A Street that Rhymed at 3AM E-Book

Mark Timlin

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Sharman's Christmas with his daughter Judith starts with the worst of gifts: news that his ex-wife, Laura, her new husband and their baby son have been killed in a bomb explosion on a plane. Sharman and Judith seek what little consolation they can from each other, but she instinctively knows that Sharman needs to take his mind off things. Pushed by her, he accepts a seemingly straightforward, if unlovely job babysitting a big-time American dealer who is in custody but doing one last deal - only this time on the right side of the law. But when Sharman's around, babysitting is one step away from carnage and disaster; wanted by the police, he turns for help from the most unlikely of sources - the Yardie gangs that infest the estates of 'sarf London'. What begins as work turns to vengeance for his ex-wife's murder and battle to save the innocence - and life - of his daughter.

Leseprobe

A STREET THAT RYHMED AT 3 AM

Sharman and Judith seek what little consolation they can from each other, but she instinctively knows that Sharman needs to take his mind off things. Pushed by her, he accepts a seemingly straightforward, if unlovely job babysitting a big-time American dealer who is in custody but doing one last deal – only this time on the right side of the law.

But when Sharman’s around, babysitting is one step away from carnage and disaster; wanted by the police, he turns for help from the most unlikely of sources – the Yardie gangs that infest the estates of ‘sarf London’. What begins as work turns to vengeance for his ex-wife’s murder and a battle to save the innocence – and life – of his daughter.

About the Author

Mark Timlin has written some thirty novels under many different names, including best-selling books as Lee Martin, innumerable short stories, an anthology and numerous articles for various newspapers and magazines. His serial hero, Nick Sharman, who appears in Take the A-Train, has featured in a Carlton TV series, starring Clive Owen, before he went on to become a Hollywood superstar. Mark lives in Newport, Wales.

‘The king of the British hard-boiled thriller’ – Times

‘Grips like a pair of regulation handcuffs’ –Guardian

‘Reverberates like a gunshot’ – Irish Times

‘Definitely one of the best’ – Time Out

‘The mean streets of South London need their heroes tough. Private eye Nick Sharman fits the bill’ – Telegraph

‘Full of cars, girls, guns, strung out along the high sierras of Brixton and Battersea, the Elephant and the North Peckham Estate, all those jewels in the crown they call Sarf London’ – Arena

Other books by Mark Timlin

A Good Year for the Roses 1988

Romeo’s Tune 1990

Gun Street Girl 1990

Take the A-Train 1991

The Turnaround 1991

Zip Gun Boogie 1992

Hearts of Stone 1992

Falls the Shadow 1993

Ashes by Now 1993

Pretend We’re Dead 1994

Paint It Black 1995

Find My Way Home 1996

Sharman and Other Filth (short stories) 1996

A Street That Rhymed at 3 AM 1997

Dead Flowers 1998

Quick Before They Catch Us 1999

All the Empty Places 2000

Stay Another Day 2010

OTHERS

I Spied a Pale Horse 1999

Answers from the Grave 2004

as TONY WILLIAMS

Valin’s Raiders 1994

Blue on Blue 1999

as JIM BALLANTYNE

The Torturer 1995

as MARTIN MILK

That Saturday 1996

as LEE MARTIN

Gangsters Wives 2007

The Lipstick Killers 2009

for Charlotte and Amy

‘We deal in lead, friend’

Steve McQueen in

The Magnificent Seven

PROLOGUE

When the lift arrived in the deserted basement garage, we walkedacross the rubber- and oil-stained floor, looking for Latimer’s car.Finally I spotted it in one corner and said, ‘There it is, the blue saloon.’

Lopez just grunted in reply. I wasn’t looking forward to sitting inany traffic jams with him. What the fuck am I doing here? I thought.

I got out the keys and walked round to the boot, when I heard afaint sound from the shadows, close to the gap where a dim signproclaimed ‘EXIT’ in blue neon letters, and the back window of thesaabimploded: another bullet screeched off the bodywork close towhere I was standing, and Lopez, with an amazed look on his face,dropped the bag and coat he was carrying and fell to the groundwith a thud. I saw muzzle flashes come from the darkness, butheard only the discreet coughs of silenced gun barrels.

