Way. So what did that mean? An off day, or two men involved?
The other option, that Liptrott already knew him, surely couldn’t work. Why would Liptrott pretend to me that he was acting as go-between for Kara, if Kara and he both knew that Phythian wasn’t a MisPer? Unless I myself was the point of the whole thing, and they needed Liptrott to be offed because he might become my way in to their world. Liptrott couldn’t have realised that I was in that kind of danger. He was a crim, okay, but he wasn’t hardcore. Violence was to him what a steak pudding is to a vegan’s shopping list.
If Kara and Cullen were from Liverpool, then it might make sense that they were in it simply to get me, although I couldn’t think of anybody who had held any grudges against me from my days as a trainee copper or, before that, as taxi driver shuttling clients along the East Lancs Road and the M62. Not grudges sufficient that they’d wanted me dead, at least.
I decided it was time to go and check out my flat. A couple of days had passed since the burglary, and if anybody had been sitting outside in a surveillance car they’d have an arse like two pieces of frozen ham by now, as well as a severe dislike of coffee. Back on my road, I dawdled by the awning of the wine bar on the corner and gave the street the once over. A skip was sitting on the roadway, its tarpaulin cover failing to conceal a riot of broken office furniture, lumps of plaster and an enamel bath. The cars parked along the street were dark and apparently empty, but no, there was a scarred little Golf opposite my door, with a large shadow in the driving seat. I hung back a little and rubbed my mouth. A couple of days’ beard growth rasped like indecision made audible. Then I remembered, with some surprise, that I had a killing machine down the front of my jeans. As well as a gun. I palmed the Glock and edged down the blind side of the row of cars. The driver was kind of hunched over on his side, his head resting on the window. Maybe he was asleep.
I opened the passenger door, got in and pushed the barrel of the gun into his ’nads. I said, ‘What’s your fucking door policy on that, fat boy?’
The bouncer sat up quick and straight, like a classroom pupil hoping to be picked to wipe the blackboard. His eyes were as wet and large as would be the wound in his groin if he didn’t start talking. I said as much.
‘Knocker sent me,’ he said. ‘He wanted me to beat some info out of you.’
‘Why?’
‘Liptrott’s dead.’
‘I know that.’
‘Knocker wants to know if you had anything to do with it.’
I shook my head. ‘Do I look like a killer? I mean, do I? Christ, everybody wants to know if I had something to do with it.’
The bouncer was looking at the gun nestling deep in his pods. ‘I didn’t know you had a gun,’ he said.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I hate guns. So if you’re nice to me, I’ll put it away.’
‘I’m just doing my job.’
‘No,’ I said again. ‘Errol, isn’t it? Your job is to punch the spines out of people who try to get into Lava Java wearing trainers. Your job is to lift weights all day until you look like you put your jacket on but forgot to take the coat hanger out. Your job–’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ he said, relaxing now that he knew I wasn’t the hard case I was making out. ‘Shoot me. You’ll be doing me a favour.’
Just then I saw a shadow fall across the oriel window set into the top-floor landing where my flat is. There was a wink of light, a cigarette maybe, and then it was all back to normal.
‘How long have you been here?’ I asked Errol, withdrawing the Glock from his sack and pushing it back into my waistband.
‘Off and on, about twenty-four hours. With piles.’
‘I’ll send them a Get Well card if you do me a favour.’
‘Why should I do anything for you, other than stave your face in?’
I licked my lips. I could feel my mouth going dry, the way it always goes when violence is only
The other option, that Liptrott already knew him, surely couldn’t work. Why would Liptrott pretend to me that he was acting as go-between for Kara, if Kara and he both knew that Phythian wasn’t a MisPer? Unless I myself was the point of the whole thing, and they needed Liptrott to be offed because he might become my way in to their world. Liptrott couldn’t have realised that I was in that kind of danger. He was a crim, okay, but he wasn’t hardcore. Violence was to him what a steak pudding is to a vegan’s shopping list.
If Kara and Cullen were from Liverpool, then it might make sense that they were in it simply to get me, although I couldn’t think of anybody who had held any grudges against me from my days as a trainee copper or, before that, as taxi driver shuttling clients along the East Lancs Road and the M62. Not grudges sufficient that they’d wanted me dead, at least.
I decided it was time to go and check out my flat. A couple of days had passed since the burglary, and if anybody had been sitting outside in a surveillance car they’d have an arse like two pieces of frozen ham by now, as well as a severe dislike of coffee. Back on my road, I dawdled by the awning of the wine bar on the corner and gave the street the once over. A skip was sitting on the roadway, its tarpaulin cover failing to conceal a riot of broken office furniture, lumps of plaster and an enamel bath. The cars parked along the street were dark and apparently empty, but no, there was a scarred little Golf opposite my door, with a large shadow in the driving seat. I hung back a little and rubbed my mouth. A couple of days’ beard growth rasped like indecision made audible. Then I remembered, with some surprise, that I had a killing machine down the front of my jeans. As well as a gun. I palmed the Glock and edged down the blind side of the row of cars. The driver was kind of hunched over on his side, his head resting on the window. Maybe he was asleep.
I opened the passenger door, got in and pushed the barrel of the gun into his ’nads. I said, ‘What’s your fucking door policy on that, fat boy?’
The bouncer sat up quick and straight, like a classroom pupil hoping to be picked to wipe the blackboard. His eyes were as wet and large as would be the wound in his groin if he didn’t start talking. I said as much.
‘Knocker sent me,’ he said. ‘He wanted me to beat some info out of you.’
‘Why?’
‘Liptrott’s dead.’
‘I know that.’
‘Knocker wants to know if you had anything to do with it.’
I shook my head. ‘Do I look like a killer? I mean, do I? Christ, everybody wants to know if I had something to do with it.’
The bouncer was looking at the gun nestling deep in his pods. ‘I didn’t know you had a gun,’ he said.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I hate guns. So if you’re nice to me, I’ll put it away.’
‘I’m just doing my job.’
‘No,’ I said again. ‘Errol, isn’t it? Your job is to punch the spines out of people who try to get into Lava Java wearing trainers. Your job is to lift weights all day until you look like you put your jacket on but forgot to take the coat hanger out. Your job–’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ he said, relaxing now that he knew I wasn’t the hard case I was making out. ‘Shoot me. You’ll be doing me a favour.’
Just then I saw a shadow fall across the oriel window set into the top-floor landing where my flat is. There was a wink of light, a cigarette maybe, and then it was all back to normal.
‘How long have you been here?’ I asked Errol, withdrawing the Glock from his sack and pushing it back into my waistband.
‘Off and on, about twenty-four hours. With piles.’
‘I’ll send them a Get Well card if you do me a favour.’
‘Why should I do anything for you, other than stave your face in?’
I licked my lips. I could feel my mouth going dry, the way it always goes when violence is only
Similar Books
