Authors: James Green
âCome in, Nat. How's Vic?'
âMad, Jimmy.' Nat was grinning.
Jimmy smiled back at him. âDon't tell me Vic's pretending to be hurt. He's had worse than that. He walked away under his own steam, for God's sake.'
They went and sat in the kitchen.
âPride, Jimmy, you shot him in his pride and he won't forgive you. Vic wants to be somebody one day. Letting you shoot him won't help. It encourages others to have a go.'
âTea?'
Nat looked around the kitchen. âFucking hell, Jimmy, is it always like this?'
Jimmy looked around. It was never like this and especially not if there was a visitor. âNot usually, but it's been a bit, you know, things to do so things don't get done.'
Nat took off his coat and carefully draped it over the back of a chair. Something heavy in the pocket bumped against the wood.
âOK, Jimmy, let's get going.'
He went to the sink and switched on the hot tap. âThere's not much and it's only cups and glasses. You want to wash or dry?'
âDry. Bernie said I'm no good at washing glasses, I don't get them clean.'
Nat had rolled up his sleeves. âThat's 'cos you're a coward, like most men. If you wash up you have the water hot enough to suit your hands but not hot enough to do the job.' Nat put his fingers under the hot water then put the plug in the sink. âWhere's your washing-up liquid?'
Jimmy shrugged. Nat opened a cupboard under the sink. It was there. He squirted it into the water which began to foam as his hand moved in it. He put the liquid away and plunged his hands into the sink. âFuck.'
âHot?'
âNo, I forgot to take my watch off.' He took off his Rolex and put it in his trouser pocket.
âNice watch, Nat.'
âIt should be, it fucking well cost enough.' He passed the first glass to Jimmy who was standing beside him with a tea towel with the Cathedrals of England and Wales on it. The glass was still hot.
Jimmy smiled. âI'm impressed.'
âYou know, Jimmy, when girls get to about twelve a strange change takes place in their bodies; it doesn't happen to boys, only girls. They develop the ability to plunge their hands into boiling water and hold red hot plates without showing pain. How many times have you burnt your fingers on a plate Bernie passed you with her bare hands?'
Jimmy smiled. Often, he thought, often. âWhat about you, Nat?'
âI just don't let myself feel the pain, Jimmy, it's a knack.'
Yes, thought Jimmy, it's a knack. He slowly dried the glasses, cups, and saucers which were piling up before him. Nat finished the sink-full, went to the table and picked up Denny's gun, which Jimmy had left there. âWhat about this?'
Jimmy turned round, he looked at the gun pointing at him. âI dunno, Nat, you can have it if you like, I don't want it.' And he turned back to the drying up.
âI've got one, Jimmy.'
âI know.'
Nat grinned. âI know, I'll give it to Vic and tell him you sent it as a present, said you didn't need it any more.'
He put Denny's gun in his other overcoat pocket. Jimmy liked that, it was a nice touch.
Nat filled the sink with the last things from the table and they carried on in silence. Jimmy was very slow so Nat found another tea towel and they finished the drying up.
âWhere does it all go?'
âLeave it, I'll do this later. Let's go and sit down.' Jimmy led Nat to the living room and they sat down.
âHow come you're still here, Jimmy? It was only on the off-chance Vic came, we thought you'd be well away.'
Jimmy shrugged. âWhere would I go?'
âDenny's not the bloody Mafia. There's plenty of places to be comfortable, where Denny couldn't get you. Don't tell me it's the money. Everyone knows you made it but you never fucking spent it. You must be worth a packet.'
âIt's not the money. You got a family, Nat?'
âMum and Dad.'
âSee them?'
âYeah. They live south of the river, I get round when I can.'
âThey OK?'
âSure, Jimmy. I told them they could live anywhere, I'd pay, but they won't move. I wanted them to move back to St Lucia or Ireland â¦'
âIreland?'
Nat laughed. âSurprised, Jimmy? Didn't think there's any black Irishmen? My dad's from Tuam in Galway and my mum's from a little village in St Lucia. I'm half Irish, Jimmy, it's why I fit in so well here.'
