throw in some rasta and half of Brixton got turned over. We didn’t fuck with the Irish though. Doc said, ‘The last … the very last thing we want … is for the boyos to get pissed with us.’