The Graft Page 25

  He had not heard anything from the filth yet except a few words at the yard to ask him when he had last seen Mr Proctor, etc. The usual things they would ask anyone. He knew they would not want him in the papers once more. He was a hero of sorts, at least to the public anyway. He had played it schtum and now he had Tammy on board he was more or less home and dry. He knew they were aware of Gary’s reputation as they were aware of his but this country’s laws required proof, and no matter what they suspected they had to be able to prove he and Gary were up to skulduggery. Nick was far too shrewd for anything to lead back to him. To all outward appearances he at least was a genuine businessman.

  He knew they were also under the impression that he and Gary had been tight. Which was exactly what he wanted them to believe. He had made a point of weighing out Proctor’s wife with a bundle so Maureen was sweet. In fact, she was over the moon with it all. But then, she would be. Gary had treated her like the hired help for years.

  Stevie, bless him, was pleased Nick had done him a favour even though he had not wanted what had happened.

  All in all it should be a walk.

  At least, Nick hoped so. If they didn’t arrest anyone within twenty-four hours of a major offence, chances were the culprit was home and dry. What most people didn’t realise was that criminals knew the law and the way it worked better than most Old Bill. They had to otherwise they would not last five minutes on the street. Successful criminals paid out a hefty wedge to barristers and lawyers to find out the score and the best way to beat anything that was thrown at them.

  Most justice was about how much you could pay, not how guilty you were, and that had been proved time and time again. Look at the sentences handed out to drunk drivers.

  Nick was shaking again. He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, closed his eyes and tried to relax, but it was impossible. He saw that boy in his dreams even when he was awake. He’d dreamed about Sonny Hatcher every night, yet he didn’t dream once about his oldest friend - how strange was that?

  He glanced out of the balcony doors and saw the night starting to draw in. He hated the dark, hated being alone in it. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the fear enveloping him. He saw Sonny Hatcher then as he always did, walking towards him. The boy was smiling and holding out his arms. He looked so young, but then he was very young, a handsome boy with dark eyes and coffee-coloured skin. He actually looked like Nick’s nephew. His sister’s son was the same age.

  He jumped off the bed, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t rest.

  Sonny Hatcher had never done anything wrong to him except to come to his home. Nick had killed him for that. The boy should have used his loaf and kept away.

  Gary Proctor, on the other hand, had been a real menace. Nick was only sorry he had not kept his temper and let Stevie deal with it; that would have been the sensible solution, but since Sonny Hatcher he could not think straight.

  He sometimes wondered if he was having a breakdown.

  It was still early and he knew he wouldn’t settle. For once he wished Tammy was there but she wasn’t. After getting dressed he left the house, for the first time ever not saying goodbye to his mother. He had to get out, the walls were closing in on him. He needed to be around people.

  He made his way into East London and as he drove wondered when all this was going to stop and he could finally get on with his life again. He knew exactly where he was going and he also knew that he definitely shouldn’t be going there. It was wrong, so wrong, but he couldn’t hold back the urge when it came on him. It came so rarely these days that he had to follow its lead.

  This was his first foray since the burglary and he needed the respite tonight more than he had ever needed it before. He had to get all the frustration out of him and this was as good a way as any.

  He parked his Mercedes sports in a small turning and made his way up to the tenth floor of a block of flats in Plaistow via the filthy lift. It stank. As he walked from it he hawked deep in his throat before spitting the phlegm noisily over the concrete balcony.

  Two young boys were standing on the landing smoking a joint and he eyed them quickly. They dropped their eyes when they saw him looking and he passed them without a word. He banged on a freshly painted red front door.

  It was answered by a young blond of about eighteen.

  ‘I wondered when you’d be back round.’

  Nick smiled.

  ‘Couldn’t keep away, sweetheart, are you alone?’

  Big blue eyes drew him into the small hallway. It smelt of Kentucky fried chicken and fried eggs.

  ‘For the moment, yeah.’

  Nick took a hundred pounds from his pocket and grinned. ‘Turn your mobile off, it’s just us tonight, OK?’

  ‘Whatever you want, Nick, you got it.’

  He grinned.

  ‘I could have told you that, darling. Now get your fucking kit off and stop poncing about.’

  ’Are you sure you want to see him?’

  Tyrell nodded.

  ‘I got us in to see him because of Colin and that. They’re up for doing whatever they can to help. But, Tyrell, are you sure you want to go into all this? Leo is one heavy-duty fucker, you know that.’

  ‘Heavier than you and your brothers? I don’t think so.’

  Louis smiled.

  ‘You know what I mean. It’s only gossip, man. If he had had a run in with Leary it couldn’t have had anything to do with your boy, could it?’

  Tyrell shrugged.

