The White Trilogy: A White Arrest, Taming the Alien, The McDead (18 page)

‘What do you want, Joe, my life history? Here it is in four words:

BIG IDEAS, SMALL RESULTS.’

Yeah, the story of it all.

•        •        •

Brant had passed out from shock. Now, as he came to, he curled up in anticipation of horrendous pain.

Curled up?

He thought –
What?
– and rolled easily onto his side. No pain. No rope.

Trembling, he moved his hand to his ass ... wet and cold.

Cold water.

He’d been suckered with the oldest psych trick in the book.

Rage and relief fought for supremacy as he got shakily to his feet. Stumbled to the cupboard and got a bottle of Black Bushmills. He’d been keeping it for a four star moment like getting the knickers off Fiona Roberts. Twisted the top savagely, let the cap fall and chugged direct. Did this bastard burn ... oh yeah!

He leaned against the cupboard and waited for the four stars to kick in. They did. Fast. And he muttered, ‘Jaysus.’

After a few more slugs, he moved to the armchair and with a steady hand, lit a Weight. He knew who his assailant was. The so called ‘Alien’, the legendary fuck. Only one person would have the balls to set him loose. With Fenton it was just a job, but to the one calling the shots, it was personal. Brant began to savour how he’d boil the two of ’em together. Not with bloody cold water either.

L
EIGH
Richards was a snitch. What’s more, he was Falls’ snitch, passed on by Brant who said, ‘The most vital tool for police work is a grass. One of their own who’ll turn for revenge, spite or money. But mainly money. Fear, too, that helps. I’m giving you this piece of garbage, ’cos I can no longer stomach ’im.’

After meeting Leigh, Falls could understand why. Years ago, Edward Woodward made his name playing a character called Callan. He had a sidekick named Lonely. Leigh was the Lonely of the turn of the century. No specific reason that made him distasteful. Everything about him was ordinary. So much so that he looked like a photo-kit. Everybody and nobody. If there’s such a thing as auras, then his spelt ‘repellent’.

He said to Falls, ‘This is a new departure for me.’

‘What?’

‘Working with a woman.’

Falls had a constant urge to lash out at him. Ordinarily, she was no testier than your average Northern Line commuter, but once in Leigh’s presence, she felt murderous. She said slowly, ‘Listen, shithead, we’re
not
working together. We never have, never will – am I getting this across?’

He had his hair cut in a French crop. This is a crew-cut with notions. His eyes never met yours, and yet, he never ceased watching you. That’s what Falls felt – she felt
watched
.

He put up his hands in mock surrender, said, ‘Whoa, little lady! No offence meant.

I like niggers, anyone will tell you Leigh Richards isn’t a bigot. Go on, ask anybody ... you’ll see. Live and let live is my motto.’

If Falls had sought Roberts’ advice, he’d have said, ‘Never trust a grass.’ He knew from bitter experience. More, he could have recounted the lines from
The Thin Man
:

‘I don’t like crooks.

And If I did like them, I wouldn’t like crooks who are stool pigeons.

And if I did like crooks who are stool pigeons, I still wouldn’t like you.’

Roberts would have liked to rattle off the lines anyway because he liked to. Plus, he’d love to have been Nora Charles’ husband. But she didn’t ask and the lines stayed on celluloid – unwatched and unused.

Instead, Falls counted to ten and then she smacked Leigh in the mouth. His feelings, not to mention his mouth, were hurt.

He said, ‘My feelings are hurt,’ and he figured it was time to rein Falls in. Let her see a little of his knowledge, know who she was dealing with. He said, ‘I know you. I know yer Dad died recent, and more, you couldn’t cough up the readies to plant him.’ He had her attention and continued, ‘My old Dad snuffed it too. See this belt?’

In spite of herself, she looked. It appeared to be a boy scout one, right down to the odd buckle.

‘When I went to the morgue, the guy said: “It’s all he left, shall I sling it?”
Oi!
I said,
that’s my estate!
’

Falls didn’t smile, but Leigh could go with that. He’d smacked her right back and never even had to raise his hand or his voice.

She asked, ‘There’s a moral in there?’

‘Like the great man said – “Be prepared!”’

‘Who?’

‘Baden Powell, founder of the scouts.’

Falls gave a harsh chuckle, said, ‘They weren’t real popular in Brixton.’

‘Oh ...

‘But let me give
you
a little story.’

