Chapter Five

Mark watched Kelly approach his bed-sit. He was coming back from the pub, staggering in a diagonal line, trailing chips behind him, like someone seeding the earth. He dropped more than he ate. The Donegal man was surprised to see him.

‘Christ, Mr Richards,’ you waiting for me? I’ve seen more of you in the last few days than the last bloody year. What is up with you? You can tell old Kelly.’

A glare from Mark was enough to kill the question.

‘Let me in,’ Mark said.

Mark steadied Kelly as he struggled up the stairs. He made a few attempts to stab his key at the lock before Mark took it from him and opened the door himself.

‘Thanks,’ Kelly muttered, ‘I often get the shakes this time of night.’

‘You often get a shitload of beer. Is there any of that money left?’

‘A bit. My lifestyle is very cheap, Mr Richards.’

Kelly was puzzled, but also pleased by Mark’s presence. He fussed around the room, looking for clean glasses and fresh drink. He found the drink, but clean glasses were a step too far.

‘I don’t want a drink,’ Mark said.

‘Oh, right. Uh …?’

‘I want to stay here tonight. I’ll be gone early.’

Kelly giggled, spitting out the last of the chips.

‘Kicked you out, ’as she? Things must be bad if you want to stay here. Why don’t you go to a hotel up town, man like you.’

‘This will do. Don’t mind, do you?’

‘No, course not. I only got the one bed though.’

‘I’ll be all right in the chair here.’

‘OK, cheers, Mr Richards. Uh, do you want me to make you a coffee or anything?’

Mark glanced around the bed-sit. If it was a café it would be closed down on the spot. It summed up Kelly. Dirty, unable to cope. Life is shit and then …

‘No thanks.’

‘I’ll get my head down, then.’

Kelly didn’t bother to take off anything but his overcoat and shoes, to Mark’s relief, but he realised it acted as a barrier against the worst of his smells. Kelly was asleep in a minute. In two, the man soon began a fractured snoring, as his body fought against another night’s abuse. Mark noticed the rattle in his chest, like a dried pea stuck there. Kelly had spent many nights outside in his time, and his chest knew it. This guy thinks I’m his friend now, Mark realised, that I’ve turned to him in a time of need. A few days ago the idea would have been laughable, the few times Lena had seen Kelly she’d likened him to a reptile. Yet tonight Mark could relate to him, his early life had been peopled with Kellys. Unsavoury, unsanitary, crazy people, challenged in a multiple of ways, but each having a kind of life to live, away from the mainstream. People like him.

Mark got up and moved his chair nearer the window, the sound made Kelly turn over in his sleep and mutter something incoherent. It was late now and nothing much moved in the street, other than a few drunken stragglers shouting their way home. Mark was too wound up to sleep, so he tried to think. He’d been trying to think since he’d found Lena but his mind was still fazed. Ideas did not seem able to penetrate what seethed there. Too much anger and shock had to settle down. Maybe it never would.

The weather was changing. It was warm but a light drizzle had got up. Mark watched it drift noiselessly against the window and slowly dribble down it. He wished he could open Kelly’s ruined sash, to smell the mustiness of long dry stone being rained on. He’d always loved that smell, there was something calm and permanent about it. A car drove slowly down the street, the first in a while. Someone didn’t want to go home, or maybe it was some sad git looking for a woman. It was looking for something, but it wasn’t a woman. The car cruised slowly past each shop, he could see the driver craning his head to check the numbers. It stopped outside Kelly’s, then pulled over to the other side of the road a bit further down. It was a Lexus. All gold.

Kelly had thin and ancient net curtains, which were useless for any concealment so Mark got up and stood by the wall, opening a crack in the curtains. There was someone in the back of the car, someone who lit up a cigarette. He saw the flare of a lighter, then the speck of red glow. It was only for a few seconds but Mark’s eyes were 20 20 and it was long enough for him to recognise Tony.

They must be looking for him. Unless they wanted Kelly for information. Tony got out of the car. Like Kelly he wore a coat more suitable for the winter, and he pulled its collar up against the rain. The driver got out with him. A large man, Mark’s height but thirty pounds heavier. He knew they were coming up. Action was being delivered into his hands, very quickly. At least one thing had been sorted. Tony was as guilty as hell.

