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I drive round and round the island where the tube station is and after the second time I see Hume standing near the newsstand and after the fifth time I’m sure Hume has stuck to the conditions so I slow down and pull in to the curb, not quite coming to a standstill, and almost immediately Hume steps forward and opens the door and gets in and I pull away from the curb. I cross into the outer ring of traffic and take the first left and then some more lefts until I’m back on the roundabout again and this time my left turn is exactly opposite to the first one I took. Neither of us says anything to each other. Hume takes out his cigarettes and lights one up and I light up one of my own and I carry on driving until we’ve almost finished our cigarettes and then I pull into a side street just behind the Earls Court Road and park underneath the light of a streetlamp. After I’ve switched off the ignition I roll my window down and throw out my cigarette.
We sit there in silence for a few minutes and then Hume says, “So what’s your deal?”
“My deal?” I say, all innocent, looking forward to the next five minutes.
“Don’t shoot shit,” Hume says. “You call me up and tell me you can give me the Fletchers, so you want to make a deal. You want me to leave you out of it. And while I’m lifting Gerald and Les you’re over the sea to Skye.”
I don’t say anything.
“You make me sick,” he says. “All you fucking heroes. Underneath it all you’re all the fucking same.”
“I suppose you’re right, Mr. Hume,” I say.
“Don’t come it,” he says. “You’re in no position to give me that kind of crap.”
I don’t say anything.
“I really want the Fletchers,” he says. “Lifting them will do me no end of good. But the thing is I’d like to take you just as much. Only you’re not quite so famous as the other two. That’s the only reason I’m even considering your scabby little deal.”
“I realise that,” I say, lighting up another cigarette. Then, almost as an afterthought, I say, “Oh, by the way. Eddie Coleman asked me to give you his Christmas card.”
I take the envelope containing a single photograph out of my inside pocket and hold it out to him, not looking at him, as if I’m doing just what I described: delivering a Christmas card.
Hume is as motionless as a block of ice.
“Yes,” I say. “I saw Eddie earlier. Said if you liked the card he’d let you have some more of the same so’s you could send them round to your friends.”
Hume still doesn’t say anything but he reaches out and takes the envelope from me and looks at it without opening it.
“What is this?” Hume says at last.
I shrug. “Why not have a look and find out?”
Hume suddenly jerks to life and rips the envelope off the photograph and holds it at an angle to catch the light from the street-lamp and then when he’s finally managed to believe his eyes he keeps staring at the picture as if in some way his staring will change what he sees in front of him.
“I thought the handcuffs were a nice touch,” I say to him. “Special issue, were they?”
Hume makes a noise like a mad elephant and starts going to work on the photograph, not able to decide whether to crumble the picture or tear it to bits and his fingers alternate madly between the two actions. When he’s finished he lets the remains of the photograph drop to the floor of the car.
“What you should never do,” I tell him, “is do deals with villains. They just can’t be trusted. You take my word for it.”
Hume clenches his fist and hits himself on the forehead, just twice.
“Those cunts,” he says. “Those fucking bastards.”
“You really should have smelt it,” I tell him. “I mean, a bird like that. A place like that. A man of your experience.”
“Those fucking chancers. I had it made. With what Jimmy was going to put out I could have had twenty of you in the fucking dock. I’d have had more space than Reid.”
“Yes, well, don’t be like that. Look at it this way: I’m saving you a lot of bother. Instead of Walter having the snaps, we’ve got them. And me and Gerald and Les are much more reasonable to deal with than Walter. We wouldn’t use them as a lever the way Walter would have. I mean, we’ll never use them. We’re much too nice for that.”
There is silence for a while.
“All right,” Hume says. “Tell me.”
“You know what I want. And Jimmy apart, there are some events that have happened during the last twenty-four hours that you’ll be laying at the door of the Colemans and one or two other people you won’t find it hard to fit up. I mean, fitting people up is no new game to you, is it?”
“And if I tell you where to find Jimmy?”
“We’ll smack his hands for him, won’t we?”
“He’s guarded day and night.”
“ ’Course he is.”
“You’ll never manage it.”
“Don’t you worry about that. Think of all the other things you’ve got to worry about. Like what would happen if the pictures went to the Commissioner and the press. Think of all the fun you’d have thinking up your explanation.”
“What about the Colemans? If I try to pull them they’ll blow the whistle on me.”
I shake my head.
“This time tomorrow they won’t be in a position to blow the whistle on anybody. Ask Eddie. And so anything that happens from now on you can put down to them.”
There is another silence.
After a while Hume says, “Jesus Christ.”
And then, after he’s said that, he begins to tell me what I want to know.