David Peace - GB84

Roger puts the photos in an envelope. He licks it shut. He looks up at Neil.

Jerry drums his fingers on the white linen tablecloth. Jerry leans forward. He says, ‘It isn’t getting any less complicated, is it, Neil?’

Neil Fontaine doesn’t say anything. Neil Fontaine waits.

Jerry leans back –

Roger leans forward. Roger places his hands on the table. Roger stares up at Neil. ‘Unfortunately,’ he says, ‘despite all your protestations, Jerry and I still do not share your conviction that our friends failed to find anything.’

Neil Fontaine waits.

‘However,’ says Jerry, ‘it would appear the panic upstairs has abated. A touch.’

‘A touch,’ repeats Roger. ‘For now.’

Neil Fontaine waits.

Jerry watches Neil Fontaine’s face. He drums his fingers on the tablecloth again. He says, ‘Roger and I feel now would be a good time to draw a line under certain …’

‘People,’ says Roger.

Neil Fontaine waits.

Jerry says, ‘No more loose ends, Neil. Please?’

‘Present company excepted, of course,’ adds Roger.

Neil Fontaine stares back across the tablecloth into their eyes –

Their endless lying, lidless fucking eyes —

Neil Fontaine smiles at Jerry and Roger. Neil Fontaine says, ‘Of course.’

Jerry says, ‘Roger and I do feel the Mechanic has served his purpose.’

‘Dixon is not going to be very happy,’ adds Roger. ‘We know that.’

Neil Fontaine shrugs. Neil Fontaine says, ‘The policeman’s lot.’

Jerry laughs. He lifts up his napkin. He pushes an envelope across the tablecloth –

Roger puts a hand on it. He stops it. He taps it –

‘Both of them,’ he says. ‘Hand in hand into one last sunset.’

Neil Fontaine nods.

‘Both of them,’ Roger repeats. ‘No loose ends, Neil.’

Neil Fontaine nods again. He picks up the envelope. He stands up. He stops now –

‘Aren’t we all forgetting someone?’ he asks.

Jerry raises a hand. He makes a hook. He says, ‘Leave the Tinkerbell to us.’

‘Jerry and I are very fond of our fairy friends,’ adds Roger, with a wink.

Neil Fontaine stares back at them. Neil says, ‘He can hear things.’

‘We know that,’ laughs Jerry. ‘It’s his bloody job, Neil. Why we hired him.’

Neil Fontaine smiles. Neil Fontaine bows. Neil Fontaine leaves them to it –

He gets the car. He looks at the clock. He leaves for Downing Street –

The War Cabinet dissolves –

Neil Fontaine holds open the door.

The Jew gets in the back. The Jew shakes his head.

Neil Fontaine sits behind the steering wheel. He looks into the rearview mirror –

Muscles strain. Leather. Teeth snarl. Chains –

‘Call off the dogs‚’ says the Jew. ‘Call off the dogs, Neil.’

Malcolm Morris drank instant coffee. Malcolm Morris smoked duty-free cigarettes —

Malcolm Morris watched and Malcolm Morris listened –

‘— pick us up by Asda. What he said. But did he? Did he heck as like —’

Every minute. Every hour. Every day. Every week. Every month —

Malcolm Morris went to his office. Malcolm Morris worked at his desk –

On the fourth floor opposite NUM Headquarters, St James’s House, Sheffield —

‘— scab on her knee was as big as a plate, it was. Should have heard her —’

Every minute. Every hour. Every day. Every week –

The lenses leered. Smile. The tapes turned –

Cameras clicked and recorders recorded –

‘— I tell you, Rita. I see more of him on telly than in our own home —’

Every minute. Every hour. Every day —

The shadows on the screens. Smile. The whispers in the wires —

The stake-outs and the phone-taps —

‘— Orgreave, they reckon. Big push again, Bomber said. Boots on —’

Every minute. Every hour —

‘— thinks he must have been Special Branch. Paint-stripper. Lot of it and all —’

Every minute –

Every single minute of every single hour of every single day of every single week on the taxpayer’s clock —

Operation Vengeance.

*

Skull. Candle. Clock. Mirror. Neil Fontaine moves across the floor. Carpet. Towels. Sheets. Starlight across the wallpaper. Curtains. Fixtures. Fittings. Shadow across bone. Hands. Hair. Boots across the room. Building. Town. Country –

She doesn’t move.

Neil Fontaine sits in the dark with one curtain open. He thinks about legerdemain; the sleights of hand and the juggling –

He looks at his watch. He taps it. It is two in the morning –

Today the Jew will get his reward. The Prime Minister has promised.

Today the Jew will meet the President of the United States of America –

The Prime Minister has promised. This will be his reward –

The London Economic Summit. The D-Day celebrations –

With the world watching —

The Prime Minister has promised (and she always keeps her promises).

The telephone rings –

Neil Fontaine gets up. He picks up the phone. He listens. He hangs up –

Jennifer sits up in the bed. Jennifer says, ‘Forgive me, Neil. Take me back. Kill him —’

Skull. Candle. Clock. Mirror. Neil Fontaine moves across the floor to the bed. Carpet. Towels. Sheets. Light across the wallpaper. He holds her. Curtains. Fixtures. Fittings. Shadows across their bones. He kisses her. Hands. Hair. Loves her –

There are always moments like this.

He dresses. He leaves. He takes the fast lane North –

He has his other promises to keep. Orders to give. Instructions. Hand-delivered –

Now is not the time, the day or the hour —

The world watching.

But the time, the day and the hour will come –

The world not watching.

Neil Fontaine comes off the motorway at half-past seven. He parks the Mercedes. He walks through the gathering pickets to the old chemical factory. He goes through the police lines into the command post. He has his binoculars. The envelope.

The South Yorkshire Brass looks up. He says, ‘Christ, what now?’

Neil Fontaine smiles. He hands him the envelope –

The Brass opens it. He takes out the letter. He reads it. He shakes his head –

‘Patience,’ says Neil Fontaine. ‘Patience.’

Neil Fontaine leaves him to it. He goes up to the roof. He raises the binoculars. He sees the horse-boxes. The kennels. The Transits. The PSUs –

He hears the hooves. The barking. The tyres. The boots –

Fresh from Creswell.

Radios crackle. Signals are given. Arms linked –

Ready.

The pickets move down the road to the field –

The lorries are coming.

Neil Fontaine watches them speed along the top road. Watches the pickets push. The police line hold. The lorries inside.

Neil Fontaine puts down the binoculars. He turns to leave –

‘We’ll support you. We’ll support you. We’ll support you ever more (ever more) —’

Neil Fontaine raises the binoculars again –

‘We’ll. Support. You. E-ver. More!’

The President of the National Union of Mineworkers is coming down the road. Grey trousers. Black anorak. Baseball cap –

Neil Fontaine has him in his sights again.

All the President’s men clap. They cheer –

Salute their Communist Caesar.

Neil Fontaine smiles –

For those about to die.

*

Diane got out of bed. Diane found her knickers in the sheets. Diane put them back on. Her bra. Her tights. Her petticoat. Her blouse. Her skirt. Her jacket.