Her Last Call to Louis MacNeice

MOROCCO AND POINTS SOUTH

Got home and shit, I was tired. Weapons and funerals, they’ll do for you every time. Out of the car, gave the yuppie ‘ping’ and turned to my door.

Cassie literally materialised before me, staggered and I barely caught her before she hit the ground. She was out cold. Carried her over the threshold – yeah, I bet she enjoyed that – and laid her on the settee. Doused a cloth with ice water and mopped her brow. She was wearing late-evening hooker ensemble. Black bomber jacket, white and tight T-shirt, short black skirt, black stockings. Sure, the obvious crossed my mind but I tried to ignore it. She came round with little groans and whimpers, not unlike the sounds she’d made when we had sex. I asked, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Osteoporosis.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Brittle bone disease, ain’t it a bitch. Usually connected to the menopause but I had to get it early. I’ll be literally cracking up – they’ll hear me coming, and going.’

I didn’t know what to make of this. More lies? So I asked, ‘Can I get you something?’

‘Say what?’

‘Tea – a drink.’

‘Coffee’d be good. I had a little girl, back when I lived in New York City. Her name was Ariana. I loved her more than I thought I could bear. She filled me with joy and wonder and pain and oh God, with yearning. I had to leave her alone for a few hours one evening – it’s a long story why – when I got back, she was gone. I’ve never seen her since – that’s partly why I’m such a goddamn mess.’

I agreed about her being a bloody mess but felt maybe it wasn’t the time to mention it. Coffee, yeah, I was glad of the diversion. Made it hot and ball-bustin’ strong. Elephant blend, as a mate said. At first I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Reckoned the Yeltsin had finally kicked in but no – she was singing! In a low clear voice of nigh absolute purity. I dunno about beauty, fuck knows, where would I have learnt, I was raised with pigeons. But, I’d bet this was close. I didn’t know then but it was a song by Tricia Yearwood called ‘O Mexico’. It had a ring of loneliness, of longing that hit like a gut-shot. I felt as close to weeping as a hard-ass like me’s ever gonna come.

Then she stopped and the silence scalded my heart, muttered, ‘Get a friggin’ grip.’

I was wrung as tight as tension, not worth tuppence. If the filth had come callin’, I’d have put up my hand, shouted – ‘fair cop guv’. Carried out the coffee, no bizzies, Noble had scoffed the lot. She’d been crying, I wish I didn’t know that and she said, ‘Are you familiar with Thomas Merton?’

‘Not unless he’s a bookie.’

She quoted:

‘We must be true inside

true to ourselves

before we can know

a truth

that is outside us.’

I poured the coffee, asked, ‘How d’ya take it.’

‘Cream and sugar -

“But we make

ourselves true by

manifesting the truth

as we see it.”’

I handed her a mug, wondering if she’d finished. She had.

I took a sip, real good – fuck, I make great coffee.

‘So Cassie, where’s my gun… eh?’

‘I tossed it.’

‘You wot.’

‘I was scared – scared I’d eat the metal so, I walked over Waterloo Bridge and sank the sucker. Is that the one Ray Davies wrote about – I saw the Kinks once.’

‘And my money, I suppose you, dumped that too.’

‘Don’t be a horse’s ass, I spent it, you’ve mucho dinero.’

‘But not so mucho patience lady and your meter’s running high. Lemme see if I can get this across. You stole from me, broke in to my gaff, took a shot at me and generally ran fuckin’ liberties. Am I getting through to you Cassie. Our firm has been moving rag-ass trying to find you.’

‘I’ve been naughty!’

‘Naughty?’

‘I need spanking.’

‘Whoa – hold the phones lady.’

She was up, took my hand and put it on her breast, said, ‘Hold this.’

I pushed her away and her voice dropped to a whisper.

‘You don’t want me?’

‘Look Cassie, you’re a hot lady but this isn’t a real good time – OK.’

‘It’s because I lost my little girl, isn’t it. You’re punishing me.’

I stood up, ‘For heaven’s sake, I’m real sorry about that. I’m trying to be fair, I’m not going to hassle you about all the other crazy shit. Just leave now and we’ll let it be.’

‘I think I see her, you know, on the street and I chase after her – or on a bus – or…’

‘Jesus.’

‘But I have a good report that she’s in Agadir.’

‘Where?’

‘Morocco. Her father was from Kif.’

‘I thought that was Keith Richards’ nickname.’

‘It’s a village in the Blue Atlas Mountains, they specialize in hash. I know he now lives in Agadir, a P.I. says he’s ninety percent sure.’

‘A private investigator?’

‘Yes, I’ve had dozens of them. Will you come – will you come and help me get her back.’

