Authors: Mark Timlin
He
leant over and kissed her, smelling smoke and perfume and sex and he smiled.
'Love you,' he said. 'I love you too.' Then he left.
Later
that afternoon, he phoned Sean on his mobile.
'It's
on,' said the policeman.
'So
it should be.'
'You'd
better be right about this.'
'How
many more times?'
'OK,
OK.'
'So
the stones will be there?'
'That's
right. I need to see you. I've got your way out.' 'Tell me on the phone.' 'No.
Face to face.' 'When?'
'Tomorrow
night. I'll pick you up in the same place as last time.' 'OK. But listen. No
more tails. It makes me nervous.' 'All right. I'm sorry about that, but my
guv'nor insisted. I told him I thought you were too fly to fall for it.'
'Nice
work, Sean. Lull me into a false sense of security. But I mean it. I'm too old
to be looking over my shoulder all the time.' 'You've got my word.' 'And your
word is your bond.'
'Yes.'
With a copper's word and half a quid I could get a packet of wine gums, thought
Mark, but said nothing. 'What time?' 'Same as last time.' 'I'll be there.'
Later
that evening, he was in his hotel room and his mobile rang.
It
was Linda. 'Hello sweetheart,' he said.
'Hello
yourself. How are you?'
'All
the better for seeing you.'
'Just
seeing me?'
'And
the rest.'
'I've
been singing to myself all day. Daisy's looking at me like I'm mad.'
'That's
what a real man will do for you.' 'Still as conceited as ever.' 'And for good
reason, wouldn't you say?' 'No comment.'
'I'll
make you comment when I get hold of you again.'
'How
about tomorrow night?'
'Tomorrow?'
'It's
the only time I can get Greta to babysit. She's off on Sunday.'
'I
can't. I've got to make a meet.'
'Can't
you change it?'
'I
don't know. I'll try.'
'Try
your best.'
'Course
I will.'
But
Sean was adamant. It had to be Saturday evening. The rest of his weekend he was
busy sorting out the operation. 'Sorry,' he said. 'Got a date?'
'Something
like that.'
'Break
it.'
'I'll
get back to you.'
He
phoned Linda and gave her the bad news, and he heard the same old
disappointment in her voice when he did. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'Monday'll be
here sooner than you think.'
'Just
don't let me down,' she said.
'I'll
be there. Four o'clock on the dot.'
'You'd
better be.'
He
phoned Sean back and simply said: 'It's me. I'll be there.'
And
he was, and either Sean had kept his word or else the tail was much better.
Even so, Mark made Sean drive him to Stockwell tube station, where they pushed
through the barriers, ran down to the platform, caught the first train that came
in, got off at Victoria, and took the first south bound train back. As far as
Mark could see, no one followed them. 'You are careful,' said Sean when they
got off at Pimlico and went into the nearest pub.
'It's
kept me alive,' said Mark. 'You can get a cab back to your car.'
'And
you?'
'I'll
manage.'
'Still
got a date?'
'No.
You screwed that up good and proper.'
'Sorry.
Now listen. There's a back door at the depository leading into a car park. The
car park is walled, but there's another door leading on to some waste ground.
That door will be open and I'll be waiting outside with a car. You take the
car, drive away and dump it somewhere. I don't care where. That's your out.
Clear?'
Mark smiled.
'Sounds good to me. But we could've done all this on the phone.'
'I
wanted to see you again,' said Sean. 'You remind me of someone, but I can't
think who. Are you sure we haven't met before?'
'Maybe
in a previous life.'
'Maybe.'
Sean shook his head. 'I just can't place it,' he said.
'Never
mind,' said Mark, who'd gone cold at Sean's words. 'Perhaps it'll come to you.'
But I hope not, he thought. 'Perhaps,' said Sean. 'So, see you Monday,' said
Mark. 'I'll be there.'
'You'd
better.' And with that, he left his drink and walked out of the pub. Arsehole,
he thought. And for the last time - at least Mark hoped it was the last time -
he ducked and dived a circuitous route back to his hotel.
The
die was cast, and all he had to do was get out of it alive, meet up with Linda
and everything would be fine.
The
next morning, Sean Pierce went in to see his boss. 'I met him last night,' he
said.
'And
everything's going ahead,' said Mobray.
'That's
right.'
'Good.'
'What
about the people at the depository?' 'What about them?' 'Will they be ready?'
'For what?'
'For
the operation. Will the armed guards be stood down?' 'How can they be? We know
they've got someone on the inside.' 'Yes, but they're armed.' 'So are we.'
'And
so are the gang. Surely they'll be told on Monday.' Mobray shook his head.
'We've spoken to the chairman of the board. He's prepared to let the raid go
on.' 'But he won't be there.' 'Of course not.'
'You
mean you're just going to let seven men armed with automatic weapons break in
and not warn anyone inside?' 'If we do our job, no one will get hurt.' 'Sir.
This was my operation.'
'My
operation, Pierce? This is not a private war. It's
our
operation. In
fact
it's a Serious Crimes operation out of our ground and you're lucky to still
have anything to do with it.'
