Ken Bruen - Her Last Call to Louis MacNeice

‘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.’