I just stood there for a stunned second before reacting. Then I dropped the bag I was carrying too, ducked down behind the car andpeered over the top of the boot.

Lopez was lying a yard or so away from me, scrabbling at theconcrete with hands and feet. ‘Help me!’ he cried gutturally. ‘ForChrist’s sake, help me!’

I had no choice. Risking more bullets, I crabbed away from thecar on my hands and knees until I was next to him. I grabbed himby the collar of his jacket and his belt and dragged him awkwardlyinto the shelter of one of the buttresses that stuck out into the bodyof the car park. ‘Oh shit!’ he cried. ‘Oh shit, oh fuck, oh JesusChrist it hurts!’

It looked like it did too. The bullet had hit him dead in the centreof his back and exited through the front of his coat. There was bloodspurting from both the entry and exit wounds. I tore off my jacket,ripped off my shirt and made a pad for his chest where most of theblood seemed to be coming from. ‘Give me your hand,’ I said.

He held up his hand and I placed it over the hole where the bullethad exited him and I pushed his palm hard against the flow ofblood. ‘Hold that tight,’ I said.

‘Oh Jesus!’ he cried. ‘Sweet Jesus help me!’

‘Gun!’ I screamed. ‘Where’s your fucking gun?’

‘Jesus please…’

‘The fucking gun!’ I yelled, running my hands under his armwhere he’d concealed it before, but felt nothing. Where the fuck didhe keep the sodding thing? Or had he left it behind with Shapirobefore getting ready for the flight? ‘Lopez,’ I almost screamed in awhisper. ‘Are you armed?’

He stopped calling for divine intervention for a second and pointedwith his free hand to his waist. I ran my hands round his belt andfelt a concealed holster inside his trousers at the small of his back. Iyanked up his jacket and pulled out his .45 automatic. The pistolwas huge and heavy, warm from his body heat, and fitted into myhand like it had been custom-made for me. I chambered a roundand held the gun in front of me. I heard a sound like a shoe scrapingon concrete from behind a parked car and fired, spraying bulletsevery which way. I heard them clanging on to metal and smashingglass and hoped I didn’t hit a fuel tank, or else detective kebab wouldbe on the menu. I also hoped that it wasn’t some innocent passer-byinvestigating the sound of the ambusher’s bullets or I might beguilty of sending some civilian to an early grave. Before the clip wasempty, I eased my finger off the trigger. I didn’t have any sparemagazines.

‘Mother!’ Lopez cried. ‘Where are you?’

‘She’s not here,’ I said. ‘Shut up.’

‘I can see her. Mother!’ And he reached out the hand that wasn’tpressed to his chest.

‘No,’ I said.

Then he turned and looked at me. ‘Hold me,’ he said. ‘Hold me,Mother.’

Shit! I thought. He thinks I’m his fucking mum now. Underother circumstances it would’ve been hysterical. But here, now, itwas as sad as shit.

I wiped a bloodstained hand across my face and went closer. I satwith my back against the brick and heaved him to me. He lay acrossmy legs with his back against my chest, and the only thing I could think was that if the gunnie came round the corner, the first bulletswould probably finish Lopez off. I held the gun straight out over hisshoulder and waited.

‘Oh Jesus fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh God, stop it hurting.Mother, help me!’ He wouldn’t stop.

I looked down at him and knew he was going fast. ‘Momma.Momma. I said we’d be together some day.’ He looked up. ‘Momma,’he said. ‘You look so beautiful.’

I touched his head. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It’ll be all right soon.’There was nothing I could do to help.

‘Kiss me, Momma,’ he said. ‘Give me a kiss.’

I felt like someone was playing a cruel trick on us both.

‘Kiss me,’ he pleaded.

So I did. I leaned my head forward and gently touched hisforehead with my lips. And as I did it, I felt the life ebb out of him and he slumped in my arms.

