To Fight For (6 page)

‘A what?'

‘The Rotary Club. He's a member. So are lots of the senior policemen at the local stations. Or he might be a Mason or a Conservative. Or something. Anyway, he's part of the conspiracy.'

I reached for his Scotch and pulled it from his grip.

‘Hey.'

‘Stay sober. When they come, have a good excuse. Say you heard a bunch teenagers one night and got scared. Say I was someone you met down the pub, you paid me a score to make the place safe.'

‘They'll think I'm an idiot.'

‘Yeah.'

After that he sulked. I left him to it. I had things to do. I was sick of being useless.

I decided I'd better try and do something to find Glazer. My arm was okay to use and my side didn't hurt so much. I wasn't going to heal any more than I had already.

If the law was going to pay Browne a visit, now would be a good time to disappear, for a while anyway.

I called at the bakery in Stepney but the manager told me Green had finished for the day. I phoned Green's number, but there was no answer so I asked the manager where Green lived. I got a cold look.

‘What for?'

‘I need to talk to him.'

‘He know you?'

‘Yeah.'

Customers were strolling in, picking up the bread, bagels, pastries. There were two girls behind the counter. One of the girls was short with thick-rimmed glasses, the other was tall, dark-haired, with large, oval eyes. They both flicked glances our way. I guessed they knew something of Green's background.

‘But you don't know where he lives?' the manager was saying.

I didn't want any bother here. I didn't want someone doing anything like phoning the law. I didn't think I had it in me to keep getting away from them.

‘I came here a few weeks ago,' I said. ‘One morning. He told me his wife was expecting so I thought I'd go see her, say hello.'

The manager wasn't buying it. He was one of those types.

‘That's right,' the short bird said. ‘She's got another coming.'

‘Wonder who the father is,' the taller one said.

‘Why can't you phone him up?' the manager said to me.

‘I did. He didn't answer. I have to go away, so I thought I'd better do it now, in case she goes into hospital.'

He was a stocky man with thick black hair and a moustache with flour on it. He wiped his hands on his apron. They had thick black hair on them too, and flour.

‘Well …' he said, still wiping his hands. ‘I'll call him, see if it's alright.'

‘I told you, he's not answering.'

The manager called him anyway. He pocketed his phone.

‘No answer,' he said. ‘Sorry, mate.'

The short girl looked up again then.

‘I remember you,' she said. ‘Yeah. Benny went out back and had a fag and when he come back he was … well, he looked a bit off, bit green around the gills.'

‘I had some bad news,' I told the girl.

‘Well …' the manager said again.

A few more punters had come in by then, mostly women. They eyed me up and moved past me with as much space between us as possible. The girls were hard at it now. It was lunchtime and probably their busiest period. The manager noticed the trade building up.

He went behind the counter and tore off a piece of the paper they were using to wrap stuff in. He scribbled an address and handed it to me. I don't think he cared any more about Green's privacy, he just wanted me out of his shop.

Green's place was a terraced house, just off Roman Road. It was a new-build place, one of those ones where the back garden is the size of the living room and the walls are made of cardboard. I knocked. I heard some kid shout, ‘Dad.' There was some running about and then nothing. I knocked again and heard a woman cry out.

‘Benny. Answer the fucking door.'

There were heavy footsteps and finally the door opened and Green was standing looking at my stomach. He tilted his head.

‘Joe,' he said. ‘The fuck you doing here?'

‘I wanted to talk to you.'

‘Who is it?' the woman called out.

‘Mate of mine.'

‘Well, get rid of him.'

Green sighed.

‘She's pregnant,' he said. ‘I told you that, right? Hormones all over the place. Let's get outta here.' He pulled the door shut behind him. ‘She's driving me fucking nuts. Hormones. Fuck. I think she uses that as an excuse.'

He started walking up the road before he remembered me. Then he stopped and turned.

‘I ain't eaten yet. Fancy some grub? There's a curry house nearby.'

