Paint. The art of scam. (20 page)

‘Come on Polly, you
come and lay on the bed again.’

Polly allowed
herself to be led over to the bed and slumped down. She looked up at him and
forced a pathetic smile.

‘Should I call
the doctor Polly? You look awful.’

‘No. Just leave
me alone for a while. I'm really tired. OK?’ She spoke softly, yet the
assertive edge made it more than a request.

‘Sure. Just tell
me if you want anything.’

Seymour slowly
eased away from her and returned to the easel occasionally looking across at
Polly. She was laying staring at the ceiling again.

‘Seymour?’

‘Yes?’

She looked at him
thoughtfully for a moment.

‘Oh nothing.’

Shoal went back
to the station and charged into the room where Spider was now sat handcuffed to
a chair with two huge officers either side of him.

‘Right then Mr.
Spiderman, how are you feeling now then, mmm?’

‘I feel like shit
man and you fuckin' know it!’ moaned Spider; his limbs fidgeting
uncontrollably, his head rolling around on his shoulders.’

Shoal reached
into the desk draw, pulled out a large plastic bag, opened it and emptied its
contents onto the desktop.

‘Let me see now,
what do we have here then? Quite a cocktail, heroin, syringes, cocaine,
barbiturates, speed, hashish and to cap it all you were three times over the
alcohol limit.’ said Shoal, sorting through the pile in front of him. ‘Don't
tell me.... Um.. I know! You're a Doctor.’

‘Fuck you!’ said
Spider.

Shoal picked up a
syringe and a foil wrap then dangled them in front of Spider. Spider looked at
them blinking rapidly and rolling his lips.

‘Is this what you
need Mr. Spiderman? A nice little hit of heroin? Would that make you feel
better?’

Spider, jumped in
his seat and squeezed his face up as if he were in excruciating pain.

There was a knock
on the door; a policewoman entered carrying a piece of paper, handing it to
Shoal.

‘Here's the
fingerprint I.D. sir, just came through from Scotland yard.’ she said, standing
smartly, almost to attention.

‘Thank you
Jessie, that'll be all.’ said Shoal looking at the paper. The policewoman about
turned and left closing the door behind her.

‘Good Lord, Cecil
Snowden-Smythe what a lovely name. Why on Earth would a man with a classy name
like that end up looking like you? Would you like me to call you Cecil from now
on? Or Spider?’

Spider looked
daggers at Shoal, clearing the white creamy discharge from his lips with his
lizard like tongue.

‘Mmmm. Spider I
think. Cecil?. Oh I don't know. Feels a bit strange.’ said Shoal sadistically
dropping the syringe and foil in front of Spider. ‘So here we have it Spider.
Got enough here to slam you up for a while, besides the drink driving charge.
Second offence too. A long criminal record for theft, assault and... Good Lord,
attempted rape. That's not very nice is it.’

‘I never touched
her. I was framed.’ yelled Spider.

Shoal smiled. ‘Oh
I believe you Spider, you look like such a nice chap. Tell you what.’ exclaimed
Shoal slapping his hands on the desk. ‘You tell me the names of everybody
involved in this robbery and I'll pull a few strings to get rid of this little party
pack. How does that sound? Might even let you go to the toilet on your own with
this.’

Shoal nudged the
syringe and foil a bit closer to Spider. Spider looked down at it.

‘I don't know
nuffin abat the fuckin' robbery I told ya. If I did I would. OK?’ groaned
Spider: defeated.

‘Ok. So what were
you doing here in Sussex, driving like a maniac, in a car with no tax, no
insurance, a fake logbook, drunk, in possession of class 'A' drugs asking
directions to a farm which we now know was used as a safe house for a major
robbery?’ said Shoal calmly.

‘I dunno!’
screamed Spider.

Shoal reached
across and pulled the syringe and foil back towards him.

‘You dunno. Oh
well. Worth a try I suppose, Take him down and charge him with this lot boys.
Oh and apply for him to be remanded in custody will you? I see he's on a
suspended sentence too, don't want to lose him now. Welcome aboard Mr.
Spiderman.’ said Shoal gathering together the assortment of drugs and putting
them back in the bag.