1

Friday night/Saturday morning

Judith was with me when it happened, thank God. Well, not with me exactly, and thank God for that too. See, she’s fifteen now, a young woman. And I still live in the same little studio flat in Tulse Hill. And somehow it just didn’t seem right any more for us to share a room. She never said a word, but she needs her privacy. And I do too. So when she comes to visit me, she stays round my mate Charlie’s gaff. He’s a car dealer and garage owner with a proper wife and two daughters of his own. And he’s got a big house in West Norwood with lots of space and it’s just a few minutes’ drive away. Judith’s always got on well with Charlie and his family, and vice versa, so all in all it worked out for the best.

Then one day, just over a week before Christmas, the best became the worst and would never be the same again.

The reason that Judith was down in London was that my ex-wife Laura and her new – well not so new now – husband Louis, and their son David, were in America. Louis is a dentist and there was some sort of convention in New York. Then they were due to fly to Chicago, where Louis had a whole bunch of relatives, and spend the holiday there, with Judith meeting them the Tuesday before Christmas Day, which that year fell on a Monday. Now it was really my turn to have her for Christmas, but it was an opportunity she didn’t want to miss, and I was quite happy to have her the week prior to her leaving and for a few more days when they all came back in the new year.

At the time I was doing some security work for a supermarket firm. No. Not dressed up in some pathetic imitation of an American cop’s uniform with a radio on my hip and about as much authority as a spam salesman. I was undercover in the main warehouse, which was big enough to take half a dozen jumbo jets and was losing stock like a leaky sieve. That is if all sieves weren’t leaky by definition. It had taken me a week and a half to work out who was at it. A right nasty little firm with one of the under-managers as the Mr Big. But proving it was a different matter, and on the day that Judith arrived from Aberdeen, I dumped what I’d found on the security director’s desk and told him I didn’t do the Christmas shift.

So there we were. The Friday night before Judith was due to jet out to Chicago. I’d taken her out for a Chinese in Streatham, then round to my local bar. Judith had tarted herself up so that she looked like twenty and I think most of the patrons in the place thought that I’d done a bit of cradle-snatching and was out with a new bird.

We’d sat in the bar till closing, me drinking JDs and Judith on the orange juice, having a great time taking the piss out of all and sundry. Then I’d walked her round to Charlie’s, had a quick cuppa, then sloped off home and into bed, which is where I was when my phone rang at God knows what hour.

It was ten past three, as it happens, and I climbed out of a bad dream and into a worse one.

‘Hello,’ I said, when I’d remembered in my dazed state where the phone was.

‘May I speak with Mr Nicholas Sharman?’ a male voice with an American accent said.

‘Speaking.’

‘Mr Sharman. My name is Jake Kowalski. I am assistant chief of security at O’Hare Airport in Chicago.’

A freezing hand clutched at my gut.

‘I am trying to trace the next of kin of Mrs Laura Rudnick.’ Rudnick was Louis’s surname.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Her husband is her next of kin.’ But I did understand. I just didn’t want to admit it.

‘Mr Sharman. Two hours ago, six o’clock in the evening our time, a Seagram International 747 incoming from New York City crashed on landing at the field.’ His voice cracked. ‘I’m afraid all four hundred passengers on board were killed. Mr and Mrs Rudnick and their son David were on the passenger manifest. We checked with the travel agency involved. A Ms Judith Sharman was listed as Mrs Rudnick’s NOK in the event of an accident to the party. It was noted that she was a minor and could be contacted through you at this number. I’m so sorry, Mr Sharman. This place is mayhem. The holiday season and all. The airport has been closed and we’ve got flights stacked up from here to Alaska. I’m supposed to be off myself… but I don’t expect you want to hear this.’

I didn’t, but I felt for the geezer. His worst nightmare had just happened. ‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘There’s no chance of a mistake? A missed flight. Something like that.’

‘They checked in an hour before take-off in New York. I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s a mistake at all.’

‘What about Louis’s family? They’re in Chicago somewhere.’

‘Contact has been made. But they wanted us to get in touch with…’ He hesitated, ‘…Judith and her guardian. I guess she’s an orphan now.’

‘Not while I’m still breathing. I’m her natural father.’

‘Apologies, Mr Sharman. After twenty-five years in this business you never get used to this sort of situation.’

‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘What arrangements are you making?’

