‘For the Noble savage, he’s fond of his bikky he is.’
When Doc had gone, I thought about funerals. The way things were shaping, I’d soon be arranging my own. In prison, Doc had waxed eloquent and long about the Irish rituals for it, mainly he’d waxed long.
At a loss after Doc left, I flicked through the paper. Read an article on Patricia Highsmith and liked her saying, ‘I find the public passion for justice quite boring and artificial, for neither life nor nature cares if justice is ever done or not.’
‘Amen,’ I said.
Time to move, I’d an accountant to see, Doc and I had force back-pedalled from out and out war. Not so much a sheathing of weapons as an option for other battlefields. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t bounce somebody’s head off a wall.
Heard the post come through the box, didn’t think it would be news to cheer. The handwriting on the envelope was now familiar. Could be worse I thought, the loony bitch could be phoning. Opened it with a heavy heart. In large clear writing she began,
‘O Happi-Mou,
Why do you refuse us, we are destined to be one and, so it shall be. Time to wake up and smell that coffee – you hear what I’m saying.
A woman described my beloved MacNeice as having the looks of a fallen angel. Like you, he believed himself to have become, as a result of his childhood ‘in a strange way hollow’. And he remained ‘always terrified of his father’.
Darling David, let me make you complete. Ariana can be your daughter too. I just know you’re made to be my family
I won’t be sending any more mail as, obviously, you won’t be able to receive it. Don’t fret about a suitable ardrobe for Morocco. I’ll take care of all your needs. Men are hopeless at such practicalities. Feel the warmth touch your hand, that’s me.
Sagapoh,
Your Cassie,
Siempre.’
I bundled it fast, lobbed and caught it on the fall with my right foot. Kicked it mightily across the room and saw it bounce off the far wall.
‘In one,’ I said.
I parcelled up the guns lest Noble came calling. Took them out to the car, piled them in the boot – a day to drive carefully. Thought I wasn’t showing the strain till I got to the accountant’s office and Iris said, ‘What happened to you?’
‘More important, what happened to Duran Duran?’
‘You look rough Cooper, maybe you should call round to me, I’ll give you some T.L.C.’
Time to cut to the chase.
‘Is he in?’
‘He’s tied up.’
‘Sure.’
And I barged on in.
He looked more like a sour priest than ever. A large slice of Danish was en route to his mouth, I said, ‘Arnold L. White – mid bite.’
‘What happened to knocking Mr Cooper?’
‘What happened to my business?’
He took a chunk of the pastry, chewed a bit, then a gulp of coffee, replied, ‘A touch of poetic justice you’ll appreciate. Your firm is up for repossession – isn’t that ironic.’
‘It’s fuckin’ criminal is what it is.’
‘You sound, how should I put it – surprised.’
‘I’m bloody flabbergasted.’
‘Am I to believe your partner didn’t inform you of the developments?’
‘Got that right pal. You didn’t think to give me a bell yourself?’
‘Not my place dear boy.’
‘Leopold, don’t you care if you go down the shitter with me.’
‘Never happen Sir – I took precautions.’
I wanted to pound him, asked, ‘What do you suggest I do now?’
‘Run.’
‘This amuses you, doesn’t it. OK, gloat while you can but keep hoping I run far.’
‘When you dallied with Iris, you did me a grievous injury.’
I turned to leave, left him with, ‘Nice term that – grievous injury – has the proper note of righteous pain. What’s more, I’m going to run it by you when I feed you your balls at a date to be arranged. Might I add, you can
First I went to the lock-up. It doubles as a bolt hole – got bunk, kettle, shower, phone. All the vitals. Phoned Jimmy, he’s a minor burglar I met in prison, he’d told me, ‘There are some things a man
He had the form to prove it.
‘Jimmy?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s Cooper.’
‘The Repo Man.’
‘Yeah, that too. Like to knock down a few hundred?’
‘You want me to nick somefin.’
‘Actually, I want you to add something. If I give you the guy’s name, could you find his gaff and hide an item there.’
‘Bit unusual, is this on the up an’ up?’
‘How does four hundred sound?’
‘What’s his name?’
I met Jimmy in the bar at Victoria Station. He arrived in a natty three-piece suit, hair spit-combed and I’d swear a regimental tie, said, ‘Looking good Jimbo.’
‘I’ve been taking lessons.’
‘Is that a regiment tie?’
‘Sure is – the Argylls – or is it the Enniskillens, one of those bods.’
‘Why?’
‘Opens a lot of doors.’
‘You’re the best judge of that.’
‘I have a Masonic one too but, I have to be careful, I’ve never quite mastered the handshake. Is it a Mason or a Jesse, you know, a fella who’s very friendly.’
Jimmy was smoking roll-ups, Old Holborn and, like a true con, he was a master. He offered, ‘Smoke?’
‘Naw. Here’s the papers I want you to conceal. Put them in an obvious place but not so’s the guy living there will find them – as if they’d been hidden.’
‘Putting someone in the frame or is it none of my business?’
‘It’s none of your business. Here’s the name and his work address. Any problems.’
‘Any cash.’
‘In the envelope. Do you know any hookers?’
‘C’mon Cooper, go into any phone kiosk. Those cards there – take yer pick.’
‘I need one who can keep her mouth shut.’
‘That’s a contradiction Cooper. The two don’t gell – know wot I mean?’
‘Cut the comedy eh – yes or no?’
