Dead Flowers Page 8

  Then, out of nowhere, a little geezer popped up next to me. ‘Sharman,’ he said through the corner of his mouth, like the villain in a bad fifties British movie. But still I recognized the voice from the phone call.

  I looked down at him and he looked up at me. ‘Yeah,’ I said. He resembled a sleazy little bookie’s runner, with a greasy trilby, a tide mark of filth around the striped collar of his shirt, a tie with a knot the size of a pea, a check suit with a shine on the elbows and knees, dirt in his long fingernails, and a miasma of body odour and halitosis around his person. A real prince.

  ‘Got my dough?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Get us a goldie and come over.’ And he scuttled across the carpet to a corner table that was almost private.

  I ordered him a Scotch and carried it and the remains of my pint to where he was sitting. ‘Got a fag?’ he asked, before I had a chance to sit.

  I offered him a Silk Cut and he tore off the filter and lit the ragged end. A real connoisseur, I could tell.

  ‘Chris Grant,’ he said, when he’d taken a drag and swallowed half his drink. ‘Why d’you want him?’

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ I replied.

  He sneered, showing nicotine-stained teeth. ‘Don’t get fucking clever with me,’ he said.

  ‘Listen, you little cunt,’ I said back. ‘Don’t get clever with me either or I’ll shake you till your eyeballs pop out. Now just tell me where he is or I’m off. I’ve got better things to do than sit smelling your armpits.’

  ‘I know his mum,’ said the geezer.

  ‘Terrific. Happy families. What am I supposed to do with that information?’

  ‘Nothing. But I also know where he lives.’

  ‘So tell me.’

  ‘So give me the dough.’

  ‘If you’re pissing me about pal …’ I didn’t finish the threat.

  ‘I ain’t.

  I took the envelope I’d put the five hundred quid into out of my pocket and slid it across the table. He opened the flap and did a quick count. ‘Satisfied?’ I asked.

  ‘It’ll do.’

  ‘So.’

  He gave me an address on the Aylesbury Estate about a quarter of a mile from where we sat. I knew I could be easily mugged off, but it was all I had to go on, and besides Ray Miller was picking up the expenses, and with twelve million quid in his bin he’d hardly notice a monkey, more or less, so I said, ‘Has he got a bird with him?’

  ‘He’s always got a bird somewhere.’

  ‘This one?’ I took out a photo of Sharon.

  He gave it a glance and shrugged. ‘Maybe. They all look the same to me.’

  He was a big help. ‘OK. Thanks,’ I said. ‘I hope I don’t have to come back looking for you.’

  ‘You won’t,’ he said, and he finished his drink and split.

  25

  I went back to the car and drove the short way to the estate, but not actually on to it. I didn’t fancy finding the jeep stripped down to its bare body shell when I wanted to leave, so I parked up at the back of the Elephant tube station and went into the estate on foot.

  The estate map was so defaced by graffiti that it was hard to figure out where the block I wanted was located, but after scratching at it for a few minutes I discovered it was about two minutes away, on the edge of the Old Kent Road. It was just like going home.

  I walked through, and knew I’d been had before I even reached the block. In some vain attempt to restore the Aylesbury to its former glory, the local council was refurbishing parts of the estate, and the block I wanted was scaffolded up, covered in that weird green netting that builders use to stop stray chunks of masonry decapitating any passing citizenry, and looked empty. Windows had been stripped out and stared blindly down on me, and the whole place was dotted with piles of sand and odd bits of building machinery that the contractors figured were too big to be spirited away in the night by the local villains. At that time of the day and week it was deserted. At least some people had the weekend off.

  Shit, I thought. Mugged off again. If I ever catch up with the little bastard who’d sold me this pup he’ll be sorry.

  But still I pressed on. Who knew? I might be lucky and find something.

  There had been a half-hearted try at fencing off the block, but most of it had been pushed flat either by the workers’ trucks or chancers looking for something to rip off, and I climbed over and went looking for the flat I’d been told Chris Grant occupied.

