Cleaning Up (14 page)

A movement caught his eye, pulling Darrin out of his slightly morose introspection - aye aye he thought, that car was back again - the wild gypsy rover. This time the Jag’ rolled all the way down Oak and pulled into The Admiral car park. Dalton pulled up close to the pub doors and went quickly in to the boozer with a robust, confident vigour - cock of the fucking block. Dalton had half an hour or so in there with the swamp creatures then came briskly back out to drive the couple of hundred yards back to Sycamore.

Be nice to find out where the prick’s living, Darrin thought, no current address - that would be a good gap to fill.

Thursday night and his leaky boat had come into port, they’d had a Malay style curry which was delicious and some cake that she’d picked up at Waitrose, helped down with plenty of both ice cream and cream. The kid had been OK if not exactly brimming over with good cheer and all throughout
the evening Tommy had felt a tension between them that had never been present at the Community Centre. After the meal, the kid quickly excused himself leaving his plates on the table for his mum to clear up. As Pasquale walked away towards the hallway Tommy noticed how light on his feet the kid was as he left the room - as quick and silent as a cat. He helped her to wash up and, as they did so, they small talked about their respective working weeks. After he’d dried the last dish she thanked him with an arm around the waist and a kiss with some push in it, which sent his mind in a fairly obvious direction. Not here though, there was no way that was going to happen. They quickly compromised with an unplanned trip to the local. She let Pasquale know the plan and they made the walk to the pub, they had a couple of drinks but the hunger of that kiss hung heavily between them. After some relatively meaningless chat about plans for the summer blah, blah, blah, she laid her long fingers on the back of his hand.

‘Have you anything to drink at your place then Tommy?’

And that was it - in an instant his body followed his mind out of the door.

She stayed with him until three, where-upon she got up out of his bed with a little sigh. He watched her dress quickly and quietly in the half-light of his bedroom.

Two minutes later and she was ready to go. He rolled out of the bed, tugged on his tracksuit bottoms and walked her to the back door. He watched her move lightly down the wooden stairs and on into the yard. She got to the gate, turned and gave him a wave and then she was gone, as silent as a ripple in a pond.

And that was it for the next few days, the love nest tacitly 
sorted. He barely slept but he didn’t care, it was nice to have something new and alive again. She never mentioned Pasquale whilst they were at his place and that was jake with him. The kid was enough of a ghost at the banquet as it was. They both wanted to bask in the bubble and just let the hassle wash its way around them. She always kept the phone off, turning it back on again just before she made to leave. Messages were waiting for her every time.

Pasquale was a no show again on Monday - Sonny came in, in the afternoon and they talked about him for a while.

‘The people who run the refuge have a good programme Tommy.’

‘Yeah I know it. Lucy and Tim are the tutors over there - nice people.’

‘Yeah, they are - well meaning.’

Tommy raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Bit back handed there Sonny - faint praise and all that?’

Sonny shrugged and laughed a little - ‘yeah, yeah you’re right. Some of the staff there got that Christian thing going though eh?’

‘Yep, agreed, it is fucking tedious - but there again, we are a pair of pagans.’

‘The lapsed brothers.’ Sonny said with a smile

‘I reckon you’ll be back in the mosque before they get me back to the church.’

Sonny laughed, ‘you wanna bet on that altar boy?’

After more chuckles, Sonny changed the topic, he was all business again.

‘Did you read about the kid at the weekend - the overdose?’

‘Yeah I did, you know him?’

‘As it happens no, he’s from St Leonards way, not on my patch that.’

‘St Leonards - fuck me, the leafy suburbs, he talking yet, the kid?’

‘Not heard anything, I might get down the station today, see if Sarge Thomas knows ‘owt about it.’

‘Ah yeah, you get on with that old bruiser don’t yer?’

‘That’s right Tommy - told him I was a God fearing Methodist.’

‘He bought that did he? Ah well Sonny, as long as they always let you leave the station.’

‘Speaking of which, I was thinking that maybe I should have a chat with our mutual young pal again, Pasquale. You know about young Matthew, this thing with the new kid might have jogged something with him.’

‘You do reckon he knows a bit more than he’s letting on then?’