It was better to let Kelly sleep. He’d only panic and get in the way. Mark let himself out of the flat quietly, taking the sawn-down baseball bat Kelly kept by the door. It had always amused Mark, to think of his puny nark trying to wield it, but it was a solid weight in his hands, and quite comforting. He ran his hands over the splintered wood, feeling each imperfection.

Mark had to gamble that they would come in the back way, that’s what he would do. He went down to the first floor and buried himself into the recess by the back door. The landing light wasn’t working, which was good. The big guy came in first, Tony behind him. Mark had learnt many years ago that it was better not to wait in situations like these. He charged Tony with his shoulder, sending him sprawling, and hit the other man as hard as he could. He doubted if he’d have the time for another blow, but there was no need for another. He heard something crack, it might have been the bat, it might have been the man’s head. The man groaned once and fell down quite calmly, sixteen plus stones sinking to the ground. Tony was struggling on the floor, calling out for his mate and trying to get something out of the overcoat. Mark knew what it was and why he was wearing the coat. He kicked Tony in the side of the head, and pushed a foot down hard on his hand. Tony squealed and relaxed his grip on the gun. Mark took it from him and slapped him a few times to keep him safe.

‘Hello, Tony,’ Mark whispered, ‘looking for me?’

Mark looked at the gun. A Smith and Wesson 38, squat and snub-nosed. He searched the big man, who was spark out, but he wasn’t carrying, probably thought he didn’t have to. Mark appreciated this. Only wankers, wimps and juveniles used guns these days, professionals had long since sought other ways. He’d probably fractured the man’s skull. Maybe he wouldn’t make it, but Mark was not concerned. There was no time to be. He found the car keys in a pocket, took them from him and hauled Tony to his feet.

‘Come on, we’re going for a ride.’

‘Mark, for fucksake, are you crazy? What have you done to Angelo?’

Mark put the gun to the side of Tony’s head. The man wanted to shrink away from it, but didn’t dare move.

‘Keep your mouth shut, Tony, if that’s really your name, and you’ll live a little longer.’

Mark thought of taking Tony up to Kelly’s but it was better to keep the Irishman out of it. If the police found the big man, Kelly really would know nothing. He’d snored all the way through this.

He’d take Tony back to the flat. It was fitting, though a few hours ago he thought he’d done with it for good. Mark pushed Tony out into the street, the Smith and Wesson heavy in his pocket. They got to the car. There was no one else around and Mark doubted if there’d be anyone else watching him. Too bad if there were. He pushed Tony into the car.

‘You drive.’

‘Look, Mark …’

Mark slapped him to the side of the head again. Tony whimpered, a desperate kind of sound.

‘I told you to keep your mouth shut. Drive, nothing else.’

‘But where we going?’

‘The flat. Lena’s flat. Your sister’s flat.’

Tony was about to say something else but stopped himself, and did what he was told. They were there in minutes.

‘Park farther down,’ Mark said.

Tony still had the hair gel on. It glistened in the streetlight, his eyes glistened too, with fear. Mark gave him the key to the flat.

‘Walk in front of me and open the door. If you decide to get brave I’ll kill you.’

This was like a film unfolding. Nothing was real. Nothing had been real for three days. Mark was acting on pure instinct, not knowing where this was going, not knowing why it had happened, but realising that now he had a chance to find out. He pushed Tony into the main room.

‘Sit down there,’ Mark said, pointing to the sofa. Tony was sweating, worse than in Coventry. Beads of sweat pimpled his forehead, which he dabbed at with a pudgy hand. His eyes flicked around the room, and towards the door.

‘The big guy, what’s his name, Angelo? He isn’t coming, Tony. No one is coming for you, it’s just you and me.’

‘Look Mark, I dunno what you’re thinking, just give me a chance to explain, man.’

‘Where’s Lena?’

Mark watched his eyes and recognised the guilt they registered before Tony could get into a role.

‘Lena? I haven’t seen her for ages. All we were doing was …’

Tony stopped when Mark produced the gun.