  It wasn’t easy to find. Most of the front doors had been hauled off, but eventually I worked out it had to be on the third floor. Wearily I climbed the stairs until I came to the right landing. Of course the flat was empty, a mere shell waiting for refurbishment and redecoration. I stood on the walkway outside, in the chill wind that had sprung up from the east, and looked down at the cars heading into and out of town.

  Five hundred nicker for this. I must be losing my touch, I thought.

  And then from above me I heard a sound. Nothing much. Probably some old stray cat looking for a night’s kip, but I looked up anyway, and the last thing I remember was seeing a huge chunk of scaffolding and its attendant planks of wood heading my way, and then nothing.

  26

  When I came to, the sun had sunk further in the heavens, it was twilight and I was hurting all over, with a headache more painful than the one I’d woken up with - was it only this morning? And worse, I knew I’d been suckered into a trap, and I wasn’t sure if the trap had been totally sprung yet. Especially when I heard someone walking towards me along the landing and I couldn’t shift the crap that was all over me.

  Oh fuck, I thought, as I struggled with the scaffolding that was holding me down, they’re coming to finish the job. After all I’d been through in my life, was this the way it was going to end? Cold stone dead on a fucking housing estate where you wouldn’t want your dog to live, let alone die. Shit, I thought. This can’t be happening.

  And then, like a miracle, Maddie and Matty were leaning over me and brushing the dust from my face.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I wheezed, as they gently moved the building materials off my body.

  ‘We knew something was wrong,’ said one of them, and I honestly didn’t know which, I was having so much trouble keeping it together.

  ‘How did you know where I was?’

  ‘You were wearing the crystal,’ said one of their voices as I lost consciousness again.

  When I popped back to reality for the second time I could move, and although it still hurt like hell I could feel that no bones were broken. ‘The car’s downstairs,’ said Matty, or at least I think it was Matty. ‘We’re going to take you home with us.’

  I was about to tell them to take me to casualty, when I thought better of it. I’d rather be nursed by these two than some stern sister, and this way I wouldn’t have to answer any awkward questions about where I’d been and what I’d been doing there.

  And I knew they had drugs.

  27

  They got me up and helped me down the stairs and into the red jeep which was parked the other side of the broken fence. I slumped in the back seat and looked at the blood and filth on my clothes and realized I was lucky to be alive. ‘You look a mess,’ said Matty. Yes, I’m sure it was Matty. I was beginning to wake up.

  ‘I feel like one,’ I croaked.

  ‘We’ll soon have you feeling fine,’ she said. ‘Where’s my car by the way?’

  ‘Just round the corner,’ I said, and managed to show them where before passing out once more.

  I woke up when we got to Notting Hill. I was alone in the car with Maddie by then, but when I looked through the back window, Matty was driving the other jeep behind us.

  The girls parked the motors and helped me to the elevator and into the apartment, where they undressed me again, but not in an erotic way this time. Then they helped me into the massive shower stall, undressed themselves, which I’m glad to say didn’t leave me totally uninterested, t
urned on the water until it was pleasantly warm and joined me. They cleaned me up, then dried me gently, which made me even more interested, but they chose to ignore my condition, and took me to the bedroom where I dropped on to the bed like stone while they fetched plasters for my wounds.

  ‘You want some morphine?’ asked Matty, when they’d finished patching me up. ‘It’ll help with the pain.’

  ‘Morphine,’ I said. ‘How the hell did you get morphine?’

  ‘It’s not difficult,’ said Maddie. ‘Didn’t you know we were doctors?’