‘I don’t believe this. You can’t just go down there on a vague report – can’t you get Interpol to check.’

Her voice rose, ‘Those pricks – do me a goddamn favour. But you’re different, you’d get her.’

‘I’m sorry, look it’s late…’

‘We could drive on down there, to Algeciras, I’d read MacNeice to you, I…’

‘Stop it! Just stop it all to hell. You need help, but not any kind I can provide.’

Now she dropped her arms, seemed to shrink.

I took her arm, moved her to the door, opened it and had to push her out. She stood outside, like little Orphan Annie, said, ‘You’ll come to Agadir, you just don’t know it yet but, I promise you that – on my little girl’s head.’

I closed the door, said, ‘Dream on lady.’

She stood outside the door and I could hear her say, ‘David – David, did you ever hear what Kafka said,

“No people sing with such

pure voices

as those who live in

deepest hell.”’

‘Indigent! I don’t friggin’ believe it. You’ve got to be bloody joking – c’mon!’ – Yelling at the very height of my lungs.

Doc took it all, well, almost, and replied, ‘Would I joke about that. It’s the term they use and a right vicious one.’

I couldn’t take it in – how could he be skint-

‘How can you be skint?’

‘Don’t get righteous with me Davy boy. The bloody house is mortgaged to the gills, those school fees – like murder – and the blackjack. It’s been a long run of shitty luck, I’m going to have to pack it in.’

‘Blackjack! You’ve been gambling – you’ve been wot? Why didn’t I know?’

He stood up, his boots gleaming in the light, ‘Why should you know. My bloody Missis didn’t know. Since when do I account to you fella?’

I was close to losing it, had to pull back. I could see a roof in Battersea, see my father’s eyes.

‘OK… OK Doc. Might I ask how you propose paying for the Taj Mahal or whatever bloody monument you’re building to Laura. Won’t Father what’s his bloody face be a tad surprised to hear you’re – indigent – or does he play blackjack too?’

‘Watch yer lip boy.’

‘Or wot Doc?’

He made the effort also to rein in. We’d never – ever – hit this place before.

‘Father Cleary doesn’t know, alright. Treesmead will pay for his project and get me out of the hole – it has to.’

He paused, then, ‘I went to see Meryl Streep in her action pic, River Wild and jeez, she was louder than the friggin’ rapids, so my head was opening. Could you then stop shouting at me now – OK.’

I didn’t even know I had been, said, ‘I wasn’t shouting – you went to the cinema without Laura.’

‘Would have been hard to bloody bring her.’

I went to make coffee, brewed up a storm, heard Doc say, ‘Tea for me, two sugars.’

Mutterin’ ‘Now he tells me’ I half mangled a tea bag into a cup, sloshed water on it, tepid water. Put the sugar in before extracting the bag and, worst crime of all, didn’t heat the cup. All petulant I grant you but it was that or reach for the new 12″, give it an early outing. Piled the lot on a tray that had Charles and Di’s wedding portrait. As he sipped the tea, he gave a grimace, asked, ‘Did you heat the cup?’

‘Always.’

‘Not yer best mate – no, not at all.’

‘Doc, why don’t I do this – I’ll move some of the repo money to help you out.’

He gave a sheepish grin, ‘Em… might be a slight problem.’

‘No, I’ll tell the accountant to do it – he gets paid to shuffle figures. A little cosmetic arithmetic and you’re whistlin’ Danny Boy.’

‘I’ve been and sang that song already, ’tis not a tune worth humming.’

Now I was up, ‘You’ve been dippin? You’ve been robbin us!’

‘Whoa – slow down Streep. I’ll put it back, it was just sitting there. But I do have good news.’

‘You shot the accountant?’

He laughed, said, ‘That’s more like it son. Let me put it this way, Quinn won’t be a problem, I know you were concerned there.’

‘Jeez, you didn’t top a cop!’

‘Naw, they just broke his legs. If I’d another few hundred they’d have completed the job. But fuck, the readies are tight. Anyroad he won’t be playing for the Police Reserves this season.’

‘You’re a piece of work Doc, you’re a real fuckin’ class act. I better buy a lorry load of strawberry delights.’

‘What?’

‘For the Noble savage, he’s fond of his bikky he is.’

When Doc had gone, I thought about funerals. The way things were shaping, I’d soon be arranging my own. In prison, Doc had waxed eloquent and long about the Irish rituals for it, mainly he’d waxed long.

At a loss after Doc left, I flicked through the paper. Read an article on Patricia Highsmith and liked her saying, ‘I find the public passion for justice quite boring and artificial, for neither life nor nature cares if justice is ever done or not.’

