Authors: Mark Timlin
'No
you won't,' said Chas from the doorway. 'You wouldn't want to take the wrong
turning, would you? Who knows what you might leave behind. Incriminating
evidence. That sort of thing.'
'As
if,' said Childs.
He
and Sean got up and Chas shepherded them to the front door.
'Your
mate don't say much, Mr Childs, does he?' he said as they left. 'Cat got his
tongue?'
Childs
said nothing and Sean ignored him too. Chas watched as they walked down the
drive. He opened the gates for them to leave and closed them again firmly once
they were through. 'Bastards,' he whispered when they'd gone, making a point of
giving the Mercedes another look on the way.
He
went back to where Jenner was sitting. 'What was all that about, boss?' he
asked.
'A
fishing expedition. Somebody talked about what was happening the other day just
like we thought. But they've got nothing.'
Mark
Farrow came quietly down the stairs. He'd been waiting for the police to leave,
not wanting anyone to know he was back until he was ready. He heard his uncle
and Chas talking and when he joined them he said: 'I was bloody lucky doing
that pick up, wasn't I? They definitely knew it was going to go down.'
'They
did. It goes with the territory these days. Fuckers will grass you up for the
price of a packet of fags these days.'
'Sure,'
said Mark, not convinced. 'But it should never have happened. I could've been
captured, easy.'
'Plod
from the sticks,' said John Jenner. 'No match for you, my boy.'
'But
those two weren't plod from the sticks, were they?'
'No,'
agreed Jenner. 'They weren't. Far from it. Did you recognise the quiet one?'
'No,'
said Farrow.
'Jimmy
Hunter's son.'
Mark
almost literally felt his jaw drop. 'Never. What him, a copper?'
'Yeah.
Amazing isn't it? Thought I wouldn't know him, little bastard. But I've been
keeping up with his career. He's just moved over from north London to get a
promotion. Living down Croydon way with his sister and her sprogs.'
'What?'
said Mark, the colour leaving his face. 'What did you say?'
'Thought
you'd be interested,' said Jenner. 'You fancied her once, didn't you?'
Fancied
her, thought Mark. Jesus, that was putting it mildly.
It
was a chance remark Mark overheard between John Jenner and Chas that had
started it all off in the first place. One night, thirteen years earlier, the
three of them were driving God knows where, and 'I see she's got married
again,' was all that Jenner said.
'Who?'
asked Chas.
'Marge
Hunter.'
'No.'
'It's
the truth. Bloke named Pierce, works for the bloody Gas Board of all things.'
'I
didn't know her and Jimmy were divorced.'
'Yeah.
Been seeing the bloke awhile. Gave the bold Jimmy the big E a bit back.'
'How
do you know?' asked Mark from the back of the car.
'Blimey,'
said John Jenner. 'I almost forgot you were there, you're so quiet.'
'So
how do you know?' Mark pressed.
'I
like to keep tabs on people,' said Jenner. 'Know your enemy.'
'Is
she your enemy then?'
'No.
But her ex is. And yours.'
During
the drive and subsequently, Mark kept on at his uncle for details until
eventually Jenner gave in. 'I know a private detective,' he said one sunny May
afternoon. 'I keep him sweet with a few quid and he noses around for me.
Nothing formal. Nothing in writing.'
'So
tell me,' said Mark.
Jenner
told him about Marge and the two children, almost grown then, called Sean and
Linda, about Tom Pierce and the divorce, the subsequent remarriage and where
the new family were living in East Croydon. 'One day,' he said, 'you'll have
your revenge on that little mob.'
'Yes,'
replied Mark. 'I will.'
Mark
pondered on the information for a few days, and decided to do a bit of snooping
of his own. By then he was nineteen and very much part of the Jenner
organisation. He had money in his pocket and drove a new BMW.
The
following Monday morning he got up early, dressed casually in a sweatshirt,
jeans and loafers, took his car keys and headed south.
With
the help of his A-Z he found the address that his Uncle John had mentioned and
by eight o'clock he was parked up just down the wide suburban street, under a
horse chestnut tree.
The
morning exodus from the street was well under way and after just a few minutes
an ordinary looking bloke in an ordinary looking suit carrying a briefcase -
Mark assumed he was Tom Pierce - left the house, got into a Ford Sierra and drove
off. Next, a young, good looking boy a few years younger than Mark came out of
the front door, pulled a bike from the side passage, got on, and pedalled off.
That must be Sean, thought Mark.
A few
minutes later, two girls of about sixteen, dressed in school uniform, came
chattering down the street, went up the front path and knocked on the door. It
opened a moment later and Mark's life changed for ever. In the doorway he saw
the most beautiful girl he'd ever clapped eyes on, dressed in the same school
uniform with a school bag over her shoulder. She was taller than her friends
and, even from a distance, Mark could tell she was the gang's leader.
She
shouted something back through the open door, closed it behind her and the trio
headed out into the street, Mark's way.
He
sank down in his seat and watched them over the top of the dashboard. Linda
Hunter, or Pierce as she now was, filled his eyes, making the others all but
invisible. As she got closer he drank in her every detail. All thoughts of
revenge were forgotten and the only thing he could think of was how he could
get to talk to her.
