No Sleep for the Dead

Chapter 28

Szulu checked his rear mirror and wondered if he was imagining things. He was sure he’d seen the same car behind him now more than once, ever since collecting Lottie Grossman from her hotel. It kept reappearing, as if the driver was unsure of his route and trying to find shortcuts, but inevitably staying on their tail. Unfortunately, with the level of commuter and other traffic, keeping tabs on one specific car was practically impossible. Szulu shook his head, telling himself not to get paranoid.

‘I need to get out of this place for a while,’ Lottie had told him when he’d called her on the way to the hotel earlier that morning. ‘It’s stifling in here, and those tablets aren’t doing me any good.’ Her voice had taken on a whining quality, adding to the slurring of her words after she’d been taken ill. As for the hotel, it was air-conditioned throughout. Maybe she was having hot flushes, like his gran used to get. He shuddered at the idea of this woman suffering the same ailments as any normal woman.

It had cost him a small fortune to get his arm patched up, but it was better than tangling with the cops. Fortunately, the quack had located the bullet nestling just beneath the skin, and hadn’t had to dig around too much. Even so, the pain had been intense enough to have Szulu yelling like a baby.

‘Fair enough,’ he said, relieved he wasn’t expected to go out and buy an Uzi to blow anyone away. He still hadn’t worked out how to break things off with the old woman without her going ballistic, but he’d have to come up with something sooner or later or he’d do something desperate.

‘So what happened?’ Her voice interrupted his thoughts as they cruised past Runnymede, with the river on the left. ‘Did you deliver the message?’

Szulu nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. He hadn’t told her about being shot, or the addition to the scene of yet another psychotic military type, and hoped the bandages the quack had applied weren’t obvious beneath the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Sure. They didn’t like it. You really have history, don’t you?’

He saw Lottie nodding in the back seat, her eyes half closed. ‘Oh, yes. We have history, all right.’ There was a pause, then: ‘You got hurt, didn’t you?’

Szulu looked in the mirror, surprised she’d noticed. ‘A bit, yeah. Not much. A flesh wound.’

‘A flesh wound? Christ, who shot you — Palmer?’ She cackled dryly. ‘He’s a one, isn’t he? I’m surprised to hear he’s tooled up, though.’

Szulu glanced in the mirror, surprised at her use of slang. He sighed and decided to tell her everything, in spite of the big guy’s warning. Anyway, what could he do to him that he hadn’t done already? ‘It wasn’t Palmer. There was another bloke turned up. The Gavin woman called him John. Big, a bit posh like, but tough. Seemed to know all about guns.’ He explained that he’d taken the.22 with him for protection, but that it had misfired when he’d been startled by the cat.

For the second time in as many minutes, the old woman laughed, but it was a dry cackling sound with no element of humour. Szulu felt his ears burning with shame at the memory.

‘You aren’t cut out for this game, are you, Mr Szulu?’ said Lottie perceptively, rubbing at her eyes. ‘Scared by a cat, eh? Dear me. Still, you were lucky he only put a shot in your arm. His name’s Mitcheson. Ex-army. He worked for me, once, for a short while. Tough fella, all right… I could have done with more like him. Would’ve made a fortune with him alongside me.’

She fell silent and stared out of the window as if recalling missed opportunities. They entered the outskirts of Egham, Szulu taking the Lexus on a random tour to avoid traffic, with no particular destination in mind. Aimless seemed the best way to go at the moment. After a mile or so, Lottie stirred again.

‘Stop here, Mr Szulu. Anywhere will do.’

Szulu stopped the car as ordered, and looked around. They were in a quiet street bordered by chestnut trees, the kerb on either side lined with cars. Middle class, middle income, nice lives; if they had any worries, the people who lived here, they kept them well hidden behind their neat gardens and smart house fronts. He switched off the ignition and turned to look at Lottie Grossman, wondering what she was going to do next.

‘Now I’ve told you my secrets,’ he said finally, ‘how about yours?’

‘Pardon me?’ Her voice was slurred again, her lips barely moving.

‘Well, you wanted out of the hotel pretty quick, it seemed to me. Why’s that?’

There was a long silence, punctuated by the sound of an electric drill somewhere nearby. Then she said: ‘Because I want to finish this.’

‘Yeah? What, like go home?’ He felt relieved. The sooner she was out of his hair, the better. Then he could go back to worrying about the simple things in life, like how to avoid being carved into slices by Ragga Pearl.

‘No. I want you to finish it. Remember those special rates we talked about? You want to be out from under Pearl, don’t you? Only you’ll have to be quick.’ She delved into her bag with a shaky hand and passed him a thick envelope. ‘That should cover it.’

