Guns Of Brixton (58 page)

    'Don't
careful me. Tell me what you've got.'

    'Everything
you left me and more. This is not some cheap film Jimmy, where I've had it off
with your loot and you kill me. Besides, you're on candid camera.'

    Jimmy
looked up into the corner where a baleful red light, like Satan's eye, glowed.

    'CCTV,'
said Goldstein. 'A marvel of the modern age.'

    'I've
seen it before,' said Jimmy. 'They have them in prison you know.'

    'Of
course. But let's get down to business, shall we? Take a seat, Jimmy.'

    Jimmy
did as was suggested whilst Goldstein, whistling gently between his teeth, made
tea and presented the cup, together with a plateful of digestive biscuits.
'I've eaten,' said Jimmy.

    'Just
politeness,' said Goldstein. 'It's rare I see anyone from the good old days.'

    'Me
neither,' said Jimmy. 'But I intend to rectify that soon.'

    'And
not make their lives any brighter, I'll be bound,' said Goldstein.

    Jimmy
gave him an evil grin and tasted his tea.

    Once
the formalities were over, Goldstein leant his arms on the desk and said: 'You
left me a quantity of cash and precious stones, delivered by a third party who
shall remain nameless. I paid that third party upon your instructions a certain
sum of money.' He opened his desk drawer and for one moment Jimmy thought this
indeed might be a bad film and Goldstein would pull out a revolver and shoot
him through the heart. But all that was in the jeweller's hand was an old
ledger. Goldstein opened the book and ran his finger down a page. 'Hmm,' he
mused. 'At the time, after deductions the amount came to seven thousand, six
hundred and twenty pounds plus change.'

    'More
like ten grand,' said Jimmy.

    'Deductions,
Jimmy. Expenses. Some of that money was - how can I put it? - rather warm. It
needed to go through a good wash and brush up before being allowed to go out
into the world.'

    'Fair
enough,' said Jimmy.

    'Times
were good for a while,' said Goldstein. 'Very good in fact. The Eighties. What
a decade for making money. Yuppies loved diamonds. Just like they loved cocaine
and fast cars. I put your money and the torn to work, Jimmy, and at my last
calculation, your credit stands at fifteen grand dead. Double what you left me.
Only property could have seen you in better stead.'

    Jimmy
suspected that the ten large he'd lodged with Goldstein would in fact now be
worth nearer thirty thousand, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and at least
the Jew hadn't ripped him off totally. 'So let's see it then,' he said.

    'I
don't have that much cash here,' said Goldstein. 'But I can let you have five
on account and the rest in a couple of days. If only you'd got in touch…'

    Of
course he was lying. Jimmy knew that, but there were certain protocols to be
observed, and this was one. Anyway, five grand would do to be going on with.

    'Come
on then, Gerry, cough it up.'

    Goldstein
went to the small safe in the corner and opened it. He hid the contents from
Jimmy with his girth, but Jimmy and he both knew that if he wanted to, the
prison-hardened man could've taken whatever was inside, left the jeweller for
dead and taken the film out of the closed circuit video machine. But Jimmy
wasn't about to be done for murder again. He'd learnt patience on the inside
and could wait. Goldstein knew better than to blatantly cheat him. Jimmy Hunter
would track him down and hurt him badly if he did. Besides, the jeweller,
though greedy, wasn't a fool. With hardly any effort, he'd made a nice few quid
out of Jimmy's stash for himself over the past twenty years, and frankly, he
didn't need the aggro.

    He
slammed the safe door shut and turned, a pile of notes in his hand. He
carefully counted these out on to the desk. 'Happy now?' he asked, returning to
his seat.

    'It'll
do,' said Jimmy, putting the money into his inside pocket. 'I'll be back the
day after tomorrow. Friday. You'll be here?'

    'All
day until I have to join my family for dinner.'

    'Then
I'll be in around noon.'

    They
made their farewells and Gerry Goldstein opened the front door. 'Just one
thing, Jimmy,' he said,

    'What?'

    'You
used to be so stylish. Can I recommend the tailor just down by Chancery Lane
tube station? Not bespoke, but quite fashionable.'

    'I
was just about to ask you,' said Jimmy. 'I remember those tweed suits you used
to wear.'

    'Happy
days,' said Goldstein as he closed the door behind Jimmy. 'Happy days indeed.'

    Standing
outside in the street, Jimmy knew he'd been done up like a kipper by Gerry.
Clockwork variety. But he'd had no choice at the time. He'd left the bulk of
his money with Marje for the family, but that was, like her, long gone. At
least Gerry had had the decency to give him something back. But then, he must
have known that he would have been a dead man if he hadn't.

    When
the door to Goldstein's shop was locked again, the jeweller went back to his
office, picked up the phone and dialled a number he'd committed to memory. It
was answered after half a dozen rings. 'He's on the out,' he said.

    'I
know. This morning. Has he been round?'

    'Just
left.'

    'Good.
Did you give him his money?'

    'Some.
He's coming back for the rest Friday.'

    'Perfect.'
'I don't like it.'

    'You'd
like it even less if you'd come up empty. How did he look?' 'Older.' 'Aren't we
all?'

    'But
not bad. Apart from the suit he was wearing.' The man on the other end of the
line ignored the comment. 'Did you get him on tape?' he asked. 'Yes.'

    'You're
doing well, Gerry.' 'If he finds out what I'm doing…'

    'He
won't. Now, apart from the cash you're holding, he's skint. And he's not about
to go for retraining on a government scheme. He'll want work and you're just
the man to find it for him.'

    'Christ,
but I'm taking a chance.'