‘They’re sketchy at the moment. To be blunt, the plane’s hardly cool even though it’s twenty below out here. Christ knows what state the bodies will be in…’ Another pause. ‘…sorry again.’

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I used to be a cop myself.’

‘Thank God for that. Can I leave telling your daughter to you?’

‘Of course.’

‘I don’t envy you.’

‘I wouldn’t envy you in the same circumstances.’

He gave me a number to contact and several names in case he was off duty. ‘I’m so goddamn sorry it had to be done like this,’ he said when I’d written them down. ‘Anything we can do at O’Hare will be done.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘But I’m the messenger. And you know what used to happen to the messengers who brought bad news.’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Well, so long, Mr Sharman, and a merr… shit. Force of habit. It’s not going to be, is it?’

‘Not for me and my daughter,’ I said, and broke the connection.

2

I dropped the phone beside me and lay back on the pillow as a wave of unutterable grief swept over me. ‘Fuck,’ I said aloud. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’

I looked at my watch. It was three-fifteen. Barely five minutes had passed since the phone rang and changed Judith’s and my life for ever. And how many other lives would be changed before the day was much older? Hundreds, probably thousands, and all because a huge tube of pressurized air and frail humanity had somehow malfunctioned in a cold land thousands of miles away. Malfunctioned. Now there’s a word.

I got up then, pulled on my dressing gown, went to the kitchenette and put on the kettle. As I heard the water inside begin to boil, I found a bottle of Jack in the kitchen cabinet and took a swig straight from the neck. As the raw liquor burnt its way down into my gut I saluted thin air with the bottle and said, ‘Well, Stanley. Another fine mess you’ve got me into.’

I put down the bottle, stuck a teabag, milk and sugar into a cup, and when the kettle clicked off I added boiling water and stirred the contents round until I was satisfied with its strength.

I took the tea back to bed, found my cigarettes and lit one. It tasted bad. The tea didn’t taste much better.

Laura, I thought. Jesus. Laura. If only I’d been a better man she would never have been flying over that frozen landscape. How did it feel? I wondered. Did they have time to realize what was happening? Did she hold Louis’s hand as the plane dropped out of the sky? Did she manage to embrace her baby son who should’ve been mine, if only I’d been a better man? Did she scream as the plane hit and burst into flames? Did she think of Judith? Did she think of me?

I tasted the tea again, lit another cigarette and looked at my watch. Three-thirty. Wasn’t there news on the half-hour through the night on Channel 3?

I found the remote on the bed and hit the ‘ON’ button. The TV picture showed Big Ben then went to the news reader. The plane crash was the top story. With pictures. Normally you take that sort of thing for granted. Wars, famine, disaster brought to your home every hour on the half-hour, and you carry on snogging your girlfriend or eating a slice of pizza. Unless it’s a picture of one of the few people you’ve ever loved being barbecued for the edification of the nation. Then you switch off and, try as you might not, begin to cry.

Then the phone rang again.

I picked it up. ‘Hello,’ I said with a gulp, praying it wasn’t Judith. That somehow she’d found out.

‘Nick?’ It was a woman, not Judith. I didn’t recognize the voice although it was very familiar.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Jane.’

Jane. Who the fuck was Jane? I didn’t know any Janes. It would be just my luck to have a secret admirer choose that moment to tell me she’d been lusting after my pure white body for months. ‘Jane?’ I said.

‘Jane. Jane Hornby. Née Harris. Laura’s sister. You do remember Laura, don’t you?’

That was a bastard thing to say but I didn’t take the bait. If Laura had been a bit of a bitch, Jane was the super-bitch of the family. Apart from their sodding mother, of course, who’d never liked or trusted me and had proved herself gloriously correct, much to her own satisfaction. I think the fact that Mum had caught me drunk one night just before the wedding with my hand up Jane’s skirt hadn’t helped much. Jane had wanted a fuck that evening, big time, and had never forgiven me either for trying or being caught, I was never sure which.

‘Hello, Jane,’ I said.

‘I take it you’ve heard.’ Just like that. No tears, no nothing. Just ‘I take it you’ve heard.’

‘I’ve heard,’ I said. ‘I just had a bloke on from Chicago. I’m sorry.’