‘Amen,’ I said.

Time to move, I’d an accountant to see, Doc and I had force back-pedalled from out and out war. Not so much a sheathing of weapons as an option for other battlefields. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t bounce somebody’s head off a wall.

Heard the post come through the box, didn’t think it would be news to cheer. The handwriting on the envelope was now familiar. Could be worse I thought, the loony bitch could be phoning. Opened it with a heavy heart. In large clear writing she began,

‘O Happi-Mou,

Why do you refuse us, we are destined to be one and, so it shall be. Time to wake up and smell that coffee – you hear what I’m saying.

A woman described my beloved MacNeice as having the looks of a fallen angel. Like you, he believed himself to have become, as a result of his childhood ‘in a strange way hollow’. And he remained ‘always terrified of his father’.

Darling David, let me make you complete. Ariana can be your daughter too. I just know you’re made to be my family

I won’t be sending any more mail as, obviously, you won’t be able to receive it. Don’t fret about a suitable ardrobe for Morocco. I’ll take care of all your needs. Men are hopeless at such practicalities. Feel the warmth touch your hand, that’s me.

Sagapoh,

Your Cassie,

Siempre.’

I bundled it fast, lobbed and caught it on the fall with my right foot. Kicked it mightily across the room and saw it bounce off the far wall.

‘In one,’ I said.

I parcelled up the guns lest Noble came calling. Took them out to the car, piled them in the boot – a day to drive carefully. Thought I wasn’t showing the strain till I got to the accountant’s office and Iris said, ‘What happened to you?’

‘More important, what happened to Duran Duran?’

‘You look rough Cooper, maybe you should call round to me, I’ll give you some T.L.C.’

Time to cut to the chase.

‘Is he in?’

‘He’s tied up.’

‘Sure.’

And I barged on in.

He looked more like a sour priest than ever. A large slice of Danish was en route to his mouth, I said, ‘Arnold L. White – mid bite.’

‘What happened to knocking Mr Cooper?’

‘What happened to my business?’

He took a chunk of the pastry, chewed a bit, then a gulp of coffee, replied, ‘A touch of poetic justice you’ll appreciate. Your firm is up for repossession – isn’t that ironic.’

‘It’s fuckin’ criminal is what it is.’

‘You sound, how should I put it – surprised.’

‘I’m bloody flabbergasted.’

‘Am I to believe your partner didn’t inform you of the developments?’

‘Got that right pal. You didn’t think to give me a bell yourself?’

‘Not my place dear boy.’

‘Leopold, don’t you care if you go down the shitter with me.’

‘Never happen Sir – I took precautions.’

I wanted to pound him, asked, ‘What do you suggest I do now?’

‘Run.’

‘This amuses you, doesn’t it. OK, gloat while you can but keep hoping I run far.’

‘When you dallied with Iris, you did me a grievous injury.’

I turned to leave, left him with, ‘Nice term that – grievous injury – has the proper note of righteous pain. What’s more, I’m going to run it by you when I feed you your balls at a date to be arranged. Might I add, you can count on it.’

First I went to the lock-up. It doubles as a bolt hole – got bunk, kettle, shower, phone. All the vitals. Phoned Jimmy, he’s a minor burglar I met in prison, he’d told me, ‘There are some things a man won’t do for money. Luckily, I’m not one of those men.’

He had the form to prove it.

‘Jimmy?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s Cooper.’

‘The Repo Man.’

‘Yeah, that too. Like to knock down a few hundred?’

‘You want me to nick somefin.’

‘Actually, I want you to add something. If I give you the guy’s name, could you find his gaff and hide an item there.’

‘Bit unusual, is this on the up an’ up?’

‘How does four hundred sound?’

‘What’s his name?’

I met Jimmy in the bar at Victoria Station. He arrived in a natty three-piece suit, hair spit-combed and I’d swear a regimental tie, said, ‘Looking good Jimbo.’

‘I’ve been taking lessons.’

‘Is that a regiment tie?’

‘Sure is – the Argylls – or is it the Enniskillens, one of those bods.’

‘Why?’

‘Opens a lot of doors.’

‘You’re the best judge of that.’

‘I have a Masonic one too but, I have to be careful, I’ve never quite mastered the handshake. Is it a Mason or a Jesse, you know, a fella who’s very friendly.’

Jimmy was smoking roll-ups, Old Holborn and, like a true con, he was a master. He offered, ‘Smoke?’

‘Naw. Here’s the papers I want you to conceal. Put them in an obvious place but not so’s the guy living there will find them – as if they’d been hidden.’

‘Putting someone in the frame or is it none of my business?’

