Guns Of Brixton (59 page)

    It
wasn't McGowan he dreamt about that night, but the girl he'd met at The Animals
gig. The Scene was a tiny basement room, the steps leading from the street were
narrow and steep and at the bottom stood a huge bouncer. And it was always
packed. Sometimes the queue went round Ham Yard twice. That night it was freezing
and Jimmy was dressed only in a suit. He refused to wear an overcoat because it
hid the beauty of his outfit. Three button, single breasted, silver tonic
Mohair with a pale blue, giraffe collar, tab shirt and a navy knitted tie.
Highly polished black Chelsea boots from Topper in Shaftesbury Avenue completed
- the ensemble and, although Jimmy was shivering as he waited to go in, he knew
three things.

    One,
the French blues he'd necked with a coke in a cafe in Soho were kicking in;
two, he was the smartest geezer in the queue; and three, once downstairs the
steam would literally hang over the crowd as they danced, so hot and sweaty did
the club get within an hour of opening.

    He
was on his own that night, although he was aware of most of the faces waiting
to enter, and nodded to several. And when he eventually gained access, he made
straight for one of the booths that lined one wall. He bought a bottle of Coke
on the way and sat at the table and checked out the crowd.

    Guy Stevens
was in the record booth, playing a selection of American soul and rhythm and
blues. Just the music Jimmy loved. Ray Charles, Bobby Parker, The Impressions.
One after another the little seven-inch singles pounded their music over the
sound system. It was getting hot. Excitement was in the air. The Animals were
the primo group from Newcastle, with just one single under their belt, and
their singer Eric Burdon was the closest thing Jimmy had heard to his American
favourites. Fuck Mick Jagger. He was nowhere compared to Burdon, and Jimmy
couldn't wait for the set to start.

    Then
he saw her. When she and her friend entered, for Jimmy it was love at first
sight. She was small, slim, dressed in a little two-piece mohair suit of her own.
Navy blue. Underneath was a pale blue jumper and she wore Anello granny shoes
with the little strap across the top and tiny heels. They were navy blue also.
Her hair was short and black, viciously backcombed, and her face was white,
with panda black eyes and a hint of red lipstick. She's for me, thought Jimmy,
but he played it cool. It wasn't in the moddy boy make up to run after birds.
They were supposed to make the first move, and the geezer could pick and
choose.

    Jimmy
lit a cigarette and did a slow move with his hips to the music. He knew he was
king of The Scene that night. Ever since he'd entered, his gear had got several
approving nods from blokes who were real faces. Yeah, Jimmy was cool that
night, and a bird like that on his arm would complete the ensemble. Not that
Jimmy was without female company when he wanted it. He'd had loads of birds
after losing his virginity one night in a Butlin's chalet a couple of years
previously; he'd been spending a week down in Southend with a couple of lads
from the mail room at the ad agency. But Jimmy wouldn't be tied down. That was,
until Marje came into the room, and all that went by the board.

    She'd
noticed him too, he could tell. Although the room was getting crowded and
smoky, he'd seen her eyes flash as they passed over him. He put the
half-finished Coke on a shelf and did some fancy footwork with a reverse spin
as
Night Train
by James Brown and The Famous Flames started. The two
girls slid through the crowd in his direction and Jimmy smiled to himself as
Guy Stevens segued into a stormer from Marvin Gaye. Jimmy leant against the
wall and when the girls were within a few feet he allowed the smile to
encompass them. 'Hello,' the girl of his dreams said, or rather yelled above
the Motown beat.

    'Hello,
yourself,' Jimmy yelled back. But coolly. Always cool, always self absorbed,
that was Jimmy. But for the first time ever, he felt that maybe it was time to
let someone else into his world. The conversation, if it could be called that
with the music cranked up to brain-destroying volume, was short. She was
Marjorie, her friend was Susan. Both lived in Stockwell and both worked for a
huge magazine company based on the South Bank. They'd been to school together,
were two years younger than Jimmy and lived at home.

    Jimmy
liked the fact that they were south London girls. He'd dated women from all
over London, and in those days the late transport was few and far between, and
taxis, except in an emergency, were priced right out of the question.

    'You
blocked?' asked Marjorie after a few minutes.

    Jimmy
nodded through eyes as big as saucers. That speed was really working, helped by
the carbonation in the Coca Cola, and he could feel it running though his veins
like hot oil. 'You?' he said, feeling his teeth grind.

    Marje
shook her head, and Jimmy reached into his pocket, surreptitiously removed the
envelope that he'd been given in a pub in the Strand earlier that evening.
Inside were seven French blues. Jimmy had bought ten for five shillings earlier.
He carefully pulled out two and gave one each to Marje and Susie. 'Have one on
me,' he said.

    The
girls dutifully swallowed them, washed down by a mouthful of Jimmy's Coke.
'Sweet,' said Jimmy, then broke all the rules by asking Marje to dance. The next
tune was one of Jimmy's all time favourites.
You Can't Sit Down
by the
Phil Upchurch Combo, a rare and pounding 45 that had come out a couple of years
earlier. Marje nodded, Jimmy gave his Coke to Susie to hold, and steered Marje
into the centre of the tiny dance floor. The music, the girl's perfume and the
amphetamine were a heady mix and Jimmy made his best moves as Marje danced
close by. They touched, but didn't hold each other. He admired her style and
could tell by her smile that she admired his. His only thought was that things
didn't get much better than this.

