Authors: Mark Timlin
Was
it that obvious to everyone? he thought, but then, maybe the bell boy had given
her the SP.
'Yes.'
'Well,
don't worry, I'll break you back in gently. Now did you say something about a
drink?'
'Champagne,'
he said. True to his promise the boy had arranged for two bottles of bubbly and
they nestled in a huge ice-filled silver bucket on the dresser.
'My
favourite. Oh and I brought this.' She went back to her bag and brought out a
small envelope. 'Terry gave it to me to give to you.'
Terry
must be the boy, thought Jimmy as he cracked open the wrap and found a quantity
of white powder. 'Do you?' he asked.
'Does
the Pope wear a dress?'
'Yes,'
replied Jimmy. 'But he doesn't fill it like you.'
'Compliments,'
she said. 'I think we're going to get along just fine, Jimmy. You're a real
gentleman.' 'I try to be.' He opened the champagne whilst she cut out four
generous lines of coke on the coffee table with her credit card.
'After
you,' she said. 'It's your beak.'
Jimmy
hadn't tasted cocaine as good as that for years. The stuff inside had been cut
to the quick, but this stuff was primo, as he discovered when he took a snort.
'Jesus Christ,' he said. 'That's good.'
Jane
followed his example and snarfed up her two lines quicker than it takes to
tell. 'Fabulous,' she said. 'Is there any music?'
Jimmy
found an FM station on the radio that played cocktail Jazz and slid the volume
control to low, then said: 'I thought we'd have some dinner, if you fancy it.'
'You're
treating me like a queen, Jimmy,' she said. 'I'd love some, but we'd better lay
off the coke or I'll lose my appetite. But not, of course, for sex. It's my
favourite pastime.'
Jimmy
grinned and gave her the room service menu.
They
ordered steaks and salads each, with a bottle of red wine. And while they were
waiting, they finished the first bottle of champagne. 'This is like a proper
date,' said Jane, as she sipped her drink.
'Do
you mind?'
'Not
at all. It makes a nice change from some of my punters. They're coming in their
pants before I'm in the room.'
'You
learn patience where I've been,' said Jimmy.
'Well,
I'm glad there's no rush,' said Jane.
'Waiting
makes it more fun,' said Jimmy, and she agreed.
The
food came about thirty minutes later and they ate at the table overlooking the
square. The sun had set and the lights and music were low and Jimmy could
almost forget the previous twenty years, in the company of a such beautiful young
woman.
When
the dishes were empty and the trolley pushed out into the corridor, Jimmy put
out the DO NOT DISTURB sign and Jane cut out more cocaine. In the haze of drugs
and alcohol Jimmy forgot his previous nervousness and couldn't wait to fuck her.
It
was better than he'd ever expected. She slid out of her dress and was wearing
hooker's underwear. Brief, black and shiny with suspenders holding up her
nylons. It was a convict's wet dream, and she did anything he wanted, plus some
things he'd never tried before, even though she insisted he wear a condom. The
hours flew by, but eventually they both fell into an exhausted sleep. As they
were screwing, Jane noticed the scars from the bullet wounds he'd sustained
that fateful morning in Brixton. 'Looks like you've been in the wars, Jimmy,'
she said.
'A
bit.'
She
touched the one on his stomach and he flinched. 'Don't be afraid,' she said. 'I
won't hurt you,' and she kissed it gently.
It was
a strange feeling for Jimmy. In all his time inside, no one but the doctors had
touched those scars. 'I'm not afraid,' he replied. 'It's just bad memories.'
'Tell
me about them sometime,' she said. 'But now, fuck me again.' Which he did.
Dawn
was breaking when Jane shook him awake. 'Sorry, Jimmy, time to go,' she said.
'Unless you want to pay double.'
Jimmy
shook his head. The night had been everything he'd wanted, but it was time for
business again. 'You were great,' he said. 'Can we do it again sometime?'
'If
you've got the money, I've got the time,' she said and gave him her card. 'Not
everyone gets one of these,' she said. 'Only special customers.'
'Do
you mind a bit of a journey?' he asked.
'Not
in the least,' said Jane. 'Call me anytime.' And she kissed him, grabbed her
coat and she was gone, leaving him in bed feeling as if he were twenty years
old again.
That
morning Jimmy bought a suitcase and packed it carefully with his clothes. It was
time to start sorting out his life, and the first call was on Gerry Goldstein
to get the rest of his cash. Jimmy settled his bill at the hotel and left his
bag, ready to pick up later. It was a cool morning and he wore his new overcoat
for the walk from Russell Square to Hatton Garden. Lights were on in
Goldstein's shop and he rang the bell. When the disembodied voice answered, he
identified himself and the door clicked open. Goldstein got up from his seat as
Jimmy entered the office.
'James,'
he said, feeling the cashmere. 'Nice nanny.'
'It'll
do. Have you got my money?'
'Of
course.' He pulled a thick envelope from his pocket and gave it to Jimmy. Jimmy
sat and checked the notes inside. Ten grand to the penny. 'Good,' he said.
'What
are your plans?' asked Goldstein after he'd taken his seat again.
'That
could depend on you, Gerry,' replied Jimmy.
'How
so?'
'You
used to set up jobs. Is there anything happening?'
