She walked up to me.
‘OK. We leave and then you sort out your shit. If you don’t then I’m going to take things into my own hands. Agreed?’
‘Agreed. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.’
‘We need my car. It’s the only transport I have and we won’t get far on the bus.’
She paced some more.
‘I have an idea how to get to it without any violence’.
Rachel had hidden talents and, as she told me what to do, I smiled thinking that she would have made a fine addition to my team in the old days.
She rummaged in the kitchen and packed some stuff under her coat. We exited the house and made our way to the ground floor. Rachel opened the door to the back green and slipped out of sight. I made for the front close.
I emerged into a warm day. Nice day to die I thought.
The goon was standing at the corner and when he saw me he stiffened. I walked towards him, but kept to the other side of the road. Twenty yards along the pavement I stopped. He stared at me and then his mate joined him. I walked another few feet and then a few more. They started to cross the road and I stopped again.
When they were half way across I lifted my hand and, with a flourish, flicked them a V. They went into overdrive and sprinted to the pavement. I turned and showed them my heels. At Rachel’s close I dived in and ran to the bottom of the stairs and stopped.
The goons barrelled in to the close and saw me. I put leather to concrete and headed out the door to the back green and they followed.
As I ran into the space behind the tenement I hung a sharp left and dropped to the ground. A clothes rope was lying next to the wall and I picked it up, hauling it towards me. With Rachel at the other end the rope was pulled tight about two feet off the ground.
The goon patrol hit the rope at full speed and my palm picked up a rope burn as the material was dragged through my hand. The men went down and Rachel was up and heading for the door. I joined her, but one of the goons was quick and reached out — grabbing my foot. I twisted but he held tight. I shouted out and Rachel turned to see what was going on.
The second goon was trying to get to his feet. Rachel ran back and, with a kick that Bruce Lee would have been proud to call his own, she landed her heel on the first goon’s head. He screamed and let go of my foot. I pulled myself through the door and Rachel followed me. She slammed the door shut and turned the key that she had left in the lock. The sound of the second goon hitting the door reverberated around the close and we ran.
Outside Rachel hit the remote on the car key ring and we leapt in. She fired up the car and we were history.
‘Now where?’ she said.
‘ London.’
‘What?’
‘ London. I need to sort this and the only place I can do that is London.’
‘I can’t go to London. I’ve got a job.’
‘And it won’t be much use if you’re a new addition to Linn Crematorium. London it has to be.’
‘Fuck.’
It’s hard to think that you could spend six hours in a car with someone and say so little but Rachel was the type of girl that could do that and some.
We hit the outskirts of London just after rush hour and I directed her to Fulham. I had someone I needed to see and I could only hope they were still in their old house.
As we passed by the Albert Hall I had a change of mind and told Rachel we should check into a hotel for the night. I needed to do a little leg work before I took the next step.
We booked into one of the myriad of hotels that circle the Albert Hall. It took me back to that first night in London. This time I wasn’t sharing. Separate rooms of course.
Another day another dollar.
Chapter 59
Wednesday August 13 th 2008
I’ve made a shed load of phone calls and I’m certain my name is now around town. But I had no choice. If there was one person that might know where Dupree was it was Giles — and the last time I had talked to Giles he had screamed at me down the phone for my little jaunt into Silvertown. Stepping on his toes had got him fired. But I knew he hadn’t vanished.
While in prison I met a small time con called Casper Turner. Casper was a toe rag and had been caught robbing an old folks home. Normally I would have ignored his type but I recognised the name from London and I knew he had been tied up with Giles in some way. I caught up with him in the exercise yard and he told me that Giles had retired back to his house in Fulham.
When Giles got the bullet he was in his late fifties and I knew he had more than enough cash to get by. I thought he might be dead by now but the phone calls had revealed that he was very much alive, and still living in Fulham. I had an address and it was time to pay a visit.
Rachel was still in silent mode and when I asked to borrow her car it was like asking a kidney patient to lend their dialysis machine. But she agreed.
London was the usual — busy and a pain in the arse. I wound my way towards Giles’s address. Harrods slipped by and then Stamford Bridge. There was a football game on tonight and the police cones were already going out to limit parking.
I turned into the North End Rd. The daily market was running, the stalls lining the full length of the road on my right. I had no sat nav and no A to Z but I knew Fulham well enough to get to Giles’s street.
Parking was a different game and even mid morning it took me twenty minutes to find a space. Rachel’s car was two inches longer than the gap but a bit of bumper to bumper action and I was in. I’d explain the scratches if she noticed them.
Giles lives in a row of terraced houses. In the mid eighties they had provided a surprisingly cheap accommodation option given their proximity to the city centre. Chelsea, just up the road, was already awash with million pound plus homes while you could still get a two bed flat for thirty five grand not half a mile away.
I walked past Giles’s house and glanced at the building. The curtains were open but it was hard to tell if there was anyone home. I reached the bottom of the street and did a u-turn and gave one more fly by. I u-turned again and this time walked up to the door.
It was a jet black affair with a large brass knocker in the shape of a horse’s head. I tried to remember if Giles had been a horse person, but there were no bells ringing. I pulled back the knocker and let it drop. I repeated the exercise and waited.
I was about to knock again when I heard a noise from behind the door. There was a spy-hole just above the horse’s head and I saw it darken as someone looked out. Bolts were thrown and the door cracked open. A head appeared.
‘Fuck.’
I seemed to have this effect on people at the moment.
‘You can piss off.’
I smiled.
‘What the hell do you want?’ said Giles.
‘To chat.’
‘What the fuck do we have to chat about?’
‘Amongst other things, the price of bread would seem a good topic.’
The door closed, a bolt was thrown and the door re-opened. Giles was dressed in a pair of battered chinos topped off by the granddaddy of oversized cardigans. The sort that has no buttons and relies on a cloth belt to keep it closed. He stepped back and gestured for me to come in. I took a quick look up and down the street but it was clear. I wasn’t expecting anyone but then again I had thought Rachel’s a safe bet.
‘Expecting company?’ said Giles.
I shook my head. ‘Not unless you are?’
He closed the door, led me through a short hall and into the room on the right.
It was like stepping back in time. The furniture was Victoriana, as were the carpet and fittings. Two walls were floor to ceiling with books and the third wall had a stunning landscape of a ship in the midst of a hell of a storm.
‘Take a seat. Tea?’ he asked.
‘Thanks,’ I replied.
With that he left me and I wondered why there was no butler. I didn’t sit down, choosing to browse the book-shelves instead.