'But-'
'No
buts. You go there on Monday and get your man away. Let Serious Crimes and S019
do the rest. Understood?'
'Understood,
sir,' said Sean. But afterwards, standing in the corridor outside Mobray's
office, he felt the cold hand of dread clasp at his gut.
Mark
had only one more job to do before the robbery. He called Chas up and checked
that he and Martine would be home on Sunday lunchtime. 'Yeah,' said Chas. 'But
don't make it early. Her highness likes to sleep late. She'll be out clubbing
'til all hours Saturday night.'
'No
problem. Mind if I drop by? I'd like to see you both.'
'No
problem with me,' replied Chas. 'You're always welcome here as far as I'm concerned.
I wouldn't be so sure about her, though.'
'I'll
take my chances.'
Two
o'clock Sunday afternoon, and the streets of Tulse Hill were deadly quiet as
Mark parked the Explorer outside the gates of John Jenner's old house. He
pressed the buzzer by the gate and looked up and down the familiar street as he
waited for an answer. 'Yeah?' It was Chas. 'It's me,' he said, and with a grunt
and groan the gates began to swing open. Chas opened the front door and the two
men hugged. It was an embrace that encapsulated years. 'Is she up?' asked Mark.
'I
heard some movement. Come into the kitchen, have a drink.'
'A
beer would be good.' Mark followed Chas downstairs and through to the back.
He
sat at the kitchen table and Chas pulled two bottles of Beck's from the chiller
and popped the tops. He handed one to Mark and they touched the bottles
together. 'Cheers,' said Chas.
'Cheers,'
Mark echoed.
'What
a cosy scene,' said Martine's voice from the doorway, and the two men looked
around.
'Hello,
Martine,' said Mark. 'Late one, was it?'
'What
are you doing here?' she demanded. She was fresh from bed, wearing a silky
housecoat and, for a moment, it could have been Hazel standing in the doorway.
Except for the expression on her face. Hazel had never looked that sour in her
life.
'Just
come to say goodbye,' said Mark.
'Going
away again?'
'Obviously.'
'You
needn't have bothered. Why did you let him in, Chas?'
'This
used to be his home.'
'Not
any more. Not since Daddy died.'
'Still
think it was my fault?' asked Mark.
'Yes.'
'I'm
sorry about that. You know I loved the man.'
'For
what he did for you, you mean.'
'No.
Him. Him and Hazel. You and Chas. You were my family.'
'"Were"
is right.'
'I'm sorry
you feel like that.'
'What
other way is there to feel?'
'Do
you want a cuppa, Martine?' Chas interrupted.
'Always
a cuppa, eh, Chas?' she replied. 'The answer to all our problems.'
'Don't
have a go at him, Martine,' said Mark. 'This was my idea.'
'Fine.'
Martine flounced over to the sink and filled a glass with water from the tap.
'So where are you going?'
'Dunno,'
replied Mark. 'Somewhere far away. Somewhere warm and safe.'
She
fixed him with a gimlet gaze. 'All on your own?' Mark didn't reply. 'You're not
taking that bitch with you, are you?' she said. Mark still remained silent.
'You are.'
'You
still can't bear it, can you?' said Mark. 'That I'd choose her over you.'
The
glass left her hand and smashed against the wall behind Mark's head. 'You
bastard,' she said. 'And I thought I'd fixed you.'
'What?'
said Mark.
'Nothing.'
'No. Not nothing. Fixed me, how?'
'Forget
it.' And she made for the door.
'No,'
said Chas, blocking her exit. 'I want to know too. Fixed him how?'
Martine
said nothing.
Suddenly
it dawned on Mark. 'It was you, wasn't it?' he said to Martine. 'It was you who
told Old Bill.'
'I
don't know what you mean.'
'That
day down in Basingstoke when I nearly got captured. The cops knew I was going
to be there. Then they came around here. Someone grassed us up. It was you.'
Martine swallowed hard, but still said nothing. 'I can't believe it,' said
Mark. 'You turned snout on your own father just to get at me. And you've blamed
me all the time. But you put him in the frame. If it wasn't for you he'd never
have been arrested that day and ended up in hospital.'
Martine
started to sob quietly.
'Christ,'
said Chas.
'Yes,
I did it,' she shouted. 'You came back here like a conquering hero and Daddy
fell for it like he always did.'
'He
asked me back,' said Mark.
'So
what are you going to do about it?' said Martine. 'Kill me?'
Mark
shook his head and stood up. 'No,' he replied. 'Oh yeah, I could kill you,
Martine, and maybe I should. Or ruin your face, but you look too much like
Hazel. It would be like hurting her. No. I reckon doing nothing is best. Your
punishment is living with yourself.' He turned to Chas. 'Sorry about all this,
mate. I didn't have a clue, honest. I'd better go.'
The
two men picked their way through the broken glass on the floor back upstairs to
the front door. 'Shit,' said Chas. 'I had no idea. She more or less killed
John.'
'Yeah,'
said Mark. 'What are you going to do now?'