Take the A-Train (14 page)

‘What do you think?’ asked Teddy, once we were clear of Bickley and all the road signs read ‘Central London’.

‘He told me he had nothing to do with getting Em put away.’

‘He would, wouldn’t he? Did you believe him?’

‘Funnily enough, yes. Although I think he might know something.’

‘Where does that leave us?’

I thought of the five grand burning a hole in my favourite pair of Argyles. ‘I don’t know. I need time to think.’

‘How long?’

‘Good question.’ I turned around to where Fiona was sitting, curled up in the back in her coat and hat. ‘Have you got somewhere to stay?’

‘With you,’ she said, and her voice told me she felt betrayed by my words.

I shook my head, though I doubted she could see in the darkness. ‘No, somewhere safe. Not your place either. I don’t want to be worrying about you all the time.’

I thought she was going to argue, but she didn’t. Two guns in two days can do that to you. ‘There’s my dad’s,’ she said.

‘In Waterloo?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you go there now?’

‘I need a change of clothes.’

‘Teddy’ll drop us off at your place,’ I said. ‘OK Teddy?’

‘Sure. Do you want me to wait?’

‘No.’ I replied. ‘There’s a cab firm local that’s quite good, I’ll get one to run me home later.’

‘I hope you can get one in this weather,’ he said.

By this time we were coming to the bottom of the Old Kent Road and the snow was starting to thin out although it still hemmed us in to the cosy interior of the jeep as if we were the last people on earth.

By the time we got to Kennington it had turned colder, the snow had stopped, the sky had cleared and stars shone like sparks of fire splattered across a black curtain. The streets were deserted and the snow was thick on the ground before the morning came and the traffic and pedestrians turned it to foul black slush. But just at that frozen moment the world was as white as to be almost blue under the street lamps. Fiona and I got out of the jeep.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to wait?’ asked Teddy.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘You get off home. Call me tomorrow morning.’

‘Will do. Take good care of yourself and Fiona.’

‘I will.’

‘Goodnight Teddy and thanks,’ said Fiona.

Fiona and I walked through fresh snow to the entrance of her block. We went up in the lift to the top floor and she let us in to her flat.

‘Why can’t we stay here?’ she asked. ‘At least till morning.’

‘I don’t like it,’ I said. ‘Just do as I say please. Get some clothes packed and I’ll call a cab. Are you going to speak to your dad?’

‘Sure,’ she said and did so. He answered after a minute. She told him she was coming over and he didn’t seem to have any objections.

She went upstairs and I telephoned the local cab service. I’d expected at least an hour’s wait but the controller told me five minutes and took the number, and said he’d phone when the cab was outside. Fiona came downstairs with a bag and just as she was about to start complaining again the telephone rang. I answered.

‘Cab’s downstairs,’ said the controller’s voice.

‘Fine.’ I hung up. ‘Let’s go,’ I said to Fiona and we left the flat and took the long lift ride down. On the street outside was parked a dark coloured Cortina estate which flashed its lights as we left the block. We both got into the back of the car.

‘Waterloo, then Tulse Hill,’ I said.

‘Bit iffy on the Tulse Hill bit mate,’ said the driver. ‘Have you seen the weather?’

‘Main roads will be all right,’ I said with a confidence I didn’t feel. ‘We’ll do it.’

The cab took off towards the river and when we got to Waterloo Station Fiona directed the cabby to a small backstreet opposite St Thomas’s Hospital. He stopped the car and switched off the ignition. I wound down the window for some fresh air. With the engine off the only sound was the rush of the water from the river. Fiona’s dad’s pre-fab stood in the shadow of the hospital. There were five of the little oblong constructions in a row, each with a tiny patch of garden back and front.

‘Give me a ring tomorrow,’ I said as she got out. I would have kissed her but I could tell she wasn’t keen so I just let her go.

I watched as she walked through virgin snow up the front path of the middle pre-fab and let herself in with a key. She didn’t look back. I felt like a bastard, but I’ve felt that way before and I dare say I will again.

‘Tulse Hill,’ I said, and the driver started the engine and headed south.

