Кен Бруен - The Hackman Blues

We decided on a Thursday, not too busy, but not slow either. In there was a safe mix and we hoped this was

I gave Jack a bell.

‘We’re about ready to roll, you’ll have her back by Friday.’

‘Oh, thank God.’

‘You want us to bring her straight to Dulwich.’

‘That would be best, I sure appreciate this fellah. You’ll find Jack Dunphy is a good man to be on the right side of.’

‘So I hear.’

‘She won’t be hurt, will she, I couldn’t bear that?’

‘You have my word, Jack.’

‘I’ll remember you said that. Good luck then.’

Bit of bad luck the moment I put down the phone. The door bell rang and I figured Reed.

Figured wrong.

Nolan and his Sergeant. They barged straight in and Nolan said, ‘Put the kettle on, there’s a good boy.’

I didn’t need the aggravation, so I went to the kitchen. I could hear the bastards poking round. The CS and gear were in Balham. I brought two mugs of scalding tea into the sitting room.

Nolan said, ‘What, no bikkies?’

‘All out, I’m afraid.’

He gave the big smile.

‘Hey, don’t be afraid, Tone, least not of that.’

I thought about San Francisco. Maybe before I left, I could pay Nolan a visit. The Sergeant didn’t bother me, just one more asshole but Nolan got off on the game.

I said:

‘You’ll get yer money, what’s the problem?’

‘Problem, there’s no problem... this is a social call. Cultivate good community relations.’

‘Oh, is that what this is?’

Nolan stretched out on the sofa, his size nines up on the cushions, said, ‘Not sure I care for that tone... eh, there’s a good one. Tone’s tone!’

The Sergeant gave a laugh. Like I said, asshole.

‘You don’t want to play cheeky buggers with me, son... oops... oh dear. What have I said? He’ll have me up before the Gay Rights Board, eh...?’

I said nothing.

Then he swung his legs off the sofa, stretched and stood up, said, ‘I hear you’re tight with Jack Dunphy. Now there’s an interesting friendship. One thing puzzles me though, mebbe you can evalidate for me...?’

‘What?’

‘Oh Jack, bit o’ work he is, but he’s noted for his homophobia. Lemme translate that: Nancy boys, pooftas, they get right on his tit.’

‘So?’

‘Good answer boyo, front it out. Thing is, how’d he be if he got a call, heard his new mate is light on his feet, eh?’

‘Go ahead, see if I give a toss.’

Nolan prepared to leave, said:

‘Word to the wise, me old china: you get some biscuits cos I’ll be round and I do hate tea on it’s tod.’

After they’d left, I took their mugs out to the yard. Beat the be-jaysus outa them with the bat. Childish...? Sure, but it felt good. I debated telling Reed about their visit and decided not to. We’d enough players as it was. He’d worry and I needed him focussed.

Back inside, I turned on the radio, Golden Hits Show. Here were the Tremeloes with ‘Silence is Golden.’

Now there was yer omen right there. So it was in falsetto and real hard on the ears but you took what you got...

My old Mum, she’s talked some shite in her time but everybody has a moment, except for Mark Thatcher of course.

Before she died, I heard her lament into her bottle of milk stout, ‘Once, just once, I’d like to have a blessing that’s not in disguise.’

Cri de coeur.

I have no problem collating information. I can retain it but I have an uncanny knack for misusing it. ‘The Bell Jar’ by Sylvia Plath. Not exactly light reading but she lived on the same block of desolation as me. In the novel, she describes the concrete tunnels leading to the room where they strapped you down for ECT. Her descriptions were truly horrific. But, she warned, on the morning you were due, you didn’t get breakfast.

So I was forewarned. The first time they put me away on a section, I knew what to watch for. A Tuesday morning, no breakfast today. For hours, I shat and shivered... waiting. Come lunchtime, no show. Steeling myself, I asked a nurse and she laughed out loud.

‘Good Lord, no, dear. We just forgot to feed you.’

Course later, they came and often, breakfast or not. True too that I got to appreciate, if not relish, the voltage. After, you’re nobody... you remember nothing; it’s like being mentally stripped. There is a comfort to be had thus.

We met at the warehouse. Reed looked round, said:

‘Yo’ went to trouble fo’ dis cow.’

‘A little.’

He produced a bag, said, Ts went to trouble too... see...’ And he flourished two of those rubber face masks.

1. Maggie Thatcher,

2. John Major.

‘Dos balaclavas... ain’t no style......dese be cool.’

I said, ‘Don’t tell me, I’m Major... right?’

Danny was well chuffed.

Reed added:

‘See bro’, I be comin at Leon, it be the black nightmare in de flesh, Maggie comin fo his black ass, like she said.’

‘I never heard her say that.’

‘Course, yo’ be white, why fo’ yo’ gonna hear it?’

Made sense.

‘Yo’ gonna be Major, cos yo’ comin up behind. Ain’t no blood ever see dat cat coming.’

‘What about Danny, doesn’t he get to play?’

‘Look at him, he bland and smug... a natural born Tory... dat dude be bred to rule.’

So the Tories went to Brixton, if not in triumph, at least in a van.

We were a little down from the club. Danny at the wheel, me in the death-seat and Reed sitting on the gear box. It was 1.30am. Lots of action on Electric Avenue, even for a Thursday. The radio was playing low, late-night golden oldies.

What is it, the radios getting off on constant reminders of my age? If you remember Woodstock, it’s time for the knacker’s yard.

Oh yeah.

Now they were playing Village People, four clowns in construction and Indian outfits. Hard hats and harder asses. Danny said:

‘Your crowd, yeah!’

‘Sure.’

Unconsciously, we joined in and not a bad little three-part-harmony, culminating correctly each time on:

Y

M

C

A

The Fun Boy Three, armed to the teeth. I was thinking, when I got home I’d watch Death in Venice. Salivate over the blonde guy.

You see some odd sights in Brixton. An old wino passed, with those sandwich-boards strapped on, front and back.

Front: Vengeance is Mine

Back: Jimmy’s Auto Repairs

You don’t see black winos.

Reed said, ‘There go de neighbourhood.’

I made my point about winos.

Danny said, ‘It’s like you don’t get yer black serial killers either, know why?’

We didn’t.

‘Cos they can’t count!’

Silence...

Then: ‘No offence, Reed... okay mate?’

‘Dat what yo’ mutha say when I give her one.’

Where this fandango might have gone, I dunno, because just then the club door opened and out came Leon, Roz and the minder.

I shouted:

‘GO, GO, GO!’

We let them pass the van and Reed went out the back. Pulling on the mask, I opened my door.

Danny said:

‘Make it Major.’

Reed walked right up to Leon, gave him a full CS blast then side-stepped and the same to Roz.

I swung the bat, connecting with the minder’s right knee, heard bone go. Then I stepped round, put a dose of CS in his face. He was roaring like a stuck pig.

I clapped the back of my hand on Roz’s neck and caught her as she fell. Losing the bat, I shouted:

‘Get her bloody legs!’

And we slung her in the van. Leon was fumbling blindly as I went back to get the bat. I up-ended and shot it into his stomach.