‘What do?’
‘Cigarettes,’ said the heavy. His probing fingers found Nightingale’s mobile phone in his jacket pocket. He took it out and examined it. ‘They still make these?’ he said, holding up the Nokia to show his colleague. The other man chuckled.
‘It’s a classic,’ said Nightingale, taking the phone from him and putting it back in his pocket. ‘Like the car. Quality never dates.’
‘Can’t take video, can it?’
‘It’s a phone,’ said Nightingale. ‘If I want a video I use a camera. Did Perry ask you to search me or grill me on my use of technology?’
The heavy knelt down and patted Nightingale around the groin and between his legs.
‘While you’re down there.?.?.’ said Nightingale.
‘Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,’ growled the heavy, starting on Nightingale’s legs. He checked both legs all the way down to Nightingale’s Hush Puppies then straightened up with a grunt.
‘Happy?’ asked Nightingale, lowering his arms.
‘You a cop?’
‘Used to be,’ said Nightingale.
‘Yeah, you’ve got that cocky thing going, haven’t you?’
‘That’s more my natural exuberance,’ said Nightingale.
‘Yeah, well, you wanna watch that your natural exuberance doesn’t get you your legs broken,’ said the heavy. He turned and knocked on the door and it was opened by another heavy. ‘T-Bone will look after you. You can try your natural exuberance on him.’
T-Bone was the heavy who had accompanied Smith to the coffee shop, but he showed no signs of recognising Nightingale. He was wearing a dark blue tracksuit and had a fist-sized gold medallion hanging on a thick gold chain around his neck. He turned and walked down the hallway. Loud rap music was blaring out of the back room, something about shooting a cop in the face and stealing a car.
Smith was sprawled on his sofa, his feet up on the coffee table. He was playing a video game, shooting at soldiers with a sub-machine gun. Sprawled on either side of Smith were pretty blonde girls in short skirts and low halter-neck tops. They were staring with vacant eyes at the screen and rubbing Smith’s thighs. ‘Give me a minute, Nightingale,’ said Smith, before shooting a soldier in the face and then blasting a group of four soldiers with a single hand grenade. He ducked behind a crate, reloaded, popped up again and let loose a burst that cut down three soldiers; then he tossed a grenade into a Jeep, killing another four men. Smith grinned, paused the game and put the controller on the coffee table. ‘You an X-box man or a PlayStation man?’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘To be honest, Perry, I’ve never seen the attraction of shooting people for fun.’
‘It’s a game, man.’ He picked up a joint from an ashtray next to the video game console and lit it.
‘I guess,’ said Nightingale. ‘But you do it enough in a game and maybe the lines get blurred and people start to think that killing’s fun and that you always get a new life. And we both know that you don’t. You get killed and that’s that. There’s no reset button.’ He gestured at the girls. ‘I need to ask you something. Are you okay for them to be here?’
‘Off you go, girls,’ said Smith, patting the girls on the legs. ‘Wait for me in the bedroom. If I’m not up in ten minutes, start without me.’
One of the girls whispered in his ear and he grinned. He waved T-Bone over. ‘Give them a couple of wraps,’ he said.
The girls uncurled themselves from around Smith and left the room with T-Bone. In the hallway he gave them two wraps of crack cocaine and they went upstairs, giggling.
‘Fit, huh?’ said Smith.
‘Yeah, they say gentlemen prefer blondes. What are they? Russians?’
‘Latvians. And they’ll do anything for crack. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure, Nightingale? I thought you and I were old news.’
‘You sorted out the Reggie thing?’
Smith grinned. ‘Reggie who?’ He looked over at T-Bone. ‘You know anyone called Reggie?’
T-Bone shook his head. ‘Name don’t ring a bell.’
Smith stretched his arms out along the back of the sofa. ‘Looks like the Reggie thing, whatever it was, got sorted,’ he said. ‘So what do you want?’
‘Bit of business, actually,’ said Nightingale.
Smith blew a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke at him. ‘Not sure I wanna do business with a former cop,’ said Smith. T-Bone stood behind the sofa, his arms folded across his massive chest.
Nightingale reached inside his raincoat and pulled out a manila envelope. He tossed it onto the table in front of Smith. Smith leaned forward and picked it up, the joint clamped between his teeth. He opened the envelope and rifled through a thick wad of fifty-pound notes. He nodded and sat back, looking expectantly at Nightingale.
‘I need a gun,’ said Nightingale.
Smith grinned. ‘A gun?’
‘Yeah. A bloody big one.’
‘What’s your game, Nightingale?’
‘No game. I want to buy a gun.’
Smith’s nostrils flared as if he’d smelled something bad in the room.
‘My money’s good,’ said Nightingale. ‘I left the stuff I printed back at home.’
‘Do I need to get you to strip down again, Nightingale?’ His eyes hardened.
‘What, you think I’d wear a wire to get you on a gun charge?’
‘Last time I checked having a gun gets you a ten stretch.’
Nightingale sighed, opened his raincoat and began to unbutton his shirt. Smith took his joint out of his mouth and waved for him to stop.
‘I don’t want to see your raggedy arse again,’ he growled. He scratched his chin and then nodded. ‘Okay, this is how it’s going to work. You pick up that money and put it back in your pocket.’ He gestured with his joint at the heavy standing by the door. ‘T-Bone there is going to take you for a ride and show you what we’ve got. You’re going to give him the money and all’s well that ends well.’
‘Cool,’ said Nightingale, reaching for the envelope.
Smith lashed out with his foot and slammed his shoe down on the envelope, missing Nightingale’s hand by a fraction of an inch. ‘Just so we’re clear,’ said Smith. ‘If anything happens to T-Bone, if he so much as gets a parking ticket today, then I’ll come looking for you again and this time I won’t miss. Clear?’
‘Like glass,’ said Nightingale.
Smith moved his foot. Nightingale took the envelope and put it in his pocket. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘This ain’t nothing to do with me. This is between you and T-Bone.’ He grinned. ‘But you’re welcome.’
61
Nightingale followed T-Bone out of the house and along the road. The heavy was now wearing a Puffa jacket over his tracksuit, and black leather gloves.
‘Where you parked?’ growled the heavy. Nightingale pointed at the MGB. ‘That works?’ said T-Bone. ‘What is it, clockwork?’
‘It’s a classic,’ said Nightingale.
‘That’s rust around the wheel arch, innit?’
‘A bit. When you’re that age you’ll probably be a little rusty around the edges.’
T-Bone chuckled. ‘You’re a funny man, Nightingale.’
‘I have my moments,’ said Nightingale. He took out his cigarettes and offered the pack to T-Bone, who shook his head. Nightingale lit a cigarette and blew smoke up at the sky, careful to keep it away from the other man. ‘So how did you get a nickname like T-Bone?’ he asked. ‘You got a bit of an appetite?’
T-Bone shook his head. ‘Nearly killed a guy with a stake once.’