‘Smith and Wesson. Pretty old. Not a stable piece, I’d say.’

Mark leant towards Tony and pressed the gun against his forehead.

‘Mark, for fucksake.’

Mark curled his finger around the trigger and smelt Tony’s alarm.

‘This is going to be a long, long night,’ Mark said. ‘I want you to start at the beginning, I want it all, Tony.’

Tony was desperately thinking for ways out. Sweat pimples were turning into acne.

‘I don’t hear anything,’ Mark said.

He brought the gun down hard on Tony’s knee. As the man reared up he hit him to the side of the head, the same side he’d kicked.

‘We don’t want to be doing this,’ Mark said, ‘this thing could go off at any time.’

Tony howled, and as he slumped down Mark moved behind the sofa. It would be better if the man didn’t see him, didn’t know what was coming.

‘Come on, Tony, stop whining. That’s just a slap. If you’re afraid of someone else there’s no need to be. You’ll be dead anyway. You’ll never get out of this flat, like Lena, so you only have to be afraid of me and the pain I can cause. Think of the now, us here, this is your only chance to keep breathing. Your only one. Tell me everything and I might let you take it. I’ll know if you’re bullshitting. I always know.’

A thin line of blood escaped from Tony’s gel. The man was unaware of it as it merged into his false tan.

‘You smoke, don’t you,’ Mark said, ‘have one before you start, it’ll help you think.’

Mark tried to modulate his voice. If he could keep it together he’d try to play good cop, bad cop. If he could.

Tony took a pack of cigarettes from a pocket and lit one up. Mark took the rest from him. For the first time since his hillside childhood he took another from the pack, and lit one for himself. Tony breathed heavily, trying to grab a moment’s relief from this ordeal. Mark sucked on his smoke and felt his eyes water.

‘Why do you ask about Lena?’ Tony said. ‘What’s going on?’

Mark pushed his cigarette hard against Tony’s neck. The man squealed and tried to get away, only to receive another blow from the gun. The line of blood was joined by another, red tram-lines down his cheek.

‘Wrong start, Tony. Look, neither of us has the time for this. Especially you. You better move things along or I’m going to put a round in the back of your head and go looking for your friends.’

Tony started to cry. Mark was expecting it. There was nothing else for him to try.

‘I can’t, man, they’ll kill me. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.’

‘No, but you know what you’re dealing with here, right now.’

Mark put his mouth close to Tony’s ear. He dropped his voice to a whisper and held the cigarette an inch from Tony’s eyes, while touching the other side of his head with the gun.

‘Your own sister, Tony. What did you think I’d do? Walk away from it? Forget what happened? And why was she cut up like that, what could she have possibly done to deserve that? It was you, wasn’t it, on the phone to me when I found her?’

‘I had to phone, to get you out of the flat. They made me. They didn’t expect you to come back then. You’d never have found her.’

Even at this stage, Mark wanted there to be another explanation. For Tony not to be involved, for people not to be as evil as this. Mark dropped his voice even lower.

‘Now we are coming to it. I think you’d better tell me about they.’

He hit Tony on the other knee. He felt the need. Again the man tried to spring up, but Mark pushed the gun into his throat and Tony sank back down. There didn’t seem to be any hope left in his eyes now. This was good.

‘You’re involved with people who’ve killed your sister. What does this make you, Tony?’

‘She’s not my fucking sister, man. She’s no one’s sister.’

There was a silence for a while. Tony dropped his cigarette on the sofa, and it started to make a brown hole. Let it burn, Mark thought, let the whole place burn.

‘Tell me, Tony.’

Tony started to rock slightly, holding his knees with his hands. Fear was fighting fear. Mark hadn’t expected him to hold out so long, but understood it. Whoever killed Lena that way could not be sane. Tony was muttering fuck it repeatedly to himself, like a desperate mantra, trying to lock out Mark and take himself into ostrich mode. Mark brought him back by picking up the cigarette and pressing it against the side of his neck again. The squeal turned into a scream.

‘Lena was a courier,’ Tony shouted, ‘a mule, she’d worked for us for a couple of years.’

‘Carrying what?’

The fuck its started up again.

‘Carrying what? Come on, Tony, we’re almost there.’

