Weekend in Weighton Final Amazon version 12-12-12 (6 page)

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and concentrated on slowing my pulse. I needed to sense the precise moment I would spring the trap. Sure enough, my failsafe instincts picked out the heavy footsteps as they approached. I stepped confidently into my foil’s path as he came past the wall, shoved out my left leg and dropped my shoulder. The man cried out on contact, tumbled heavily to the floor, and flipped over. Except it wasn’t a man. It was a plump, grey haired woman, probably in her sixties. She shrieked like a banshee.

‘Shit!’ I extended my hand. ‘Sorry.’ I overdid the apologetic shrug, trying to look harmless. ‘Thought you were someone else.’

Behind me I heard footsteps coming to a sudden halt; I swung around, still holding the woman’s hand. There was my tail, a surprised expression on his sweaty face. Our eyes locked, then he turned to run. I made sure the woman was safely on her feet before I set off after him. I did think about calling back an apology to the old dear, but a pro knows when to save his energy. Besides, she was carrying excess, so I figured she needed the work-out.

The man turned back into the High Street, and from his jerky head movements I sensed he was going to use my trademark trick with the traffic. Sure enough, the spook darted across the busy road, getting a couple of horn blasts for his pains. Bummer! I’d spent ages perfecting that move and “Running Man” just copies it straight off.

I ghosted through the traffic, no loss in stride, intent on catching the sucker fast. Ahead, my ex-tail, having turned tail, dodged left into Adson Street. I knew I had him then. Only a short sprint away was a cut-through to Adson Street only Weighton old boys knew about. “Laughing Boy” was clearly from outta town. I took the short-cut and moved into top gear, my breathing hard but steady.

When I reached the end of the cut-through, I skidded to a halt and peered around the corner. The son of a gun was lumbering along, his pace slowing now that he thought he was safe. No mistakes this time. I matched the heavy footfalls to the heavy breathing, and in one movement stepped out of the shadows and into sunny Adson Street. The crooked nose pulled up abruptly in front of me, and I struck it, pulling my punch slightly. Stunned, the man wobbled backwards, his hands coming instinctively to his face as blood began to weep from his nose. I grabbed him by the throat and thrust him up against a shop window.

‘Start singing for Eddie.’

‘My nose. You broke my nose!’

The accent was strange, not local, and not Jamaican.

I winced slightly at the mess I’d made of his face. ‘It looks better. I did you a favour.’ I hoped he wouldn’t see through the medium-paced sarcasm. ‘How about a trade? Talk to me!’

I noticed his big eyes dart over my shoulder, his jaw dropping at the same time. I smiled. I wasn’t about to fall for that old gag. Did he think I’d missed the script meeting?

‘I think someone wants you,’ he bleated.

His over-shoulder stare persisted.

‘Sure, shit-face.’ I gave him the “hold steady” look. ‘Don’t tell me. It’s Jean-Claude Van Damme? Am I right?’

He shrugged, his shiny face creasing like a cheap cotton shirt, suggesting I wasn’t far wrong.

To my everlasting surprise I felt a huge hand rest firmly on my left shoulder. Without thinking, I turned to see a six-foot-seven, barrel-chested, overgrown behemoth standing right behind me. He looked to be in his forties, but the close-cropped silver hair didn’t fit. As my grip on the tail loosened, he pushed my hand away and wriggled clear. I swung back to see him legging it. The sneak was in full flight, the piston motion of his legs, cartoon-like, carrying his knees way beyond his chin.

‘For crying out loud,’ I moaned. ‘That’s the second time he’s got away.’ I made to go after him, but the large hand on my shoulder tightened like an industrial clamp. I turned back to “Muscle Head”, pretended to relax and let my body go limp. I gave him my most endearing smile.

‘Looks like you’ve got me, Ace.’

He smiled back, and his grip softened a little. A fraction of a Cherokee second was all it took for me to switch modes to attack, my fist hardening instantly. With as much energy as I could channel into my right hand, I struck the inside of his elbow joint with the legendary Eddie G k-chop. The hulk didn’t flinch. From the recoil, I launched a straight karate punch to the guy’s nose. He blinked and sniffed, looking entirely unimpressed. When I went for the combination punch, his arm caught my wrist, deflecting the follow-on. He held my arm vice steady and for the first time I realised I could be in trouble.

His smile widened when he saw that look in my eye. ‘Yer cumin’ wi’ me,’ he mumbled in a heavy northern accent.

‘And you are?’

‘Tommy.’

‘Okay, Tom. Tell me why I’m to go with you?’ One question at a time was all I figured the dummy could handle.

‘Boss wants to see yer.’

‘And who be da “Boss”?’

‘Mister Cartwright.’

Oh
shit
. It was the closest I’d come to feeling fear and dread mixed together. The combination spread like a virus.

~

So Weighton’s answer to Al Pacino in
Scarface
– minus the scar – wanted to see me. The guy was bad news at the best of times. He was like the Mafia, the Triads and the Serious Fraud Office all rolled into one. Known locally as “Mr Underworld” – even though his city centre office was on the ninth floor – Cartwright was Weighton’s undisputed kingpin of crime. Officially he was not only a leading city councillor but also a well-connected and philanthropically-minded businessman. Then there was the rather touchy and closer-to-home issue of his many run-ins with one Samuel Greene, a.k.a. my “old man”. All things considered, it didn’t bode well for a dandy introduction. But I had to admit, respect was certainly due to Mr Jimmy “Kingpin” Cartwright.