The snow on the ground got thicker but it wasn’t too bad on the main roads where previous traffic had cleared the way, and we got to Tulse Hill in about twenty minutes. My street was thick with unmarked snow and the Ford slid and skidded up the slight incline until I pointed out my building made almost unrecognisable by its white cover. I paid the cabby, added a hefty tip and got out. I was yawning by the time I got inside. The flat was warm and silent. I made tea and went to bed but couldn’t sleep. Big deal, that had happened before too. I think I dozed towards dawn and when I came to at nine the weather had warmed up considerably and the snow was almost gone, although the man on the radio said it would be back and worse within twenty-four hours. The speed was still dancing in my veins and I couldn’t eat so I decided to go and get my car. I was going out on my own later and I needed to be mobile.

Charlie had collected my two cars when it was obvious I was going to be in hospital for a long spell and I didn’t want them nicked or vandalised outside my flat. I dawdled around the place for a while, no one called. I phoned for a cab and the driver dropped me at Charlie’s just before noon. The streets were filthy by then, just as I’d known they’d be, and I hoped it wouldn’t freeze when it got dark.

W
hen I got there someone had cleared all the snow off the cars for sale, and polished them. They gleamed in the grey light. Charlie was on the forecourt. He was geeing up a punter as I got out of the cab. The punter was in denims. Charlie had on his working gear: a three-quarter length sheepskin over a double-breasted grey suit, striped shirt and striped tie. Charlie was a serious contender for the oldest yuppie in town. If yuppies still existed.

He didn’t see me coming.

The punter was speaking. ‘But I can’t bring it in,’ he said. ‘It’s broken down in Stepney Green.’

‘What can
I
do, sir?’ asked Charlie, as if he didn’t know. ‘I’m all on my own here apart from an apprentice. Aren’t you in the AA?’

‘I was about to join but I hardly had time before the car went on the blink. I thought there was a guarantee.’

‘Our name is our guarantee,’ said Charlie, getting on his high horse. ‘Now if you get the car here, I’ll get it looked over.’

The punter was going to argue but looking at Charlie’s chunky body changed his mind, mumbled something unintelligible and sloped off.

‘Looks like he’d rather have the guarantee,’ I said.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Charlie as if it had been only hours rather than weeks since we’d last spoken. ‘If he can’t afford to run a decent car he should fuck off.’

‘I see that the old “customer’s always right” motto still applies,’ I said.

‘Of course.’

‘So has this customer still got any cars here?’

‘Naturally.’

‘I’m amazed. Are they in running order?’

High horse time again. ‘What do you reckon? They’re running sweet as nuts.’

‘I’m impressed.’

‘You’ve got a fan, or at least the cars have.’

‘Who?’

‘New mechanic, YTS.’

‘Slave labour, you mean.’

‘Now, now, Nick. I’m surprised at you. We’re living in a venture society, you know.’

‘Vulture, more like.’

He opened his arms in surrender.

‘What about the motors?’ I asked. ‘Have you been letting some spotty little git fuck around with them?’

‘I told you, they’re both running great.’

‘With a YTS yobbo screwing them up?’

‘The mechanic turns the engines over every other day. Spends too much time with them, if you ask me.’

‘Who pays for the gas?’

‘The mechanic.’

‘Let’s see him. I don’t usually like mechanics.’

‘Oh, you’ll like this one.’

‘I bet.’

‘Tallhulah!’ he shouted.

‘What?’ I said.

A slim figure came out of the workshop. Blonde hair pulled high and tight. Figure like a rake cinched into baggy overalls. You didn’t see the bumps until she got close. Not bad bumps at that.

‘Tallhulah,’ I said.

‘Tallhulah,’ repeated Charlie.

‘Tallhulah,’ the girl said. ‘That’s me. Who wants to know?’

‘Tallhulah,’ said Charlie, ‘this is Nick Sharman.’ She could have looked less impressed, but I don’t know how.

‘I hear you’ve been taking care of my cars,’ I said.

‘The “E” and the TransAm?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve been keeping an eye on them.’

‘You must have spent some of your own money on petrol.’

‘A bit. It doesn’t matter.’

I took out a twenty. ‘I’m obliged.’

‘I don’t want that.’

‘Take it, please. I know what you’re paid.’ And I gave Charlie a dirty look.

‘I’ve got independent means.’

‘I bet.’

She hesitated. I didn’t do anything dumb like push it into her top pocket. She would have done me for assault.

Eventually she plucked the note from between my fingers. ‘The Tranny needs some oil,’ she said.