Mark moved to face Tony now, pressing the gun into his face. The man was starting to smell bad.

‘Come on, Tony.’

‘Diamonds. Whenever she went over to Amsterdam. We used her modelling work as cover. She got well paid, there was no need for any of this to happen. No need for this problem, man.’

‘I’d call getting her stomach sliced open more than a problem.’

‘I didn’t have no part in that, Mark, I swear to you I didn’t. I told them Stellachi was crazy, that there’d be problems with you, but they don’t care, man, they don’t care nothing about stuff like that. They just wanted their goods. Lena got greedy, and tried to cross them.’

Mark slapped him with the gun again. It was instinctive, and it kept him from pulling the trigger. Tony’s face was becoming messy. His eyes glassy.

‘For fucksake don’t kill me. I’m only the message boy, sometimes I fix up the odd thing. I should never have been anywhere near the flat. They wanted me around because I was the go-between for Lena.’

‘Don’t even think of moving,’ Mark said.

He went to the window. The street was empty, the faint edge of dawn challenging the orange lights, the loneliest part of the day. There was no way of knowing if Tony was telling it straight, but his fear was not phoney. There’d always been plenty of money in the last few years, modelling pays, Lena said. Though he’d never seen her in any of the major magazines she read, he’d just accepted it. Now Mark wondered if any of it was true. He wondered if he’d been a convenient pick up, to be also used as cover. He turned back to Tony, who was now lying face down on the sofa, blood from his head wounds seeping out steadily.

‘Don’t go to sleep on me, Tony. Where are you from? Don’t tell me fucking Coventry.’

‘I’m a British citizen.’

‘Where?’

Mark was shouting. Psycho Eyes was coming back. Explosive teenage rages that he’d thought had drained from his system long ago were taking on adult form.

‘Albania,’ Tony muttered.

‘What?’

‘Albania. I got out fifteen years ago. I was what they call an asylum seeker now. Flutura came later.’

‘Who?’

Flutura   Lena. She’s Flutura Proli. She changed it to Lena Stolitz over here, when they got her a British passport. Same as me, Tony Stolitz.’ Tony sighed, and seemed to calm down a little. ‘Flutura,’ he said quietly, ‘it means butterfly.’

Mark thought of butterflies, on his native hillside in spring, orange, black and yellow, fragile wings blown around helplessly by the wind, but still getting where they wanted to go. Sometimes a fancy one would settle close to him, and he’d be amazed by its patterns. Getting fewer and fewer each year.

‘What’s your connection with Lena?’

‘I knew her when she was a kid. I knew her family. I helped her when she got here.’

‘Yes, you really helped her, didn’t you.’

Mark thought of hitting him again. Tony tensed for the blow and tried to curl away from him, but Mark stayed his hand. Each sliver of information he extracted from Tony was a knife in the heart for him, and if he struck Tony again he doubted that he would stop. The man’s face was already like raw steak. He knew Tony had slept with Lena. Too much fucking knowledge.

The cigarette started to burn Mark’s fingers, and he stubbed it out quickly. He picked up the other one and put that out too. Tony was opening up now, talking for his life.

‘Things was tough over there,’ Tony said. ‘We had nothing. You people here don’t understand how rich you are.’

‘Who are you working for?’

‘People from the old place. I was introduced to them when I first got here. They helped me, set me up and stuff. I just done favours for them, take a package here, take something there. When Flutura came over, they got her modelling work. They could use someone classy like her, someone who would be travelling around a lot. Like me, she was desperate to stay here, and when you are desperate, you do anything. They fixed it all, the passports, the jobs, even English lessons. We were in paradise, then they wanted a return.’

‘You were living with Lena?’

Mark felt his throat dry up, he could hardly get the words out. Tony was weighing up the safest answer. Truth or lies might kill him, but Mark knew the answer anyway. It was another shock for Mark, that Lena could ever touch this gelled-up, oily snake. He brought the gun closer again.

‘All right. Yeah, for a while. They wanted it that way, and you don’t say no to these people.’

‘Were you with her when she met me?’

‘No, I swear. That was nothing to do with anyone, just you and her. We’d gone our own ways by then.’