‘It’s none of your business. Here’s the name and his work address. Any problems.’

‘Any cash.’

‘In the envelope. Do you know any hookers?’

‘C’mon Cooper, go into any phone kiosk. Those cards there – take yer pick.’

‘I need one who can keep her mouth shut.’

‘That’s a contradiction Cooper. The two don’t gell – know wot I mean?’

‘Cut the comedy eh – yes or no?’

‘There’s Sharon, she could do with a few quid. Here’s her address, tell her you’re my pal.’

‘Right. You won’t feel the urge to blab about our little transaction?’

‘Aw, for God’s sake, I’m a pro.’

‘And you’re healthy – best to remain so.’

‘I’m a bit offended Cooper.’

‘That’ll pass, two broken legs would take longer.’

And then, I’d swear I saw Cassie on the upper floor. Jimmy said, ‘You OK’

But then she was gone.

‘Yeah, thought I saw someone I knew.’

‘You know wot they say, sit here long enough, you’ll see everyone you ever knew.’

‘I’m afraid you might be right – take care.’

‘Or heavy weapons, am I correct.’

‘Keep it in mind… later.’

I went into Burger King, ordered a whopper and a giant coke. Get the killing junk full in my stomach. Asked the guy to leave out the sauce and, of course, the burger came shitpiled with it. I was about to go through the routine when I saw David Letterman watching me. You know, the talk show, I’d been getting it on the late-night cable. Course it wasn’t him but wow, a dead ringer. He smiled and I shrugged, wot else. Found a table where he wasn’t in my line of vision. Bit down on the whopper and, sure as Sundays, the sauce shot out the side. Looked up, there he was, smile in place, said, ‘I had you going, you did a double take.’

‘Yank accent – jeez, another one.’

He said, ‘The way I see it – he looks like me. Am I right?’

Took a hit of the coke and it was sweet, I’ll give it that, even the ice.

‘Might I sit down – I’m Cassie’s brother.’

I finished the food, pushed the debris away, said, ‘You’re here for the shoplifting, I believe the season’s started.’

‘I need your help.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Let’s call me David.’

‘Wot – all of us?’

‘Mr Cooper – oh yes, I know who you are. You may be the only one who can help her.’

‘Sorry pal, I’m up to me arse in aggravation, plus – no offence but that lady’s beyond help.’

‘No no no! She’s obsessed with you and you can use that to persuade her to return home. We can get treatment.’

‘Hey David, you deaf or just stupid. I said – I didn’t say – hey maybe we’ve room to negotiate.’

‘I know where you’re coming from Mr Cooper. But it’s not a choice thing, she’s volatile and, OK, I’m going to play straight with you. I believe she may have pushed a woman under a train in New York.’

‘What… jeez… Laura…’

‘Laura? Who’s that? The woman was my fiancée. Cassie doesn’t like people close to her – loved ones – she doesn’t share.’

I couldn’t take it in. What was running through my mind was this family who looked like stars – Letterman and Sarah Miles. I asked, ‘Who do yer parents resemble – Bogie and Bacall?’

And he laughed. ‘They’re Mom and Pop Diner, Mr and Mrs Ordinary, Citizens of Nerd City. You getting this?’

The door of the restaurant was kicked in, the three Yahoos came dribblin’. In their late twenties, they’d the uniform of denim jackets, combat trousers, scarves and filthy trainers. If grunge was gone, they hadn’t heard. The personification of the urban hooligan to be found on every High Street, more common than litter and as nasty as tax. Intimidation is the party tune. Amid guffaws, obscenities and horseplay, they collected their grub and sprawled at the table next to us.

Naturally. This is your life! I said, ‘The ambience at Burger King isn’t to their palate.’

And now began the obligatory food fight, flicking fries and buns all over. He said, ‘Gotta hang a right.’

And was up and over to them. He put both hands, palms outspread on their table. This put a thug to his left, to his right, and directly facing him. His accent seemed like a roar.

‘Hi guys.’

‘Wotcha want fooker… Yank fooker.’

Course this led to a wild repartee and chorus.

‘Yeah, the fook you want wanker.’

‘Are you guys the real thing – lager louts’ (he pronounced it lowts) – ‘we’ve got broadcasts on you back home.’

‘Fook off wanker – put me shoe in yer arsehole – how d’ya like that then eh. Want yer fookin’ teeth up yer backside, yah wanker?’

He stood back, gave a huge smile and charaded a light bulb going off over his head, answered, ‘I know that word – you guys are implying I’m a self-abuser – have I got it right? But let me demonstrate what it is I actually do with my hands, OK?’

