Take the A-Train (24 page)

‘But didn’t the law suspect you lot?’ I said to Lupus. ‘After all, you were working for Emerald.’

‘Course,’ he said. ‘Everybody’s been pulled up this week, even the bloody waiters downstairs. But we’re all clean as the driven. Even the old man doesn’t suspect us. His own flesh and blood, and me, a lawyer with a pristine record. As far as he’s concerned we’re all being fitted up. And until they can prove different, as far as the law’s concerned, his name was on the lease and his name was on the warrant. All we needed to do was sell the last of what we had, then sit back and enjoy the proceeds.’

‘While Emerald takes the fall.’

‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ asked Lupus. ‘And it would all have worked out but for you.’

‘I’m flattered,’ I said, but not so flattered that they were taking time to tell me everything. I knew that there was only one reason, and that was that they didn’t plan for me to leave, not vertically anyway.

‘Don’t be,’ said Lupus. ‘And don’t think your girlfriend is dropping ten pence to the local police station either. Because she’s not.’

He saw the look on my face and laughed. ‘Give us some credit,’ he said. ‘We didn’t come over on the last banana boat, even if some of us look like we did.’

As if on cue, the door behind me opened. I looked round and my old pal, who I’d last seen sitting in the jump seat of Emerald’s stretch Lincoln, came in pushing Fiona in front of him.

She looked as cranky as hell, mad at him and herself. If we hadn’t been in such a mess it would have been almost funny. She was giving him severe GBH of the ear drums as she came in.

‘Don’t push me, you git,’ she said as he propelled her through the door.

‘Get inside and shut up,’ said Jump Seat. Then to Lupus: ‘This bitch is pure poison, boss. Why don’t we shut her up for good?’

‘Later, Eddie,’ said Lupus. ‘Can’t you control the girl? A big man like you.’

Eddie pushed Fiona to the empty chair and forced her to sit. I made half a move in his direction and Christian showed me his gun and shook his head. ‘Tough guys,’ I said, keeping the contempt in my voice.

‘Shut up, Sharman,’ said Ronnie. ‘You’re full of shit.’

‘Blimey!’ said Fiona. ‘A talking pig. You should join the circus, mate. You’d make a fortune.’

‘He’s already in one,’ I said.

‘Shut up, both of you,’ said Dark. ‘Or Ronnie’ll shut you up.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Fiona. ‘How do you expect me to take you seriously, wearing a syrup like that?’

Dark’s face reddened. She’d obviously hit a soft spot.

‘If she speaks again, gag her,’ said Lupus.

‘Don’t waste your breath on them,’ I said to her. She looked at me and I winked. I knew I had to do something or we were both dead, and hoped she got the meaning of my wink.

Christian’s gun hand had relaxed when he realised I wasn’t going to go for Eddie, and I saw that he had moved further into the room. As everyone else seemed to be looking at Fiona, I moved slightly back towards the door. Not enough to be noticed, I hoped, except by her. She did. ‘If any of you cunts try to gag me, I’ll bite your fucking hands off,’ she snarled.

‘Do it,’ said Lupus, and Eddie shoved between me and Christian to get to her. Fiona kicked Christian hard on the shin and he cried out in surprise. I caught hold of Eddie and pushed him hard into Christian who was almost hopping in pain. Eddie tripped and stumbled against him and they both nearly fell. I turned and found the door handle and tugged the door open, ran into the corridor and slammed the door behind me.

It was the only chance we had, for me to leave her behind. I didn’t want to do it, but what choice did I have? It was a decision I was going to regret bitterly.

T
he corridor stretched in both directions, swing doors at either end. I turned right, in the opposite direction from which Christian had brought me. It would be logical for me to go back the way we’d come, or at least I hoped he’d think that. I ran towards the door and my leg started acting up again. I did the last two steps in an awkward half jump and hit the door hard. It flew open. Behind me I heard crashing and shouting from the office.

The door led to a store room. It was at least thirty feet high, dark, cold, and concrete-floored. Every flat surface was stacked with boxes and cartons and crates of spirits and beer. The only escape was a door out to the back, leading God knew where. I slammed it open. Pitch dark, with just the impression of stairs leading downwards. Beside the door was a flight of metal steps leading upwards to a shadowy gallery that ran around three walls of the room which was also piled with boxes and crates. I bounced on my DMs and went up. I was tired of being chased. I figured any pursuers would go through the door and downstairs, especially as the door was still swinging gently on its hinges. Then I could sneak back and try and get to Fiona.

