A Good Year for the Roses (1988) (24 page)

John Reid slid into the room like a dangerous little snake. He was wearing his cream Burberry mackintosh again. It was hanging open over a pink Lacoste shirt and baggy blue jeans. The outfit was perfect, regulation, off-duty copper's casual wear. He could have been going for an afternoon's shopping down the Arndale with his old woman, if it hadn't been for the automatic pistol clenched in his right hand. He looked so neat and tidy, so respectable, so ordinary, standing there, that it pissed me right off. I sat and fixed him with what I hoped was a killing look. We surveyed each other. Him all tarted up, me covered in blood, filth and dried sweat, smelling of cordite and death, and trembling because of what I'd done. Him, still official with a warrant card in his pocket and me, facing God knows what charges. If ever I hated anyone in my life it was then, but I had to talk to him. Had to communicate. Had to dig the last vestige of truth from someone who treated truth like an old cigarette end to be discarded, as and when he pleased.

‘Surprise, surprise,’ I said, ‘of all the drug dens, in all the towns, in all the world, you have to walk into mine.’

John regarded me, and sneered.

‘Still the jokes, Nick, you silly cunt. You're lucky to be alive, do you know that?’

‘Yes,’ I replied irritably, ‘your little firm has done its best to see me off again today.’

‘And it looks as though they nearly succeeded. I should've let them do it when they wanted to, days ago. It would've saved me a lot of trouble.’

‘You mean at the house in Brixton,’ I said, ‘or when they chased me around Waterloo, taking pot shots at my car?’

‘Either time would have done,’ he retorted.

‘So you were the fourth man at the squat?’

‘Very good, Nick,’ he replied sarcastically, ‘how long did it take you to work that out?’

‘A lot longer than it should have, and even then I didn't want to believe it. Why didn't you let them finish me off? I don't get it.’

‘Because I felt sorry for you. You looked so fucking pathetic lying there, that I thought I'd leave you for the force to take care of.’

‘I suppose it never occurred to you that I might do some hard time in the Scrubs?’

‘It did as a matter of fact,’ he said with a humourless smile, ‘and you know how they treat ex-old bill inside, don't you?’

I knew and it wasn't pleasant knowledge.

‘I think you're lying,’ I said, ‘I think you couldn't resist facing me down. I think you wanted to tell me everything before you topped me. You wanted to let me know how clever you were. How you didn't give a fuck about the law. Well it was a big mistake, John, leaving me alive to carry on.’

By the look on his face, it seemed he was well aware of that.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘that's why I let them have a second go. I forgot what kind of driver you are, but even when you got away from them on Thursday, I never thought you'd take it this far.’

‘It was forced on me.’

‘Why didn't you just quit when I told you to?’ he asked.

‘Because I always quit, and I'm getting sick and tired of it,’ I replied.

‘The funny thing is,’ he said, ‘that even when you don't quit, you're still fucking useless.’

‘But it's funny how everyone that's said that is either dead or out of the game.’ I looked over towards George Bright lying unconscious on the floor.

‘Except me,’ said John.

‘Precisely, except you,’ I said, ‘and me,’ I added.

He looked at me in a way that hinted that the arrangement might only be temporary. ‘Well, what now?’ he asked.

‘Now John,’ I replied. ‘We all take a trip down to the local nick and tell your mates in blue exactly what has been happening under their noses for the last couple of years.’

‘Just like that,’ said John. ‘Just like in a story book. Remember I'm the one with the gun. You expect me to go quietly and confess everything. Well, bollocks to that. I'm not giving up everything I worked for because of you.’

I sat and looked at him, and he stood and looked at me. The automatic was pointed at my chest, he had the winning hand and he knew it. With his left hand he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He threw them down onto the desk top in front of me.

‘Get one out and light it for me,’ he ordered.

‘I've given up,’ I said.

‘Just do it', he snarled.

I did as I was told, rather awkwardly, using only my right hand. The smoke bit into the back of my throat. It was the first cigarette I'd tasted in over a year. It felt good. I put it down on the edge of the desk. John motioned for me to sit back and I slumped down into the chair. He picked up the cigarette and took a deep drag.

‘You are a bastard, John,’ I said. ‘After all we've been through together. I never thought it would turn out like this, I thought we were friends'.