‘Probably, he’s not street though you know, not like our Junior. He might still see sense and give something up.’

Tommy coughed, ‘well the kid has a lot on his plate.’

Sonny nodded at him but he was a little puzzled, ‘yeah-why’s that then Tom?’

Fuck it, Tommy thought.

‘Yeah,’ he paused, ‘I’ve just started seeing his mum.’

Sonny shook his head at him and laughed long and hard and Tommy felt himself blush slightly.

‘Tommy boy, you slick mover you. Ah well, she is a catch mind, I’ll give you that, you bloody rascal. How’s the kid with it then?’

‘Well I haven’t given him a bloody feedback form Sonny. I’m pretty sure he’s not ready to call me Dad yet.’

‘Hmmm well, Dad’s been gone a long time Tommy. You’ll be tip toeing through the tulips for a while yet mate.’

He nodded his head and pursed his lips into a thin smile - didn’t he fucking know it. Sonny stood up, ready to go.

‘Still what’s life without a challenge eh Tom?’

‘Thanks Sonny, that’s very fucking reassuring.’

He and Junior were making plenty of dough and that was a fact.

A couple of days ago, Dwayne had led them up to some alley on a part of the Coleshaw that was a fair distance from the pub and had told them to, ‘fuckin’ wait there.’

‘No fuckin’ noise too, right?’

Then off he strolled back onto Oak Street. Five or so minutes later Dwayne suddenly reappeared, stepping a little awkwardly through a gap in a nearby back yard fence, which he’d made by pushing the flimsy looking slats off to one side. The bottoms of Dwayne’s jeans were slicked by the wet of the long grass of the house’s unkempt garden. He gravely handed them a package each of tidy looking, flatly compressed weed.

‘There you go boys, run it down to those fuckin’ garages in Epsom Close on the Barrington, you know Johnny Talbot down there, don’t yer J?’

Junior nodded, he did.

‘He’ll be waiting for yers, get back here, fuckin’ transactions done fifty each, smooth as fuck.’

And that was it - a forty minute ride, a non-conversation with a lanky dude with bad skin and ta very much. They did two runs the next day and by three o’clock he had a ton thirty nestling in his pocket. He and Junior spent most of
the day trying to think of new things to spend the money on. He’d have to be careful - his mum was like Sherlock and Robo Cop rolled into one - she didn’t miss a beat. He’d stash it and just buy the things that he could readily consume for the moment; food and smoke probably but he would have to sort something out longer term, maybe one of those cash deposit boxes or something.

She was a lot happier at the moment - humming and singing around the flat when she got home. Leaving him alone more and that was working for him. She’d promised him a meal down Chinatown next weekend on the basis that Tommy would be there too and he’d given her a cool yes, which seemed to please her no end.

He’d do a run in the morning, first up, get over to the Coleshaw about eleven and grab Junior on the way. Planning ahead, he thought, like a businessman. They were going to clean up.

He was back at the flat window on the Monday evening and Delroy was definitely in tonight, sounded like he had a couple of buddies in there with him too. Darrin could hear their low murmuring and volleys of laughter whenever the music shuddered to a halt. There was fuck all happening down the street, just a couple of kids knocking about near the pub, which was obviously quiet after a busy weekend. The pub was bleak and hard looking in the cool drizzle, the antithesis of good cheer.

At change over Darrin asked Johno if he’d seen Dalton’s car at all and Johno told him that he had. The guy had rolled up to The Admiral on the Saturday afternoon. He’d had a couple of hours in there this time.

He was still a bit sore from his salsa weekend and, for once, it was in all the right places. The weekend had been a blast, a church hall for the lessons and a nice club for the live band and dancing on the Saturday night. He’d pulled this big blonde from Hastings? Harrow? Darrin couldn’t remember which. She’d been a mover in the club and even more so in the hotel room and a couple of hours were spent bouncing each other off the walls. He’d grabbed her mobile number; she was well worth a return visit.

The lessons had been challenging, he’d held his hand up for the intermediates, which were being taken by this tall, athletic looking Cuban guy with a gap toothed grin and business like eyes. After a couple of minutes he had pulled half a dozen of them out of the class and he’d made them sit it out and wait for the next beginners’ group. Luis was crystal clear in his assessment of their skill levels.

