Guns Of Brixton (54 page)

    'One
of those things.'

    'No,'
said Mark. 'I've got a really bad feeling. I'm going to split.'

    'In
your condition?'

    'I
can manage.'

    'Where
are you going to go?' asked Chas.

    'I'll
find somewhere. You've got my mobile number. We can keep in touch. I don't know
what I'm going to do.'

    'I'd
try and convince you to stay…' said Jenner.

    'Don't,'
interrupted Mark. 'I'll get my stuff and I'll go.'

    Jenner
nodded and Mark left the room, went upstairs and packed a few things in his
bag. His back was killing him, but he knew he had to go and go that night. He
closed his bedroom door behind him and went back downstairs. Chas was waiting
in the hall. 'You don't have to do this, you know,' he said.

    'Yes
I do,' said Mark and went back to say goodbye to Jenner. 'I'm off now, Uncle,'
he said.

    'Be
careful,' said Jenner.

    'You
too. This isn't going to go away.'

    'What
the hell,' said Jenner. 'What can they do? Give me cancer?' He stood and
embraced the younger man, being careful not to touch his wound, and then, both
with tears in their eyes, they kissed once and Mark went out to his car and
drove away.

    Mark
spent the night in the Range Rover in a back street in East Dulwich. It wasn't the
first time that he'd slept in a car in his life, and he doubted that it would
be the last. It had been too late to find a hotel or BB without causing
unwelcome interest, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He hardly
closed his eyes all night, he just lay curled up in the back, with the radio
tuned to a local news station. Reports of the killings in Brixton filled the
bulletins, but shootings were so prevalent in London those days that, by
morning, it was the second item after something about a pop star's birthday
party at a hotel in Park Lane.

    But
Mark knew that the cops wouldn't lose interest so quickly. He drove to an
all-night supermarket, purchased some toiletries and used their gents for a
wash and brush up, then breakfasted at the diner attached to the store. He
wasn't hungry, but he knew he had to eat. His wound was hot and sore, but if it
hurt too much, he'd munch painkillers until the pain subsided. But what next?

    After
eating, he drove up to Crystal Palace and booked into one of the very same
hotels he and Linda had enjoyed afternoons of passion in, all those years
before. It had been refurbished since and he hardly recognised the place, but
it still brought back memories. Some good, some bad. Once inside his room, he
drew the curtains, took more pills and fell into bed. He slept for hours and it
was only the ringing of his mobile that eventually woke him. It was Chas. 'Bad
news, son,' he said. 'They came for your uncle this morning and he had a bit of
a turn. He's in hospital.'

    'Oh,
Jesus,' said Mark. 'What happened?'

    'A
stroke. He's in intensive care in King's.'

    What
more can go wrong? thought Mark. 'I'll go and see him.'

    'I
wouldn't if I were you. Your name was mentioned.'

    'Shit.'

    'Shit's
right. And what happened last night is all over the telly and the papers.
You're famous again.'

    'Oh
Christ, Chas. Can we meet?'

    'Sure.
Course. There's a pub near the hospital. O'Neill's. It used to be the Station.
It's on the bridge over the railway at Denmark Hill.'

    'I'll
find it.'

    'Are
you up to it? How do you feel?'

    'Like
I've been hit by a bus, but I'll manage. How's Martine taken it?'

    'Not
well. She blames you.'

    'She
blames me for the war in the Middle East. But we'll worry about her later.
When?'

    'I'm
at the hospital now. Outside, having a bit of a walk. I can see the pub from
here.'

    'I'll
be there within an hour. Wait for me.'

    'I've
got nothing else to do.'

    'See
you then.' He killed the phone.

    In
the bathroom he looked at his face in the mirror. He was pale and drawn and
looked ten years older than he had just a few days previously. But who could
blame him? Old friends had died. He'd killed some people and had been injured.
He turned and craned his neck to look at his bandage. There was a dark stain
visible through the white material, but no blood had seeped all the way
through. Maybe while I'm near the hospital, I can get it checked, he thought.
Or maybe not.

    He
left his few things at the hotel and motored down to Denmark Hill, found the
pub and parked in a back street. When he pushed through the doors into the
almost deserted saloon bar, he saw Chas sitting at a corner table', nursing a
beer. 'Want a refill?' he asked once he'd walked over.

    'No,'
said Chas. 'Don't even want this one, really.'

    'Fair
enough. But I need a livener. You woke me up.' Mark went to the bar and ordered
a Beck's with a brandy chaser and took the glasses over and joined Chas who was
staring gloomily out of the window. 'What happened exactly?' asked Mark once he
was seated.

    'Cops
came just after five and rousted the house. They wanted John for questioning
about the shooting, and they wanted to find out where you were. That fucking
Hunter's son was there, the little shit. And they brought Customs with them.
Something about Ali and Tommo importing duty frees from the Continent. And them
seeing your motor parked up outside with French plates. They put two and two
together and got seven, as usual.'

    'Is
that how they knew about me, the motor?'

    'Dunno.
They never said. But apparently Interpol or whatever it's now called want to
talk to you about some killings in Germany.'

    'Yeah.
They would.'