Leigh didn’t care for the light in her eye. He’d heard blacks got funny when they mentioned Brixton. Shit – when
anybody
mentioned it. He said: ‘There’s no need.’

‘I insist. The cat asked: “Do you purr?” “No,” said the ugly duckling. “Then you’ll have to go.”’ She let Leigh digest this then, ‘So, you’re a snitch ... then
snitch
.’

‘I’ll need paying.’

‘After.’

‘It’s good information.’

‘Mr Brant was anxious to locate two Irish people, a man and a woman.’

‘So?’

‘He believes they can help with his ... ahm ... recent accident.’

‘Do you know where they are?’

‘I know where they went.’

‘Yeah.’

‘One of them was wearing a nice pair of Farahs as he boarded the plane – a plane for Amer-i-kay.’

In spite of herself, she uttered, ‘Jesus.’

Leigh was excited, babbled on, ‘According to my sources, a certain young copper was wearing said pants on the night of his demise.’

Falls grabbed both his wrists and, Brant-style, leant right into his face, said, ‘Their names?’

‘Josie ... and Mick ... that’s all I know.’

She squeezed harder.

‘Belton ... OK! Mick Belton – you’re hurting me!’

She let go, then reached in her purse and began to gather loose notes. He said in alarm, ‘For Godsake, don’t do it like that – palm it!’

She did and he squeezed her fingers during the move, said, ‘I have a good feeling about us.’

‘Yeah?’ She sounded near warm.

Emboldened, he risked, ‘You’ll find me more than satisfactory in the ... ahm ... And here he winked.

She whispered, ‘And you ever talk to me like that, you’ll find it in Brixton among the used condoms and other garbage.’

Then she was up and moving. He waited till she was a distance, then said, ‘Yah lesbian!’

•        •        •

The Alien was sitting in The Greyhound, in Bill’s private corner. He was drinking a mineral water, slowly savouring the sparkle. Bill arrived with two minders. They branched off to man both ends of the bar. Fenton said, ‘Impressive.’

Bill looked back at them. ‘Yeah?’

‘Oh definitely, real menace.’

Bill sat down and nodded to the barman. A bowl of soup was brought and two dry crackers. They were encased in that impossible to open plastic. Bill nodded at them, said, ‘Get those, eh?’

‘Why don’t you call the muscle, give em a chance to flex.’

Bill smiled, ‘You wouldn’t be trying to wind me up would you Fen?’

‘Naw, would I do that?’

Bill was quiet for a bit, then, ‘You did the biz?’

‘Course.’

‘Didn’t overdo it, did yah?’

‘Naw, just put a frightener to him – he’s mobile but dampened. You’ll have no more strife.’

‘I wouldn’t want any of this coming back on me, Fen.’

‘It’s done, you’ve no worries. He’s tamed – nowt for him now but nickel and dime till he gets his shitty pension. He’s bottled out.’

Bill passed over a fat package. ‘A little bonus, help you find yer feet in America ... you’ll be off soon.’

‘Soon as shootin’.’

They both gave a professional laugh at this, not that either thought it as funny or even appropriate.

T
HIS IS HOW
the call came in.

‘Hello, is that the police?’

The desk sergeant, weary after an all-nighter, answered, ‘Yeah, can I help?’ Not that he had a notion of so doing.

‘I’m about to eat my breakfast.’

‘How fascinating.’

‘When I’ve finished, I’ll wash up, and then I’m going to kill my old man.’

‘Why’s that then?’

‘He molested me till I was twelve. Now I think he’s going to start on my little brother ...

The sergeant was distracted by a drunk being manhandled by two young coppers. At the pitch of his lungs, he was singing: ‘The sash my father wore ... No big deal in that, unless you noted the man was black. Thus perhaps giving credence to the expression ‘a black protestant’ or not.

When the sergeant got back to the call, he couldn’t hear anyone on the line. Testily he repeated, ‘Hello ... yello?’

Then two shots rang clearly down the receiver and he knew, without thinking:

Shot gun – 12 gauge – double o cartridges

and muttered,
‘Jesus!’

•        •        •

A homeless person with a grubby T-shirt proclaimed, ‘Jesus loves black and white but prefers Johnny Walker,’ and touched Fiona Roberts on the arm. She jumped a foot off the ground thinking: ‘They’ve even reached Dulwich’.

He said, ‘Chill out, babe.’ Even the displaced were going mid-Atlantic.

She ran. No dignity. No finesse. Out ’n’ out legged it.