‘You’re dancing something,’ he had told them, ‘but it’s not salsa.’

Jolika had given him a little encouraging smile as he’d made his way back to his seat with the other members of the rhythmically challenged posse.

Two hours later Luis had made them do the basic step for a full hour. Luis got the class to clap on the four beat as they rocked backwards and forwards. At least he managed to clap in time with his steps, a couple of the guys in the class were struggling to do that and their failure to do so elicited some amazed head shaking and whistling through the front teeth from Luis. Real fucking confidence booster he was, old Luis.

He’d been sweating like a horse after the hour but he had a few dances after the lesson and yeah, it felt better, Luis quickly proven to be right. He had more flow somehow. It looked
like the thirty quid had not been wasted after all.

He’d mentioned the lack of current address for Dalton to Moz and suggested that some kind of tail should be put on him when he drove away from the Coleshaw. Moz had looked at him like he was a fucking loon.

‘You think they’ll sign off on that PC May, following a guy because he bothers to see his mum on a regular basis?’

Something had broken though, the boy in the hospital had given them a name of the older kid who had fired up the meth for him at the party, ‘Dagger’ or ‘Tagger’ the kid had said. The description was hazy but he was definitely a white kid. All the name drew, back at the station, was scratched heads, shrugged shoulders and blank looks - so the info was a hardly a case buster.

Wednesday, he took over from a tall young cop who’d just been transferred to them from down south somewhere. He had a similar kind of accent to the blonde that he’d banged. The bloke was pleasant enough and he didn’t even comment about the dancing when they shared a few perfunctory weekend stories, other than to say that he’d had a girlfriend who was into ballroom.

There was bit more action in The Admiral tonight, locals, just the scrag-enders though, no Johnstone, no Dalton.

Then just after nine the maroon Jag’ pulled into Oak - Dalton went straight to his mum’s place this time.

Fuck it, he thought, it was time to make something happen. He grabbed his coat, made his way out of the flat and the block and went hurriedly across to his Triumph, which he’d parked in a pool of light at the back of the single row of old folks’ flats that abutted the midrise.

Darrin was the last man on and he wasn’t in the mood for 
another hour of nut-scratching and chin pulling, more time wasted revising or not revising his plans for the future whilst staring down at people who had marginally more interesting lives than a fungal infection. He quickly drove round the front of the flats, on past The Admiral, Sycamore and then took a steady right turn into Ivy Close. He turned the car round at the end of the cul-de-sac and waited there just twenty or so yards from Oak Street, he killed the engine and waited.

It was touching eleven before Dalton’s car rolled on past his windscreen and he’d nearly missed it. He’d been fighting hard to keep awake after two sedentary hours, amusing himself with thoughts of the blonde and some half-formed, idle speculation, again, about where he was going to go with his career.

He gunned the engine and pulled out to the edge of Ivy waiting for Dalton to turn left into Strickland Road, before he pulled the car out into Oak. He hung well back and got lucky as a taxi picking up a fare from the Farrier’s chopped him up - two cars on the street and the fucker couldn’t wait ten seconds. It worked for him, though he now had a buffer between him and the Jag’. The Jag’ made a couple of turns which led on towards the Orbital and, thankfully, the taxi duly followed Dalton’s car. The three of them got onto the slip road and the maroon car had hit the motorway at pretty close to the limit. Darrin kept a reasonable distance back from the taxi which was cruising in the middle lane. The cab was now roughly equidistant between himself and Dalton.

Dalton went past the first three possible turns offs from the Orbital and then there was a quick blink of his left light as he neared the fourth exit, Keithy was off to the Quays then.
The taxi kept on going straight and Darrin gunned it a bit, he didn’t know this area that well so it was going to have to be a bit of a wing and a prayer. Thankfully, the turn off proved to be pretty close to Dalton’s destination. Five hundred yards or so and Dalton made another left, he could see that the prick was talking on his mobile but maybe that would be distraction enough from the tail. He knew they were somewhere near the canal but he wasn’t quite sure where. Up ahead the Jag’ had braked and then Dalton made a languid turn into a wide brick archway that led into a complex of newly built town houses and flats.