Screen Savers

Chapter 39

Liam was all for a trip to London, when I asked him, especially when I said that I would pick up the tab. I only found out when we landed at Heathrow in mid-afternoon, and she met us, that Erin had a between-flight lay-over in the capital that night.

We settled into the Rubens, not far from Buckingham Palace; I went for a look at the Queen’s Art Gallery, leaving Ireland’s couple of the year to amuse themselves until it was time for my minder and me to do our business.

‘So,’ Liam asked as the taxi headed for the East End, ‘who were those masked men, then?’

‘There names are Ronnie and Vic Neames,’ I told him. ‘They’re brothers.’

‘How do we know they’re going to be at this pub?’

‘According to Mike’s contacts on the Met, we’d find them there every night of their lives. It’s not just their local; if they have an office, that’s it.’

‘And they work for a tallyman, you said. I think I’m going to enjoy this. I hate those bastards; when I was a kid in Belfast I saw the misery they can cause.’

The pub was called the Duck and Diver, just off Barking Road, not far from the West Ham United football ground. The taxi driver seemed just a touch nervous as I paid him, as if he was anxious to get on his way. The bar was quiet as we stepped inside, but it was still short of seven, so that didn’t strike us as odd. We fitted ourselves up with a couple of pints of lager and sat in a corner booth, spinning them out and watching television. We had been there for just over half an hour when EastEnders came on. I had the feeling that I was part of the cast, back on set.

We made the beer last as long as we could, until we started drawing odd looks from the barman. I was just about to go across to order two more when the door beside us swung open and three men walked in off the street. They were all big, and one had a cast on his right arm.

Liam put a hand on my shoulder and stood up. ‘Hello there, lads,’ he called out. ‘I thought you’d never get here.’

They swung round at once, all three of them. Ronnie Neames was the one with the broken arm. His eyes widened in surprise as he recognised Liam, then me: and a wicked smile crossed his face. ‘I’ve dreamed abaht seeing you two again. . on our turf.

‘Vic, Mickey,’ he said to the other two. ‘I owe these bahstards some broken bones.’ As he spoke, I saw the barman make himself scarce. The two heavies started off in the opposite direction, towards us.

Liam Matthews is big, but not huge. However, he is very, very fast, and he has an impressively high Dan black belt in karate. Poor old Mickey never knew what hit him; in fact, it was Liam’s right foot, just under the jaw. He rose a couple of inches into the air, then hit the ground with a thud that shook two empty glasses off the nearest table. Vic stopped in his tracks.

‘Wise fella,’ drawled the Irishman. ‘We didn’t come here to beat you up again, boys. . although personally, I wouldn’t mind a bit. My pal here wants to talk to you, that’s all. So come and sit down; it would be bad for your business if the punters saw me drop another of yis, wouldn’t it.’

Leaving their fallen pal where he lay, the Brothers Neames came over to our table, pulled up two stools and sat down. ‘Good of you,’ I said. ‘Like Liam says we’re not here for bother. We just want to talk to you about the guy who paid you to do me over.’

‘We don’t know nuffin’,’ croaked Vic, hoarsely. I guessed that my stunner move was still having an effect.

I opened my jacket just wide enough to let Ronnie see the bundle of notes in my inside pocket. ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ I murmured. ‘Have you seen the guy since?’

The big thug shook his head, and rested his plaster cast on the table. ‘No. Didn’t expect to. You guys showed up undamaged on the telly, din’cha.’

‘Describe him for me again.’

‘In ’is twenties, fair ’air, wearin’ jeans and them sunglasses I told you abaht before.’ Ronnie looked at his brother. ‘What would you say, Vic?’

‘That’s ’im, Ron.’

‘What about his accent?’ I asked.

‘He didn’t have one,’ Ron replied. ‘He spoke proper, but not posh. Nuffin’ you could pin down.’

‘Okay. Now, I want to know exactly what he said about me. Why did he want me done over, and how did you know to come for me?’

The big thug looked at the table. To my surprise, he seemed embarrassed, and not a little nervous. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘the fing is. . It was really this geezer ’ere we was supposed to do.’

‘You what?’ said Liam, starting from his chair. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

‘That’s right, mate. The bloke said ’e wanted you done.’

‘But why, for Christ’s sake?’

‘He never said, and we never arsked.’ He paused. ‘Sometimes in this life, you can know too many things,’ he added. I’d never have taken him for a philosopher; just goes to show, doesn’t it.

‘Did he say anything at all about me?’

‘Nuffink,’ Ronnie declared, ‘only that ’e wanted your ’ead rearranged.’

‘Tell us exactly what happened,’ I said.

‘The geezer turned up ’ere looking for us; told us ’e’d been sent by the man we work for. He showed us a picture, see,’ the Cockney went on, ‘of the two of you together. He said he wanted your mate done, beat up bad, like. We was supposed to follow ’im back to ’is hotel, then once everyone ’ad gone down for the night, Vic was to jemmy the bedroom door — that’s one of ’is specialities. .’ said his proud brother, ‘and I was to cave ’is bleedin’ head in wiff a baseball bat.’

‘You mean kill me?’ Liam demanded.

‘Well put it this way, mate; we wasn’t told not to. But we never meant to go that far, ’onest.’

‘But you said you would, for four hundred?’

Ron shook his head. ‘No. He gave us five ’undred down. The deal was another grand each once you was done. But even that ain’t enough for killin’ a geezer.’ He turned back to me, avoiding Liam’s glare.

‘Like I said we was never really up for killin’ ’im. We thought let’s just give him a kickin’, five ’undred quid’s worth like.

‘So we went to the show, to see if there was a chance of doin’ ’im there, afterwards. But once we’d seen ’im in action, we didn’t fancy it at all, did we. So we thought, why not go for you instead, give you the kickin’, then tell the geezer that ’e’d pointed to the wrong bloke in the picture. That way, maybe we’d get to keep the money, no fuss.

‘You mean you’d just have given it back if he’d asked?’

‘Mister, anyone who’d pay us to kill your mate could pay someone else to do us. Besides, there was something about this geezer. We didn’t fancy ’im, like.’

‘If I were you then, lads,’ I said. ‘I’d watch your backs. The guy’s been a bit busy since then, but you’re right. If he ever does get round to asking for his money back, you could be in trouble.’

‘This guy,’ Liam muttered. ‘Could he have been Irish?’

‘On ’is grandmother’s side, maybe, but that’s all. Didn’t sound it.’

‘What about the baseball bat?’ I asked. ‘Why did he specify that?’

‘Dunno. We were told to leave it there though. I thought that was funny at the time.’ I didn’t; I got the point right away.

‘What about the photograph? Was it posed like a GWA publicity shot?’

Big Ron shook his mis-shapen head. ‘Nah. Wasn’t like that. It was an ordinary photo, and yet it wasn’t. You didn’t know it was being taken; it was like the coppers ’ad been watching you and takin’ yer picture.’

‘I see,’ I said — and I did. I picked up a beer mat, ripped off the facing, and wrote my cellphone number on the white surface beneath. ‘If you ever do hear from him again, get in touch with me.

‘Come on, Liam, let’s leave the lads to take care of their wounded.’ Mickey was still on the floor; he was conscious and moaning softly as the barman held a wet towel against his jaw. As I stood Ronnie nodded his head in the general direction of my jacket.

‘But what about. .?’

‘What about what?’

‘Abaht the money, mate? You said. .’

I smiled at him. ‘I said not a bleedin’ word. . mate. So long.’