Run for it.
So that’s what I did, and as I tore off at a rate of knots in the opposite direction to the siren, past the surprised expressions of passing civilians, it struck me then that however bad I thought my predicament was ten minutes ago, it was now a hundred times worse.
* * *
If anyone ever wanted to kill Johnny Hexham, he would not be a difficult man to find. Every lunchtime between one and two, as regular as clockwork, he was in the Forked Tail public house, a mangy dive off Upper Street, gossiping with his lowlife cronies and plotting his next poxy moneymaking scheme. Sometimes he’d be there earlier, sometimes he wouldn’t leave until the early hours of the following morning, but without fail, he was always in residence for that one hour. I got there at ten to two, and waited in the doorway of a boarded-up shop across the street, trying to look inconspicuous. As it was a Friday, I guessed that the lazy little shit would be in for an all-dayer, but, like the creature of habit he was, I thought he’d probably whip out for a few minutes to place some bets on the horses, having picked up some tips from the Paddy barman. I didn’t much want to approach Johnny in the bar where there were too many people with big ears, but I would if I had to. Things were not going well for me and I wanted some answers quick.
And bang, like an assassin’s dream, there he was, coming out of the door, already filling out one of the betting slips he always carried with him. I looked at my watch – one minute past two – and crossed the street, coming up behind him.
‘Johnny Hexham. Long time no see.’ And it was, too. Getting close to six months.
He swung round and clocked me straight away. He didn’t look too pleased but worked hard to hide it. ‘All right, Max,’ he said, coming to a halt. ‘How’s it going, mate?’
I walked up and took him casually by the arm. The grip was light but firm enough to let him know I wasn’t fucking around. ‘Not good, Johnny. Not good. There are a few questions I need answers to fairly urgently, and I think you might be able to help.’
‘What’s the Bobby, then?’
‘Eh?’
‘The Bobby Moore, score.’
‘It’s about a certain Mr Fowler.’
‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘I knew he’d be trouble.’
‘You don’t know the half of it.’ I let go of his arm and we walked down in the direction of Chapel Market.
Johnny looked at me nervously. We might have been old schoolmates but he was switched on enough to notice that that wasn’t going to count for much in this conversation. I am a man of compassion but, to be honest, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of me.
‘What happened, then?’ he asked.
‘You put this bloke, Fowler, on to me. Why?’
‘There was nothing bad about it, honest. I just thought the two of you could do some business. He needed some security—’
‘How do you know him?’ I had to remember not to use the word ‘did’.
‘I don’t really. It was Elaine who put me on to him. Elaine Toms.’
‘Jesus. Is she still around?’
Elaine had been in the same year as us in school, way back when Duran Duran were the kings of the rock world and furry pixie boots were all the rage. She’d always been the girl the boys liked because, without exception, she fucked on the first date, the first date only ever meant buying her one drink, and she was nice to look at. Which you’ve got to admit is something of a rare and joyous combination. Not that I’d ever managed to get her in the sack. There’d always been too much of a queue in front of me. And I’d been a bit of a skinny runt in school, too. Like decent wine, I’d matured with age. I hadn’t clapped eyes on Elaine in getting close to fifteen years, probably longer, and briefly wondered what she looked like now.
‘Yeah, Elaine’s still around. She’s the manager of Fowler’s club.’
‘The Arcadia.’
‘That’s the one. I still see her now and again because I drink down there sometimes. Not often, like, cos it’s a bit too young for me, all these kids jumping about, out of it on all sorts, but it’s worth a Captain Cook. Anyway, she told me that Fowler was having trouble with some people and he needed protection. She asked me if I knew of anyone who might be able to assist and so, you know, I thought about it for a couple of minutes, then your name popped up. I know you’re into all that shit. I thought you could do with the business.’ He turned and gave me his trademark boyish smile, the one I knew had got Elaine Toms into bed on more than one occasion back in the old days. Johnny Hexham, the loveable rogue.
But it didn’t work. Not today. ‘It was a bad move, Johnny.’
He looked worried. ‘Why? What happened?’
We turned into Chapel Market and made our way down the middle between the two lines of stalls. As usual, it was noisy and crowded. I decided against giving him the whole story. Johnny was no grass and probably wouldn’t go to the law if his balls went missing, but it was best to err on the side of caution.
‘I almost got killed. That’s what happened. These people Fowler had trouble with, they weren’t messing about.’
‘Blimey, Max, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in the Barry. I thought it was routine