    Chas
nodded. He'd heard worse in his life.

    'So
what happened to Uncle John?'

    'They
took him up Streatham nick, stuck him in an interview room and he just keeled
over. Course, they thought he was trying it on, but eventually they called an
ambulance and the paramedics brought him to the cardiac unit here. Best in
London, supposed to be.'

    'And?'

    'And
he's not good, Mark. Not good at all. They did some tests and the cancer's
spreading fast. He's riddled with the shit. Liver, kidneys, lungs. The lot.'

    'What
are his chances?'

    Chas
shook his head. 'Poor. You'd better be prepared for the worst.'

    'And
Martine's with him.'

    'Been
there all day.'

    'Any
Old Bill about?'

    Chas
shook his head again. 'They put a copper on the door at first, but they tugged
him off a couple of hours ago. John ain't going nowhere, mate.'

    'That
bad?'

    Another
nod and Mark blew out a sigh and downed his brandy in one. 'What about
Customs?' 'Dunno. They sloped off sharpish when there was no sign of your
motor.'

    'It's
all gone to shit, Chas.'

    'I
know. So what are you going to do?'

    'Not
go to Germany is top of my list. But I'm going to have to leave the country,
and I want to see Uncle John first. Do you think I can get in?'

    'Don't
see why not. Security's not up to much and, like I said, the Bill's gone
walkabout.'

    'Did
they charge him?'

    'No.
Just helping with enquiries. They only had to look at him to see he wasn't
wandering the streets the other night killing folks.'

    'And
Martine blames me?'

    Yet
another nod.

    'Bloody
hell,' said Mark. 'I don't want her starting a scene in there. Drawing more
attention to us. Can't you do something?'

    'I'll
go over and suggest she come home and get cleaned up, maybe sleep for a bit.'

    'Do
you reckon she will?'

    'She's
taken it hard, Mark. She loves the old man.'

    'I
know she does. So do I.'

    'So
do we all.'

    Now
it was Mark's turn to nod. 'Give me a few minutes and I'll see what I can do,'
said Chas and, leaving his glass, he walked out of the pub.

    Mark
sat where he was until his phone rang.

    'It's
me,' said Chas.

    'Yeah.'

    'I'm
dragging her back home to get changed and have something to eat. We'll be gone
for a bit so you can get in. She's in the loo… No, she's coming. See ya.' And
he cut the connection.

    Mark
gave them a few minutes before he finished his drink and went over to the
hospital. ICU was on the third floor and he took the lift, keeping an eye open for
anyone who looked like a copper. Once there, he found a nurse and inquired
about John Jenner.

    'Are
you family?' she asked.

    'Nephew,'
he said. 'Can I see him?'

    'Let
me look,' she replied. Then: 'I'm afraid it's not good.'

    'I
heard,' he said. 'That's why I came.'

    'He's
been sleeping a lot,' she said. 'I'll speak to the doctor.'

    She
vanished in a swish of starch, and Mark stood by the enquiries desk trying hard
to look like he belonged.

    'You
can go in and see him now,' said the nurse. 'But don't be too long, and don't
let him get excited. He's awake but very woozy from the drugs we've
administered.'

    'I
won't be long,' said Mark. She nodded and she led him into the private room.
John Jenner lay very still and there was an oxygen mask over his face. His skin
was the same colour as his pillow, tubes and wires were attached to every inch
of skin, and machines bleeped and whirred beside him. Mark knew deep inside
that his uncle would probably never leave the hospital. He pulled up one of the
two chairs in the corner and sat by the bed. Jenner turned his head and reached
up and pulled the mask off his nose and mouth. 'Mark,' he said. 'You shouldn't
have come.'

    Mark
ignored his comment and said, 'Uncle John. How are you feeling?'

    'Not
too clever. How do I look?'

    'Honestly?'

    'Of
course.'

    'Not
too clever.'

    'Fair
enough.' He looked round. 'So this is what it all comes to,' he said. 'If I'd
known all those years ago I don't think I'd've bothered.'

    'Yes
you would.'

    'I
don't know so much, son. I mean, is this all there is? The sum total.'

    'You've
done loads. Dragged yourself up and made something of yourself.'

    'Are
you kidding me? Do you know what I am?' 'Yes.'

    'I
don't think so, Mark. No one ever knows anyone else. Well maybe me and Haze.'
He smiled. 'God, but I wish she was here.'

    'Perhaps
she is.'

    'Perhaps.
You know never a day goes by without me thinking about her. Talking to her. She
was the only one for me from the minute I laid eyes on her.'

    'I
know, Uncle.'

    'I
had other birds, you know. It was all there on a plate. Tarts. And ladies too,
sometimes. She always knew but she never made a fuss. Just treated me so good I
forgot about them. I wish now I hadn't though.'

    'We
always wish we were better than we are.'

    'And
we are, you know, son. We're all better than the worst things we've ever done.'

    'I
wish I could believe that.'

    'I
saw her when she was dead,' Jenner said. 'They had a special room in the
hospital. It was bloody horrible. She still had one of those pipes in her
mouth. Have you ever seen anyone you've made love to, dead?'