So we went up the street, towards the Roman Square market.

We passed a lot of boarded-up shops, pawn-brokers, pound shops. Teenagers were hanging around here and there, eyeing us up.

‘Not much work for 'em,' Green said. ‘There was up till 2012 and for a bit after. The Olympic stadium's near here. Everyone thought it was the start of a whatsit, rejuvenation. Now, though …' He shrugged. ‘Fine for some, but for the rest of us … The money's gone and all them government tossers and big businesses are back to not giving a shit.'

He took me to a small Indian place. There was a sign outside, dirty black writing on a dirty yellow background. ‘The Moghul', the sign read.

‘They do buffets, all you can eat for a tenner. You got some money on you?'

We went in. I wasn't hungry going in. Then the smell hit me and I was starving. We got a couple of plates and piled food a foot high: samosas, tikka, koftas, balti, rice, nan bread. The works.

‘They even got falafel.'

We took the food to a table by the window and sat down. Outside, a woman in a burkha came by slowly. She carried a couple of bags of shopping and had to keep stopping to adjust them. Then she had to stop again and adjust her burkha. It seemed like she was fighting everything just to get home.

When I turned back to Green, he was looking at his plate, his jaw tight. After a while, he looked at me.

‘Look, Joe,' he said, ‘I told you I'm legit now, right? I mean, I can't get involved in things like this. I got a family.'

‘I just need some information.'

He sighed.

‘Just some information. Fuck me. People are dying all around you and all you want is some information that'll probably put me top of the death list.'

‘I'll keep your name out of it. I know you're straight, but you still know people. And I need your help.'

‘You don't want no one's help, Joe. You never did.'

As I looked at him, I could see the fear in his eyes.

‘You're right; I move and people die. And, yes, it might put you in danger, although I'll never tell anyone where I got the information. But these are people who use children and women, use them and kill them. You've got a family – what would you do to protect them?'

He sucked in a breath and shook his head.

‘You cunt,' he said, a small, twisted smile forming on his mouth. ‘You're a dirty fighter, know that?'

‘Yeah.'

‘So what do you want to talk about?' he said, picking up his fork and shovelling some food into his gob.

‘Kenny Paget.'

He stopped eating, the fork halfway to his mouth. He looked around. All the tables nearby were empty. The woman in the burkha was gone now.

‘You mean the man you killed?' he said.

‘Is that what you've heard?'

‘That and more.'

‘What more?'

‘That he killed your bird.'

He'd forgotten about his food now, his knife and fork resting on the plate. Then he remembered it and started eating again.

‘Yeah, well, good fucking riddance to him.'

‘There's more,' I said.

He stopped again.

‘Yeah?'

‘She was grassing Paget and Marriot up to the law. Only, she got a bent copper called Glazer who grassed her right back. That's why she died.'

‘Right. Sorry about that. This Glazer – you asked me about him before.'

‘Yeah. I need to find him.'

He went back to eating, pulling a piece of nan bread apart and using it to scoop up some curry. He was taking his time about it all.

‘Wouldn't know how to help you there, mate,' he said around the food.

‘You can tell me where Paget lived.'

He was wiping his hands on his shirt now, watching me as he chewed. I put a forkful of something in my mouth. It was hot. I drank some water while my eyes melted. Green smiled, for some reason.

‘Would that be any good to you? Paget's address? Police woulda been there, might still be hanging around.'

‘Maybe, but maybe they don't know about Paget. I think Dunham would've cleaned it up. So, maybe Paget's place is just sitting there.'

‘Mmm,' he said. ‘Possible, I guess. Okay. I'll see what I can do. How about Marriot?'

‘Marriot's been dead weeks now.'

‘Yeah. He's still dead, far as I know. In fact, you killed him, right? Anyone you haven't killed recently?'

I said, ‘He's been dead for weeks and the law know about his death. So how would I get anything by going to his place? Everything important must've gone by now.'

