‘fuck ’em’.
What I’d do was find Cassie. As I was leaving I gave the waiter a pound, he said, ‘Ah
scuzi,
is not right.’
‘Neither was the coffee so we’re even.’ Michael Caine in
Mona Lisa
used to say to Bob Hoskins, ‘It’s the little things George.’ He had a point.
I went and did a further session on the sunbed. I was tanning deep and crispy. When I got back to my new accommodation, the landlady said, ‘I do declare, you seem to get browner by the minute.’
I felt she was going to add … ‘and balder’.
But discretion won out. Upstairs, I shaved yet again. I’d bought a watchman’s cap, you know those wool jobs that pull down over yer ears and neck. By Christ, they’re warm and just a tad off, like a mugger’s outfit. Said … ‘time to get armed’ and drove through to Islington in the evening. Be nice to see the gun dealer again, he was such a ray of sunshine.
Parked near the green and strolled down. I was wearing jeans and a donkey jacket, Oxfam’s finest – ‘Auf Wiedersein Pet’.
Yeah.
At his door, I pulled the hat on, the less he’d remember the better. Knocked twice. The door opened almost immediately – he was wearing black ski pants, black sweatshirt with ‘CATS’ on the front, bare feet, I said, ‘It’s Cooper, Doc’s friend.’
I heard all sorts of shit in prison. One thing Doc told me from his studies: ‘If you experience deep shock, self-preservation moves into the go area and sometimes never climbs down again. It remains fixed on red alert.’ His smile did that to me now as he said, ‘Come in …’
I thought … uh-uh.
We went to the luxury pad on the top floor and he asked, ‘Drink?’
‘Yeah, some of that Yeltsin stuff again.’
He moved to a sideboard behind me. I sat on the sofa, could hear the clink of glasses then spun round. He was just over me, a syringe in his right hand. I grabbed his wrist and used my other hand to clutch his hair, pulling him up and over. Shot my leg up as a pivot on his chest and used the leverage to fling him from me. Then I righted myself and moved to smack him twice in the mouth … all fight leaving him.
I said, ‘Now look wot you’ve done, gone and got blood on CATS . You want to tell me wot the fuck you’re at … I already had my shots.’
Pulled him into an upright position, grabbed his head and crashed his face with my knee. Heard the nose go – pushed him away. Blood was coursing down his face and I rummaged in his desk for tissues, found a handgun. The Glock, loaded, put it in my jacket. Gave him the tissues and poured two strong drinks. He’d gone into a crouch position and I said, ‘Drink this.’
‘My nose, it feels like a football.’
Let him get some booze and my heartbeat to settle, then asked, ‘What kind of wanker are you? Enough guns here to arm the Met and you come at me with a needle! Like Sean Connery said in
The Untouchables –
“Trust a wop to bring a knife to a gunfight.” You’re not Italian are you?’
‘It’s for grasses, wot you give squealers, turncoats …’
‘What’s in it?’
‘Smack … heroin.’
‘And.’
‘It’s been cut with bleach.’
‘Nice.’
‘It’s open season on you Cooper. Doc’s friends put together a bounty on you. Even the Old Bill kicked in a contribution.’
I finished the drink, went over to him, took the Glock from my pocket, hefted it, testing the feel. No weight at all, like a plastic toy, asked, ‘If you were me, things being how they are – what would you do? Would you use the syringe or this gun maybe.’
He had no suggestions so I added, ‘Well, you think about it OK’
I got outa there quick. As I headed for my car, I whipped the cap off… jeez, it sure itched. Was back in The Gate in under thirty minutes and that’s impressive. Who could I tell? A shitload of fatigue hit me and I decided to call it a night. My landlady was nowhere in sight and I felt deeply grateful. Sometimes, even the tiniest social interactions are
What I’d do was find Cassie. As I was leaving I gave the waiter a pound, he said, ‘Ah
scuzi,
is not right.’
‘Neither was the coffee so we’re even.’ Michael Caine in
Mona Lisa
used to say to Bob Hoskins, ‘It’s the little things George.’ He had a point.
I went and did a further session on the sunbed. I was tanning deep and crispy. When I got back to my new accommodation, the landlady said, ‘I do declare, you seem to get browner by the minute.’
I felt she was going to add … ‘and balder’.
But discretion won out. Upstairs, I shaved yet again. I’d bought a watchman’s cap, you know those wool jobs that pull down over yer ears and neck. By Christ, they’re warm and just a tad off, like a mugger’s outfit. Said … ‘time to get armed’ and drove through to Islington in the evening. Be nice to see the gun dealer again, he was such a ray of sunshine.
Parked near the green and strolled down. I was wearing jeans and a donkey jacket, Oxfam’s finest – ‘Auf Wiedersein Pet’.
Yeah.
At his door, I pulled the hat on, the less he’d remember the better. Knocked twice. The door opened almost immediately – he was wearing black ski pants, black sweatshirt with ‘CATS’ on the front, bare feet, I said, ‘It’s Cooper, Doc’s friend.’
I heard all sorts of shit in prison. One thing Doc told me from his studies: ‘If you experience deep shock, self-preservation moves into the go area and sometimes never climbs down again. It remains fixed on red alert.’ His smile did that to me now as he said, ‘Come in …’
I thought … uh-uh.
We went to the luxury pad on the top floor and he asked, ‘Drink?’
‘Yeah, some of that Yeltsin stuff again.’
He moved to a sideboard behind me. I sat on the sofa, could hear the clink of glasses then spun round. He was just over me, a syringe in his right hand. I grabbed his wrist and used my other hand to clutch his hair, pulling him up and over. Shot my leg up as a pivot on his chest and used the leverage to fling him from me. Then I righted myself and moved to smack him twice in the mouth … all fight leaving him.
I said, ‘Now look wot you’ve done, gone and got blood on CATS . You want to tell me wot the fuck you’re at … I already had my shots.’
Pulled him into an upright position, grabbed his head and crashed his face with my knee. Heard the nose go – pushed him away. Blood was coursing down his face and I rummaged in his desk for tissues, found a handgun. The Glock, loaded, put it in my jacket. Gave him the tissues and poured two strong drinks. He’d gone into a crouch position and I said, ‘Drink this.’
‘My nose, it feels like a football.’
Let him get some booze and my heartbeat to settle, then asked, ‘What kind of wanker are you? Enough guns here to arm the Met and you come at me with a needle! Like Sean Connery said in
The Untouchables –
“Trust a wop to bring a knife to a gunfight.” You’re not Italian are you?’
‘It’s for grasses, wot you give squealers, turncoats …’
‘What’s in it?’
‘Smack … heroin.’
‘And.’
‘It’s been cut with bleach.’
‘Nice.’
‘It’s open season on you Cooper. Doc’s friends put together a bounty on you. Even the Old Bill kicked in a contribution.’
I finished the drink, went over to him, took the Glock from my pocket, hefted it, testing the feel. No weight at all, like a plastic toy, asked, ‘If you were me, things being how they are – what would you do? Would you use the syringe or this gun maybe.’
He had no suggestions so I added, ‘Well, you think about it OK’
I got outa there quick. As I headed for my car, I whipped the cap off… jeez, it sure itched. Was back in The Gate in under thirty minutes and that’s impressive. Who could I tell? A shitload of fatigue hit me and I decided to call it a night. My landlady was nowhere in sight and I felt deeply grateful. Sometimes, even the tiniest social interactions are
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