Jimmy thought for a moment. âYou a Catholic, Nat?'
Nat shook his head. âNo, I got expelled.'
âHow do you mean expelled? You don't get expelled.'
âI did. In my first school there weren't many black kids, lots of Irish, some Italian and the like, but not many black kids, and there was this teacher, a little bloke, dead racist. He came to the school as deputy head in my last year and set out to make my life a misery. Anyway, one day I lamped him, I can't remember why, but I was big for my age and he was a runty little guy. He liked wearing the altar boy outfit and serving at the Mass we all had to go to on Friday afternoon. Anyway, I lamped him right on that little 'tache he had.' Nat laughed at the fond memory of school days past. âYou should have seen the blood. He looked so funny. I reckon they expelled me as much 'cos I laughed as for busting his lip. After that I wasn't a Catholic any more. Like I say, I got expelled.'
They sat in silence for a bit. Then Nat said, âI'm going now, Jimmy. Denny will tell me what he wants to happen to you when he's ready to deal with you, so don't try to go anywhere. Vic'll be watching for you, don't give him any opportunity. Maybe he can't kill you yet, but he can hurt you.'
âI'm not going anywhere, Nat. But before you go I've got something for you.'
Jimmy took out the letter and handed it to Nat.
âThis for me, Jimmy?' Nat fingered the thin envelope. âIt's not money so it's got to be info.'
âLet's just say it calls in a favour.'
âSo what will this favour do?'
âHow much do you want it, Nat?'
Nat paused. âWant what?'
âIf you need to ask you don't want it.'
âDo you mean what I think you mean?'
Jimmy nodded.
âAnd this will get it for me?'
Jimmy nodded again.
Nat paused again. This was tricky. âIf I was interested, what would I do with it?'
âYou'd take it to a pub and give it to the barman and tell him it's for Bridie.'
âBridie McDonald?'
âThat's right. Even with Denny down you couldn't take him. But you and Bridie together might.'
Nat was thinking. âThis won't get you off the hook, Jimmy. No one can do anything about you.'
âI know, I don't want anything done about me. But you better make up your mind. Denny's tough, every day you wait makes it harder, and just at the moment Vic's as slow as he's ever likely to be, so he won't stand in your way.'
âI get the picture. So what's in it for you? Nobody does something for nothing and you don't owe me a favour, so what do you get?'
âI'll tell you, Nat, you won't understand, but I'll tell you anyway. Denny's as vicious as it gets, he lives to hurt people. It's not about money with Denny, and he'll go on pushing till he's stopped. So I'm going to have him stopped.'
âAnd I'm going to stop him for you?'
âThat's right, you and Bridie McDonald. Things will be better with you on top because it's all about money with you, Nat. You're as much a businessman as you are a villain. With you it's a career, you're really just a violent accountant. Maybe if you get on top things will get better. Everybody will make money and people will only get hurt if they have to be. That's what it's about, it's about stopping Denny by putting you on top.'
Nat was thinking hard. He wanted it, but ⦠âBridie's been around a long time, maybe she's past it.'
âNo she isn't. She still runs her sons and they still run Glasgow. They'll be in this.'
âWhat makes you so sure?'
âYou remember that Scottish kid? The one you told me about and I made it so you all walked?'
Nat nodded.
âLenny forgot to mention that he was Bridie's youngest son, didn't he? Denny pulled the trigger and you both burned and buried the body. But the only one Bridie knew about was Lenny and that's why he died like he did.'
âI thought that was down to Denny.'
Jimmy shook his head.
âEveryone did, but it was Bridie, and don't ask how he died, it wasn't nice. Give her Denny as the triggerman and she'll probably just want to keep the finger that pulled the trigger to wear round her neck on a chain. What's left she'll give to you.'
Nat was still thinking about it. It sounded right.
âDenny's down and Vic's slow. Get Bridie on board, Nat, and take your chance. Another one may not come along.'
Nat stood up. âWe'll see,' he said and he went to the kitchen and came back with his coat on. âI'll tell you what would make it certain, Jimmy.'
