Stanford spoke through gritted teeth. ‘My wife knows nothing about our arrangements and that’s how it stays.’
‘Then she’s living in cloud cuckoo land. Where does she think the money comes from? She can’t believe they pay you that well. You’ve married an idiot, Oliver.’
‘Elise doesn’t get involved with money.’
Danny leaned back in his chair. ‘What a sheltered life you’ve given her. Hope she’s grateful.’ He made a crude gesture intended to goad the chief inspector. The detective gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles poked through the skin. I appreciated his dilemma. He was angry but he wasn’t a fool. My brother was moody and impulsive and capable of things he couldn’t imagine.
Stanford worked hard to hold onto himself and just about managed it.
‘Whether she is or whether she isn’t, leave her out of it. Sending your goons to my house isn’t part of our deal.’
Danny reached across the desk and roared into the DCI’s face.
‘I’ll tell you what’s part of our deal, Ollie Boy. Anything I fucking want!’
I gave the policeman credit. Coming here had taken courage, though there was a point where courage morphed into idiocy and he was running pretty close to it. He wasn’t sure what was going on and glanced over at me for a clue. No chance. I hadn’t forgotten his disdain for me the first time we’d met, when he’d behaved as if I wasn’t there – he deserved nothing and he got nothing.
Danny loosened his tie and opened the top button of his shirt. ‘Thanks to your information we ended up looking like a bunch of amateurs this morning.’
That shocked Stanford – clearly, he hadn’t known. ‘What happened? It wasn’t reported.’
‘Somebody at your end’s playing away from home. Either your contact’s useless or you’ve got a rat in your team, Detective Chief Inspector.’
The DCI hit back. ‘I gave you word for word exactly what I was told.’
Danny wasn’t impressed. ‘Then you got told wrong. Otherwise we wouldn’t have been caught with our trousers round our ankles in fucking Kent.’
Stanford remembered the conversation with Trevor Mills and Bob Wallace. Trevor hadn’t been happy talking so openly in front of Wallace. He’d told Trevor Mills it was a test: a test their colleague had failed.
‘I can’t believe that’s true but I’ll find out.’
Danny’s tone mocked him. ‘Good man. Good man.’ He turned to Luke. ‘Didn’t I just say we can count on Detective Chief Inspector Stanford?’
His expression changed, the fake humour turned off like a switch.
‘You’ve got forty-eight hours to come back with a name before I pull the plug on your nice life. You knew sod all about the hit on this place. Now your information’s tainted. Understand?’
The policeman was wise enough to say nothing until he was at the door.
‘What if the leak didn’t come from my side?’
It was a question Danny had to be asking. Team Glass was me, him and Nina. Beyond that, apart from Marcus, his men were career criminals; thugs for hire. Some had even been on Albert’s payroll and swapped sides when they saw Danny was on the rise south of the river. Their loyalty was bought with money and held by fear. The moment the pendulum started to swing the other way, they’d reconsider their future.
‘Trust me, Ollie, it did.’
Stanford pushed his luck. ‘So you say. How do you know?’
‘That’s easy, copper. It’s not worth it. Anybody who crosses me, and I mean anybody, will wish their mother had never had them.’ Danny added a question that needed no answer. ‘Ever seen a man die slowly? No? My advice: keep it like that.’ He turned the screw. ‘The screams stay with you the rest of your life. Sometimes in the middle of the night they’re all you can hear. When they stop, the silence is beautiful, just beautiful.’
Stanford was being given a warning. He’d do well to pay attention.
‘Sort it out at your end. If it happens again I’m holding you responsible. Now fuck off out of it.’
After he’d gone, I said, ‘He has a point. We don’t know.’
‘Correction: we don’t know, yet.’
‘What now?’
‘I’m taking your advice. Being unpredictable by doing sod all.’
My brother was still playing games.
‘You need me for anything?’
‘Not right now.’
‘Sure?’
‘Absolutely. And don’t worry. How do you think I managed when you were inside? Rollie will be off his face for at least a couple of days. I bet he’s celebrating as we speak. We would be. Let him enjoy his moment in the sun. It won’t last.’
‘Then I’m off. Call if things change.’
‘Where’re you heading?’
‘Haven’t given it much thought. Brighton, maybe.’
‘Going by yourself?’
I didn’t reply and he smiled. ‘Thought as much. Taking that tart with you, aren’t you?’ He wagged a cautionary finger. ‘Just don’t forget what she is. Being inside makes us go soft in the head about women. Ex-cons marry the first one who smiles at them. Happens all the time. Don’t be a mug and fall into the trap, okay?’
‘I hear you.’
‘Make sure you do, little brother. And be careful. Take that waster Felix with you.’
‘No, not today. I need some space.’
Something dark passed behind his eyes: I was disobeying him.
He blinked and was Danny again.
‘Wherever you fetch up, call me so I know you’re all right.’
The car drove like a dream, gliding through the slow-moving traffic towards the Kennington address Mandy had given me. In the rear-view mirror, the Golf had been replaced by a Fiesta and a Corsa; one courtesy of the Metropolitan Police, the other from my brother, Felix no doubt. I ignored them and tried to enjoy the trip.
On a whim I decided to visit Nina and fished out the card she’d given me. The business park was at the start of Brixton Road and easy to find, as it happened. She came to Reception, gave me a hug and led the way to her office, a thirty-square-metre box on the second floor, sparsely furnished and painted in neutral colours. Nina seemed relaxed, pleased to see me, and I was glad I’d come. There was an energy to her that was missing when she was around Danny.