‘Why was she killed?’

Tony breathed in deeply, coughing up a little blood.

‘Stay put,’ Mark said, but Tony wasn’t in a state to do much else.

He went to the kitchen, wet a towel and brought it back.

‘Clean yourself up a bit.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Why was Lena killed? Like that?’

Tony started muttering to himself, holding the towel and rocking again.

‘Fuck, man. I can’t …’

‘You can. You’re almost there, Tony.’

Mark rotated the old fashioned circular barrel of the gun. It was more like something from the American West than a modern weapon.

‘Where the fuck did you get this?’ Mark muttered.

He pushed out five bullets, left one in its chamber and spun the barrel. Again it felt like he was acting out a film he’d seen so many times – make my day, punk, but this was real.

‘What you doing, man?’

Mark pointed the gun at Tony’s head and pulled the trigger.

Tony yelled and put his hands in front of his head. The trigger fell on an empty chamber.

‘Don’t they play this game in Albania? That’s not too far from Russia, is it? You like to gamble, don’t you, Tony, you just won at five to one. It might be in the spout this time.’

Mark rotated the barrel again.

‘OK, OK. Lena changed when you came on the scene. She wanted out, then she got greedy, like I said. Some of the goods went missing the last time, but they thought it was at the other end. Someone in Amsterdam paid. But this time more went and it had to be her. Lena wanted money for a house, she wanted to get a place with you. In the country. She’d always wanted that. I told her she was crazy, you can’t do that with these people. They never let you go, but she wouldn’t listen. She was always so confident.’

Mark couldn’t believe Lena had done all this without him being aware of anything. Streetwise Mark, alert to everything at all times. What a joke. He would have stopped her if he’d known, got her away. Mark felt Tony was telling this part straight, but he wondered what else had gone on over the years. Maybe he’d never know, but he did know what Lena had done with the diamonds, and how they’d got them back. Her death was no ritual slaughter or the act of madmen, it was business, of the bloodiest kind. These men did not care to wait.

‘I didn’t think they’d do that,’ Tony said. ‘They told me afterwards it would be a lesson, for all the others. I was sick, Mark, I swear it.’

Mark heard the chink of bottles outside. Milk was being delivered to the shop a few doors down. Another day was starting.

‘They didn’t get them back,’ Tony muttered.

‘What?’

‘The diamonds. They didn’t find them. They are worth half a million, maybe more. You could buy Albania for that. They won’t stop looking, that’s why Angelo came for you.’

‘They think I might have them?’

‘Why not? Who else could she have given them to?’

‘Do you think I have them?’

‘No.’

‘I want some names, Tony.’

‘What good will it do? For you or me? This is a big organisation, man, they make money from everything. Drugs, girls, smuggling, phone scams, Internet scams   the Internet is the new heaven for making money. My people think that God sent it for us. Some of my people have always been like this. Albania is …’

‘Yeah, I know. Bandit territory.’

Tony nodded. ‘You can’t touch them, man. We’ll both die.’

‘But you a bit sooner than me. Anyway, what do I have to lose now? I might have killed that guy with you already.’

Tony shut his eyes and thought for a moment.

‘All I know is that things are run here by Agani, Alex Agani. Everything goes through him, he deals with the people in Amsterdam. He works for them. A lot of the money goes there and comes back as diamonds. I don’t know what happens after that, you have to believe this. I just took them from Lena and passed them on.’

‘And Angelo?’

‘Agani keeps him around as a minder. He likes hurting people. There’s another one, even bigger. I don’t even know his name. Angelo calls him the big man.’

‘Angelo didn’t do too well just now.’

Mark knew brute force impressed Tony, it was impressing him now. Brute force for brutal minds, it was the first law he’d learned. Mark turned off the light. The sun was up now, low over the opposite rooftops, spraying the room with silver light. Mark phoned Kelly’s mobile. It rang for a long time before he answered it. Kelly’s voice was shaky, the alcoholic waking up dry, with a tongue like a cloth. The fact he’d answered at all was a result.

‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Richards. See, I didn’t turn it off. Jesus, what time is it?’