    The
Animals were on late. They'd already done one gig in the suburbs but Jimmy
didn't care. He was up for the night. He'd swallowed another pill and felt ten
foot tall. Marje told him she had to be in by twelve or there'd be a row at
home, but Jimmy had got paid that afternoon and was still holding folding and
figured a cab ride to Stockwell was going to be a worthwhile investment -
especially as he was then still living with his mum in Brixton Hill, only half
an hour's walk. away. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'I'll get you home, Cinderella.'

    'And
Susie.'

    'Not
a problem.'

    The
Animals played a storming set that night, but Jimmy couldn't remember any of
it, apart from the great boots they wore. They played their first single, and
as the crowd roared its approval, Jimmy felt Marje's sweaty hand slide into
his, and his chest swelled with pride.

    That
was the start of a relationship that lasted almost twenty years.

    Then
he was banged up and she married another man.

    When
Jimmy awoke in the hotel bed to dawn's early light, there were tears in his
eyes. He'd loved his wife and he hadn't been around when she'd died, which had
hurt him badly though he'd never admitted it. And the kids too, who he hadn't
seen for years. They were also on his list for a visit, but Christ knew what
he'd find. That was, of course, if he could find them at all.

    Later,
washed, shaved and dressed in his dark grey suit, Jimmy went down to breakfast.
He felt good dining off white linen with silver cutlery and went for the Full
Monty again. Afterwards he found the bellboy, and this time slipped him a
tenner. When he had his full attention he inquired after the chance of some
female company, and the boy smiled and winked. Jimmy listened as the young lad
reeled off a list of likely young ladies. 'I don't care,' he said. 'Just as
long as they do the business.'

    'All
my birds do the business, don't worry about that.'

    'Fair
enough.'

    'I
reckon it's been a while since you had a woman.' 'You're a clever little
fucker, ain't you? But don't get too clever for your own good.'

    The
boy ignored the implied threat. 'Been away?' he asked, and instead of giving
him a cuff for his cheek, Jimmy nodded. 'A long time?' 'Too long.'

    'Thought
so. You're kind of pale.'

    'I'll
give you pale, arsehole. Don't get smart with me or you'll be sorry.' 'I'll get
you sorted, don't worry,' said the boy, not missing a beat. 'But it'll cost
ya.' 'I've got dough,' growled Jimmy.

    'You
could've fooled me. It's been a long time since anyone gave me a quid as a
tip.'

    'Don't
worry, you're making up for it now,' said Jimmy. 'So when do you want this
bird?' asked the boy. 'Tonight. Are you working?'

    'Never
stop,' said the boy. 'Got me old mum to keep.' Somehow the boy reminded Jimmy
of himself at the same age. 'How long you want her for?' 'All night.'

    'Two
fifty plus my commish.' 'Fucking Ada,' said Jimmy.

    'But the
bird I've got in mind is worth it. A lovely girl. Natural blonde and doesn't
give a monkeys what she does.' 'Sounds all right.'

    'A
gram of coke would help, of course,' said the boy.

    'I
bet. How much?'

    'Fifty
for the best, plus my commish.'

    'How
much are you making out of all this then?' asked Jimmy. 'Fifty nicker will
cover my trouble.' 'On top of the tenner?'

    'What
tenner?'

    Jimmy
smiled again and counted out five more notes. 'Now you vanish on me and I'll
find you, and your old mum won't recognise you.'

    'Do I
look like that sort of bloke?' asked the boy with such a degree of indignation
that Jimmy laughed out loud.

    'No,'
he said. 'I trust you. Thousands wouldn't. I'm off out today but I want her in
my room by seven thirty tonight. And a couple of bottles of champagne on ice.
Right?'

    'Right,'
said the boy. 'I tell you what, I'll get the bubbly in from outside. Half the
price of what you'd pay here.'

    'Plus
your commish,' said Jimmy.

    'Bloody
right.'

    Jimmy
hung around the area for the rest of the day. Just clocking events and trying
not to think too much about what he was going to do once he returned to south
London.

    At
seven thirty he was in his room, out on the balcony with a glass of cold white
wine. A minute later, there was a knock on the door. He opened it to find a
tall, good looking blonde in a trenchcoat waiting outside. 'Mr Hunter?' she
asked.

    'That's
right,' he said. 'But call me Jimmy. Come in.'

    She
entered, bringing with her an aroma of something expensive. He breathed it in
and enjoyed the fact that it was perfume meant to entice him and no one else.
He helped her out of her coat and hung it up. Underneath, she was wearing a
simple black dress and dark nylons, all the better to show off her spectacular,
curvy figure and long legs. 'I'm Jane,' she said. 'And I'm all yours.'

    'That's
great,' said Jimmy, almost stammering. Christ, he was feeling nervous. Not like
the great Jimmy Hunter at all. 'Drink?' he asked.

    'Please.
But first, if you're happy with what you see, can we get the horrid money part
out of the way first. Then we can relax.'

    Jimmy
smiled. He was beginning to like Jane. 'Sure,' he said.

    'Two
fifty. Right?'

    'Perfect.'
He counted out the money from his fast shrinking supply and dropped it on the
dresser. She picked it up - didn't count it again, he was glad to see - and
popped it into her purse. Probably right next to the can of mace, he thought.

    'How
long does that last?' he asked.

    'Until
you come.'

    'Is
that all?'

    She
made a moue with her mouth.

    'Suppose
I want you to stay all night?'

    'Then
that's extra.'

    'How
much?'

    'A
oner.'

    What
the hell, thought Jimmy. You don't get out of jail every day of the week. Or in
fact, of two decades. So with a grin he counted out five more twenty pound
notes. 'There you go,' he said. She put it with the rest in her bag.

    'Until
the morning then, unless I wear you out first.' She smiled.

    'You
might do that,' he said. 'It's been a while.'

    'You've
been away?' she said.