I smiled warmly at Jimmy’s emissary. ‘Why didn’t you say so earlier, Tommy lad? Always happy to oblige Mr Cartwright. You know that. Now don’t go telling him I was uncooperative. Caught me at a bad moment is all. What d’you think, should I take him some flowers?’

~

Tommy prodded me into Cartwright’s office, which was big, plush and featured more black leather than Argentina. The blinds on the windows were shut and gaudy pictures covered the walls.

The man himself sat behind a huge black desk: the Kingpin on his throne, flanked by his gorillas-in-waiting. I stared upon his reverence, awed at the legend in his lair. He had sleek, oily black hair which matched his thick, bridging eyebrows. His medium frame seemed fit and well-toned. A hint of a tan made him look younger than he probably was, which I guessed to be early fifties.

The bad news: he wasn’t smiling.

Worse, the two attendant gorillas, Tommy’s brothers from other mothers, were. They had the look of Roman legionnaires waiting for the games to begin.

I felt a shove from behind, courtesy of Tommy playing to the gallery. Exploiting the momentum, I took a stride forward and extended my hand across the desk.

‘Great to see you again, Mr Cartwright,’ I bluffed. ‘You’re looking well.’

Cartwright declined my hand, his eyes unblinking. The ungrateful mofo didn’t even get up. What do good manners cost, hey?

‘We ain’t met,’ he grunted. ‘I’d remember an ugly fucker like you.’

At least he liked to josh.

‘I’m not saying that’s why I remember you
,
Mr Cartwright,’ I said, counting his guns, ‘but I do recall the experience most certainly. We matched each other, mojito for mojito, over at that “Texmex” place on Dixon Street. You even said for me to call you Jimmy, Jimmy.’

‘Yeah? Who won?’

‘You did.’

Cartwright beamed at his men. They nodded approvingly. Then he tipped his head back at me. ‘How many we drink that night?’

‘You were drinkin’ em, Jimmy, I was just servin’ em, but Jesus, it must have been a shitload.’

The gorillas froze in mid-nod. The beam on Cartwright’s face disappeared, and a berry-blue vein bubbled up on his forehead. ‘Don’t fuck with me, Greene.’

‘No way, Jimmy, I wouldn’t do that. And it’s Eddie. Call me Eddie. For old-time’s sake.’

‘Okay,
Eddie
,’ he said slowly, his left eye twitching. ‘What’s a Mexican waiter doing talking to DCI Hobbs, eh?’

I blinked twice, playing for time. ‘Bein’ a good citizen is all. Helping with enquiries. No big deal.’

Cartwright wagged his finger at me, a thin smile showing. ‘You’re fucking with me again, Eddie. I don’t like that. Now what did you tell them about Porson?’

I don’t mind admitting, the situation was beginning to stink worse than Blackpool beach. I wondered how much Jimmy knew. Probably more than me, so there was no point pulling his dick. What I couldn’t figure out was his interest? I’d have to come back to that later.

‘What
could
I tell ‘em? I don’t know anything.’

‘Why the pull then “Tex”?’

‘I found her. They had to take a statement.’

‘So what did you tell them?’ repeated Cartwright, leaning forward. ‘You had to give them a reason for being there?’

I felt my brain complete a neat back-flip. ‘I told ‘em I was there to do her garden.’

Cartwright laughed. ‘Don’t give up the night job, Eddie.’

The gorillas laughed along with their boss.

‘Already did. Hours were a bitch.’

Jimmy resumed. ‘And did Hobbs fall for our ex-Mex waiter’s story?’

I nodded confidently. ‘Sure. I told him about how Mrs Porson saw me doing her neighbour’s garden and asked me to help out at her place.’

‘That was it? They let you go?’

‘Shit, Jimmy, you know what they’re like. Hobbs and Bugg make “Dumb and Dumber” look overloaded with the smart stuff. If they’d found a bent shovel they would have charged me.’

Cartwright shrugged. ‘Don’t be naïve. Sometimes they’re paid to be dumb.’

‘Yeah? That include Hobbs?’

‘Now who’s being dumb?’

‘Sure thing, Jimmy.’ I gave him the secret wink.

The Kingpin started to study his nails while the gorillas exchanged looks I couldn’t even guess at. Tension filled the void and my t-shirt felt a size too small. I got the impression it was standard procedure for them, but I wasn’t thrilled with the silent routine.

‘Right,’ I said, ‘if that’s all, then …?’

‘Where’s the fire, Eddie?’

‘Nowhere. I just know you’re a busy man.’

Cartwright came right over the desk. ‘Yeah, and I’m
busy
talking to you.’

I felt another showboat push from Tommy, and Jimmy settled back in his chair. ‘Tell me, Eddie, what exactly were you doing at Porson’s?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘The boys love a good story. Go right ahead.’

My insides were twisting like crazy, but I smiled and nodded. What choice did I have?

‘Things weren’t working that great at the bar,’ I said. ‘There was no money in it and not many laughs. Except when you came in, Jimmy.’ The menacing glares from his gorillas forced a hasty explanation. ‘You know, with the big tips and the place livening up and everything.’ Jimmy’s blank expression didn’t budge. ‘Anyway, I got out of that game. Thought I’d try my hand at private investigation work. As for Mrs Porson, well, she hired me.’

‘What, she see you doin’ some at her neighbour’s?’ He bellowed out a big laugh, and the partisan crowd grunted along with him.