‘Save it,’ said Jane. ‘If you’d –’

‘Don’t, Jane,’ I interrupted. ‘Don’t say anything you might regret.’

‘I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t regret anything I said to or about you. You killed her, Nick, as sure as if you’d shot her. But that’s not why I’m calling. Where’s Judith? She’s staying with you, isn’t she?’

‘At a friend of mine’s, with his wife and kids,’ I replied. ‘She stays there when she visits me. There’s no room here.’

‘Does she know?’

‘Not from me. I just heard myself. She’ll be in bed. Charlie and Ginny run a tight ship.’

‘Are you going to tell her? She has to know.’

She was getting on my nerves. ‘Of course she has to know. Of course I’ll tell her. Who else?’

‘I was just checking, Nick. I spoke to the man from the airport too. I’ve just put the phone down. Laura left my name and number with the airline as well as yours. Obviously she didn’t trust you. Someone has to go over there. Make the arrangements to get them home. Louis has no one here. No brothers or sisters. John and I will go.’ John was Jane’s husband. They had no children. I’m not surprised. I doubted if they’d ever had a fuck together. He was a keen gardener. She was as cold as ice. But then she hadn’t always been. I can still remember the way she clamped her thighs so tightly on my hand, that night so long ago, to keep it between her legs.

‘I could go,’ I said.

‘I don’t think so, Nick, do you? Mother would have kittens. Besides, you need to look after your daughter. And, talking about her, what do you intend to do?’

‘What about?’

‘About Judith, of course. She’s your responsibility now, and will be until she’s at least eighteen.’

Christ, I’d never thought about that, I thought. ‘I haven’t had time to think,’ I said. ‘It’s all happened so fast.’

‘Think about it, Nick. For once you’ve got to act like an adult. Seagram International are putting us on a plane this morning at ten. We’re going straight to Chicago. I’ll call you when we get to the hotel. This will take a good few days, I just hope we’re back in time for Christmas. I’ll speak to you later.’ And she hung up.

Yeah, I thought, as I switched off the phone my end. We wouldn’t want you to miss the turkey, would we?

3

Then I phoned Charlie’s house. After a long time, a sleepy-sounding woman answered. It was Ginny, Charlie’s missus.

‘This had better be good,’ she said. ‘At this time in the morning.’

Like I’d said to Jane, a tight ship, with no messing.

‘Ginny,’ I said. ‘It’s Nick. Nick Sharman.’

‘I might’ve guessed. What is it this time? Your car broken down on the North Circ? Can’t you just call the AA?’

‘It’s nothing like that,’ I replied. ‘Is Charlie there?’

‘If he wasn’t at twenty to four in the morning, I’d want to know the reason why. Hold on.’

I heard her speaking and a masculine grunt, and Charlie came on. ‘Nick. What’s up?’

‘It’s Laura, Charlie,’ I replied. ‘And Louis and little David. They’re dead.’ And the truth suddenly hit me and I sobbed and sat down on the bed.

‘Nick, I’m half asleep. Say that again.’

So I did, and it didn’t get any easier.

‘What happened?’

So I told him that too, and he didn’t interrupt once.

‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said when I stopped. ‘So sorry. What about Judith?’

‘I need to come over and tell her. But don’t wake her. What time do the kids get up?’

‘On Saturday, early. There’s cartoons on TV. I dunno, seven-thirty, eight.’

‘Don’t let her see the news.’

‘They don’t, Nick. Not as a rule. Power Rangers is the show of choice.’

‘OK. Listen, can I come over soon? I need someone to talk to…’

‘’Course. We won’t go back to sleep now. I’ll get the kettle on. Come over as soon as you like. I’ll make the tea like my old granny did in the Blitz. Lots of rum and sugar.’

‘Sounds great,’ I said, and put down the phone.

4

I got dressed then, collected my car keys and headed for Charlie’s. Although the heater was on full-blast, my heart was as cold as ice. He was watching out of the living-room window as I parked up, and he let me in. He closed the front door quietly and gave me a hug before beckoning me to follow him into the kitchen. Ginny was there sipping at a steaming mug, which she put down when we were inside with the door shut, and she gave me a hug too.