I went as far round the gallery as I could and crouched down deep in the shadows and waited. From where I was I could see both doors and the bottom of the steps. I didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before Christian pushed slowly through the door from the corridor, gun in hand. He was alone. My hackles rose as I saw him.

He flattened himself against the wall, swept the room with the gun and walked across the floor. He kicked open the door to the stairs, peered through, then turned and looked up. I thought he must see me and scrunched down even further. Christian moved towards the steps. If I’d had a gun I could have shot him in the back. I pushed myself as far into the shadows as I could and my arm touched a litre bottle of lemonade which was standing on the balcony.

I saw it start to topple and grabbed for it. My fingers brushed the smooth glass but only managed to push it harder. It wobbled and fell and as it went it touched its twin standing next to it. They both rolled across the metal and over the edge of the balcony. Christian was just putting his foot on the bottom step. He heard the sound, stopped and turned. His gun swung round with him, and then up in my direction. He thought he was in no danger, that he might just get his pant cuffs wet, and even took time to watch as the bottles fell. He didn’t even flinch. The two bottles hit the concrete floor simultaneously and burst like grenades. As they hit, he fired.

The first shot from the pistol hit the metal banister about a yard from my head. The second spanged off the floor. I ducked down, deafened by the shots and the sound of the bottles exploding. I listened for his footsteps on the stairs but could hear nothing for the ringing in my ears.

I peered out over the guard rail and saw him walking around in an erratic circle with his hands over his face. He seemed to be covered in blood. There was blood leaking from behind the fingers of his hand that was clutching at his eye. Even through battered eardrums I could hear him screaming. He seemed to be squeezing blood out of his head like pus from a huge boil. The gun was on the floor in a puddle of liquid. I ran around the balcony and down the steps before he could pick it up, but he wasn’t interested. He was too busy tearing at the neck of one of the bottles that had embedded itself in his eye socket, twist off cap outward. He fell to his knees and then face down on the floor and twitched and screamed until I smacked him on the head a couple of times with the barrel of the pistol and he was quiet. He smelt like something you add to a drop of gin.

The gun was sticky with blood and lemonade. I wiped it and my hands on the legs of my jeans. I pushed the door to the corridor just wide enough to attach one eye to the gap. Nothing stirred. I started to giggle with nerves and bit down on my underlip to contain them. I was shaking like a shitting dog.

No good, Sharman, I thought. You’ve had your luck for the day. Now it’s down to you.

I felt like going home.

I went to the door leading to the stairs, stepping over Christian’s still form as I went, then down and through yet another swing door into the restaurant proper. I stood in the doorway for a moment. The dining room seemed deserted.

As I stepped in, Ronnie appeared from the kitchen holding a gun, and fired. The bullet ripped half a yard of wood from the door frame beside my head. I returned a shot and he ducked back. I ran across the room, snaking between the tables, and threw myself behind the bar. I looked over the top, and the door from the kitchen began to open slowly. I steadied my gun on the polished wood of the bar and waited. Ronnie’s gun hand appeared, and then his head and shoulders. He looked quickly from side to side but didn’t see me.

I squeezed off a shot. He shouted in pain, pushed the door wide and stood in the doorway, firing. Bottles and glasses exploded all around me and the mirror behind the bar shattered into a million pieces. The noise was deafening. The restaurant filled with smoke and stink from the guns. I aimed at his silhouette and fired twice. That’s for Taylor and his girlfriend, I thought, as I pulled the trigger and the gun kicked in my hand. Ronnie fell back against the door jamb and slid down to a sitting position. His gun was silent.

I slid from behind the bar and went over to him. I pulled the gun from his hand and stuck it into the waistband of my jeans. I pushed open the kitchen door. It looked deserted but I couldn’t hear shit from the ringing in my ears. There might have been a marching band in the pantry for all I would have known.