‘Friends, you've got to be kidding,’ he said through a cloud of smoke. ‘I never even liked you. You had all the breaks. All the advantages, and you couldn't hack it. Just look at the state of you. And then,’ he continued bitterly, ‘you lost me the chance of promotion away from all this shit, you selfish bastard. You stole evidence that was down on me, you didn't care if I suffered. You never gave a toss for anyone but yourself. I would've been Inspector at least, by now. You cost me, you slag, and you talk about friendship. Well fuck your friendship.’

There was contempt in his eyes, but I didn't flinch. It was true I had failed him, and a list of others that it would take me a week to remember, but that was past. I'd paid for that shit in hospitals, and during long sleepless nights, and the final payment had been made with the MAC M10. Or maybe the total bill hadn't been settled yet. But it wasn't going to be paid with apologies to a renegade copper.

‘What happened to you John?’ I asked.

‘I've been getting rich.’

‘Congratulations. You used to be happy just being a good copper.’

‘Don't give me that sanctimonious shit,’ he spat. ‘What do you know about being a good copper? You were never any good at the job from the start.’ All the compliments were getting tiresome.

‘Maybe, John, but at least I never pretended to be anything I wasn't. You sat and listened to my story the other night as though you gave a damn. I told you about my wife and kid and you took it all in. You phoney son of a bitch.’

Then something terrible struck me.

‘Where are Judith and Laura?’ I asked, with a terrible dread grabbing at the pit of my stomach. ‘You left that bloody note, didn't you? Just so I'd tell you where they were.’

I half rose from my seat. He must have been able to see the murder in my eyes.

‘Relax, will you,’ he said, gesturing with the pistol in his hand. ‘Don't worry about them. It was just a wind-up. I wanted to make you squirm. I wanted you to concentrate on something else apart from the Bright case. Your pal Louis took them both off to Scotland. They'll be back in a day or so. I don't make war on women and children. They're safe and sound. Which is more than I can say for you.’

‘Are you crazy?’ I interrupted. ‘You don't make war on women? Yesterday I saw Patsy Bright with half her head blown off. What was than then? A game?’

He was silent for a long time.

‘She had to die,’ he said, ‘otherwise, that lunatic,’ he gestured towards George, ‘would never rest. He was obsessed with her. That's what all the cash was for. He was going to get you to find her, then do a runner to South America.’

George could have saved the effort, I thought. Half of South America was on the desk in front of me already.

‘But why involve me? That's what I don't understand. Of all the people in the world, why me? I came back to town to earn a few bob and live the quiet life.’

‘I saw your stupid advertisement in the paper,’ John replied. ‘I mentioned you to George. I laughed when I told him about you. How was I supposed to know he'd get a hard on for you and hire you?’

‘But I still don't understand,’ I said.

‘You don't understand much, do you? Still, I suppose you never did. I was in charge of the investigation into her disappearance. I just didn't do anything about it. George couldn't go to a big firm of investigators. Anyone half way decent would have sussed him out in no time. That only left losers like you. When I told him you were bent and into drugs, he obviously thought there was no-one better to find his precious little fuck.’

‘You must've made me sound good,’ I said.

‘I only told the truth.’

‘Only it wasn't the truth, was it John? I'd been through changes. I'm straight, you're the bent one now, aren't you?’

He didn't answer.

‘But why wouldn't you look for Patsy?’ I asked.

‘Because I knew where she was all the time. I knew she'd been sucked in by that bloody Arab poof she was killed with yesterday. I wasn't about to tell Bright and have him start a war to get her back.’

‘But you got one.’

‘That wasn't war. That was assassination. They had to be got rid of. Especially when the Arab latched onto you and spilled the beans about everything. He did, didn't he?’

‘Not quite everything. He never mentioned you. I wonder why that was?’

‘Because he wanted to team up with me. He wanted Bright out of the way, and for us to form a consortium. He knew my contacts are the best.’

‘That's not what he said to me. He told me that your mob were on the way out. George was panicking and he'd pick up the business easily.’

‘He was lying, he thought you'd get rid of George for him. But he needed me. Admittedly Bright is the weak sister, but I had the Arab's number. I took him out just when I needed to. His blackmailing game with Patsy Bright was making too many waves'.

