No More Heroes (9 page)

“You going to let me in, Cal?” Plummer wraps one hand around a bar in the gate. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I think you should hear him out,” says Frank. “It’s only polite.”

I look at the big lad. Wonder when exactly he became a full-on company man. Thinking Plummer must’ve given him a hike in salary and told him he was promoted. “You still doing evictions, Frank?”

“Driving,” he says.

“He’s a good driver, Don. You lucked out there.”

“Wait in the car,” says Plummer, staring at me, but talking to Frank.

“Sorry?”

Plummer snaps his head around. “Wait in the fucking car, Frank.”

Frank hesitates, his face starting to screw up. Then he turns and walks towards Plummer’s silver Merc which is parked across the street. I watch him duck and heave himself into the driver’s seat. He slams the door, sits with his hands on the steering wheel, and stares through the windscreen. Vague look on his face, like he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“You shouldn’t talk to him like that,” I say. “He might be touched, but he’s a good bloke.”

“He’s cheeky.”

“What do you want, Don?”

“I already told you, we need to talk.”

“You want to offer me the job again.”

“I can’t talk about it here.”

“I already told you—”

“Please,” he says, “I just need you to hear me out. That’s all. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, Cal.”

I look at him. And he does look desperate.

Swipe my card, pull open the gate. Plummer pushes through the gap as if he’s scared I’ll slam the gate on him. I turn, head for my car. “We talk and that’s it.”

“Right, of course, that’s all I want.”

“If I say no, I want this clear, there’s no more negotiation, right? I don’t need you pecking my head when I’ve got real work to do.”

Plummer nods as he catches up with me. “Absolutely.”

I unlock the driver door, get in the Micra and open the passenger side. Start the engine. Plummer doesn’t move.

“Are we going somewhere?” he says.

“Yeah. You can’t talk about it here, and as much as you want to keep this just between you and me, I
really
don’t want to be seen with you. So get in.”

Plummer nods, drops into the passenger seat. Slams the door a little too hard for my liking. He fumbles with his seat belt, manages to click it on his third try. Once we’re moving and he can feel the breeze coming through my window frame at him, Plummer looks as if he has second thoughts about being in the car with me. I swipe the gate again as I pull out of the car park. As we pass Frank, the big man’s face crumples in confusion.

“Should I tell Frank to follow us?” says Plummer.

“No.”

Plummer pulls out his mobile, the size and shape of a credit card and probably cost enough to max one out. I watch him in glances. A couple of fiddly button presses, then he tells Frank to stay put. He slaps the mobile off and returns it to his jacket pocket.

I head out towards Salford Quays. A weekday morning, the Lowry Outlet mall should be dead. And right enough, the Outlet car park has only a couple of spaces filled. I take us right to the back of the car park and kill the engine. Outside, the sun’s beating down so hard, I expect to see bubbles in the tarmac. A woman wearing a smart dress suit heel-clicks her way to the entrance of the mall. She checks her watch, turns and glances my way. For a second, I think I recognise her and my heart throws itself against my rib cage.

“Callum,” says Plummer. “Are you listening to me?”

“Not at all. What were you saying?”

“I said, you know why we’re here, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You want me to find out who torched the house in Longsight.”

“No.”

I turn and look at him. He’s shaking his head. “No?”

“I already know who torched the house,” he says.

“Who?”

“The same people who threatened me before. Over that Moss Side eviction with the asylum seekers, you remember that one?”

“No.”

“Couple of months back. Think it was your first one after you came back to work for me.”

Yeah, I remember it now. I wasn’t going to do it. And then all that shit in Los Angeles, so I came back to Plummer and this job. Came back to a Moss Side community group, pissed off with having asylum seekers as neighbours, even though these people were there legitimately and, as far as I could tell, were keeping themselves to themselves. But somehow they’d rubbed these people up the wrong way, and even though I felt kind of bad for them, I ended up serving the notice. It was a steady wage when I needed it.

“A community group,” I say.

“No.” He’s shaking his head again. Reaching into his jacket pocket. “Not
just
the community group.”

“I thought you said—”

“This came sometime yesterday night,” he says, holding a piece of paper, folded in half. “Shoved under the door to the office. I mean, I was there all night, I didn’t see a thing.”

