And speaking of wreaths
They buried Jacko Mary on a cold November morning long after A White Arrest was concluded. There was the grave-digger, Roberts and a shabby woman. When the coffin was down, she said: ‘Rough enough to die alone.’
‘You’re here.’
‘I’m not a friend. He owed me money’ Roberts tried to temper his anger. ‘Thought you might still get it, eh?’
‘’Ere, don’t be sarky. You must be that copper.’
Roberts looked round, said: ‘Yeah. Keep it down, OK?’
‘He liked you, he did.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yeah. Were he any good as a snitch, like?’
Roberts considered. Jacko Mary had cracked the ‘E’ case, sort of, but he said: ‘No.’
‘Didn’t fink so.’
As a cop, Roberts had to do lots of dodgy things, came with the territory. But this denial was to be one act he felt forever ashamed about.
At a squat in Coldharbour Lane, a woman was stirring. ‘Tony.’
She raised her voice. ‘Tony!’
‘What? What’s going on?’
‘Brew us a cup o’ tea, two sugars.’
‘Fock off.’
She got up and gave him a smack on the head with an old copy of the Big Issue. If she’d checked, Tricky was on the cover. He got up and moved over to the gas ring. Near tripped on a number nine club. The grip was worn, well used. The woman watched him as he tried to get it together to light the gas, said:
‘Jaysus, yer arse looks great in them Farahs.’
‘They’re a bit tight, cut into the crack of my hole.’
And he moved his right leg to demonstrate. She said: ‘Naw, I like ’em.’
‘D’ya think I’m sexy?’
‘Yeah, dead sexy.’
In Coldharbour Lane, Kevin had called a meet. He was dressed in combat gear, and wired to the moon. Doug and Fenton exchanged wary glances. Albert arrived late and got a bollocking.
‘What is it, Albert, yer getting tired of our crusade, that it?’
‘I had to sign on, Kev. I was up the DHSS.’
‘Yer head is up yer ass, is what. Time to get yer attention, fella. Time to get everybody’s attention.’
He threw three black-and-white photos on the coffee table, said: ‘We’re moving up.’
Albert felt his heart thump, tried: ‘Like another area?’
Kevin crossed to him, began to jab his chest with his fingers, jabbed hard, spitting: ‘No shithead, we’re staying put, no scum’s running me outta my manor. We’re gonna off three fucks at once.’
Fenton was on his feet: ‘What? C’mon Kevin, how the hell are we gonna pull that off?’
Kevin didn’t look at him, but continued to jab at his brother, said: ‘See these three, yeah in the photies, they’ve set up shop together. Got a co-op in Electric Avenue and that’s where we’re gonna take ’em.’
Doug sighed, asked:
‘And the three guys, they’re just gonna say, “Hey OK, we’ll come with youse — oh, nice rope.”’
Kevin’s eyes gleamed, his moment, said: ‘That’s it Douggie, we’ll do them in their gaff.’
A week later…
At the CA Club, Cora was gushing energetically. ‘But Penelope, are you sure you won’t let one of the boys pamper you?
‘No! Is there something you can’t grasp? Try this: N-O!’
‘Oh golly, we seem a trifle tense today. Perhaps a drinkipoos?’
‘Ah, for heaven’s sake!’ And she snapped to her feet, began to pace. Cora fussed on: ‘Your friend seemed keenish, I do believe she has a minor crush on our Jason.’
Penny glared at her, said: ‘Get bloody real!’
The door chimes went. Today they played ‘Uno Paloma Blanca’, it added to Penny’s bile. Cora said: ‘Excuse me lambikins, but I must see to that. Don’t you just die with those chimes?’
Cora lightly patted her frosted hair before answering the door. The hair was rigid and today resembled an off-kilter meringue mess. She opened the door.
Brant said: ‘Yo, Cora, how they hanging?’
A fraction later, she tried to slam it. He gave it a push, knocking her back inside. Falls followed behind, like the biblical pale rider. Cora tried for indignation: ‘How dare you? I trust you have a warrant?’
Brant stepped right up to her, said, ‘It’s bloody Maggie Johnson… I wondered where you’d legged it to. My, my, come up in the world, ’aven’t you? Here, constable, this is Maggie, the cheapest ride this side of the Elephant ’n’ Castle.’
Cora raised her voice. ‘Damn impertinence, you’ve overstepped your brief, sonny. We’re protected.’
Brant drew an almighty kick to Cora’s knee and she dropped like a stone. He hunkered down, tried unsuccessfully to grasp her hair, and settled for her neck, said, ‘What the fuck kind of shit you got in yer hair? Now listen up, don’t back-talk me, ever, or I’ll break yer nose… OK?’
She nodded. He caught her shoulder and hoisted her up, said: ‘Let’s hobble inside, see what’s cookin’.’
On seeing Penny, Falls nearly spoke, but settled for a look; one of pure malice. Brant pushed Cora into a chair, asked Penny:
‘Room number?’
‘It’s not numbers, it’s names.’
‘So gimme the bloody name.’
‘The Cherise Room, upstairs, first on the right.’
‘OK, now hop it.’
‘I can go?’
‘Yeah, fuck off.’
Cora wanted to shout abuse, to tear at Penny’s eyes, but Brant said: ‘Don’t ever think about it.’
When the door had closed, Brant turned to Falls, said, ‘Keep yer eyes on this cow. If she even twitches, give her a clout round the ear-hole.’
Fiona was over an orgasmic rainbow. Jason, between her legs working like a bastard. Moans and cries punctuated the seizures of her body. The door crashed open and Brant said:
‘Tasty.’
Jason turned his head, confusion, shock, writ large. His brain whispered ‘husband’.
Fiona tried to sit up, pushed against Jason and grabbed for a sheet. Brant closed the door and leant against it, began to light a Weight as the pair fumbled on the bed.
He said, ‘Hey, don’t stop on my account.’
Eventually, Jason got his briefs on, and Fiona pulled the sheet up to her chin.
Brant smiled, then reached back to open the door. ‘Off yah go, cocker.’
As Jason edged past to get out, Brant gave him a hefty slap on the arse and shut the door behind him. He turned to Fiona. ‘Get dressed then.’
Fiona was trying to calm her roaring mind, said: ‘How can I, with you standing there?’
He gave a hearty laugh. ‘Jaysus, I’ve seen what you’ve got. Now move it or I’ll dress you.’
She did. Shame and bewilderment crowded down as she pulled her clothes on. Brant’s eyes never left her.
Then she said, ‘I’m ready.’
‘Whoo-kay, I’ll drive you home.’
‘What?’
‘You don’t wanna walk, Fiona. Not after the exertion you’ve been putting in. Naw, the motor’s outside.’
Fiona gave a last shot at comprehension. ‘You’re not taking me to my husband?’
‘What? naw, whatcha think I am, some kind of animal?’ Brant put Fiona in the front of a battered Volkswagen Golf, said to Falls:
‘You’ll be all right from here, there’s a tube down the road.’
Falls didn’t like any of this, said: ‘Shouldn’t I be along as a witness?’ He gave a snide chuckle, a dangerous sound. ‘Wise up, babe.’
She put her hand on the door, insisting. ‘I’m sorry, Sarge, but I feel I should…
He pushed her hand away, losing it a little.
‘Piss off, Falls, you’re drawing attention. Don’t ever do that to me.’
She backed off. He moved in close, anger leaking through his eyes. ‘You want to worry about something, Falls? Worry about paying me back.’
He slammed the door, causing Falls to shudder. Then he moved to the driver’s side, got in and slammed the door, burnt rubber leaving. Falls watched them go and gritted her teeth.