The two burly
officers either side of Spider began roughly unlocking the handcuffs, ensuring
he was unable to budge from the chair while they did so.

‘'ang on a
minute!’ said Spider angrily.

‘Yes?’ Shoal
dropped the bag back into the drawer.

‘I'll tell ya
everyfing I know. Awright? If ya gimme a hit.’

‘That's better,
thought you'd come round to my way of thinking. Ok fire away. I'm all ears.’
Shoal sat forward in his chair, smiling, his elbows resting on the desk.

‘Ya gotta give me
the hit first though.’ said Spider shrugging off the firm grip the officers had
on his arms.

‘Mr. Spiderman,’
said Shoal sighing, ‘You are hardly in a position to negotiate, are you now?
You tell us everything and I'll decide whether you get your medicine or not. Is
that clear?’

‘Fuck you,’
groaned Spider, stretching out his tentacle like arms, interlocking his fingers
and clicking knuckle joints. ‘Ok. I was workin' in me garage right? An I gets
this phone call on me mobile. It was this bloke I ain't seen for fuckin' years.’

‘And who was that
then?’

‘His name's
Johnny.’

‘Johnny who?’

‘I dunno do I. I
just know him as Johnny. Nasty bastard 'e is. Anyway 'e says 'e needs a lift, said
it was urgent. Wanted me to come to some poxy farm and pick 'im an 'is mates
up. I said I was busy like, but 'e wouldn't 'ave none of it. Offered me two
'undred quid. I asked 'im if it was dodgy like. An 'e said it was dead kosher. So
I got in me motor and drove dan and got fucking lost dinni. Then I drove up
some lane and this bird was there, wiv a puncture, the one you 'ad 'ere before.
She'll tell ya. Then I fixed her wheel and fucked off again. Then I saw you lot
buzzin' round so I bolted see. Didn't want no trouble.’

‘How wrong you
were.’ said Shoal.

‘Yeh well, I
didn't fuckin' know did I.’

‘Then I 'it the
bird's car, silly cow was all over the place, drivin' like a fuckin' maniac.’

‘She told us you
were driving like a maniac.’

‘Well I was
pissed wunni.’

‘I don't think
that will help you in court.’

‘Yeh well fuck
it, I'm just tellin' ya the fuckin' truth inni.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yeah. Scahts'
honour. Come on, gimme a break will ya? That's all I know. 'Onest.’

‘You still
haven't given me any names Spider, except for Johnny. How do you know this
Johnny character.’

‘I did some work
for him, fixed a motor or somefing. Fuckin' years ago.’

‘How many years
ago?’

‘I dunno, just
fuckin’ years.’

Shoal looked back
at the record sheet. ‘Now let me see. 1980 maybe?’ Found guilty at Southwick
Crown Court for aiding and abetting car theft and fraud, is that when you met
Johnny?’

‘Maybe, yeh,
about then.’

Shoal studied the
sheet further. ‘Good God you have been busy Mr. Spider. This is just like ‘This
is your life.’ So you met Johnny in 1980 or thereabouts. ‘So how did he have
your phone number. They didn’t have mobile phones then, did they?’

‘Yeah well, I
bumped into 'im in a pub a few mumfs back an' I musta given 'im me number then
I s'pose.’

Shoal sat back,
put his hands behind his head and looked up at the clock high on the wall.

‘Good Lord is
that the time?’ said Shoal as he stood up and straightened his tie. ‘Better get
home. Mrs. Shoal's doing a nice steak and kidney pie tonight. Lock him up
downstairs boys. We'll have to carry on tomorrow morning. Maybe we can go for a
little drive. You can show me where you did your Christian deed for the lady.’

‘'Ere 'ang on we
'ad a deal you said I could have me fix!’

‘Yes that's right
Spider. When you gave me names. Must be off. Can't stand it when the pastry
gets all soggy, can you? See you tomorrow Spiderman.’