  Shit, I swear those girls were doctors. ‘Bring it on then,’ I said, and they brought me two pills and a cup of some kind of herbal tea to wash it down. It smelt vile and tasted worse, and I begged for a Jack Daniel’s or something similar, but they insisted, telling me it would make me feel better, and as I could hardly have felt worse, and I was in a weakened state, I drained it to the final drop. The last thing I remember was the pair of them, naked again, climbing into bed with me, one on either side, and the delicious warmth of their bodies as they lay next to me like the sisters of mercy they’d turned out to be. That’s what I was going to call them from now on I thought, as I drifted off to sleep: the Sisters of Mercy, just like in the old Leonard Cohen song. And they were better than Tony Blair’s new NHS by a long way.

  28

  I woke up with a full bladder feeling better than I deserved to. It was amazing. The girls were nowhere to be seen, and when I checked my watch, which miraculously was still working, it was past ten and the sun was bright outside. I found my pants and went to the bathroom for a piss. When I was finished I looked in the mirror and saw I had a lovely shiner on my left eye. I felt a bit stiff and there was some other bruising, but apart from that I was AOK. I went back to the bedroom, pulled on my dirty jeans and went looking for my saviours.

  They were in the kitchen eating breakfast. ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Matty, when I went in.

  ‘Better than I should. What was in that drink you gave me?’

  ‘All sorts of things.’

  ‘You should patent it.’

  They both grinned. ‘Want something to eat? Coffee?’ asked Maddie.

  I suddenly felt ravenous. ‘Sure do,’ I said. ‘Have you got my shirt?’

  ‘It’s in the wash,’ said Matty. ‘I’ll find you something to wear.’ And she left the room whilst Maddie put some bread in the toaster. ‘Scrambled eggs?’ she asked.

  ‘Please. Got any bacon?’

  ‘We don’t eat meat.’

  There had to be a downer. Even in paradise. ‘Fair enough,’ I said.

  ‘But I’ll fry you some potatoes, and we’ve got mushrooms and tomatoes.’

  ‘Terrific,’ I said, and sat down at the table.

  Matty came back from the airing cupboard with an oversized T-shirt that was soft and warm and fragrant, and I slipped it on.

  Meanwhile Maddie rustled up a fast breakfast, which, even though it lacked one vital ingredient, smelt great, and I dug in as soon as she put the plate in front of me.

  ‘Right,’ I said when I was on my first cigarette and second cup of coffee, which I had a feeling was decaf but still tasted just fine, ‘I’ve got a couple of questions for you girls.’

  ‘Girls,’ said Maddie. ‘Isn’t he sweet.’

  ‘The spirit of chauvinism obviously isn’t dead,’ said Matty. ‘Even though it was girls who saved his little life.’ She put heavy emphasis on the word ‘girls’.

  ‘OK, OK,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. And thank you. I mean it. If you hadn’t come along Christ knows what would’ve happened to me. I’m eternally grateful, and that’s no bollocks. But don’t try and change the subject. Were you two following me?’

  They shook their heads in unison.

  ‘So how in God’s name did you know where I was and what had happened?’

  Matty shook her head in exasperation. ‘We told you,’ she said. ‘You were wearing the crystal.’

  I touched the stone that hung around my neck and shook my head in exasperation. ‘And that told you I needed help?’

  ‘We were there, weren’t we?’ said Maddie.

  ‘I get the feeling that’s all you’re going to tell me,’ I said.

  They both grinned.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ asked Matty.

  ‘Find the little shit that set me up,’ I replied. ‘And whoever pushed half a building site on top of me.’

  ‘Why don’t you just forget it?’ said Maddie. ‘We can all have some fun together.’

  I was sure we could. Convinced in fact, but I still had a job to do and I told them so.

  Anyway, it was getting up close and personal. I don’t like being ripped off and then left for dead.

  I never have.

  ‘Can I borrow one of your cars again?’ I asked, when I’d finished eating and my offer to wash up had been refused.

  ‘Sure,’ said Matty, ‘but be careful.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ I replied. ‘I’ll be just fine.’

  But the looks on their faces told me they weren’t convinced.

  29

  I collected the keys to the blue jeep again and, after kissing the girls chastely on their cheeks, hit the road back down south.