He bent slightly, then shot out both elbows to crash into noses left and right, then gave a bounce, gripped the table and headbutted number three. The sound of bones crackin’ was loud. He pulled back and came over to me, asked, ‘How’d I do?’

‘Lemme put it this way – can I buy you a drink.’

As we got out of there, a round of applause followed us. I’d say it did wonders for Letterman’s ratings.

We went to The Swan on Bayswater Road. I wanted away from my own manor. I ordered Scotch and he had Scotch rocks. I asked, ‘You’ve got some moves, where’d you learn ’em?’

‘Marine Corps.’

But he was staring at the painting behind the bar and the barman said, ‘This pub has been here since Bayswater Road was a lane leading from the Courts in Uxbridge to Marble Arch.’

When David showed no recognition, the guy continued, ‘Marble Arch, or as it was then, Tyburn, where they hung ’em! The condemned man and his escort would have a final drink here. See, that’s what the painting shows.’

‘One for the road.’

The barman gave a sour laugh.

‘Didn’t have to worry about being over the limit, know wot I mean.’

David looked him full in the face, said, ‘I believe I catch your drift.’

Enough with the history I thought and moved us to a table, said, ‘Cheers.’

‘Whatever’

‘So David, what do you do?’

‘I’m a poet.’

‘Wot?’

‘Ever listen to Stevie Nicks?’

‘Not unless it’s absolutely unavoidable.’

‘She said – “they are poets of nothingness”.’

‘Are you any good?’

‘Well, there isn’t anyone good enough to know if I’m hot or not.’

‘You should meet the Doc, he’d know. But a poet – bit like being a shepherd in London.’

He took out a pack of Camels, a Zippo, cranked it, blew out a batch of smoke, coughed, said, ‘Hits the goddamn spot I think.’

‘I thought Americans were violently anti-nicotine.’

‘I like one of your writers, the Martin Amis guy, one of his characters wants a cigarette even when he’s smoking one.’

‘Sounds like madness to me.’

‘Hey, what I did say – I said I was a poet – did you hear me say I was sane, did I run that by you. Amis reckons cigarettes are a relaxant and writers are the great un-relaxed.’

‘David, I could give a toss whether you smoke through your arse.’

‘Whoa, testy – I’m only making conversation here, OK’

‘What about yer sister, wot am I to…?’

‘Lemme play a hunch here – you did her a good turn?’

He laughed loud, said, ‘I imagine John Dillinger said similar as he walked outa the Bijou Theatre and into the guns.’

‘I’m not Dillinger.’

‘And heavens-to-Betsie, neither was Warren Oates but go figure. I made a shit-pile of bucks back in the manic ’80s when Ginko was hoodwinkin’ Wall Street. But heck, what have I got to show for it – a crazy sister, some property, and a heap of bad poetry.’

‘You’d be different poor?’

‘I probably wouldn’t admit to the poetry. Next time she gets in touch – and she will – call me, any hour. Hell, call anyway, how would that be. Here’s my card.’

‘Aston Towers.’

‘Yeah, impressive huh?’

As we left, he said, ‘My old man, he was like… fifty-five when they had me. Yeah, on his deathbed he said, “Sorry I was old.”’

I didn’t know how to respond so I said, ‘Just like my old man.’

‘He said the same?’

‘No, he said… Argh…’

Thought of something, then thought… check it out. Called, ‘Em… David… Dave, wait up.’

Calling your own name, you feel like a horse’s ass. He had the same thought as he answered in a high-pitched voice, ‘Yes David.’

Shades of Tiny Tim and other obscenities.

‘Cassie’s daughter, wot’s the story.’

He shook his head. Not good, said, ‘There is no daughter. She had an abortion when she was nineteen… a botched job. After, she began exhibiting signs of psychosis. Then she invented a daughter and to explain her absence, she added abduction, not by aliens but Moroccans. Hardly an X-File but certainly spooky.’

I said more to meself, ‘No Ariana.’

He gave me a playful puck to my shoulder. Jesus, I loved that! And said, ‘No more eagles either but is that really such a bad thing.’

I said, ‘She needs help.’

‘Yo… Mister Cooper… didn’t I just run that by you… didn’t I just goddamn park in that space… pay attention… alright.’

And then he was gone.

Of all the things I was doing then, paying attention was definitely not one of them.

I didn’t head for home till late in the evening. Turning from Clapham Road, coming along Ashmole Estate, I saw the fire engines. The entrance to my street was cordoned off but I could see the blaze clearly. My house was in full flame and I thought, ‘Jeez, lucky I removed the guns and ammunition else it’d have taken out at least three firemen.’

I parked and walked towards the police line. A cop said, ‘No passage here Sir, please go round.’

