first.
‘It’s OK,’ she said, ‘I haven’t decided what I want yet.’
The barman was burly with a big beer gut and forearms like hams.
‘Another rum and peppermint, please,’ the slender man said.
The barman looked him up and down.
‘Sure you’re in the right pub, love? This isn’t Kemp Town.’
‘A double.’
‘Big boy,’ the barman said with a grotesque pout.
There were two unshaven men standing at the bar. They sniggered. The man smiled but didn’t say anything. The barman made the drink and plopped the glass down heavily on the bar. The liquid shivered but didn’t spill. The man placed the exact amount of money on the bar, turned and went to sit by the window.
Gilchrist ordered a glass of wine, ignored the leering men and went to sit a few yards from the man. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing here but she knew it was the local for at least one of the crime families.
A stocky, crop-headed man in his forties came in with a posse of four noisy youngsters. They all scoped the room.
‘All right, Mr Cuthbert,’ the barman said. The crop-headed man nodded and got into a huddle over the bar with him. The man who’d ordered the rum and peppermint went back up to the bar and put his glass down.
‘Another double when you have a minute.’
The man called Cuthbert glanced over. The barman straightened up.
‘Think you’ve had enough, don’t you, mate?’
‘I think I’ll take one more.’
‘You live here?’ Cuthbert said, staring straight ahead of him.
‘Near enough to walk.’
‘I was wondering why you’d come in here.’ He swept his arm out to take in the room. ‘It’s a pub for locals. Everybody knows everybody. That’s the way we like it.’
The man nodded.
‘That was a double, mind, not a single.’
The barman had stepped back and was standing in front of the rack of spirits and glasses. He flicked a look at Cuthbert.
‘As I was explaining,’ Cuthbert said, still not looking at the man, ‘everybody knows everybody. We’re like a family here.’
‘But this is a public house, not a club. And I am the public.’
He pushed the glass across the bar.
‘You can use the same glass.’
Cuthbert finally turned and as he did so the youngsters gathered in a loose semicircle around the mild- mannered man.
Shit. Gilchrist didn’t want to flash her warrant card in here, but if this turned out the way it looked like it was going to turn out, she would have to intervene. And probably get a good kicking in the process. She recognized Cuthbert’s name. He was a major Brighton villain. She cursed herself for coming in here, cursed the man for ordering such a ludicrous drink in a rough pub.
‘Are you dim?’ Cuthbert said, taking a step forward. ‘We don’t want you here. I don’t know what you’re looking for but, believe me, you ain’t going to find it here.’
‘I just want my drink for the road.’
Cuthbert looked at the barman and gave a quick nod.
‘On the house,’ he said.
‘You’re either the landlord or a leader of the community,’ the man said. ‘Did I hear your name is Cuthbert?’
‘Not that it’s any of your fucking business but, yes, it’s Cuthbert.’
‘I’m Jimmy Tingley.’ Tingley stuck out his hand. ‘And I’ve already heard all the jokes about my name.’
Gilchrist sat back in her chair. Jimmy Tingley. The man Bob Watts had mentioned. The way Watts had built Tingley up she was expecting Arnold Schwarzenegger, not this unassuming individual.
Cuthbert looked at Tingley’s hand, then at Tingley. Didn’t offer his own hand.
‘You’re one of the big three on the estate,’ Tingley said, withdrawing his hand.
‘I am?’
‘You are.’
Tingley looked at the youths, who had stepped in closer.
‘It would be great to talk to you privately.’
‘About?’
‘What goes on here.’
‘And why would you be interested.’
Tingley moved closer.
‘I need your help.’
Cuthbert tilted his head.
‘Get his bag, Russell.’
A young man with a pockmarked face loped over to the table Tingley had been sitting at and picked up a slender bag. As he took it back over to Cuthbert, he rooted in it and came out with a newspaper and a collapsible umbrella. He peered in the bag and passed it to Cuthbert.
‘That’s it.’
Gilchrist was back on the edge of her seat. Tingley remained impassive.
‘What’s this?’ the pockmarked youth said, fiddling with the umbrella. Suddenly it sprang open. The youths laughed as he waved it around.
‘Fucking neat, isn’t it?’
‘Fucking is,’ one of the other youths said.
‘Fucking neat.’
Tingley laughed along with them for a moment or two. Then:
‘It’s bad luck opening an umbrella indoors.’ He nodded at the mirror behind the bar. ‘If that goes as well, we’re all fucked.’
He held out his open hand out for his bag.
‘If you please.’
Gilchrist was thinking that in a movie, silence would have fallen at this point. Here it was a change in the atmosphere, a drop in pressure.
‘If I please,’ Cuthbert said. ‘If I please.’
Tingley kept his hand out but looked across at Gilchrist. As she started to rise, he gave an infinitesimal shake of his head. Then he reached over and took hold of his bag. Tingley and Cuthbert exchanged looks.
‘Check me out,’ Tingley said. ‘Name’s James Tingley. I’ll come back in a couple of days so we can talk.’
Cuthbert frowned but released the bag. Tingley turned to Cuthbert’s posse.
‘Gentlemen.’
He turned and walked to the door. Gilchrist was on her feet a moment later. Trying not to hurry, she strolled out of the pub after him.
Tingley was standing about twenty yards down the road looking back at her. She walked towards him.
‘Bet you’re glad you didn’t have to pull your warrant card,’ he said when she reached him.
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘To me.’
‘I know of you, Mr Tingley.’
‘I know of you too, Ms Gilchrist. That was very foolhardy of you to go in that pub. Had you been recognized-’
‘You know who I am?’
‘Your photo has been in all the papers – that’s why you were taking a risk going there.’
Tingley looked beyond Gilchrist and quickly took her arm.
