Alan Hunter - Gently Go Man

Gently began filling his pipe.

‘Like you’re smart,’ the youth said.

Gently went on filling his pipe. ‘Sidney,’ he said, ‘you’d better sit down.’

The youth got up on his toes. ‘What’s that tag again?’ he said.

‘Sidney Bixley,’ Gently said.

‘Say it again,’ said the youth.

‘Sidney Bixley,’ Gently said. ‘Six months in Brixton for armed assault.’

He finished filling his pipe and lit it.

‘So just sit down, Sidney,’ he said.

There was a squawk from Maureen Elton. ‘He’s that screw I was shooting about. The one they’ve got down from the Smoke. Like he knows about you, Sidney.’

‘I don’t know that,’ Sidney said. He’d fetched his hands off his hips. ‘I don’t know nothing about screws. Like cocky squares I know about.’

‘He’ll hang you up,’ Maureen said.

‘Cocky squares,’ Sidney said.

‘Like you’d better not flip your lid,’ Maureen said.

‘I murder squares,’ Sidney said.

‘Sid,’ said the older man, ‘keep it cool, man. Do as he says.’

‘Like making in here,’ Sidney said.

‘No, keep it cool,’ said the older man.

Gently puffed. He came forward. He pushed Sidney to one side. Sidney staggered, went falling, got tangled up with a chair. He jumped up and stood swearing. His two followers did nothing. Gently spun a chair back to front. He sat down, looked round him.

‘Dicky Deeming?’ he said.

The older man gave him a nod. ‘You’re well clued-in, man,’ he said. ‘Don’t seem to need introductions.’

‘I didn’t know Lister,’ Gently said.

Deeming smiled faintly, said nothing.

‘You were all friends of his?’ Gently said.

‘Yes,’ Deeming said. ‘We were his friends.’

‘But somebody wasn’t,’ Gently said.

‘So you tell us,’ Deeming said.

‘He was killed,’ Gently said.

‘Like that’s certain, man,’ Deeming said.

He was around thirty, tall, with a large, gaunt-cheeked face, light hair cut close, slate eyes, big ears. He wore a white-trimmed black windcheater, black jeans, sandals. He had a hard, large-framed body. It showed well in the windcheater.

‘So what’s your theory?’ Gently said.

‘Like why should I have one?’ Deeming asked.

‘You’ve talked to Maureen, she says, you know what we think about Johnny. He made it, that’s all, he was out there with them. That’s crazy, it sends us. Johnny comes very big with us.’

‘Yuh, big, he’s big with us,’ several of them growled.

‘He was the mostest, coolest,’ said a girl with dark hair.

‘And as for this jazz about his being busted,’ Deeming said, ‘like we’ve seen enough of screws to know the action they make.’

‘You think we’re lying to you?’ Gently asked.

‘Throwing a curve,’ Deeming said. ‘That’s not lying, it’s trying it on, hoping it’s going to fit some place. You don’t like hipsters in Squaresville. You like to put the heat on them. So you make a deal out of Johnny and come pushing us around with it.’

‘And like we don’t stand for it,’ Bixley said, stepping up closer.

‘Cool it, Sid,’ Deeming said. ‘Pitching screws is for squares.’

‘He bugs me, this guy does,’ said Bixley. ‘Me, I could spread him on the wall.’

‘Dicky says cool it,’ Maureen said. ‘So cool it quick, you big ape.’

Gently puffed a few times. ‘You know we’ve spoken to Betty Turner?’ he said.

‘The screws,’ Deeming said, ‘don’t keep us posted with the news.’

‘She confirms that someone rode them off the road that night.’

‘Like you could imagine things,’ Deeming said. ‘With leading questions when you’re muzzy.’

‘All right,’ Gently said. ‘So the police are lying their heads off. Lister crashed himself for the kick, and didn’t give a damn about his fiancee. And Elton ran away from nothing, because there was nothing to run away from. And there’s nobody here who smokes reefers or knows where reefers can be obtained.’

Nobody said anything for a couple of moments. They were all scowling, but they didn’t say anything. Bixley was grinning a stupid grin and showing his teeth at Gently. The Italian had faded behind his counter but he still had his ear cocked. Deeming alone wasn’t scowling. He’d got the least bit of a smile.

‘It’s a kick, smoking,’ he said. ‘It’s a kick, and it touches. Jeebies go for the touches, they don’t give a damn for Squaresville. Like I’ve smoked myself, man, when I was up in the Smoke, and you won’t never stop it. If you could’ve done you would’ve.’

‘Lister,’ Gently said, ‘had five sticks in his possession.’

Maureen’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes went to Bixley.

‘Like you’ve answered it, screw,’ Bixley said, still grinning with his teeth. ‘Like he’d been smoking that night. Wouldn’t make him ride good.’

‘You were at that jazz session,’ Gently said.

‘So what does that make?’ Bixley said.

‘You were where you could see if he was smoking. And what he was smoking,’ Gently said.

‘Yuh,’ Bixley said, ‘sure. Like I went there just to watch him. Got my chick along, too, but I was watching Johnny Lister.’

‘Which is Anne Wicks?’ Gently asked.

‘That’s my tag,’ said the dark girl. ‘And it’s right what Sid says, we didn’t have no time for Johnny.’

‘There’s sticks about,’ said Deeming quietly. ‘But like where they come from is nobody’s guess. They get passed along from hand to hand, that’s how sticks get into the scene.’

‘Yuh, that’s how,’ Bixley said.

‘Like you touch your pals for them,’ said Deeming.

Gently looked Bixley over. Bixley showed some more of his teeth. The record said he’d been a gang-member two years ago, in Bethnal. There was nothing against him here, Setters had said, skipping a couple of traffic offences. At times he worked as a casual labourer at one or another of the construction sites.

‘You digging me good, screw?’ said Bixley.

Gently gave him his slow nod.

‘We’d have done you up in Bethnal,’ said Bixley. ‘That’s telling you, screw. We’d have done you up.’

Gently puffed. ‘Someone did Lister up.’

It’s a bleeding lie,’ Bixley said.

‘You passed the crash. Yet you didn’t see it.’

‘So like what if I didn’t?’ Bixley said.

‘Elton saw it, and he stopped. But you didn’t,’ Gently said.

‘Just needle me some more,’ Bixley said. ‘Just one more jab from you, screw.’

‘Sid,’ said Deeming, ‘take some ice.’

‘Like who is telling me?’ Bixley asked.

‘Take some ice, Sid,’ Deeming said. ‘And stop behaving like a cornball.’

‘This screw is pushing me,’ Bixley said.

‘Screws,’ Deeming said, ‘are always pushing. But cool it, man, and cool it good. Don’t get hung up over a square.’

‘I don’t go for pushing,’ Bixley said.

‘You listen to Dicky,’ Deeming said.

He got up. He stretched himself. He looked a giant beside Bixley. He patted Bixley on the shoulder, gave him a lazy sort of smile.

‘Go and drop a nickel,’ he said, ‘let’s make with the music again.’

‘Crazy,’ Maureen Elton said. ‘You drop the nickel in, Sid.’

‘I don’t get pushed,’ Bixley said.

‘We all get pushed,’ Deeming said. ‘But you do the cool thing, Sid. Like keep it down and make with the music.’

He started Bixley towards the jukebox. Bixley hung on for a moment, then he went. When he’d set the jukebox thumping he stood beside it looking sulky. Deeming turned back to Gently.

‘Like we could talk it up,’ he said. ‘Over in my pad if that suits you. We could talk it up there.’