Inside her home she said aloud, ‘I know! I’ll never go out again – that’ll do it.’ And received a second jump when her daughter Sharon approached suddenly. ‘Christ, Sharon, don’t do that – sneaking up on a person.’

‘Get real, Mom.’

Fiona thought: ‘A nice cup o’ tea, that will restore me,’ and went to prepare it. She glanced in at the blaring TV. Regis and Kathy Lee were discussing manicures for dogs.

‘Sharon ...
Sharon
! Why is the telly so loud? ... Why do you always need noise?’

The girl threw her eyes to heaven and sighed, ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘What? ... What’s to understand? Tell me!’

Chewing on her bottom lip, the girl said, ‘Cos yer
old
, Mum.’

Fiona scratched the tea and headed upstairs for a Valium – a whole shitpile of mother’s little helpers ... sorry,
old
mother’s little helpers.

•        •        •

When Charlie Kray, brother of the twins, tried to flog cocaine, three of his customers turned out to be undercover cops. A true sting. Over seventy, Charlie was found guilty, despite his own lawyer calling him a pathetic case. Who Charlie called was Bill. Like this.

‘Bill?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s Charlie.’

‘Hi, son, I’m sorry about yer bit o’ grief.’

‘They set me up Bill.’

‘I know, they put you right in the frame.’

‘You know me, Bill – I ’ate drugs.’

‘We wouldn’t be ’aving this chat if it were otherwise.’

‘Thanks, Bill. Reggie always said you were the bollocks.’

‘Was there somefing, Charlie?’

‘Is there owt you can do for us, mate? I go in, it’s life ... at my age.’

‘Wish I could, son but it’s solid. You’re going down, but I can ’ave a word, make it cushy as possible.’

A pause. Defeat hanging full, then resignation.

‘Yeah, righto Bill ... Will you look out for my old girl?’

‘Course, you don’t ’ave to ask.’

‘Maybe you’ll get up my way, bring us in a bit o’ cheer.’

‘Course I will, soon as.’

But he never did. Bill wasn’t a visitor and in this case he didn’t even send the help.

That book was writ.

•        •        •

When Roberts had proposed to Fiona, her family had raised huge objections. Roberts had told his own father of their view. His father, a man of few words, said, ‘They’re right.’

‘What – you think I’m not good enough for her?’

‘I wasn’t thinking about you. As usual you’ve got it backwards.’

Roberts was pleased, then said, ‘They’ve money.’

‘Ah! ... Well, perhaps you have class. Now it’s possible we’ll get money, whereas ...

He figured he’d call on Brant, maybe even talk about Fiona. But probably not. Brant’s door was open and Roberts thought ‘Uh-oh.’

Brant was sitting on the couch watching TV. Two bananas were coming down the stairs and singing.

Roberts said, ‘What the hell are yah watching?’

‘It’s
Bananas in Pyjamas
, quite a catchy little tune.’

He turned round to stare at Roberts, who said, ‘The door was open ... I ...

‘Hey, no sweat. Everybody else just walks in.’

‘You had a visit?’

‘Yeah, a villain with a message. Next, he’ll have a chat show.’

Roberts moved in closer. ‘Are you all right? Any damage?’

‘Any damage. Hmm ... he wanted to boil me bollocks and I speak not metaphorically here.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can I get you anyfin’?’

Brant looked at the mug he was holding, said, ‘It’s tea.’

‘Another?’

‘Two sugs, Guv. It’s them triangle jobs – and you know what? – they
do
taste better; like yer old Mum used to make.’

Roberts went to the kitchen and marvelled at the mess. Like squatters had staged a demo there. Brant shouted, ‘Heat the cups.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Once the tea was squared away, Roberts sat. ‘You want to tell me what’s going down?’

‘Bill Preston.’

‘Tell me you’re winding me up. You haven’t been sniffin’ round in
his
biz ... the order came from on high – hands off.’

‘Let ’im run riot, that it?’

‘They’re building a case, it takes time.’

‘Bollocks.’

‘C’mon, Tom, the softly-softly approach will bring him in finally.’

‘So meanwhile, we sit back and play with ourselves.’

‘Shit! You started pushing him!’

‘A bit.’

‘And you got a visit. Who’d he send?’

‘Fenton, last of the fuckin’ Mohicans.’

‘The Alien. You should be flattered – means you got their attention.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I am. Flattered.’

Roberts drained his tea and wondered if he’d have another. Thing was, you always regretted it.

Brant asked, ‘Want ’nother brewski?’