‘Just as well I’m taking the E-type then.’

‘You’ll ruin the bodywork in this mess,’ she said, gesturing at the wet pavement. ‘The council has salted the roads.’

‘Can’t be helped. I need a car.’

She looked at me sadly and shook her head. ‘Please yourself.’

‘Thanks again,’ I said to her retreating back.

The cars were tarped up in an extension to the garage proper. The tyres on the E-type were hard and the cellulose shone. There were no visible leaks, and the inside of the cockpit was neat and tidy. The steering wheel was clean and the ignition keys were in the lock. I turned them. The car caught first time, even in the damp air, and soon settled down to a contented purr. I’d have to thank Tallhulah again.

I pulled the car round to the front. Charlie was walking up and down in front of his stock. I noticed that there were more BMWs and Audis and Mercedes than there used to be. Now I understood the threads.

‘All right?’ he asked.

‘Good as gold. Better. If there’s anything to pay, stick it on my bill.’

‘Your bill, sure. Would you like to see your bill? Because it scares me.’

‘Later.’

‘Always later, isn’t it, Nick? You’re lucky I didn’t sell one of those heaps to pay it off.’

I winked. ‘Cheers, Charlie,’ I said and pulled away into the traffic.

T
he car was in great shape. The automatic box was as smooth as twenty-year-old Irish whiskey and the kickdown pushed me back into the leather bucket seat like a giant hand. The car had been suffering a little steering shimmy at about ninety and I’d have to ask Tallhulah to put it on a fast roller for me. The fat tyres splashed through the icy puddles and I had to keep the revs down so as not to lose the rear end on the bends. I tucked my bad leg out of the way and really enjoyed driving again.

I went home and the phone was ringing off the hook. It was Teddy.

‘How are you this morning?’ he asked.

‘Not bad considering. I need to see Em.’

‘When?’

‘Today.’

‘Impossible man. You can’t just turn up on the doorstep.’

‘Are you seeing him?’

‘Sure. Later.’

‘Right. I want you to take a message.’

‘Like what?’

‘Tell him about someone trying to kill me on Thursday night. Tell him about our trip to Bickley. Tell him I think Bim’s straight. And ask him about this Jack Dark geezer who wants to see me.’

‘What about him?’

‘I want to know if Emerald knows him.’

‘OK, man.’

‘What time you seeing him?’

‘About four.’

‘Call me here at seven. I’m off out later.’

‘Sure.’

‘Make sure you do, Teddy.’

‘Sure, man, sure. Relax.’

‘It’s difficult with so many people shooting guns round me.’

‘Sure, man. Later yeah?’

‘Later, Teddy,’ I said and hung up.

I put the phone down and it rang straight away. I picked up the receiver.

‘Nick?’ It was Fiona.

‘Hi. How are you?’ I said.

‘Pissed off with you dumping me off like bagwash.’

‘Sorry, babe,’ I said. ‘I was scared for you.’

‘Don’t be. When can I see you?’

‘Soon.’

‘When soon?’

‘As soon as I’ve had time to think.’

‘About?’

‘Everything.’

‘Don’t go all Sherlock Holmes on me.’

‘Never. I’ve just got a few things to sort out, a few people to see. And I’ll feel better if you’re safe with your dad.’

‘The little woman huh?’

‘Don’t take it personally. I’ll be in touch soon.’

‘There’s that word again. Just make sure you do.’

‘Promise.’

‘Promises, Sharman. I’ve heard them all.’

‘This one’s a guarantee.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘I’ll see you then,’ I said. ‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’

We hung up.

I killed the afternoon in a bar. I chatted to one of the barmaids who I fancied like mad, but being as she was young enough to be my daughter I kept it light, strictly professional, and tried not to look too hard at her thighs when her micro skirt rode up every time she bent down to get a bottle off the cold shelf.

I stayed late and bought her a drink when her shift finished. I found myself getting less professional and more like a dirty old man as the evening progressed and dragged myself away just before seven to go home. It was cold but not freezing and the weather man said the temperature would drop and the snow come sometime after midnight.

I changed into a dark shirt and black jeans and put on my leather jacket. I slid the envelope full of money into one of the pockets and snapped the fastener.

At seven precisely the telephone rang. It was Teddy.

‘Did you see him?’ I asked.