Szulu sighed. Deep down, he knew that whatever else he might be capable of, killing Palmer and the Gavin woman was way beyond his reach, especially now the other guy had appeared on the scene. It was as if he’d been shown his limits and realised that he wasn’t up to it. Strangely, he felt no sense of shame in the realisation. He decided to tell her, extra money or no extra money.

‘Sorry. Can’t do that,’ he said softly. ‘I ain’t killing no-one. You were right: I’m not cut out for this. Not murder, anyway. You can go ahead and tell Ragga if you like. I’ll even go there with you. You want me to drive you?’

‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’ She sounded slightly drunk, vague, as if her mind was wandering, and Szulu wondered if she’d been taking a few crafty nips while he wasn’t looking. Jeez, that’s all he needed after everything else: how the hell do you get a drunk pensioner out of the back of the car? Especially one who wanted you to kill people.

‘Yeah? Why not? Hey, you could ask Ragga to have his men do it. He’d kill his own mother if the price was right. I never said that, though.’ When she didn’t reply, he continued: ‘Wouldn’t that be better, having Ragga’s men do Palmer? That way you know it gets done.’

Lottie gave a snort of contempt. ‘You think I would trust those strutting idiots to do anything? They’re street hooligans, that’s all, flashing their silly gold chains and hiding behind dark glasses. Real men don’t need to hide their eyes, Mr Szulu. People like Palmer and Mitcheson… they look you straight in the eye.’

Szulu nodded, recognising something close to admiration in her voice. Man, she sounded like she respected those two. That was something he hadn’t expected.

‘Anyway, I can’t ask Pearl.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I went to see him two days ago, while you were busy. To talk over some stuff. While I was in his office, I noticed some papers on his desk. He seems surprisingly businesslike, for one so…uncouth. A bit careless, though, with people he thinks are beyond it.’ She gave a slight chuckle. ‘We’re the invisible army, us old ones, you know that? Nobody sees us until it’s too late.’

‘So?’ Something in the old woman’s tone told Szulu he wasn’t going to like where this was going. From rarely telling him the time of day, here she was suddenly gobbing off about some visit she’d made to Ragga Pearl’s den.

‘I’ve always had the knack of reading upside down, you know. It came in handy over the years. The paper on his desk included a list of names and bank accounts. My late husband always had a list like that, too. Piggy-banks, he called them. Bits squirreled here, bits tucked away there… makes it difficult for anyone to follow the money trail, see? Information like that, though, there’s always somebody interested in buying. Always.’

Szulu felt the situation rapidly slipping away from him. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d thought all along that the old woman was crazy, but this was something else. He stared at her. ‘Let me get this right: you stole information about bank accounts from Ragga Pearl? Tell me you’re joking, man! Why would you do such a thing?’ He wondered if he shouldn’t just kick her arse out of the car and leave her here in the middle of the street. Then drive until the car ran dry or he was out of money. It would be way better than the shit-storm she was going to bring down on their heads once the Ragga found out what she’d done. Because as sure as the man was crazy as a bed bug, there was no way he’d let her get away with it — and that included anyone around her at the time. Shit, he’d be lucky if he didn’t end up floating alongside her down the Thames.

Lottie Grossman moved slightly, slumping back in her seat. It was enough to drag Szulu’s mind back to the here and now. Then he noticed something wasn’t right. She looked like she’d taken an over-strong hit of something. Her mouth had gone slack on one side, and her eyes were rolling towards the roof of the car. He glanced at her hands, which were now clutched tight in her lap, the brightly coloured nails digging into her palms. And one knee was trembling slightly, as if she had the fever.

‘Hey — Mrs Grossman! Lottie — what’s up?’ He leaned over the back of the seat for a closer look, and saw a trickle of saliva worming its way down the old woman’s chin. Her breathing sounded bad, too, like it was coming out of the end of a long tube, and there was a sour smell in the car. He guessed she’d had a heart attack, or maybe a stroke. Whatever, he was no medic and she plainly needed more help than he could give her.

He turned and flattened his forehead against the side window, the feel of the glass cool and flat against his skin. He didn’t need this. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Hospital, that was the best bet. The nearest he could find. Drop her off at a casualty unit and leg it before anyone could ask questions. By the looks of it, she wouldn’t be in a position to tell them anything, anyway. Then wait to see what the Ragga would do. In spite of knowing the gangster’s psychotic nature, Szulu was fed up with feeling like a chicken every time he heard the man’s name. No way he was going to crawl like a slug and ask for mercy. Damn if he’d do that.

He turned the key in the ignition, put the Lexus in gear, and checked his mirror, mentally planning a route to the nearest A amp;E. He was surprised to see a large black Toyota Land Cruiser had ghosted quietly up the street behind him, and was now filling his rear window with its radiator grill.