He hands me the paper. I open the sheet to reveal a typed list of what I assume are Plummer’s properties. And there’s a cigarette burn in the middle of the Longsight address.

“Okay,” I say. “I give up. Who’s threatening you, Don?”

Plummer pauses. When he looks at me, his face is stone.

Then he says, “Neo-Nazis, Callum.”

I watch Plummer for a long time, waiting for him to burst out laughing. But he’s serious.

“Don’t look at me like that, Cal. I know what I’m talking about. The Neo-Nazis, the Jeffrey Briggs brigade.”

“I think they prefer to be called National Socialists, Don.”

“They can prefer to be called Susan, I don’t give a shit. This is the ENS, Callum, I know it.” He points at me. “If it was about money, I would’ve received demands already. Everyone in this city knows I can’t exactly go to the police, not when they’re thinking about pressing criminal charges over this stupid bloody fire. Who else do I go to, the press? No. So if they’re not demanding money, then there’s an ideology in place, am I right?”

I put my arm out through the windowless frame, tap my side of the car. “So what do you want me to do about it? Go break some heads, tell ’em you’re not a man to be fucked with? Because I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m hardly in the best physical condition.”

Plummer frowns. “If I wanted heads broken, I would’ve sent Frank.”

“So what is it?”

“I need concrete proof of who’s doing this. Who sent me that note.”

“You just told me who sent you the note.”

“I need it confirmed.”

“And then what?”

“And then I need you to arrange a meeting.”

Silence as I study him. Waiting for the smile, something to tell me that this is a joke. It doesn’t happen.

“Don, you need a good night’s sleep. Your brain’s not working right.”

“I need to know, Callum.” He opens his hands. “I mean, the way it’s being played at the moment, I don’t have a fighting chance, do I? I’m being persecuted—”

“That’s a bit harsh—”

“
Persecuted
by someone who’s either jealous I’m making money, or pissed off because of who I rent to. Whatever it is, they’ve got an infantile way of showing it. So — hang on a second and listen to me — if I can find out who this person is, I can sit them down, talk to them, work something out …”

“You wouldn’t want them charged with arson. Or manslaughter. You just want a shot at charming the pants off them.”

He snatches the note back from me. “I want the opportunity, Callum, to arrange a situation that could be mutually beneficial.”

“Jesus, Don, ever the fuckin’ businessman, eh?”

“Look, these people are obviously
connected
.” He holds up the list. “If they can pull a stunt like this and get away with it,
plus
have the whole thing reflect badly on me, then they’ve got friends in important places. Man like me, it’d do me good to make those same friends.”

I stare at Plummer. He tries to stare back, but his eyes turn glassy as his focus hits somewhere in the middle distance. I wonder how long he’s been awake, and at what jittery point of the night he thought that this was a solid idea. Sure enough, it looks like a good night’s sleep would turn into a week-long coma, and the more he leans towards me, the more I can smell the fear on him, struggling to overpower the odours of sweat and stale coffee coming from him. He’s clutching at straws, because for the first time in his life he’s not the one in control. And he’s been kicked silly with guilt because he’s just spent an entire night trapped in his own head.

For a moment, I almost feel sorry for him.

But moments pass quick enough.

“I don’t work for you,” I say.

“I know that.” He sniffs. “I’m talking about hiring you in an investigative capacity.”

I look out of the window. Think about it some more. The bloke’s fucking nuts and it’s never a sure sign of success if your client’s a mental case. But as much as I don’t want to work for Plummer again, the idea of someone getting away with torching that house makes me a little sick. Call it the Polyanna side-effect of that newspaper story yesterday. Starting to believe I should live up to my own press.

Besides, this’ll be on my terms or not at all.

“It’ll cost you,” I say.

Plummer nods. “I expected that. I’m not about to call in any favours.”

“That’s good, ’cause you haven’t got any to call in. Three hundred a day plus expenses.”

He laughs, but the sound wrestles with the inside of his throat, emerging from his mouth like a sob. He takes a moment to collect himself, says, “You’re kidding.”

“Am I smiling, Don?”

