Civvies

Like a bleeding puppet-master, Dillon thought. Did he never let go the strings, never ever let up, not even for a second?

'What you want the deeds of Harry's house for?' Dillon asked, pinning up a large-scale street map of central London.

'Collateral. An' I got these forms from the bank, to apply for a government grant.' Jimmy tossed the pamphlets on the desk. The phone rang, and it was as if they were both frozen for a moment, stunned with the shock of it actually ringing.

Jimmy picked it up. 'Stag Security and Chauffeur Drive…' He listened, nodding, then glanced at Dillon, giving the thumbs-up. 'I'll just see if we have a car available.' He covered the mouthpiece. 'Taxi…'

Big ecstatic grin from Dillon, who grabbed a notepad and pen, shoved them across the desk.

'We have a Ford Granada available, yes… and the address? Yes… destination?' Jimmy scribbled. 'Fine… be with you in ten minutes.' He put the phone down and stuck out his hand for Dillon to shake. 'We're in business – that's our first fare! See? It's workin' out – Oi, Cliff!' Jimmy tore off the sheet, handed it to Cliff as he came in the door. 'Can you pick up at 12 Thresherd Street, a Mrs Williams, going to Bond Street.'

Jimmy was fizzing like a Roman Candle. Tossing the car keys, reaching for the cordless phone, mouth working overtime.

'Use the Granada, an' take this, it's a portable. You got money for petrol?' Snatched aside to Dillon: 'We'll have to get a kitty box organised, all receipts, etcetera…' And even while Dillon was patting his pockets: 'Okay, Frank, I got it, here's twenty.'

Cliff stuffed the noted away, and as Dillon went past him, 'Where you off to, Frank? We need the phones manned…'

'Takin' a leak,' Dillon said, not looking back, 'if that's okay with you, Jimmy!'

The puppet-master stared after him, but for once kept his trap shut.

CHAPTER 24

Having got the boys sorted, sitting in front of the telly watching Neighbours, plates of fish fingers, beans and potato waffles on their knees, Susie went into the kitchen to the smell of burning bacon. On top of a long, hard day saying 'Marway's MiniCabs' ten thousand times, it was just what she needed. 'I told you to watch the pan!' Idle bugger hadn't even budged, elbows on the table with his back to the stove, a can of Tennents Export in his hand. Susie took it out on the eggs, cracking three into the hot fat, breaking one yolk.

'You're not workin' for that Paki any more.'

'Oh no? That an order is it?' Susie looked over her shoulder, teeth pressed together. 'You think you could get yourself a plate, knife and fork?'

Dillon's chair scraped as he got up. He made a performance of slamming open the drawer, clattering inside, grabbing a plate from the draining rack.

Susie counted to ten but only got to five, unable to help herself.

'The rent is due! The milk bill, the kids need new gym gear. Got the money, have you, Frank?' She slid two rashers and the two unbroken eggs onto his plate, then did her own. She stood holding the empty pan. 'There's no money coming in from you, Frank… who you think's been paying the bills while you were gallivantin' all around Scotland?'

Dillon stared down at his plate, decided he was too hungry to pick it up and hurl it at the wall. It hadn't been a good day up to now, and he could do without Susie rubbing salt into an open wound. Two calls they'd had so far. Two measly, stinking calls. All afternoon they'd sat around the office, dozing, scratching their arses, waiting for the phone to ring. Finally, Jimmy had suggested putting in a call to Newman. Work was work, another five grand in the mitt, just for doing the airport run… What about it, Frank?

Dillon folded a slice of bread, dunked it in the eggs. 'I was workin' in Scotland, started up the business with the cash,' he reminded her. He took a bite, chewed, glared at the Daddies Sauce bottle. 'Not that you've shown any interest. Not even been to see the place…'

'I'm not actually flushed for time, Frank,' Susie said, attacking the bacon. 'I shop, cook, clean the house, as well as washing, ironing. You think your shirts walk into the wardrobe?'

'I don't want you workin'.'

'We need the money from Marway -'

Dillon swiped his plate off the table, along with the cutlery, salt and pepper, sauce bottle. He wrenched a bunch of crumpled fivers from his pocket and flung them on the table, white to the lips.

'Take it, take it – an' get on that phone, tell your Mum, tell her not to come, I want you here lookin' after my kids!'

Jimmy pulled up in the metallic gold Granada just as Susie was leapfrogging across the central courtyard in an L-plated Nissan Micra, gripping the steering-wheel in both hands, a frown of concentration on her face. Marway sat beside her, composed and calm as ever.

Grinning, Jimmy did a sweeping bow, ushering Susie on her way. 'Left hand down a bit, love!' he laughed, and then caught a glimpse of Dillon in the flat above, lurking behind the bedroom curtains.

'Big Brother's watchin' you, Susie!' Jimmy waved. 'Hi, Frank!' and hooted again as Dillon ducked out of sight.

Dillon was livid. Susie had paid no attention to the 'I will be obeyed ' act and it pissed him off. She had started getting at him, not listening to him, and he felt inadequate. She'd even got her ruddy mother coming over even though he told her that he didn't want her in the flat, but the frustrating thing was, deep down, he knew Susie was right, they did need the money. He just hated feeling impotent.

The boys were in the bath, and Jimmy got roped into towelling them down while Dad sorted out clean pyjamas. He emerged from the bathroom carrying young Phil wrapped in a towel, bouncing him up and down.

'Second one all clean an' ship-shape, Sergeant! Where you want him?'

In the boys' room he found Dillon, wearing a plastic apron and a scowl, wet shirt sleeves rolled up, buttoning Kenny's pyjama top. The doorbell shrilled, and Dillon said, 'That'll be your Gran… get 'em in their bunks, Jimmy, then we gotta get a move on.'

He was halfway along the landing on his way to answer the door when Jimmy's mocking voice floated from the bedroom. 'Don't forget to take your pinny off, Freda!'

Dillon dragged it off and furiously flung it over the banister. After all he'd said – after giving it to her straight, and she hadn't taken a blind bit of notice. Well, we'll see, he thought, thumping down the stairs. We'll bloody well see about that.

'Awww shit! These bloody elephants are givin' me a hernia!'

Sweat running down his neck, Harry staggered through the doorway into the passage, a tea chest clasped in his arms. He nearly tripped, grazed his elbow on the pink wall, and lost his grip. The corner thudded against one of the tea chests already stacked there, the side split open, straw and plastic bubbles spilling over the floor.

'… five, six, seven,' Dillon counted, checking them off on his clipboard. Jimmy and Cliff panted in, carrying one between them. 'Eight,' Dillon said. 'This the lot, jimmy?'

'Yeah, this is it…' Jimmy mopped his face, then noticed the gaping split. 'Which cack-handed twat did that!'

'I just dropped it,' Harry said lamely. 'Weighs a ton…'

'You're tellin' me!' Jimmy used the side of his foot to tidy up the straw. 'Get it back together, come on, they'll be here…'

'I'm off,' said Dillon, handing over the clipboard. 'Check the cash, Jimmy. Knowing Newman, he's probably printin' it hisself.' And swapped Jimmy's dark look with an even darker one of his own. 'I don't wanna see him, okay?' He went out, banging the door.