‘What the-?’ He turned and ducked his head a fraction and saw three large figures inside, just sitting there behind tinted glass. Szulu heard another engine and switched his eyes to the front, where a similar vehicle was reversing the other way at speed. It stopped three feet from his bonnet, the array of brake lights flaring like fireworks. Two shapes sat inside this one, one of them horribly familiar. Shit, so they had been followed!

Before he could move, there was a figure at his door and another on the passenger side, peering in at him like he was a caged exhibit. Both were big, with shoulders like weightlifters and heads like cannonballs. He didn’t recognise them, but he didn’t have to — they were Ragga’s boys. Then the door of the Land Cruiser in front opened and the Ragga himself strolled towards him, heavy body rolling, springing off his left foot like he always did and snapping his fingers to some insane, inner tune. He wore trainers and a gold tracksuit, his large belly straining against the soft, silky cloth. He made a rolling motion with one fat finger, and Szulu pressed the button to lower the window.

‘Szulu, my man,’ Ragga greeted him. He seemed to chew on the name with relish, as if they were old friends. Szulu sensed it was Ragga’s way of unsettling people — especially those to whom he intended no good. The gang leader leaned over the car, filling Szulu’s side window. He smelled of fried food, sweet smoke and some sickly expensive cologne that someone had probably told him was really cool this season in L.A.

‘Ragga.’ Szulu nodded and wondered how he was going to get out of this one. Damn, he should have bugged out long ago, when he first met the crazy woman in the back seat.

Ragga peered past him at Lottie Grossman, running heavy-lidded eyes over her with a peculiarly vacant expression. He exchanged a look with one of his lieutenants, then said to Szulu: ‘What’s up with her, man? You been smackin’ her around?’ Ragga tittered, the pink tip of his tongue sneaking out from between his lips like a schoolboy enjoying a filthy joke he wasn’t supposed to have heard. ‘Still, we all got to get our kicks somehow, right?’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Szulu protested. ‘She had some kind of attack. I was about to take her to hospital.’

‘You kiddin’ me?’ Ragga seemed genuinely surprised. He bent to study the old woman again. ‘Shit, Szulu, I think you’re right. That’s bad news, man. Before she kicked off, did she say anything about having some property of mine?’

The question nearly caught Szulu by surprise, but he managed to keep a straight face. Just a bare hint that he knew what this psycho was talking about and he’d be history.

He shook his head and stared directly at the other man, allowing a little heat to creep into his voice. ‘Now you’re fucking joshing me, right? This old bitch never even told me her real name until a couple of days ago. She’s been dangling me like a sucker all along, not telling me nothing. Watch this guy, check out this place, take me here, drive me there, put the frights on that woman… shit, I’d learn more working for one of those monks that never speaks.’ He stopped speaking, mostly because Ragga had put his hand through the window and placed a pudgy finger against his cheek. It felt hot and damp and Szulu wanted to take hold of it and bite it.

‘Enough, man,’ said Ragga softly, his voice suddenly sing-song, as if he was crooning to a child. ‘Don’t make me lose my temper. The old woman took something from me, see. I can’t be having that. Make me look soft, like I got no control. Now you sit still, nice and quiet.’ He muttered instructions over his shoulder and two of his men opened the rear doors and eased Lottie Grossman out of the car. They took her to the Land Cruiser at the back and placed her inside, then one of them came back and collected her handbag off the back seat. The doors closed with twin clunks.

‘Now, Szulu,’ Ragga continued quietly, ‘here’s what we do. The debt what you owe me? It’s done. Paid, right?’ Szulu nodded, too relieved to speak, and Ragga continued: ‘So now you’re gonna get out of this car and walk away from here. You ain’t gonna look back, an’ you’re gonna forget you ever saw this car or that woman. They never existed.’

‘What about the rental place? They’ll remember me.’ Szulu couldn’t give two tits for the rental place, he was so relieved at this turn of events. But pride wouldn’t let him show he wasn’t completely cool with it and thinking carefully, like a professional.

‘Tell ‘em it got boosted by some fuckin’ joy-riders. It happens all the time, right? We live in a lawless world, everyone know that. Anyway, it’ll turn up again soon, once we’ve given it the valet treatment.’ He tittered again, enjoying his own private joke. ‘Now go.’

Szulu got out of the car, hardly able to believe his luck. As he did so, he was careful to slide the envelope Lottie Grossman had given him under his jacket. It was plain that Lottie wasn’t going to be needing it, not where she was going. He almost felt sorry for her then, but shook it off. She’d wanted two others dead, so what right did she have to special consideration? He turned and walked past the Land Cruiser at the back, where he could see Lottie Grossman slumped in one corner, eyes closed. Neither of the men inside gave him so much as a glance.

He was fifty yards down the street when he heard all three cars move away.

He kept walking and didn’t look back.