‘That’s my home.’

Standing a piece further down was Noble, the flames reflecting off his face, making it glow. He was wearing the grubby raincoat, turned to greet me, ‘Mr Cooper, come through.’

As if I had a choice. He said, ‘What rotten luck eh, the decorators are hardly out the door. You’re covered I presume.’

‘With wot?’

‘Insurance man! Good heavens, you are insured?’

‘Of course, I’m a citizen.’

‘You’ll be devastated all the same, I can read it in your face.’

His smirk was blatant.

‘As long as it gives heat to the neighbours, can we really call it a total loss.’

He took my arm, whispered, ‘It’s too early to say for sure but it might be deliberate.’

I shook his hand off, said, ‘Don’t be daft.’

‘Ah Mr Cooper, I have many shortcomings, that’s not one I’m prone to.’

‘Who’d torch my house, Noble.’

‘I was hoping you’d answer that.’

‘No idea.’

‘I must say I admire your stoicism. Most people, they’d be in a highly emotional state.’

‘I must be in shock, wouldn’t you say. Drawing on your vast well of human experience, don’t you think.’

‘But the basics. Where will you stay?’

‘Don’t worry about me Noble.’

He moved right into my face, I could smell mints, ‘But I do – you’re almost family, what with the amount of time I think about you.’

‘I’m touched.’

‘And if not now, you will be. You’ll be sorry to hear our Sergeant Quinn had an accident. Come now Mr Cooper, you can’t have forgotten him. I know he thinks of you, if not fondly, at least persistently.’

‘Car accident was it?’

‘Sporting mishap actually.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, two sports with baseball bats did a number on his legs. What you might term – a bad break.’

‘I didn’t reply but he read my face, said, ‘Ah, you think I’m being facetious… no. You can tell me, strictly off the record, man to man.’

‘OK – I think you’re a prick and a bad bastard to boot. Being a cop you’ve been trained to it but, I think you were born a nasty piece of work.’

He was delighted, leastways his face was all lit up, answered, ‘Good, excellent. I relish frankness and let me reciprocate. I’ve checked up on you, did yer stretch for GBH, a hard man. But I’m gonna have you Cooper, oh yeah. You took out the wrong cop, I’m not so easy.’

‘Hey shithead, if I went after Quinn, I wouldn’t need help.’

‘See, yer hard like I said. Near time for you to go travellin’ – yer mate has fucked yer business, yer home is gone… oh yes, and I’ll be there, count on it.’

I pushed him aside, said, ‘I hope that’s a promise.’

And walked away. I didn’t look at my ex-house, I could feel the heat. Went to the pub and ignored Lisa’s barrage of questions, ‘Was that your house!…’

Got a large Scotch and a corner to sulk.

No way in the world did I believe the fire was an Act of God. Course, I knew He was capable, the evidence was my life but I didn’t think He could be bothered. I tried to remember what Cassie had said in her letter, something about no longer writing to me at that address as I wouldn’t be able to receive mail. Exhibit A for the prosecution, pretty damning. Plus, she was a total friggin’ nutter. Then there was the cops. Capable of anything but I wasn’t convinced. Arson seemed a tad extreme when they’d countless methods to put me in the frame. The jury was out on them. The third possibility was the worst, I really didn’t want to even consider it. Doc.

Ruthless and reckless enough to urge on my doubts about the bank job. He sure needed the cash and, if I had a similar motivation? Yeah, it was possible. I took a long belt of the Scotch and thought about Cassie pushing Laura under the train. Jeez, if Doc knew I was indirectly responsible – fuck, I’d have to shelve that.

I heard, ‘You have the appearance of a man with a new lease of apathy.’

Think of the Doc and the devil appears, or something to that effect. I said, ‘Very quotable, almost deep.’

‘But not me own. Samuel Beckett it was, but at least ’tis the same country. What’s all this about a fire?’

‘Didn’t take long to reach you Doc.’

‘And aren’t you my best mate, curled up in a corner like a whipped dog. Sure they had to call me.’

‘Things are going down the shitter and fast.’

‘You’ll come home with me.’

‘No… no, I don’t think that’s too clever. Noble’s on the prowl and why make it easy for the bastard.’

‘Ah don’t mind him, the scut, he’s like a boy whistlin’ in the dark.’

‘He’s about to blow the flamin’ whistle on me.’

Doc pushed in beside me, put his arm on my shoulder, said, ‘Coop, listen boyo, they still need the oul reliable called evidence and there’s not a bit of it. C’mon, I’ll buy you a pint.’

‘I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, we’ll finalise the job details, OK.’

