Кен Бруен - The Hackman Blues

‘An oversight, I’ll get right on it.’

‘Would you? How kind, how downright spiffing. For an arse-bandit, you have such consideration.’

The doctor came and Nolan moved. Not far but out of earshot.

The doctor said, ‘I’d like you to come back in for some blood tests and there are a few other items I’d like to screen. I’m a tad concerned about some marks...’

‘I was run over by a bike and a thug.’

‘... As soon as possible.’

‘I’ll do that.’

Thinking... In yer dreams pal. I’m Stateside.

He repeated his admonitions and left.

Nolan strolled back, said, ‘What’s up doc?’

‘Jeez, how original!’

He offered the brown bag, saying ‘The missus sent these. Notice my affection for her. None of that bar-room boy shit about ’er indoors.’

I opened the bag. There were six black grapes.

I said, ‘Jeez, you’re a prince! Sure ye can afford it, I don’t want to leave the household short?’

He gave a spectacular grin that lit up the suit and maybe even the corridor, said:

‘Fair cop guv, I put up my mitt, I nibbled.’

I slung them in the litter basket, said:

‘You shouldn’t have gone to any trouble.’

‘Trouble? Oh, it wasn’t any trouble. If it had been that, I’d have sent my sergeant... then you’d know what the fucking word means.’

He spun on his heel and left. A porter wheeled me to the door and I asked, ‘Can you call me a cab?’

‘Naw, sorry mate, not in my contract.’

I thought, Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner... and hummed the rest as I eased into the real world. I’d have sung the ‘Lambeth Walk’ but I can never remember the words.

The headline:

With a sick heart, I bought the paper. It detailed the discovery of Ben’s body and its condition. The police were treating it as a squabble over gang territory. The thought occurred that Ben would never get to read Jimmy J now.

Took the tube to Clapham and eyeballed everybody. I didn’t know if my two day hiatus had helped or hindered me. I do know I was flaming paranoid.

When I got to the hotel, Spiro was in a high old state.

‘Mr Hackman, Mr Hackman, I am so concerned.’

‘What? thought I’d skipped it did you... done a runner eh?’

He was offended.

‘Of course no — ohi.. I was worried.’

‘You have beads for that sort of thing, don’t you?’

And left him to it.

In the room, I showered and tried to ease my thundering heart. Dressed in old cords, sweatshirt, trainers and Levi jacket. Battle fatigues. Took the bat and put it in a Gap socks bag. Then on to the phone... No answer from Balham... Jesus... then Jeff. He answered on first ring.

I said shrewdly, ‘Jeff.’

‘Oh Tony... oh God Almighty... did you see the papers? That bloke from the Oval... and then I thought they’d killed you... I...’

He launched into a frenzied babble and I had to roar:

‘JEFF!’

No doubt they heard me in Balham. ‘Calm the fuck down, it’s okay...’

‘But Tony... black men have been asking at the courier office... I...’

‘SHUT UP!’

He did and I said quietly, ‘Take some things and get out. Check into The Coburg Hotel in Bayswater.’

‘Why there?’

‘Cos it’s outa south-east London, cos I can reach you there... cos I SAY SO!’

‘All right Tony, I will... I’ll do that... that’s what I’ll do. Should I take my scripts?’

‘Jesus... yeah... take them.. I’ll talk to you later.’

‘What’s happening Tony?’

‘Fucked if I know.’

And I rung off. Had to sit for a moment, I was still fragile from the hospital. I needed a holiday not a war.

Called a cab and passed a silent Spiro on the way. I had this effect on people. The cabbie was a Rasta and the smell of weed was pungent.

He asked, ‘Wanna tote, mon?’

‘No Balham, actually.’

‘Dat cool, I like Balham.’

His radio was on and... no, not Bob Marley... that golden oldie again. Long John Baldry with ‘Let The Heartache Begin.’

Could he sing or what? Like Simon and Garfunkel in ‘The Boxer’, I took some comfort there.

We took the slow scenic route, managed to miss every green light and aggravated every motorist en route. He was oblivious to it all. When we got there, I paid and asked, ‘Wanna tip?’

‘Sure, mon.’

‘Mellow out, you’re too uptight.’

At the door to the warehouse I took a deep breath and pushed it open. Reed was sitting in the middle of the room, a sawn-off resting on his knees. No sign of anybody else. He said

‘Dee man.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘I look okay?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then I be okay’.

The shotgun didn’t change position, aimed at my groin.

I said, ‘You wanna move that, Reed?’

‘Yo’ tink I shoots yo’?’

‘Jeez, I hope not. Where’s Danny and the girl?’

‘They run off, yo’ run off... it contagious.’

‘I was sick.’

‘Dat disease bro’, I gots it too.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, yo’ be a maniac an’ it depresses me.’

I pulled up a chair, said, ‘Fuck, what a shambles.’

‘I don’ told you... but yo’ don listen.’

‘Where could they have gone?’

‘You gets dee money?’

‘Yeah, I...’

‘Gimme my cut.’

‘If that’s what you want but on an educational note, it’s not called “manic depression” anymore.’

‘What yo’ say?’

‘It’s now termed Bipolar Disorder — bi as in both... geddit? A person suffers from both mania and depression, not just depression on its tod.’

Reed gave me the look, said:

‘Yeah, as in bi-zarre and dat you, dude!’

I explained that the money was in a locker at Victoria and he said:

‘So, git goin’, what cha all be standing here fo’.’

‘What will you do, with the money, I mean?’

‘I goes back to mah roots.’

‘To Brixton?’

He gave the old familiar sigh, ‘To Ethiopia, where Haile Selassie be.’

‘Oh.’

If he’d volunteered to come with me, maybe I’d have given him half the contents of the lot, half of the ninety-two. But seeing as he didn’t know Jack had paid up... tough titty. I made a final effort, asked,

‘Shouldn’t we try and find Danny? Maybe roll the dice one more time, grab the girl again?’

He laughed out loud.

‘Make it a weekly thang, go grab de bitch every Friday... yo’ mo’ than crazy bro’, yo’ all a sick person and I’s got to git de hell away.’

So I legged it off to Victoria, took the bag into the public toilets at the station and carefully counted out his cut. Skimmed a few large off his end to account for attitude. Then put the bag back in the locker.

When I returned, it didn’t seem as if he’d moved from the chair, but at least the sawn-off was pointed downward, like our plans.

I said:

‘Wanna count it?’

‘No.’

‘You trust me?’

‘No... but if yo’ be cheating me, what I gonna do... shoot yo?’

I put out my hand said, ‘I guess it’s sayonara.’

‘Say what?’

‘Goodbye, Reed.’

He stood up and there was a moment. As if we’d hug maybe. It hung there like severity, then leaked away.

He moved to the door, said, ‘It don’ mean nuttin’, drive on.’

I dunno what I felt when I was alone. No man had ever been closer to me or helped me more and what did it come down to? At the end it meant a sawn-off measuring the distance between us. I said aloud to the emptiness, ‘I’ll miss you bro’.’

Like so many other things, the timing was just a little off.