“Callum, be reasonable, that’s—”

“Something you can afford.” I shift position, don’t look at him as I speak. “I’ll take a week up front as a non-refundable retainer. And that’s a seven-day week before you get any ideas. A grand in cash, the rest in a cheque made out to Paul Gray.”

“You think I have that kind of cash spare?”

I pause, look at him. Make sure he gets the full stare before I carry on. “That’s Paul Gray, like the American colour. And I might call him Paulo, but I don’t think his bank manager’s that familiar.”

“Wait a second—”

“And I don’t give a fuck if you don’t have that kind of cash spare, Donald. That happens to be the price. If you honestly can’t afford it, then that’s a pity, and I’ll thank you to get your cheap arse out of my car.”

“No, you’re being completely unreasonable,” he says, his voice hitting a higher register. “If you’ll just hear me out—”

“Non-refundable, non-negotiable. Which means you can’t haggle me down or blag your way out of paying. That cheque’s got to be as good as cash, you get me? You do not want to bounce on Paulo; he’s liable to bounce on you.”

“I’m not trying to …
blag
anything, Callum.” He’s attempting liquid-smooth with his tone now, but he’s too tired to maintain it and he’s failing miserably. “You just have to understand, I can’t
magic
that kind of cash out of thin air. Not at such short notice.”

“Okay, Don.”

Plummer smiles. Relief sets in. “Good. So what price d’you think—”

“You’ve got until one o’clock. Actually, no, let’s be dramatic and make it noon.” I check my watch. “That gives you just over two hours to get the money together. Now, I’ll be in my local around twelve, so you just come in with the cheque and the cash and we’ll talk about what happens next, okay?”

“Christ.” Wide-eyed, looks like I’ve just kicked him in the balls. “Jesus, I don’t believe you, the fucking
gall
on you.”

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

A long pause as Plummer weighs up his options. Then he starts nodding so hard I could stick him on the back shelf. “Right, okay, you just drive me back to the office and I’ll see what I can scare up.”

“Your legs broken, are they?”

Plummer stops nodding. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a tram station up the road there, should take you right into town. And until I get fuckin’ paid, I’m not working for you.”

He stares at me. Shows his bottom teeth in a grimace that could pass for a pained smile. My guess is he’s too tired to notice the faces he’s pulling, or the smell coming from him. He’s still waiting for me to turn the key in the ignition, tell him it’s all a joke, what the hell, I’ll even halve my fee for an old mate like him.

“You shouldn’t have to wait too long,” I tell him.

Plummer laughs once, harsh. Points at me and says, “You turned out to be a piece of work, you know that? I always thought you had it in you.”

“You could always call Frank, mind. Tell you, though, the man might be an excellent driver, but I get the feeling he couldn’t find his own arse if he didn’t whistle.”

Plummer undoes his seatbelt, shakes that finger at me and gets out of the car, slamming the door too hard again. Then he crosses round to the driver’s side.

“Noon,” he says.

“That’s right. And don’t be late. I won’t hang around more than one pint.”

“You’ve never had just one pint your entire life,” says Plummer.

“Keep talking like that, Don, I might just order a fuckin’ half.”

I start the engine. A brief wave goodbye and a smile that doesn’t feel right on my face, then I pull away. Glance at Plummer in the rear-view mirror, and he’s standing there, face pinched as he pulls out his mobile.

Probably calling Frank. Good luck to him with the directions. To be honest, I never expected Plummer to hike it up to the tram station — the man takes public transport the day the Devil wears thermals — but it was such a nice image, I couldn’t pass up the hope of it happening.

Another glance, and even at this distance, it’s obvious from the way Plummer’s carrying himself that he’s pissed off.

Good. Let him be pissed off. Let him be forced into an uncomfortable situation. Be a pleasant irony for the bastard. Because if he thinks that I’m going to play go-between for him and the biggest bunch of arseholes in the North West, he’s mistaken.

If he pays up — and that’s a big if, given the amount and time limit — I’ll do what I said and find out who torched his property. I’ll do the necessary legwork, talk to the necessary people, act like the private investigator I’ll be paid to be. But any proof I get won’t be minutes in a fucking meeting, it’ll be taken to the police or the press, whichever I find more effective. Get them banged up or ruin them.