He gave me a worried look, ‘Are yah up to it? I mean, have yah the stomach for it now?’

‘Yeah, but the point is, do I want to. What worries me is Noble has minty breath.’

‘So bloody wot?’

‘A man who chews mints is an observer. They miss nothing and their agenda is not what’s on display.’

‘’Ary, you’re reading too much into it. He’s probably covering up the smell of booze.’

I stopped into the 7-Eleven and stocked up on essentials – toothpaste, coffee, milk, soap – siege supplies.

I’d decided to crash in the warehouse for a few days, let the dust settle. Prison teaches you to move in small spaces, to need almost nothing. Before settling on the army cot, I rang Letterman.

‘Yo – talk to me.’

‘David, it’s Cooper.’

‘What’s happenin’ bro’?’

‘My home’s been burned.’

‘And you wanna know is it Cassie, am I right.’

‘There are other candidates, would she risk that.’

‘Oh yeah…’

‘How do I go about finding her?’

‘She’ll find you when she’s ready for the next stage.’

‘Fuck.’

‘That too.’

‘OK, I’ll keep in touch.’

‘Adios amigo.’

Next morning I woke with an aching back and couldn’t figure where I was, said, ‘Jeez, where am I.’

The warehouse looked like shit and I complemented it. Course I’d no razor and the electric kettle went on the blink. Took a cold shower and froze my balls off. Invigorating, they say, which is not the term that sprang instantly to mind. And, I’d need clothes, not to mention a whole new life.

Sat and wrote out the hooker manifesto, had to word it just right. Then rang the number Jim had given me. She was home and arranged a meet for three in the afternoon. Next up was the bank, to withdraw a shit-pile of money. The cashier looked worried but then, that’s what they’re paid for. She said, ‘Excuse me a moment.’

‘Why?’

‘I need verification.’

‘Take my word for it, it’s my money.’

She gave one of them banking smiles, all teeth and malice.

‘It’s a rather large amount.’

‘No one said that when I lodged it.’

‘I’ll just be a sec.’

And off she went.

I looked round, professional interest. Maybe I’d return and do this one for spite, take a hop outa the cashier. Back she came with an older guy. He didn’t have a sign that read,

‘I mean business, very serious business

and I just know you’re not it.’

But he had the look, said, ‘If you’ll step over here a minute Mr Cooper.’

I did… and waited. He began, ‘Might I suggest with such a large amount that we consider other alternatives.’

‘No.’

He faltered; then rallied, ‘Of course Mr Cooper, any advice I can offer.’

‘Give me the money.’

He did. I don’t think my attitude had been covered in customer relations.

From there I went to the markets and bought three pairs of jeans, six shirts, three formal slacks, underwear, three pairs of shoes, and two hold-all jackets. Even at market prices, it burned a hole. Back to change and in the new gear I felt, if not renewed, at least ready. Said aloud, ‘Let’s burn a cop,’ and picked up the phone. Got the number of Scotland Yard, dialled, asked for the serious crime division. Put on hold, then a gruff voice: ‘Can I help?’

‘I dunno, you might want to hear that a detective named Noble, outa Carter Street, was helping an accountant named Arnold L. White. Mr White has been behind the series of bank raids up and down the country.’

Silence. What did I expect… glee? When a cop is ratted out, they like it as much as duty in Brixton, then, ‘And your name is…’

‘Concerned Citizen.’

Snort!

Which sound seemed appropriate to hang up on. I didn’t expect they’d rush out and nick Noble but, with the hooker’s call later, I wanted to muddy the water. Give the bad fuck something to suck mints about.

My hands were wet from tension. I should have known that a call like that wasn’t going to be simple. When they own you for two years, the automatic responses never fully fade. Like walking into a snake pit having previously been bitten and saying – ‘it won’t hurt so bad.’ Dream on sucker.

Almost immediately the phone rang and I jumped – ‘bloody hell,’ they’re on to me already?! Picked it up, said tentatively, ‘Yeah.’

‘David.’

‘Cassie.’

‘You recognised me lover, that’s promising.’

‘How’d you find me?’

‘In the book.’

‘Oh.’

‘You met my brother.’

‘Jeez, what is this – you have private investigators on me?’

‘You’ve a high profile honey. So, has he been shooting you a line, telling you I’m whacko and stuff.’

‘He’s concerned – where are you?’

‘I’m real close baby, but you get the hell away from him. You hear what I’m saying?’

‘Or wot… you’ll burn my house down…’

The line went dead.