  ‘It’s all I’ve got at the moment, man. Think about it. What the fuck was he doing in that house with an alarm system like Fort Knox . . .’

  Louis sighed. Not that again. He was like a scratched record.

  ‘If Leary was at home the alarm wouldn’t have been on, would it?’

  Tyrell shook his head.

  ‘It was normally on part-set according to the newspapers, which meant it was on downstairs while they slept.’

  Louis nodded but Tyrell could see his heart wasn’t in any of this.

  ‘What I mean is, Leary is a handful. He wouldn’t need it on, would he, not like Mr and Mrs Average? His attitude would be like ours: who would dare rob us?’

  Tyrell laughed.

  ‘That is what I am saying, man, who would rob him? Think about it.’

  Louis said gently, ‘I have thought about it, mate, and I think the only person who would rob him would be a young boy with no brains and no real knowledge of what he was getting himself into. A boy like your Sonny. He probably did it on the spur of the moment, you know he always needed dough.’

  Tyrell finished off his can of Red Stripe noisily then crumpled the can and threw it in the general direction of the bin.

  ‘My Sonny was a lot of things, I don’t dispute that, he was just a young boy with no brains to talk of, but there is no way he would have thought of robbing that drum. As we have already established he wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Why Nick Leary of all people? Until that night Sonny had only robbed . . .’

  He stopped himself from finishing so Louis finished for him.

  ‘Friends, family and neighbours?’

  It was hard hearing it said out loud but it was true.

  ‘But that is what I am trying to say, Louis, he didn’t have the fucking savvy for it. He had to have had some help. Maybe Leo knows something.’

  Louis knew it was pointless arguing.

  ‘Fair enough, let’s get going. Colin and the others will be waiting for us, OK?’

  Whatever Leo had to say the Clarke brothers would make sure it was the truth. Tyrell was lucky to have such good friends and he knew it. He got up and hugged his friend.

  ‘I have to do this, you understand that, don’t you? I have to have some kind of explanation for what happened.’

  Louis nodded but was secretly wondering if his friend might be asking too much.

  ‘I only hope you get the one you want, mate.’

  Tyrell pushe
d his dreads out of his face and said sadly, ‘So do I, Lou, so the fuck do I.’

  Leo Green was not a happy bunny. He had the Clarke brothers in his home.

  In his home.

  And, as Colin was just thinking to himself, a very nice home it was and all.

  A large detached villa in South London, it had a big garden planted with so many trees the house was not visible from the road. This suited Leo because he needed privacy to carry out his work. The electric gates were a touch as well, and so were the two Dobermanns that prowled his garden twenty-four seven courtesy of a friend’s scrap yard. Scrap-yard dogs were the best in as much as they felt no real affection for anyone and respected only the person who fed them. There was no way Lily Law was coming in this house without plenty of warning.

  Unlike the Clarkes, of course, who could walk into his bedroom and piss on his sleeping wife without a sound from anyone, least of all him. And that was what galled Leo. As a face in his own right it was difficult for him to kow-tow to anyone any more. He had done his share of boot-licking when he had been a boy, had come down with a severe case of Cherry Blossom-poisoning many times in his quest to better himself. Gradually he had taken out everyone he had ever paid lip service to until now he was at the top of his particular profession. He was the one who gave the orders these days, he was the one everyone listened to in his world, but now he had a far greater force sitting in his smart spacious office and he didn’t like it, he didn’t like it one bit.

  ’Any chance of a drink, Leo? My throat’s as dry as a buzzard’s crutch.’

  He jumped from his chair and said apologetically, ‘ ’Course you can. Beer all right?’

  Colin Clarke nodded.

  ‘They’ll be here in a minute and then we can get down to it. We ain’t keeping you, are we?’

  He knew they were but didn’t give a toss, and he knew Leo knew that as well.

  ‘ ’Course not. I can arrive for me appointment any time I want.’

  It was said with bravado. Leo was telling them he was a man to be reckoned with himself.

  Billy grinned.

  ‘Fucking appointment? Who has fucking appointments these days?’

  He shook his head as if severely annoyed and said loudly, as if Leo was hard of hearing, ‘Doctor’s appointment, is it?’

  The sarcasm was not lost on anyone in the room and they all laughed.

  Leo exploded then. He had talked to Carlos Brent and knew they were eventually going to make their way to his gaff but he was fucked if they were going to mug him off as well.

  ‘Is this about the iron I sold to Carlos Brent that was used on one of your crew? Only once I sell my gear it ain’t my responsibility any more. I have franchises all over the smoke, surely you can’t hold me responsible for every stray bullet?’

  Terry was annoyed. He got up from the black leather DFS sofa and said, ‘Who you fucking shouting at?’

  Leo stared up at the big man and wondered why, with a house full of guns, he didn’t just shoot the fucking lot of them once and for all.