‘Well, Joe,' Green said, while that twisted smile split his face, ‘you could always talk to his wife.'

Now it was my turn to stop eating.

‘What?'

‘Marriot. Had a wife. Son too, I think.'

It had never occurred to me that someone like Marriot could be married, could have children. Did his wife know what the old man had done? Did she care? Or did she just spend his money?

‘Yes,' I said, ‘get me her address.'

I tried Paget's place first. It was one of those modern apartment blocks, over in Muswell Hill. It had two entrances; one at the front with a keypad security system, the other a fire escape or delivery door at the back, by the car park. The front one was out. I could try to tailgate a person going in, or wait until someone came out and jump through the door before it closed. But both those would mean somebody would see me. I looked too dodgy to allow myself to get noticed. Besides, it was an expensive-looking place so it probably had CCTV cameras in the lobby.

The door at the back was solid wood with a single handle, which had a lock in the middle of it. I wondered if that meant the building had a caretaker of some sort, someone who had a key in case of deliveries.

It was a hazy day, with the sun weak in the weak sky, and still cold enough for people to wear scarves and gloves.

I saw a cafe over the other side of the road. I went there and took a seat at a table by the window. From there I had a distant view of the back of the apartment block. All I had to do was wait and see who went in and out, and then figure a way to get access. Easy.

I ordered a coffee from the girl who came up to my table.

‘What kind of coffee?' she said.

‘White.'

‘What kind of coffee?' she said again, looking at me like I was an idiot. I couldn't think of any type of coffee except coffee.

‘Tea,' I said.

‘What kind of tea?'

I finally got my fucking tea. I sat and drank it. I was able to do that, at least. I looked out the window and watched the world creep by.

A woman in her fifties walked along with a toddler by her side. The woman had hair that looked like it'd been coated in wallpaper paste. It didn't move. The kid was stuffing a chocolate bar in its mouth. Every now and then the woman would wipe the kid's mouth with a tissue.

An old bloke crossed the street, hobbling on a stick. The cars slowed for him, but didn't slow that much and he had to get over as quick as he could.

An hour passed. I drank more tea then went and pissed it out. There was something in that which made me think of my life, but I couldn't tell you what it was.

The sky turned hazier, the sun got weaker still so that it became like a negative black space; a white hole in a white sky. I watched people go by. Nobody that I saw talked. Nobody did anything much except wander along as if they were all ghosts trapped in the afterlife, and I was stuck in some place between worlds, not knowing what was real, alive, and what was dead.

The old bloke with the stick came back, crossing the road with a look of anxiety in his face. A bag of shopping dangled from each hand, so that one bag kept bashing into his walking stick, making him even slower. A van slowed to a stop to let him crawl across.

For a moment I thought I smelled Brenda, felt her next to me, and I turned. There was nothing there except a wooden chair. Emptiness swept through me, and I felt as if I was being sucked into that world of the dead, shone upon by that white hole which was emptier than anything should ever be.

Movement caught my eye and I turned to look at the apartment block. The back door opened and a man came out. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the madness. I had things to do, I told myself. I had things to do, then I could rest.

The bloke was dressed in black trousers and white shirt. He was too far for me to see him clearly, but he sure wasn't a caretaker. He could've been a resident. I watched him go to a black Ford, open it and lean into the front. He stood up, put something in his pocket, closed the car up and locked it with the remote on his key. He went back into the building, using a key to open the back door.

I waited again. Nothing happened except I got more tired, more fuzzy-headed. If I waited any longer, I'd forget what I was waiting for.

I wandered over to the apartment block. I passed the bloke's Ford and gave it a good boot. The car alarm screeched. I stood next to the door and waited. People would probably be looking at me, but I just didn't care by then.

After a minute, the door opened. I shoved my way through, slamming into the bloke. He bounced back.

‘Fuck,' he said.

He was dazed. I snapped a quick right cross onto his jaw and he went down, dropping his car key. I picked it up, turned off his car alarm and let the door close behind me.