The hooker, Sharon, lived at Waterloo. Those small houses near the bridge, like a real Coronation Street. Rang the bell and she answered immediately. In her mid-forties, she was a brunette with trowelled on make-up. Carrying weight that looked like it was going to increase and wearing a lurex tracksuit, she said, ‘Jim’s mate, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You seem disappointed, was I supposed to brassen up. I thought this was other biz, not a shag call.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Sure darlin’.’

And she sounded like a hooker then. A husky voice that was only part fake. Led me into a living room, it looked cosy like a home and she noticed my approval, said, ‘You were expectin’ a bordello.’

‘I expect very little.’

‘Can I get you something – tea, a drink.’

‘No… just a phone call. I have it written down, you just read it, I pay you and I’m gone.’

‘You up to a little action?’

‘Not today.’

‘You’re one of those men, don’t pay for it… right?’

‘Sharon, let’s quit the analysis. You shut the fuck up, read the script and we’re done, can you do that.’

‘Let’s do it.’

I handed her the sheet of paper, she read it but skipped comment. I gave her the number. Here’s what she read: ‘Metropolitan Police… yeah, can you put me on to the robbery division.’

She gave me a sick smile as she was put on hold, then, ‘I have information regarding the country-wide bank jobs.’

Hold again. She clicked her fingers, indicated a pack of Major and matches. I loved those clickin’ fingers but got her one and handed it to her. The phone was now nestling between her chin and shoulder, so beloved of broads in movies and busy folks everywhere, she hissed, ‘The matches…’

Yeah.

I lit the cigarette and she drew dust from the very carpet. Her face contorted and was followed by a horrendous cough. One of those lungs to the roof of the mouth jobs. She spoke again. ‘Let’s say I was involved with one of the guys OK… yeah… fucked me over… get the picture. Hey, if you want to hear this or not… the proof? Well, if you go to the flat of Arnold White, accountant, you’ll find maps, diagrams, plans for all the jobs. The address?… wot, you want me to do all the bloody work, try detectin’ it. White, you want me to spell it… No… not Leonard… A… R… N… O… L… D… yeah, I’ll tell you how it works. These are the three big banks,

Barclays

Nat West

Lloyds

Yeah, in each of those, there is a clerk who supervises the transfer of large sums to provincial branches. Their names?… Detect them. They inform Mr White as to when and where. Yer cop Noble, he provides the data on local policing. Who and what to avoid. Course it’s simple… why cha fink it works.

‘ – Yeah, up yours too.’

And she banged the phone down. I said. ‘That went rather well, don’t you think.’

Her face was enraged and she moved to a cupboard, took out a whopper-size bottle of vodka, one glass. Poured a shoot amount, knocked it back clean. I remembered the gun dealer, his Yeltsin brand. If it hit the spot, she didn’t show it, said, ‘I’ve been a lot of things in my sorry time but never a grass. I don’t like the taste of it and I don’t think I like you a whole lot better – know wot I mean.’

I counted out her money, all crisp new bills, asked, ‘Do you like my new gear, only got it today.’

‘Wot?’

‘While you’re “finking”, lemme ask you this. When Jimmy told you about the job, did he say you’d have to like me, maybe we’d share sob stories, fight a little but eventually love would blossom? And we’d fade away to the Kinks playing in the background. Did he mention shit like that?’

‘Wotcha on about, course he didn’t!’

I stood, liked the way the new jacket hung – stylish but not blatant, said, ‘So, shut yer bloody mouth. I also suggest you forget this whole incident. You’re going to have to trust me on this but, you wouldn’t want me to come back.’

I expected further cheek but instead, ‘You’re an only child, aren’t you?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I can always tell, you have that air of front and black-guardism.’

I liked that word, said, ‘To tell you the truth Sharon, I asked my old Mum if I’d been adopted. She said she’d tried but no one would have me.’

She took the money, counted it and I thought… when the Doc told me that yarn everyone cracked up but perhaps my timing was off. As I left she was lifting the vodka.

As I turned towards Waterloo Bridge, Jimmy came out of a doorway. He was grinning, not a pretty sight. I said, ‘This better be coincidence.’

‘Don’t be like that, I only wanted to make sure everything went smoothly. Iron out any problems, that’s all – cross my heart, straight up.’

‘It’s good, I’m glad I met you here.’

‘You are.’

‘See… see that spot over there, that’s where I near killed the mugger, you heard about it right… wot I went to the nick for.’

He backed off, not noticeably but a gradual edging away, I went with him, continued, ‘I never told anyone this Jimmy, not a soul, but I want to tell you… fuckit, I need to tell someone…’

He was glancing round, avenues for escape. I slapped my open right hand on his shoulder, said, ‘Jim, I enjoyed it… but wait… hang a mo’… I want to do it again so badly… Know wot I mean?’