A few minutes later he was back, walked across the room, picked up an open vodka bottle, chugged the final hit. Waited.
It stayed down.
He said, ‘Now yer cookin.’
And went to fight the day.
At the station, the duty sergeant said, ‘A woman called you.’
‘Called me what?’
‘Said she was yer wife.’
Jesus!
When Brant didn’t say anything, the uniformed sergeant added, ‘Wanted yer number but of course I said I couldn’t do that. So she gave me her number.’
Passed the piece of paper to Brant, then said, ‘I didn’t know you had a wife.’
‘I don’t.’ Not any more.
Mary had left him over ten years ago. Hadn’t heard a dicky-bird since.
Called the number and when a woman answered, said, ‘It’s Brant.’
‘Oh Tom, thank you for calling me back, I wasn’t sure you would.’
‘What do you want?’
‘No hellos or how are you?’
‘You rang to see how I am?’
‘Well, not completely but…
‘So get on with it.’
He heard the click of a lighter, the inhale of smoke, nearly said, ‘You smoke?’ But then, what was it to him? She could mainline heroin, what did he care?
Then:
‘My husband, Paul … I married again five years ago … he’s in trouble.’
‘What kind?’
‘He was accused of shoplifting at M amp;S, at their flagship store.’
‘Their what?’
‘The big one at Marble Arch.’
‘What did he nick?’
‘Oh Tom, he didn’t … the store detective stopped him outside, said he didn’t pay for a tin of beans. He’d over thirty pounds of shopping. Would he steal a tin?’
‘Would he?’
‘Course not. Can you help?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Thank you Tom, I’ve been so worried.’
‘What’s the name?’
‘Silly me, it’s Watson, he’s the security officer on food.’
‘Oh.’
‘It would be useful if I had your husband’s name.’
‘Johnson … Paul Johnson, he’s… Brant hung up.
What he most wanted to know was why he was so reluctant to use the word ‘husband’.
Kebabed
Spiro the Snitch was having a bad morning. The VAT crew had been on the phone and promised a visit soon. Plus the health inspectors he’d managed to twice defer. But, he knew he couldn’t do that indefinitely. He’d have to get Brant to do it for him.
Aloud he said, ‘Mallakas’-or seeing as he was born and reared in Shepherd’s Bush, he could have simply said, ‘Wankers’.
He had a few words of Greek but rationed them carefully. He was attempting to clean the spit for the kebab meat. Standing vertical, usually it was shrouded in meat and he carved accordingly. Now, it was bare and red hot. It gleamed with heat and hygiene. About to turn if off when there was a loud knock. A voice said, ‘Police.’
‘Now what?’ he fumed as he went to get it.
Tommy Logan and two of his men.
Spiro said, ‘You’re not police.’
‘We lied.’
With a dismal record in the Eurovision, the Greeks were familiar with the winners. Spiro stared at Tommy, asked, ‘Are you…?’
‘Trouble? Yes I am, let’s take it inside.’
They bundled Spiro back into the taverna.
Tommy said, ‘Spring cleaning or should that be spit cleaning?’
Spiro said, ‘I’ll turn it off and perhaps I can get you gentlemen a drink.’
‘No, leave it on, gives the room a cosy atmosphere.’
Tommy stared at Spiro, said, ‘Let’s do this quick and easy. You’ve been telling tales to the Old Bill, haven’t you? No lies or I’ll make you lick the spit.’
Spiro was close to emptying his bowels, and yet his mind registered how awful a dye job Tommy had.
He put out his hands in the universal plea of surrender, said, ‘On my mother’s grave, I didn’t.’
Tommy grabbed Spiro’s hands, said, ‘Hold him.’
The men did, then dragged Spiro over to the spit. Tommy said, ‘You’re a hands-on kind of guy, I can tell.’ And slapped Spiro’s hands to the hot metal.
His screams were ferocious and Tommy screamed right along with him. Then he let go and Spiro fell to the floor, whimpering.
Tommy said, ‘Next it’s your tongue, then yer dick. We’ll kebab till the early hours. Or would you prefer to talk?
He talked. Tommy listened, then said, ‘Spiro … it is Spiro, am I right?’
Nod.
‘Do you know me?’
Shake.
‘So why are you making trouble? What should I do now? Do you feel up to a solid beating?’
‘No … please…
‘OK.’
Spiro was too terrified to hope. Then Tommy said, ‘You’ve cost me an arm and a leg so let’s break one of each … you choose.’
It got a bit messy and they had to break both arms and his left leg.
Tommy said, ‘You’ve a fine pair of lungs on yah.’
As they were leaving, Tommy asked one of his men, ‘You eat that Greek food?’
‘Me … naw, I like Chinese.’
Tommy shook his head, said, ‘Irish stew is hard to top … Give the polliss a call, say their Greek takeaway is ready.’
Shopping