    'Not
half the chance you're taking if you cross me. Just be cool and no one will
ever know. Ring me again on Friday after he's been.

    'OK?'

    'OK.'

    'Good.
We'll talk then. And keep that tape.' And the phone went dead in Goldstein's
ear.

    Jimmy
went back to Holborn, and found the tailors that Gerry Goldstein had referred
to. It was all off the peg stuff, but Jimmy was fortunate that he was a stock
size and hadn't put on or lost much weight inside.

    The
assistant brought him a selection of suits to look at, and Jimmy was amazed
when he put on the first jacket that it closely resembled the mod styles he'd
worn back in the early 60s, being tight, high buttoned, narrow lapelled with a
back vent. When he examined the clothes closely he saw that the material could
be better and there was scrimping over the seams, but he needed clothes so he
picked Out three suits, one navy, one black and one dark grey, half a dozen
shirts in various pastel shades, underwear, shoes and a cashmere overcoat that
set him back over seven hundred quid.

    He
stripped naked in the changing room and dressed himself in new clothes from the
skin outward, collected together what he'd left prison in and asked the
assistant to bin it. Then he took his packages and found a coffee shop. Where
to stay was the next dilemma. He fancied a few days on his own before he looked
anyone up, and a hotel would be favourite. Somewhere where he could come and go
as he pleased and eat and drink in his own time.

    From
his wanderings around London all those years ago, he remembered a grand Gothic
pile in Russell Square. He wondered if it still existed or had been pulled
down. It was close to Goldstein's, an easy stroll, which would be handy. When
his coffee cup was drained, he went outside and hailed a cab. When he got to
the square he was pleased to see that the hotel was still there. He went in and
up to the desk. 'I'd like a room for a couple of nights,' he said.

    'Luggage
sir?' asked the desk clerk.

    'It's
at the station,' Jimmy improvised. 'I've just arrived in town.'

    He
saw the look on the clerk's face and held up the carrier bags from the
tailor's, adding: 'I'll pay cash. In advance.' Not that he cared about what
some jumped-up little shit behind a desk thought, but he didn't need the
hassle.

    'No
problem, sir,' was the reply.

    'I'd
like something high up,' Jimmy said. 'With a balcony.' He couldn't bear the
thought of not being able to breathe fresh air, if indeed the air around there
was that fresh.

    The
clerk sold him a corner room with a balcony and a view of the square and a
bellboy took his bags and showed him the way. The cost of the room for two
nights was astronomical to Jimmy, but he paid up. As far as he was concerned,
there was plenty more where that came from, and he intended to get hold of it
quickly.

    The
room was a fair size, about six times as big as his cell. Once the boy had gone
- regarding the new pound coin in his hand much as one might look at dog shit
on the sole of one's shoe - Jimmy hung up his new clothes, opened the French
doors and went outside.

    The
view was perfect as far as he was concerned and, armed with a beer from the
minibar, he stood and looked out over London and breathed deeply. In fact he
was surprised at how much the beer affected him. Twenty years without certainly
does something to a man. Not like the piss poor prison brew he was used to.

    The
rest of the day he spent exploring the new world he'd been released into. And
what a strange world it was. Even the newspapers and what TV he was allowed to
watch during the prescribed hours hadn't prepared him for what he was to see
for himself. Sex, it seemed, was the new currency. Everything was about bunk
ups. And everyone was at it. Or at least that's what you gathered if you relied
on the media.

    So he
decided he'd get some. Christ, he thought, twenty years without a woman.
Nothing but wanking and the likes of Terry the Poof for relief. But his first
night he spent in the hotel, alone with the TV and the contents of the bar. Of
course, there was a pay-to-view porn channel. Several in fact. So, dick in hand
and totally pissed after a meal in the hotel restaurant, he fell asleep between
clean sheets on a comfortable mattress.

    He
dreamed about the old days and revenge. He'd pleaded guilty to murder at the
time. It was the only logical choice. But it still miffed him mightily that
he'd never discovered who'd grassed him and the boys up for that bank raid in
Brixton. The entire gang had gone away for varying sentences - apart from Dave
Nicholls, of course, who'd died at the scene from multiple injuries. His body
had been driven off in the coroner's wagon, and without any relatives to pay
for anything better, he'd been buried in Potter's Field at the public expense.

    Once
he was settled with some-real dough, Jimmy intended to look them all up, one by
one, and find out the truth. But not all his dreams were revengeful. Some were
quite pleasant. He dreamed he was down at the Scene club in Ham Yard, at the
back of Piccadilly, where the mods gathered all those years ago to get blocked
and listen to their favourite music.

    He
thought back to one event in particular. It was the night that The

    Animals
played their first London gig. Must've been Christmas,
1963
long
before he'd joined up with John Jenner. Jimmy was working then at advertising
agency in High Holborn. Not far, in fact, from where he was sleeping now, and
he'd clocked the building as he passed in the cab. In those days, he was a
young buck looking for excitement. Jimmy was a dedicated mod and, after work
every Friday, he'd stroll down Kingsway to the ATV studios near the Aldwych and
blag his way into where
Ready, Steady, Go!
was being transmitted live.
RSG!
was the scene maker
's
show, presented by some old sod, but with
the help of some of the coolest of the London mods. Cathy McGowan was Jimmy's
ideal bird, and one night he actually chatted her up in the bar afterwards. But
she had bigger fish to fry. Pop stars were her meat and potatoes, so Jimmy had
no chance. She wanted a bloke with loads of dough and a flash motor. That night
Jimmy vowed that one day that would be him.