‘You bastard. I
don't know nuffin else!’ shouted Spider as Shoal left the room.

Handcuffed with
his arms behind his back they led Spider down to the cells and with the aid of
two more officers removed his shoes, belt, a huge gold chain around his neck
and threw him in a cell to cool off.

For three hours
Spider screamed and shouted abuse until he began spitting blood. Exhausted, he
lay on the metal bed, his legs and arms twitching uncontrollably, his body
crying out for the heroin it needed to mask the pain that ripped through his every
muscle.

At three in the
morning he was on the hard tiled floor having fallen from the bed and began
thrashing around more and more, smashing his head and arms in involuntary spasms
as his craving took hold.

At four o'clock
in the morning, a huge blood clot, derived from the numerous injuries he had
inflicted on himself, slammed into his brain. Spider died instantly.

A price to pay.

It was midday.
Bruno lay on his bed in his grim bed-sitter, fully dressed and exhausted. His
face was heavily bruised and swollen, his clothes ripped and bloody; his
acrylic floral candlewick bedspread sodden with congealed blood from the oozing
gunshot gash on his left buttock. The previous night had been mostly sleepless
and waking up in the middle of the day in this place was not a pleasant
experience at the best of times, but sleep now, was impossible. Bruno was in
deep trouble, the robbery had taken several months to plan, it was the perfect
crime and now, because of him, it was completely buggered.

Today was the day
he was to visit his father, Paulo: to give him the bad news. It was Bruno's job
to tell him that the money was not only taken from them, but that it was taken
from them by a woman.

Bruno eased
himself up and sat awkwardly on his right buttock on the edge of his bed, his
head in his hands. The doom that had spun around in his head, slowed
momentarily, until it adjusted itself to its new axis. It then continued, this
time whisking up a bilious froth in his empty stomach. The fear that Bruno had
of his father was expected of him, just as his father had feared his father.
That was the Italian, Catholic, Costaldi way. Always had been. 'Fear is
respect, respect is love, love is duty, it is God's way son, you donna fuck
with God.'

This was a day
of duty. He had to tell his father. Roger and Daherty had made that abundantly
clear when they dumped him in the street outside his block at three in the
morning. The thought made him grimace as he forced his beaten body to stand up
and prepare for the meeting. He had already worked out what would happen all
morning and it was not a pretty sight. The filthy mirror on the wall didn't
help. He had been dwelling on his state from his side for hours and when he
finally looked into it, his appearance confirmed his suspicions. He was, more
than usual, a mess.

As he dragged
himself up the stairs of the urine drenched, graffitied sixties high-rise that
his father lived in, his mood had become positive. The bus ride and long walk
had loosened him up and given him time to think and prepare. He was tired of
being pushed around by his father, he knew exactly what he would say. ‘Papa.
You blew it. We got sprung, right, by the office manager and some chick. The
office manager died and we took the chick hostage, right? And she took off with
the money. There, you should have made sure they was all in the office when you
poured the tea, then it would have all been OK.’

He would then hug
his father, forgive him and leave. Simple.

But as he
knocked at the door, gently, in the hope that Paulo wouldn't hear, his spirit
fell away again. He knew deep inside his petrified gut, his well rehearsed
speech was characteristically idiotic and he was in the hands of God, his own
father and his grandfather. The door opened before Bruno could regurgitate the
slightest slither of confidence.

‘Bruno my son,
how wonderful to see you. Come in. Come in. You wanna drink uh? Come on in,
what you do to your face? You beena fighting again huh? Always fighting huh? Always
fighting. Like your father huh? Always fucking fighting.’

Bruno stumbled
in, driven by the affectionate pounding his father inflicting on his back with
his hammer like fists. Bruno tried on an uncomfortable smile. It was an old
trick of Paolo's when he wanted to chastise Bruno. To make him feel at ease, as
if nothing was going to happen. Bruno went into the lounge which was fairly tidy
by his standards. There were newspapers scattered around the coffee table, the
headlines leaping out.