'With
all due respect, Jimmy, aren't you a bit old to be going back into business?'
'Never
you mind about that. Is there anything in the wind or what?'
'Jimmy,'
said Goldstein settling back and making a steeple of his fingers. 'Times have
changed. I'm sure you've noticed. Since the advent of this thing…' he touched
the monitor of his computer, '…most blagging is done electronically. It's so
much easier and harder to detect. Going over the pavement has gone out of
fashion.'
'Don't
lecture me, Gerry,' said Hunter. 'We did get newspapers in prison. All I want
is to do a blag, get some cash and straighten my life out. I've got things to
do, people to look up. But I need more than a miserable ten grand. Now I don't
want to get heavy with you. At least you gave me some of my money back.'
Goldstein
made conciliatory noises.
'Don't
fuck with me, Gerry,' Jimmy Hunter went on. 'I know you ripped me off but I'll
let that go for now. What I want you to do is keep your ear to the ground. I
can still hold a gun, so when you hear of someone putting a firm together put
my name forward. Otherwise…' Jimmy didn't finish the sentence but Gerry
Goldstein got the message.
'OK,
Jimmy, I'll see what I can do.'
'Fine.
You've got a mobile phone?'
'Of
course.'
'Give
me the number and I'll keep in touch.' 'Very well, but I don't get around like
I used to.'
'Then
start again.'
'OK,
Jimmy,' and Goldstein jotted a number on the back of one of his business cards.
Jimmy
took it and carefully placed it in his pocket. Then he rose and left the shop,
walked back to the hotel, picked up his case and hailed a cab outside.
'Brixton,' he told the cabbie. 'Just by the Town Hall.'
When
Jimmy Hunter had gone, for the second time that week, Gerry Goldstein called the
number he'd memorised. Once more it took half a dozen rings to be answered.
'He's been and gone,' said the jeweller. 'Took the rest of his dough.'
'And?'
'You
were right. He's looking for work.'
'Terrific.
You know what to do now, don't you?'
'Yes.'
'Then
do it. I'll be around soon to look at the tapes you've made. Keep them safe.'
'I
will.'
'Of
course you will, Gerry. Now just get on with your life and everything will be
fine.'
'I
hope so.'
'Make
sure of it.'
And
without a farewell, the phone clicked off in Goldstein's ear.
Jimmy
Hunter received a call on a new mobile he'd bought two days later. He'd only
given the number to Gerry Goldstein.
He
was drinking a pint in the pub on the corner of the street where he'd recently
rented a flat. When the cab had dropped him off in Brixton, he'd found a
backstreet accommodation agency run by a very attractive black woman, who'd
fixed him up with a one-bedroom conversion over a carpet shop just behind
Brixton Hill, close to the old windmill and with a view of the prison walls.
That appealed to his sense of humour. Jimmy and the woman had got on well,
especially once she'd felt the material of his cashmere overcoat when she'd
hung it on the rack in her office. She'd driven him to the flat in her Ford
Fiesta, and he'd moved in there and then. He'd paid the deposit, security fee
and one month's rent in advance, in cash. Jimmy noticed that she'd also admired
his money roll, and he wondered if maybe he should give her a ring and ask her
out on a date. The amount he'd forked out would've probably bought the whole
building when he was a boy.
The
call came about noon. The day was stretched out before him like a new roll of
off-white, harsh, prison-issue toilet paper. 'Hunter?' said a voice he didn't
recognise.
'Who
wants to know?'
'Don't
be aggressive, Mr Hunter,' said the voice. 'I understand you're looking for
work.'
'What
kind of work?'
'And
obtuse as well. Never mind, I'm sure we'll end up the best of friends.'
'Who
are you?'
'Just
call me Bob. Gerry Goldstein gave me your number.'
'Yeah?'
'Yes.
He said we should meet.'
'Why?'
'There
you go again. You've been in prison too long, Mr Hunter. You've got to learn to
trust people.'
'Is
that so?'
'Indeed
it is. Now, it seems to me that you're far too old for the kind of work you
want, but as it's you, we're prepared to make an exception.
'Who's
we?' interrupted Hunter.
'All in
good time. As I was saying, I don't know if you are aware of the way things
are. Times have changed. It's rough out here in the world these days, Mr
Hunter. Maybe too rough for a gentleman of your advancing years.'
'I'll
manage. I always have.'
'Fair
enough. But I must show you the kind of people you're liable to get involved
with.'
'Go
on then.'
'Right.
I'm off on a bit of a jaunt tonight. Do you fancy accompanying me?'
'What
kind of jaunt?'
'Oh,
don't let's spoil the surprise. Where are you?'
'South
London.'
'A
big place. Can you get to the Isle of Dogs?'
'Suppose
so.'
'There's
a pub in Sugar Street, just off Manchester Road. It's called The Sad And Lonely
Hunter. You won't forget that name in a hurry, will you?'
'If
you're taking the…'
'Don't,
Mr Hunter. Don't let my attitude get in the way of profit, and I won't let
yours. Be at the pub by ten tonight. We're all off to Essex for a jolly.'
'No
joke.'
'Not
at all.'
'How
will I know you?'
'That's
better. You won't need to. I'll know you. Or someone else will. You're quite
famous, in your own way.'