I held the kitchen door open and looked back into the restaurant, wondering what to do next. I didn’t have to think for long. The door marked ‘Staff Only’ burst open and Eddie crashed through, carrying a revolver. I snapped off a shot and missed. He returned fire and slid under a table. The bullet clanged off something metallic behind me. I ducked down and let the door swing shut. Next to it was a closed serving hatch. I inched it open and got a sliver of wood in my face from a couple of bullets for my troubles. The serving hatch door was blown open and slammed back against the wall. I threw myself down, rolled under a cutting table and pulled out the splinter. The sharp end was pink. I lay still and listened. It seemed like hours before I heard a sound from the restaurant. I pulled myself in tighter and risked a peek. Nothing.

I wondered if Eddie would come through the door or poke his head over the hatch. I guessed the hatch and pointed my gun in that direction. Nothing again. Then I saw the top of a nappy head and a gun-filled hand and a pair of eyes coming over the edge of the hatch, and fired once. He fired back three times and the table took a lot of damage. Through numbed ears I heard the click of the hammer on an empty cartridge case. I rolled out and stood up and looked through the hatch. Eddie was fumbling in his pocket for cartridges. The cylinder of his gun was open.

I rested my gun hand against the cold metal and tapped gently on the counter top. ‘Knock, knock,’ I said.

He made as if to slam the cylinder shut. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said.

‘Shit,’ was all he said back. He dropped gun and cartridges on to the floor.

‘Come into my parlour,’ I said.

He came to his feet and pushed through the door. I kept my gun on him all the way. ‘On the deck, face down,’ I ordered. ‘Put your hands flat on the floor, arms extended.’

He looked at me as if he was going to spit. I knew how he felt. But he obliged. ‘What happened to the girl?’ I asked, when he was comfy.

‘She’s dead, motherfucker.’

Not again, I thought. Oh Jesus Christ almighty, not again. When someone you love dies it’s like being blindfolded in a room without windows or lights at midnight. It’s blacker than the inside of a closed grave. I grabbed a handful of his hair. It was short, but thick, and I got a good handful. I pulled his head up off the floor and screwed the end of my gun barrel in his ear. The hammer was back and I applied pressure on the trigger with a trembling finger. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak again. Suddenly there was no more pressure and the gun fired and all that came out of his mouth was a gout of blood. The gun was so close to his skull that it kicked clean out of my hand and blood and brains blew all over the floor and his scalp went loose in my hand. I let go of his hair and his head hit the floor like an overripe melon. His body jerked convulsively and his bowels opened.

I picked up the gun and checked the load. There was one bullet in the breech and the clip was empty. Ronnie’s magnum held two live cartridges. I ditched them both and took Eddie’s .38 revolver. I loaded it, stuck the spare cartridges in my pocket and went looking for the others.

I went slowly up the stairs, through the swing door and along the corridor. All was quiet. I stood outside the office door. It stood slightly ajar. I could see that the lights inside were still on. I pushed the door open with my fingertips and stepped into the room. At first I thought it was empty. Then I noticed Fiona’s boots poking out from behind the desk. I felt dizzy as I walked over and looked at her. She was lying face down on the carpet. I knelt and gently rolled her over. There was a lump the size of a golf ball on her forehead, a bruise up into her hairline and dried blood at the side of her mouth. I knelt and gently cradled her in my arms. I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them again she was looking at me.

‘Is this love, Sharman?’ she asked, and her voice cracked.

I was so surprised I nearly dropped her. ‘He told me you were dead,’ I said.

‘Who did?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

She smiled weakly. ‘Mind you, it might be an improvement. My bloody head’s killing me.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know. The last thing I remember is kicking that spade, and then the one who dragged me out of the phone box when I was going to phone that copper mate of yours put my lights out.’

‘He’s dead. So’s the one you kicked.’

‘I didn’t kick him to death, did I?’ she asked, and using my shoulder and the edge of the desk dragged herself to her feet.

‘No,’ I said. ‘You didn’t. Are you going to be all right?’

‘I’ll survive.’

‘I wonder why they didn’t finish you off. It must be your lucky day.’

‘Thanks, Sharman!’

‘I’m going to call the police,’ I said. I picked up the receiver of the telephone on the desk. It was dead. I followed the wire with my eyes. The junction box had been torn from the wall. ‘Damn!’ I said.