I said, ‘Go on open it... won’t bite.’
Curiosity impelled her to cautiously approach the parcel and touch it, one eye on me all the while. A T-shirt tumbled out and she said, ‘What...?’
‘It’s a large, I couldn’t help noticing you’re packing some cellulite, but if it doesn’t bother Lady Di...’
She held it up. On the front was 667.
Triumphantly she turned, spat, ‘You fuckin’ moron, it’s 666!’
I smiled, said, ‘That there, that’s the neighbour of the beast.’
Reed came storming in, agitation writ large.
‘Bro’, we’s got to talk.’
‘Sure... excuse us a mo’, you play with yer T-shirt.’
I moved up to the door, asked, ‘What’s shakin’?’
‘Me bro’, de bloods dun come to my crib... wit’ machetes, dun slashed it to shee-hit an’ gone.’
‘Leon’s goons?’
‘What cho think, they be lookin fo’ mo’ TV license? They be Leon’s.’
‘Jeez, lucky you weren’t there.’
‘Yah. I be born lucky.’
‘Time to get serious, he’s going to cough up now.’ I moved over beside Ros, said:
‘Let someone you love know you care.’
Me and Bob Hoskins both.
Asked Reed for Leon’s number and punched it in on the mobile. Answered, said, ‘Leon?’
‘It is I.’
‘Get this, you fuck.’
And tore a lump from Roz’s hair. She screamed like a banshee.
I asked, ‘Hear that?’
‘I hear it, please... no further demonstration is necessary.’
‘Hey, fuck-hole? don’t tell me what’s necessary. I’m holding a clump of her hair in my hand. You ready to rock ’n’ roll, else I send you her wrist... the tattooed one... in a bag.’
‘I’ll do what you ask.’
‘That minder you’ve got... have him at The Oval Tube Station at eight in the morning... with the money. He’s to hand it to a Big Issue seller. Got that?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s fifty-two large.’
‘I beg your pardon, fifty two?’
‘Yeah, the extra is for re-decoration, know what I mean?’
‘I follow you.’
‘Yo’... bollocks, that’s exactly what you don’t do. Otherwise, I’ll put the white meat to Roz here... how would that be... go where the black has been and boldly.’
‘Afterwards, where is it you believe you can hide from me?’
‘Gee, that’s scary. Gotta go now, give yer bitch her bath.’
Reed was sweating, said:
‘Yo’ be losing it, mon.’
Roz was whimpering, said:
‘You didn’t have to do that.’
I shouted, ‘People!... You... enough with the negative waves. If I have seen further than most, it’s because I have stood on the shoulders of giants.’
I took Reed by the arm, said:
‘Step outside with me a moment.’
‘Yo’ all gonna kick me black ass?’
‘What? I’m not a violent man... I’m just another Ghandi with edge.’
Outside, I gulped in the Balham air, said:
‘I have good news.’
‘Yo’ gonna shoot yo-self?’
‘I’ve found somebody.’
‘What cha be sayin’?’
‘I think I might be in love.’
He stepped back, his eyes wide as a Stockwell barrow boy, exclaimed:
‘Yo’ be courtin’... you be dancin’ and moonin’ while dee hood be chasin’ us with machetes?’
‘You’ll like him, he’s different.’
Reed moved to go back inside, said, ‘Dat medicine yo’ be takin’, it not be enough... we be fucked... dat what we be, how yo’ plan to collect de money?’
‘By courier.’
‘De Lord have mercy — we goin’ down.’
Going Toxic
16
I went straight home, got a large hold-all and piled in the essentials:
1. Lithium
2. Baseball bat
3. Cash, a lotta that.
Also clothes, toiletries and Walkman.
Ready to boogie, called a cab and, moving fast, checked into a hotel off Clapham Common. Not a bad little place. Cypriot-owned, my room was large, bright with a shower. I could see the Common from my window. Spring or Autumn, I find it’s vastness beautiful. If I opened my window, I could hear the ducks and it sounded like normality. I guess this would explain me best, that I’d gauge normality by the quacking of a duck.
Perhaps the best metaphor of all for a mind, wounded at it’s centre.
Along the wall were the two basics for urban survival, coffee-making facilities and a phone.
Made an elephant black caffeine and chugged it, fast... too bitter, too raw... just how I loved it. Made another, getting mobile.
Originally, I’d had an elaborate plan to collect the ransoms involving Danny, Reed, Drop-bird; now I thought,
Fuck it!
And I’d go for the simple hit. It would work or not, but it would certainly be rapid.
Called Jeff, said, ‘How you doin’?’
‘Good... I enjoyed our evening so much.’
‘I may be able to help you get to America sooner than you think.’
‘Pray tell.’
I laid out the scenario and waited for his response. Damp... way down the enthusiasm scale.
I asked, ‘Jeff, you’re an actor, right?’
‘Erm... yes...’
‘Then act grateful. I’m helping you out here.’
‘Sorry Tony, it sounds iffy.’
‘Iffy... what’s that, an Equity word, is it?’
‘Don’t be horrible.’
‘Just be on time, son.’
And rung off.
I was crazy for him but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t put the wrath of be-jaysus his way. Keeps them focussed.
As I headed out, the guy at reception asked, ‘For how long you be staying... Mr...?’
‘Hackman.’
‘Like the film person?’
‘Acrivos.’ (exactly).
He was delighted, near orgasmic. One Greek word and you’re family. I learnt it at the Oval Kebab joint. I had some more but I figured I’d ration them.
He said, ‘You speak Greek. I am Spiro, welcome to my home. This evening you will take a little ouzo with me.’
Shows my simmering paranoia but I thought he said ‘Uzi.’
And took a moment to re-focus. Could have said, Oops, beware of a Greek bearing gifts.
What I actually said was, ‘Thank you.’
And I was outa there. Needed to find Ben, the Big Issue vendor and while he was still sober. That wouldn’t be much longer, if I knew Ben. I was, as the Americans say ‘pushing the envelope.’
When times got very tight, Ben would drink surgical spirit. He called it ‘An urge for the surge.’
Who was I to argue the toss?
On remand one time, in the psycho-wing of Brixton Avenue, they’d pumped me full of L. For days I did ‘the largaktyl shuffle.’
That’s like Frankenstein with DTs.
I found Ben sitting outside Kennington Park. On the bench reserved for winos. He had on the Big Issue uniform — warm coat, mittens, layers of sweaters, three scarfs and a blasted face. His hair was matted and thick. Like African com-rows, save it was a result of sleeping rough. He was attempting a roll-up.
I said shrewdly, ‘Ben...’
‘Aw, jaysus... Brady... here, will you roll this whoring thing? I’m shakier than a Tory promise.
His brogue was thick as Sally Army soup. But the eyes were alert, blue and bright with a sadness of infinity. I did the cigarette, rather a neat job. Time in prison is not entirely misspent. Ben, like most Irish I knew, had an encyclopedic knowledge of startling information. Most of it useless and thus prized the more. I handed him the rollie.