The
three girls passed the parked BMW without giving it a second glance, turned the
corner at the top of the street and vanished. Mark just sat where he was for
ten minutes before switching on the engine and returning home.
It
didn't take much research to discover which school the girls' uniform belonged
to, and a couple of days later Mark headed back to Croydon. He left his car in
the Pontins garage underneath the Whitgift centre in the middle of town and
took a wander. The school, a massive mixed comprehensive, was close to East
Croydon railway station and next to a park. Just before lunchtime, Mark was
sitting on a bench with a good view of the school's main gates, as an ice cream
van with its tones blasting out
Popeye The Sailor Man
arrived. At
nineteen, Mark was an extremely handsome young man and he knew it. His dark
hair was long over his ears, his skin was smooth and unblemished and that
morning he hid his blue eyes behind dark glasses.
He
was casually dressed again. A white T-shirt, leather jacket, skinny, faded
Levis and black loafers.
He
heard the sound of a school bell and the doors of the main building burst open
and hundreds of youngsters aged between eleven and seventeen headed for their
hour of freedom.
Suddenly
Mark realised that maybe it wouldn't be as easy to spot Linda Pierce as he'd
first imagined. Maybe she'd stay in for lunch. Maybe she was studying during
her free time, or maybe she wasn't even at school that day.
Some
of the kids headed for the centre of town, some hung around the playground and
others came into the park where they grabbed what seating was there or else sat
on the grass under the warm sun.
One
kid, a boy of about thirteen, joined Mark on his bench. Mark lit a cigarette
and the boy said: 'Got a spare fag, mate?'
Mark
looked at him coolly through the dark lenses of his glasses. 'You're too young
to smoke,' he said.
'Bollocks.
I've been at it since I was ten.'
'I
bet you have,' said Mark taking a cigarette from his packet and giving it to
the boy. He offered him a light and the boy inhaled with obvious pleasure.
'Cheers,' he said. 'Don't let a teacher see you.' 'Fuck 'em.'
'Big school,'
said Mark.
'Bleedin'
dump.'
'Aren't
they all?'
'Dunno.
Ain't been to them all.'
Mark
smiled at his cheek. 'Mine was.'
'Where
was that?'
'Brixton.'
The
boy nodded and smoked on.
'Know
someone called Linda Pierce?' asked Mark casually after a minute.
The
boy thought carefully. 'How old?'
'Sixteen.'
'She
new?'
'Might
be.'
'Good
looking tart. Yeah, I know her. She's over there.' He indicated with his head
to a crowd of girls just coming down the main drive, and Mark's heart raced as
he saw her, a head and shoulder above the rest. 'Yeah, that's her,' he said.
'Your bird?' asked the boy. 'No,' said Mark. 'Fancy her, do ya?' 'Maybe.' 'Bit
tasty.'
Mark
agreed with a nod. 'You chatted her up?'
'Not yet,'
said Mark as he got to his feet and walked towards the girls. 'See ya,' he said
over his shoulder, and the boy nodded in reply.
The
girls had entered the park and found a shady spot under a huge oak tree where
they sat in a circle and produced sandwiches, snacks and drinks from various
bags that they dropped in the centre of their camp. Mark watched for a moment
and went closer, the sun at his back so that his shadow preceded him. One of
the girls, a plump blonde, noticed his approach and nudged the one next to her.
Some
boys of his age would have been intimidated by the young women, but Mark knew
his worth. And he was no timid virgin. There were plenty of women
camp-followers around the Jenner mob, and more than one of them had been happy
to initiate a handsome young man into the ways of love.
Still
keeping the sun behind him, Mark stopped by the group and, speaking only to
Linda, he said, 'Hello.'
The
blonde and one of her mates started giggling hysterically but Mark ignored
them. 'Hello,' he said again.
Linda
Pierce blushed as she realised he was speaking to her. 'Hello,' she said back.
The blonde could hardly contain herself, rolling on the grass and showing off
her knickers.
'Do
you fancy an ice cream?' asked Mark.
The
blonde almost burst at that.
'Oh
do shut up, Bren,' said Linda. 'You'll wet yourself. And pull your skirt down.
I can see everything you've got.'
This
only made the girl laugh harder and Mark had to smile too. 'Well, do you?' he
asked, hunkered down on his haunches, took off his shades and gave Linda the
full effect of his eyes.
She
thought for a second and twitched her nose. 'All right,' she said. 'If only to
get away from her,' indicating the blonde.
'She's
enjoying life,' said Mark, standing up and extending his hand.
'Too
much,' said Linda and allowed him to pull her to her feet. At the touch of
their skin, he felt an electric shock and knew she felt the same.
'My
name's Mark,' he said. • 'Linda,' she said, disengaging her fingers.
'Hello,
Linda.'
'Hello,
Mark.'
And
as they walked in the direction of the ice cream van, he heard the blonde say
through waves of laughter. 'Blimey, Linda's got a boyfriend. That's a first.'
'I
can only be a minute,' said Linda. 'I've got some homework to catch up on.'
'That's
OK,' replied Mark. 'I'll just get you a small cone.'
Linda
just looked at him as if he was mad.
'If
that's all right.'
'Yes,'
she said.
'Good.'