‘To what do I owe this surprise?’
‘Do I need a reason to see my little sister? You look like you’re in your element. Thought you didn’t like working for our brother.’
‘I’m okay so long as I don’t dwell on it. Besides, it’s a means to an end.’
‘Is it?’
‘Absolutely. My long-term plans don’t include Danny Glass.’
‘Do they include me?’
A light came on in her eyes. For a moment I had the feeling she was judging me. Nina knew I wasn’t serious, but she answered my question anyway. ‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘How you feel about having a woman as your boss.’
I laughed. ‘If you mean you, I suppose I’ll get used to it.’
She said, ‘Where are you off to?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
‘By yourself?’
The same question Danny had asked – it must be in the genes.
‘No, not by myself.’
‘C’mon, brother. Spill the tea.’
‘It’s a nice day for a drive to the coast.’
‘And you’re taking Mandy? The Mandy Danny had so much to say about.’
‘The very same.’
‘Will she be around long enough for me to meet her?’
‘Maybe. Probably.’
‘Good for you, Luke.’
‘Why don’t you come with us?’
Nina leaned on her elbows on the desk, pretending to think about it, and didn’t reply. Finally, she said, ‘I’m meeting somebody.’
‘Secretive? Not like you. When you were a teenager, you’d flaunt the boyfriends Danny didn’t like under his nose.’
Driving to Mandy’s, I was struck again by how much had changed; the buildings were the same but the shops and businesses – even the people walking down the street – seemed different. Finally, I recognised a newsagent on a corner and a memory jumped out at me: it was smaller than I remembered, the plaster on the outside walls cracked and faded to a dull grey, the door and part of the window covered with For Sale notices written on postcard-size cards Sellotaped to the glass. I’d raced through that same door with the owner, Mr Varma, after me, shouting and swearing in whatever language they spoke where he came from.
This was where it had all begun.
We were young and it was a laugh, at least it was for us. Until it stopped being funny. My job was to act suspicious and draw the bearded Indian away from the counter so Danny could reach over and grab as many packets of cigarettes as he could. Small stuff. Just what you’d expect from a couple of apprentice wide boys, and for a while it worked.
Until Mr Varma got wise and was ready for us. One hot summer’s afternoon Danny was waiting for me at the school gates, his hands deep in his pockets, distractedly kicking at stones. I asked why he was there. He shook his head and started walking. I followed the way I always did back then. We got to the shop and went into our usual routine. Mr Varma pretended not to notice us but suddenly, he was standing in the doorway. Danny got past him. I wasn’t quick enough. He caught me out on the pavement and had me by the collar, screaming about calling the police. Then, he let go and fell to the ground. When I turned, my brother was standing over him, eyes glazed like a sleepwalker, an expression of pure hatred on his face. He bared his teeth like an animal and really laid in, kicking him and calling him a Paki bastard – although he knew he wasn’t from Pakistan. Blood poured from the Indian’s head, matting his hair and his shirt, staining the dull grey concrete.
It ended when somebody shouted from across the street for him to stop and we legged it. Later, Danny sold the cigarettes to another shop and bought us fish suppers. We ate them on the way home and stayed up talking about the future, while our father slept off yet another bender next door. In six months, he’d be dead and I’d be my brother’s responsibility.
That night Danny invented Team Glass and told me about the Lucky Bastards Club and how we were going to be in it. I believed him and went to bed in the early hours, tired but happy. What we’d done to Mr Varma never got mentioned again.
Sometimes the future was shaped by what didn’t happen. In our case, we didn’t get caught and the rest went the way it went: from watching an unarmed man being beaten over a few packets of fags to throwing Albert Anderson off the forty-third floor of a half-built office block.
Quite a journey. And it wasn’t finished.
A dark-skinned girl in a pink and blue sari, probably Mr Varma’s granddaughter, stood in his place. I bought a Daily Express to justify being there. She gave me my change and I saw her hands and arms were covered in henna.
‘Nice.’
She answered without a trace of accent. ‘Thank you.’
‘I used to come here when I was a boy. There was a man. He had a beard. Think his name was Mr Varma.’
The girl smiled. ‘That would be my grandfather.’
‘Don’t suppose he’s still around.’
‘No. I never knew him. He died trying to stop a robbery before I was born.’
I said, ‘Sorry to hear that,’ and left.
Outside, the newspaper went in a rubbish bin. All Mr Varma was doing was trying to pay his way in the world, more than could be said for us. His bad luck had been in running into Team fucking Glass. Now, the teenage thief who’d murdered him was in the middle of a gang war and I was on my way to see a prostitute who wrote lipstick messages on bathroom mirrors.
As soon as Mandy opened the door of her flat, I realised we wouldn’t be heading to Brighton or anywhere else just yet. She was naked except for high heels and the ankle bracelet.
What happened next was entirely predictable. We didn’t make it to the bedroom, or even the couch.
In the car she closed her eyes and let the wind blow her hair away from her face, a beautiful face. I tried to concentrate on the road. With her beside me, not a chance. A few days and already I was in deep. Deeper than was wise.
She turned her head and smiled. ‘I feel like I’m in a dream and don’t want to wake up.’
‘Dream on.’
Her fingers ran up and down my arm. ‘This was a good idea. I thought you might’ve changed your mind.’
Her fear was talking though we both understood what she meant. Silly girl. She wasn’t the only one who was dreaming. I knew who she was and what she was and it couldn’t have mattered less.