  Billy saved the day as he always did.

  ‘Relax, Terry. And you, Leo, get the drinks on the go. The others’ll be here in a minute and then we can get down to business.’

  The word business was music to Leo’s ears.

  ’Are you definitely on the buy then?’

  ‘Could be. We want a look see, that’s all, before we make up our minds.’

  As Billy spoke the buzzer sounded and after checking the CCTV Leo let the others into the house. Anyone else would have been searched by his blokes but none of the men in this room would have swallowed that and he had to let them all in blind.

  Louis came into the room with his mate Tyrell. Although not as huge as the Clarkes Tyrell had undeniable presence. He was a big, handsome, angry man. This was the old Tyrell from when they were all growing up. He could always handle himself then. As the years had gone on and he had married Sally and become Mr Respectable he had lost it to some degree. Now, though, it was back with a vengeance.

  ’All right, Leo? Long time no see.’

  He nodded at the two new arrivals, his heart hammering in his chest. He had half expected Tyrell to show. Word was out that he was on the want, and Leo respected that.

  But right at this moment it was all he fucking needed.

  Nick lay on the bed and felt the familiar revulsion sweep over him.

  Why did he do it?

  The air of squalor was part of the turn on. He knew that and wondered why. The bed was crumpled but then it had been when he had got into it. Frankie catered to a certain clientele and, like Nick, they were not too worried about their surroundings. This place was a world-class dump and the smell was cloying. Already he could taste it in his mouth. He picked up the bottle of vodka and took a long swig, hoping to erase it but knowing it was futile.

  On the scratched bedside table beside him there was a piece of mirror, the frame long gone. The white fluffy lines were laid out neatly and tidily - the only neat and tidy thing in the whole place.

  He snorted one expertly and then, holding his head back, drew it as far up his nose as it would go. It was not good gear but then he had not supplied it. His nose started to run almost immediately and Nick wiped it with the back of his hand. He looked down at himself and felt the usual revulsion at his own body. It looked puffy and white, and the youth of Frankie made him feel suddenly old and worn out. Yet Frankie was already worn out from overuse, not only of drink and drugs but sexual overuse. It was all just going through the motions for Frankie and that was what attracted Nick most. He pulled the blond head into his lap, and as he felt the cold lips around his member he sighed.

  This was what he liked, the image of it all, this was what got him off and Frankie knew how to get him off better than anyone. It was why Nick always came back here even though he swore each time he never would.

  Why did the smell of dirt and semen make him aroused? Why did a used and bloodied body give him the erection of a lifetime? Why couldn’t he be like other men, have normal wants and desires? Why did his wife, who most men would happily romp with for hours, turn him off ?

  Frankie’s skinny body was a welter of bruises and scratches. As he saw the dirty blond head bobbing up and down Nick felt an overwhelming urge to come. Grabbing the dyed hair tightly, he bucked and shuddered for long moments, forcing himself deeply into Frankie’s mouth until he heard the familiar gagging sounds that drove him over the edge.

  Nick came like the proverbial train. Smiling, he dressed quickly and was out of the flat in nano-seconds. Frankie was a lot of things but a good conversationalist was not one of them.

  Whistling, Nick pressed for the lift. The cool night air felt good on his skin and his breathing was still laboured as he made his way down to his wheels.

  In a few hours he would be filled with the familiar self-loathing, in a few hours he would repress his sexual feelings once more out of self-hatred. But for the moment he enjoyed the sated feeling that enveloped him.

  And once the guilt came, as it always did, he would also, in a strange and twisted way, enjoy that too.

  ‘So what you after then?’

  Leo’s voice was neutral once more but it was taking all his willpower.

  Terry grinned.

  ‘We want a gun, like the one you sold recently that took out one of my best blokes.’

  The sarcasm was lost on no one, least of all Leo. He was glad that he had told his men to leave him alone, and in fairness they had expected him to deal with this crowd of carrion without them.

  ‘I ain’t explaining meself any more. I franchise to other dealers like Carlos, you all know the score. Once the merchandise leaves my premises it’s no longer my responsibility. ’

  Colin and Billy stared at Terry in such a way that he knew to let it go. He knew that losing it was wrong but these days all the businesses seemed to overlap and it was getting harder and harder to pinpoint the bad guys.

  ‘What do you want, a hand gun?�
�

  Tyrell nodded and Leo saw that he was going to be the purchaser and acted accordingly.

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘Semi-automatic, preferably Spanish, with parabellum bullets.’ He’d read all about the gun Sonny had carried in the newspaper coverage.

  Leo was impressed. It made a change to have someone who didn’t want to play cowboys for two hours before buying the cheapest model. If he had a pound for every time he had stood there and watched grown men gloving up and pointing guns at invisible targets he would be worth more than Elton John.