  I got home and had another shower and peeled off the plasters they’d stuck on me. The cuts were dry, if still a little livid.

  Not half as livid as I was. And getting more livid by the moment.

  I got dressed in fresh clothes from the skin out, and wondered if I should get tooled up, but decided against it. I figured I could handle the sleazy little git I was looking for barehanded.

  I went outside got back in the car and headed for Walworth again. I reckoned a little weasel like the one I was looking for would find an open-air market his natural habitat, and he wouldn’t stray far.

  I found a parking space and headed for the Wise and Foolish Virgins again. The pub was almost empty, with no sign of my nameless friend, but the same brassy blonde who’d served me before was still behind the jump giving an already clean glass a polish.

  I ordered a half and when I’d had a sip I said to her, ‘It’s Margie, isn’t it?’

  She simpered and agreed it was.

  ‘I was in here yesterday evening,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for the bloke I was with.’

  She gave me a desultory shake of her platinum locks. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Little geezer,’ I explained. ‘Trilby hat, suit. Scruffy.’

  She shook her head again. ‘Never mind.’ I finished my drink in one long swallow, then with a cheerful ‘Bye’ I left.

  I waited outside for half a minute then went back. The blonde was talking into the payphone on the bar and slammed down the receiver as soon as I entered.

  ‘Nice try,’ I said, found ten pence, put it in the slot and hit the redial button.

  ‘Dog and Trumpet,’ said a male voice after two rings. The Dog and Trumpet by great coincidence was a pub I’d passed maybe two minutes before I arrived at the Virgins.

  ‘Cheers love,’ I said as I put down the receiver, picked up the phone, ripped the wire out of its connection and slammed the entire thing down on to the floor, where the instrument split sending silver splashing across the carpet. I winked at the amazed barmaid and left, running as fast as my legs would carry me back the way I’d come.

  I almost collided with Trilby Hat on the corner and he turned to flee, but I was too quick for him and grabbed him by the scruff of his grubby collar and ran him straight into the nearest brick wall, the force of the collision causing his nose to start bleeding.

  ‘You and me gotta talk, shitface,’ I said. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’

  I frogmarched him a hundred yards to yet another pub, pushed him through the door and up to the bar. ‘Gimme a pint of lager,’ I said to the barman, who didn’t turn a hair at our entrance, ‘and a large Scotch for my friend here.’

  30

  When we’d been served I propelled him to a seat in the corner. H
e was shaking so much he almost spilt his drink. I sat him down, sat opposite, but close, lit a cigarette and blew smoke in his face. ‘You hurt my nose,’ he said, mopping up the blood with his shirt cuff.

  ‘Not half as much as I will if you don’t tell me what I want to know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who paid you to send me on that wild-goose chase last night?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  I slapped him round the face, but in a friendly way. ‘Don’t piss about, son,’ I said. ‘Or you’re looking at a world of pain.’

  He didn’t like the word ‘pain’, I could tell. Who does? I certainly hadn’t the previous evening. I heard the barman behind me cough, and I turned and made a placating gesture with my hands. He pulled a face but said nothing.

  ‘I done a favour for a mate,’ said the little weasel sitting across from me.

  ‘Nice mates you’ve got. And I suppose he told you I wouldn’t be around for a while. If ever?’

  The weasel nodded.

  ‘Name?’ I said.

  No response.

  ‘It wouldn’t be Chris Grant, by any chance? You’d better tell me or I’ll break your fingers one by one.’

  After a few seconds he gave me another nod.

  ‘See. We’re getting along fine. I think we could be friends. By the way, what’s your name?’

  No reply.

  There was a folded brown envelope sticking out of the top pocket of his jacket and I plucked it out. He made an attempt to grab it back but I just knocked him on the nose again and he squealed and tears came to his eyes.

  ‘Careful,’ I said.

  It was, as I’d thought, an unemployment benefit window-envelope and was addressed to Wallace Baker with an address in Kennington.