âWhat's that?' Jimmy was on his guard. Nat was going to try to use him, Jimmy could smell it.
âIt was Denny who gave that priest friend of yours and those IRA bombers to Special Branch, and that wasn't all he gave them, he had a regular arrangement. If you were to tell your priest's friends in Belfast that â¦'
âDo you think I know his Belfast friends?'
âYou've got a phone and maybe a couple of days. If you really want Denny stopped you could reach them. After all, whatever happens, your days as a copper are over. If you were to make that call and this all goes through before Denny's back in charge, who knows, maybe you might even get out alive.'
âYou want everyone's help with Denny, Nat? How about asking the coppers as well?'
âI don't take unnecessary chances, that's all. Well, are you in?'
âOK, I'll make the calls, but that's all I can do. They won't work with you and they'll take their own time.'
Nat smiled. âDenny's finished. If the IRA and Bridie McDonald miss, I won't. But I don't promise it will be better, Jimmy. That's in your head, not mine.'
Nat left. They didn't say goodbye.
Jimmy began turning it all over slowly in his mind. Why would Denny give Father Liam to Special Branch? Why would Denny give anything to Special Branch? In Denny's book there were only two sides to the street, the law's side and his side, and Denny would never work with coppers, not with straight coppers, anyway. Denny thought he would live forever and always be at the top. He would never work out that money or fear was never enough insurance. He just wouldn't bother to think that everybody gets older, slower, or just unlucky, and everybody goes down in the end.
But if you were someone who looked ahead and made plans for their retirement, you'd take out the right insurance policy. If you made a deal with Special Branch and you set out to be a source of info on the IRA, now that would be real insurance, that would put you on the inside, not the outside. What if you got Special Branch what they needed, not just on the IRA but on the other terrorist nutters who came to London for a bit of shopping? You would know things, because some of the people they came to deal with knew and trusted you. Now that really would be insurance, that would give you friends in very high places and buy enough immunity when the time came. But that wouldn't be Denny's way. Denny's brain wasn't a businessman's brain.
But Nat's was. If Nat was already on his way to the top he would have started a pension plan a long time ago, a nice solid government pension plan. Jimmy decided not to make any phone calls. But one day he might, one day the information might be worth making a call. One day, if he lived that long.
TWELVE
Kilburn, February 1995
Jimmy stood with his bag and carrier in the doorway of The Liffey Lad. It was busy. By the fireplace a young red-headed man in a thick white sweater was playing good fiddle music but Jimmy didn't feel like tapping his foot. At the tables tourists looked on, happily bemused, as they ate their meals. Many tables had part-empty pint glasses of dark beer on them. The Guinness had been duly sampled but it was wine, shorts, and mineral water that was being drunk. Dotted about the room were Irishesque figures with caps on and Aran sweaters. The women looked more authentic than the men, except for one man in a corner, a Catholic priest in a black suit and a Roman collar. Four years ago that same priest had a job in a bookie's not ten doors down the street. The music, the atmosphere, the rise and fall of voices was all very well done and not a bouncer in sight. Safe as well as fun, real value for money. Jimmy walked across to the bar, put his bags down.
âA pint of Directors, George, please.' He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of change.
A local stepped to the bar, gently bumped Jimmy, turned to him, and said in a loud voice, âSorry, y'r honour, no offence intended.' He then turned to the bar. âAnother pint, Eamon, and on the slate this time by God.'
George looked at Jimmy and then said in an equally loud voice. âYou've had all the drink you'll get here tonight, O'Halloran. Go home to your wife while you can still walk, though it's no welcome the poor woman will give you in your state.'
The local swayed. âYou're a hard man, Eamon Doyle, with no heart at all.' You could almost hear the tears of regret in his voice, it was all very well done.
âHard as the slate I don't write your drinks up on.'
The local flourished his cap aggressively at George. It substituted for anything that might upset the customers.
âBad cess to you, Eamon Doyle. I will go where I am more appreciated, where a man with the drouth on him can find comfort and congenial company.' He turned and announced with a grand gesture. âGoodnight to all here, may the blessing of St Patrick be upon you all.'