‘I’m so sorry, Nick,’ she said. ‘And that crack when I answered the phone…’

‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘I hate those late-night calls too.’

‘I should’ve known something was wrong.’

‘You weren’t to.’ And to avoid any further embarrassment I said, ‘So where’s this tea then?’

Charlie poured me a mug and laced it heavily with dark rum. But even that couldn’t warm the pit of my stomach. I reiterated what I’d told them before and we sat at the kitchen table and waited for the time to pass, drinking more tea and smoking too many cigarettes.

At seven-twenty we heard movement upstairs and Ginny went into the hall. I heard voices, then she came back with Judith.

‘Daddy, what are you doing here?’ she said in a bewildered voice, and Ginny motioned for Charlie to go outside with her and they left Judith and me alone.

‘Darling,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry. There’s been an accident.’ I didn’t know how to put it any better.

Judith’s eyes widened. ‘Mummy…’ she said.

I nodded. ‘And Louis and David too. A plane crash…’

I saw Judith start to go then, and I moved forward and caught her in my arms. How could I have put it any differently? How could I have saved her the shock and the look of pain in her lovely eyes?

‘Are they…?’ she whispered.

‘Yes. I had a call from Chicago. A nice man…’ What a stupid thing to say.

I steered my daughter to a chair and poured her a cup of tea from the fourth pot that Charlie had made. She ignored it. ‘But how?’ she said.

‘Bad weather. Pilot error. Engine failure. I don’t know. Auntie Jane is going over this morning. She’ll tell us more when she finds out.’

‘I want to go…’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s all been arranged. You stay here.’

‘But, Daddy…’

‘Judith,’ I said, sitting opposite her and taking one of her cold hands in both of mine. ‘It won’t do any good. Let’s just wait and let Auntie Jane handle it.’

‘But, Daddy…’ And she started to cry then and I held her tight and felt my tears mingle with hers as they dripped to the floor.

5

Charlie and Ginny left us alone for half an hour, then Ginny knocked on the door and came in.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But I need to make some breakfast…’

‘’Course,’ I replied. ‘We shouldn’t…’

‘Don’t be silly, Nick.’ And she opened the fridge and got out the eggs and bacon and butter and all the normal things. ‘You want some?’

I looked at Judith, who just shook her head, and Ginny stopped what she was doing and came over and gathered my daughter up in her arms and that started Judith off again, and soon Ginny was weeping too and I didn’t know what the hell to do except light yet another cigarette and watch.

In the end I got up and put some bacon under the grill, found the frying pan and started to cook their breakfast myself.

‘You don’t have to,’ said Ginny.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But it’s something to do.’ And pretty soon the kitchen was full of the smell of food, which just made me nauseous, and I went out into the back garden and stood in the freezing air and looked at the world gone pear-shaped yet again.

When I went back in, Judith and Ginny were gone and Charlie was serving the food on to plates. ‘We’ve told the kids,’ he said. ‘They’ll leave you alone. Judith’s upstairs getting packed.’

‘Packed?’ I said.

‘She’s moving back in with you.’

‘There’s no room.’

‘You tell her that. She’s got a lot of you in her, Nick. Once she decides something…’

I went upstairs into the bedroom she was sharing with Sally, Charlie and Ginny’s eldest girl, where Judith was neatly folding clothes into her suitcase. ‘Sweetheart,’ I said. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Dad, if I can’t go with Auntie Jane I’m staying with you. Christ, it’s Christmas next week!’

I don’t think I’d ever heard her swear like that before. ‘It’s so small at the flat,’ I said weakly.

‘Come on,’ she said, standing with a sweater in her hands. ‘We are related.’

‘But you’re so grown-up now.’

Truth to tell, probably more grown-up than me.

‘Are you embarrassed?’ she asked.

I nodded.

‘Oh, Daddy!’ she said, dropping the jumper and coming over and holding me tight. ‘You’re so silly.’

She reminded me so much of her mother, then, that my eyes filled again and I put my face into her clean-smelling hair and we stood there in the middle of the room, and it was almost as if she were the parent and I was the child.