‘Time for you to be up. Get your arse in gear, stick your head out of your door and look down the stairs.’

‘Uh?’

‘Do it now.’

It sounded like Kelly was falling out of bed. Mark heard a few fuckits, and a general stumbling around.

‘I don’t get it,’ Kelly said. ‘There’s just the fucking stairs, they ain’t going nowhere, are they?’

‘Lock your door and go back to sleep   and keep the phone on.’

‘All right, I got it on the charger, just like you said, Mr Richards. Uh, do you need me for anything else? I could do with a few more quid.’

‘I’ll get back to you.’

So, it was Kelly and himself against what sounded like Albania’s version of the Mafia.

‘Why do you live in Coventry?’ Mark asked.

‘They wanted someone in the Midlands. We are doing a lot of stuff up there.’

Mark noticed Tony had changed from they to we again. He’d been talking for his life, trying to put distance between himself and his friends, but he was one of them, and no better. Maybe he had played a direct part in Lena’s death, maybe he hadn’t. Mark knew he could never be sure, and it was the only reason Tony was still alive.

‘Where does this Alex live?’

Tony started to sweat again. The room was heating up and it had been a long night.

‘Look Mark, don’t even think of going there. You’ll get yourself killed and what good that’s gonna do?’

At this moment Mark felt that this might do a lot of good, if he could take a few with him. The idea of the big sleep used to fascinate him even when he was a kid, when there seemed to be no future, and life had the taste of burnt paper in his mouth. Then Lena came along.

Mark threatened with the gun again. It seemed as if they had been playing this game for a lifetime.

‘Ny’ burrr i madh,’ Tony murmured.

‘What? Speak English.’

I said he’s a very big man. An important man.’

‘Aren’t they always,’ Mark muttered to himself. ‘Where, Tony? It’s the last time I’ll ask.’

Tony sighed.

‘One of them penthouse jobs. Greenwich way. Look there’s always two or three guys with him, they come over all the time on false passports. Alex sort of trains them up, then they go all over Europe. The States too now.’

‘Write down the address,’ Mark said. ‘Make sure it’s the right one because you’re coming with me.’

He pulled Tony up with his free hand. Looking at the man, smelling him, he knew he didn’t need the gun any more. He put it in his waistband, then dragged Tony to the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet.

‘Stay put until I tell you to move.’

Mark dashed a lot of cold water in his face, then drank a glass of it. He was coming into a second energy surge. He’d go all day now before he dropped. Then sleep would have to take him, if he was still alive.

Tony’s lurid shirt was made more so by the blood that stained it. Mark let the man wash himself then took him back to the living room. He looked for a shirt for him and told him to put it on.

‘We don’t want to attract attention, do we?’ Mark said. The shirt was black and too big but it calmed Tony’s appearance.

‘For fucksake man, get away, while you have a chance. What you done to Angelo won’t be forgotten, they can’t afford to let that go, but if they can’t find you it will pass.’

Mark wondered what had happened to Angelo.

‘Look, can I have some coffee?’ Tony asked,’ I can hardly walk.’

‘OK. Make me some too. All the stuff’s in the kitchen.’

Mark sat by the window and watched Tony through the open kitchen door. The man was playing for time but coffee was a good idea. Tony looked at the knives in the kitchen but what little nerve he had was long shot.

Tony brought out two large mugs. He could have thrown them in Mark’s face, but he placed them carefully on the table. Tony had at least told it straight about being a fixer, this man was no soldier. He’d let others deal with the situation now, and try to save his skin.

Mark took in the scene outside. People were opening shops, shutters going up, delivery vans arriving, a few early joggers out in the park. Shopkeepers were hosing down their fronts, the day smelt clean in the early sun, clean and fresh. All days start with a lie, Mark thought.

There was little chance of revenge, and even less of resolution. Mark wondered if Lena had been working that time in Paris. There would have been plenty of chances for her to slip away and collect something. His past with her could no longer be trusted, memory was being adulterated.

‘Come on, Tony, we’re out of here.’

Despite the weather Mark took a jacket with him, he needed it to conceal the gun.

They were on the street for less than sixty seconds, hardly time to feel the sun on their faces, when the car hit them.