‘So you just killed them, just like that?’

He shrugged.

‘By the way,’ I said. ‘Who's idea was it to send the letter to George? The one that said Patsy would be home soon.’

‘I let it be known that it would be a good idea. The Arab got Patsy to write it.’

‘So here we are,’ I said. ‘We've come to the big crunch.’

‘It doesn't have to be. I've got no troops left now. You've seen to that. But you could come good. Together we could carry on the trade, pick up where Bright and I left off. Jesus you'd be a millionaire inside three months. You could handle sales and I'd look after security.’

I couldn't believe what he was saying.

‘What are you talking about?’ I asked incredulously. ‘Don't you know what the body count is this week? Eight, John. Eight people have died. Do you expect to just erase that from the records with no questions asked?’

‘I can handle it with a little help,’ he replied coolly.

‘How high up does this thing go then?’ I questioned. ‘You're talking almost government level here.’

‘It goes high, Nick, very high.’

I remembered the tall man at the cemetery. The Arab, as John called him, or David as he'd called himself, and what he'd told me about powerful men with strange tastes. Obviously John was moving in exalted circles these days.

‘So answer me just one more question,’ I said, although by then I was heartily sick of talking. My throat was dry and it hurt to swallow and my left shoulder hurt like hell.

‘Why did George kick me off the case, if he wanted Patsy back so badly?’

‘Because I told him that, if by some miracle you did find her, I'd kill the pair of you.’

‘You're a real sweetheart John, do you know that?’

He gave me that kind of look, usually reserved for something you've found sticking to the sole of your shoe, but said nothing.

‘I bet Fox isn't involved,’ I continued.

‘That bastard,’ said John. ‘He's so straight, he can hardly turn corners.’

‘Well, thank God someone still is.’

I knew then to whom to take my story if I could get out of this.

‘Straight,’ John said. ‘What do you know about being straight?’ It was you that got me into this in the first place.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. I saw how easily you'd got the coke away from the station lock-up. I gave it a try and sold some heroin. It was simple.’

‘A nice little bit of private enterprise for you,’ I said.

‘Too true, and now you can have a slice of it.’

‘No thanks. It's too rich for my blood.’

‘You have no choice.’

‘I always have a choice.’

‘Not this time Nick. If you don't want in with me, I'll kill you.’

I climbed slowly to my feet. I wanted John Reid to think I was in even worse shape than I looked.

‘Not so fast,’ John said threateningly.

‘Relax, John,’ I retorted, ‘you've talked me into it. I accept your offer. How can I refuse? Just get me somewhere I can get cleaned up and have my arm looked at. I feel like hell.’

I could sense from the look in his eyes that he didn't trust me completely. But at least his gun was no longer pointing directly at me.

I pretended to stagger and put my hands on the desk for support. Under my fingers I felt the bag of cocaine that George had split open. Slowly and carefully I gripped the slick plastic. I looked John straight in the eyes.

‘Well, are we going?’ I asked.

The barrel of his gun moved even further from me. It was my one and only chance.

I flipped the bag of cocaine at his head.

Everything went into a kind of slow motion.

I remember clearly watching the plastic bag arching through the air. A thin mist of powder flew from the cut in the side. I saw John's left hand rise slowly to his head level as he tried to deflect the missile from his face.

He was too late. The packet hit him on the forehead and burst open. A cloud of dust exploded around his head, it must have filled his eyes and blinded him immediately, but he still managed to swing the barrel of his pistol back in my direction. He clawed at his eyes with his free hand to clear his vision.

As soon as I had thrown the bag, I went for my revolver. I pushed the material of my jacket back and felt my hand smack onto the rubber grip of my Colt.

I knew then, that if the metal of the gun snagged in the baggy cloth, I was going to die. There was one heart stopping moment when something caught, then the .38 was free.

I pulled back the hammer with my thumb as I brought the gun round to aim at John. Meanwhile, the business end of his pistol was looming closer to me. I could see the bore-hole of the automatic as it swung in my direction. It seemed to be as big as the Blackwall Tunnel as it moved. I watched as I sluggishly brought my gun up to arms’ length and pulled the trigger.