Brant said,
‘He seems to be over his shock.’
‘Yeah.’
‘The barman said that the man leaving the toilet was big, athletic. Ring any bells?’
‘Barry Weiss? It’s a reach.’
‘What else have we got?’
‘Nothing.’
But Barry was gone, he’d moved without a forwarding address.
Then her eyes dropped to the closely printed page and she ran a long finger down the third column until she reached the bottom. ‘Hold on to your Victorian values, ’she cautioned, ‘this is juicy stuff.’
When Barry opened the envelope he’d taken from Radnor, he said,
‘Fuck me.’
Counted it twice to ensure it wasn’t his imagination, then shouted,
‘I’m out of here.’
He’d gone back to his flat at New Cross, packed a few items, looked round, roared,
‘Bye, shit-hole.’
He caught a cab at the end of the road, said to the driver,
‘Take me to Bayswater.’
The driver looked at him, said,
‘Going to cost, pal.’
Barry leaned forward, asked,
‘When I got in, did I go, “How much to Bayswater?”’
‘No... but...’
‘Or did I look like some limp dick who thinks Bayswater is down the road?’
‘No, I just thought...’
‘Yo’ buddy, driving, that’s what you do. If you could think, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
That shut the guy up. Barry stretched back thinking: Man, this is the life, I’m fucking master of anything I touch.
He felt like a god.
He had the cab stop on Westbourne Grove, paid him, saying,
‘I was going to tip you generously but I think you’ll learn more from deprivation.’
The driver would normally have gotten out, whipped the guy’s ass, but he’d seen the eyes and just wanted to get the hell away. Barry found a small hotel advertising long-term stays, just off the main road. He checked in and paid two weeks up front, said to the proprietor,
‘I’m going to be happy here.’
When Bill Haley toured England and arrived by boat at Southampton docks, Tony Calder and his friends were waiting to greet him, dressed in their best teddy-boy gear:
‘He came off the boat and the minute we saw him, someone shouted, “Fucking hell, he’s old — he looks like my grandad.” So we left and went home and we never played his records again, ever.
‘Rock around the clock’ was playing. Roberts looked at the pub owner, who said,
‘It was on a batch of tapes I bought, I don’t know what’s on half of them. I think I heard The Shadows yesterday.’
Roberts brought the drinks over to the table. He’d asked Brant for a drink, catch up on stuff; Brant was listening to the track, said,
‘Jeez, how old is that?’
‘Not bad though.’
Then Roberts told him the story about Haley arriving in England and Brant said,
‘The song is shite.’
The Tabloid was on the table, with the headline
Roberts nodded at it, said,
‘Looks bad.’
Brant finished his drink, said,
‘Bad! You should have seen Radnor, the poor fuck looked horrendous.’
‘You’re losing a lot of snitches.’
‘They’re getting greedy and that makes them careless. You know how it is, guv, get sloppy and you’re history.’
Roberts thought about that. A new record was playing, sounded like ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon’, he asked,
‘What’s the deal with you and Porter Nash?’
‘Deal?’
‘Yeah, I mean, you’re not just working together, you’re what’s the term... tight?’
Brant’s mouth turned down — a bad sign — and he said,
‘I like the guy.’
‘Hey, Sergeant, I’m not knocking it. Just it’s so unlike you, especially with a gay. I thought you hated them?’
Brant grinned:
‘I hate everybody.’
Roberts decided to let the subject drop, it wasn’t going anywhere. Further probing and he’d sound like he was jealous or something. Instead, he asked,
‘You have a suspect for the killings?’
‘Yeah, a witness description matches a guy we’d already interviewed. We went round to his place but, hey, he’s done a bunk.’
‘Which would indicate guilt of something.’
‘Yeah. If it’s him — and it sure is looking good — he enjoys fucking with us. The locker at Waterloo was rented in the name of B Litz. “Blitz”.’
‘You have searches out for him?’
‘Everywhere.’
‘You want another drink?’
‘Lots of them.’
Barry had decided on a few drinks to celebrate his new location. Nothing major, just a few to chill out. But it got away from him and he lost count of how many he’d put away.
Leaving the pub, he couldn’t believe it was dark. How’d that happened? Decided on a walk to clear his head. He was moving unsteadily by Hyde Park when the urge for a piss hit. Why the hell hadn’t he gone in the pub? The park was closed so he did a quick look round then scaled the railings, near impaled himself. He’d got his zip down, was about to unleash when he heard,
‘Hey, you.’
Turned to face a young policeman. He couldn’t believe it, asked,
‘What is it with you guys? Every time I take a piss, you appear. Don’t you have any proper crimes to solve?’
Before the cop could reply, Barry’s urge could wait no longer and the urine came flooding out, all over the cop’s boots. Barry said,
‘Oops.’
The cop looked at his shoes in disbelief, then:
‘That’s it, you’re nicked.’
Barry moved back a step, said,
‘Alas, you’ve caught me without my hammer.’
‘What?’
‘My signature, what I use to beat the fuck out of policemen.’
Realisation began to dawn on the young cop. He fumbled for the radio on his tunic and Barry lunged. When he’d the cop on the ground, his hands around the throat, he said,
‘I’d hoped for a wee break but you lot keep coming.’
After, he tore the radio off — it was squawking like a parrot — and stomped it into the ground. Said,
‘Shut up. How am I supposed to bloody think?’
As he came back over the railings, a group of tourists gawked at him and he shouted,
‘I’m Jack The Ripper.’
They were still staring as he weaved his way towards Bayswater. He was beginning to wonder if this whole new start was all it was supposed to be.
In the pub, Roberts had cut out early as a prospective buyer for his house had called. Brant had asked,
‘You’re moving?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where to?’
‘I have no idea.’
Brant, two pints to the good, phoned Porter, who arrived just after Roberts left. Brant said,
‘Think I’ll get rat-faced, want to join me?’
‘I’ll stay for one, but I have to get back. We’re swamped in paper.’
Brant was getting into his stride, the pints going down easy. He asked,
‘What if we find this guy and can’t prove anything?’
‘You mean Barry Weiss?’
‘Yeah. Let’s say we know it’s him but can’t touch him, what then?’