Costain watched as Rob Toshack stepped slowly down from the cab of the SUV. His last hope had gone with that final house. ‘What would you do if you were me, son?’ the boss asked.
The question you could never answer. You started making suggestions, saying hit them here and here, and a jury would start to wonder if these fine gentlemen would have done any of that without you egging them on. Run for the airport, Rob. Take me with you. The fuckers who’re after you, you’re worth ten of them. ‘I don’t know what the problem is, boss.’
‘I’m just going upstairs for a minute.’
Rob went inside, and Costain walked quickly after him, aware of Sefton catching up, but he didn’t look back to check on him. Upstairs meant Rob was going to lock himself into his den. They’d searched that room in the past, and Rob only kept it locked when he himself was inside. He’d spend hours up there, and come down looking elated, telling some new story of how a certain someone either wouldn’t be getting in their way much longer, or had been persuaded over to their point of view. Or that would be the moment he’d choose for sorting and then sending out the supply. As if having the supply in his own home wasn’t a risk at all; it had proved not to be. Costain followed him upstairs, and heard the other boys switching the telly on down below, their laughter rising; crisis over, they thought. Sefton had stayed down there, too, thank Christ.
‘Rob,’ Costain said, ‘what’s wrong?’
But Rob just shook his head and went on into his den. He locked the door behind him.
Costain waited a few moments, then put his ear to the door.
He didn’t hear Rob talking to anyone. Instead he was fumbling with something. The den was actually quite a big space, obviously a spare bedroom from the days when that meant showing off some square feet. Rob had lined it with shelves stacked with cardboard boxes, most of which — as the two UCs had discovered on that day of blissful hope when they’d made a search in there — were empty. Nor, Costain was sure, having had a look at the plans and done some tapping on walls, was there enough room in the house for a hidden den or passage.
There was a sudden noise, and for a moment Costain thought something must have fallen. But then there was silence again. Very aware of time rushing past, Costain kept listening. It was twenty to midnight when he heard another sound from inside, and he had to stand up quickly and get away as Rob’s footsteps approached the door. What had the man been doing in there? What did he ever do in there?
Rob emerged from the den looking as if he’d had the last tiny bit of hope shaken out of him, but his dignity seemed to have returned as a result. ‘Having earlier sampled a bit of what we sell, Blakey,’ he said, ‘I find I don’t like it very much. So, in the next ten minutes, I’d like to get as pissed as humanly possible.’
The pair of them sat in an empty bedroom, London cloud glowing dull-orange through the window. From downstairs Costain could hear the sounds of the party getting raucous. Sefton would be sweating now, aware that, just for once, he had to let his colleague make the play.
‘When Dad died,’ said Rob, ‘my brother Alf was left in charge. He was older than me, and he was shagging the proverbial deer with no eyes — literally had no fucking idea. All these vicious kids, with their crack and their guns, were sprouting up around us. We had no resources to match that. We had community, yes, but community don’t mean a thing when it gets in the way of money. Nothing to stop a jeep mowing down the gnomes in the front garden and then some twat from Jamaica chucking a grenade through your window. Here’s the secret, Tony: London’s always about what’s moving underneath, about what’s pushing what. It was understanding that which let me get past what Alf left me with.’ He raised his can of lager, managing a smile as if at some private joke. ‘To Alf.’
Costain joined in. ‘You never did talk much about him dying.’
‘You’re right there, Tone. There’s a lot of memories you don’t want to dwell on.’
‘I know you. You’re not going off after midnight. You’ll be staying put.’
‘Nah, I’m off. To somewhere abroad. Oh, get that look off your face. I don’t mean right now. It’s just that things are going to change now, maybe very quickly, starting at midnight, and I haven’t got. . I haven’t got the protection no more. When everyone realizes that. . well, all I’ll have then to protect me is loyalty and tradition.’
‘Maybe sometimes loyalty and tradition actually count. They do between me and you, anyway. You know I’ve always watched your back.’ Just go out front, get in the car, and go. I’ll say you tricked me. I’m going down, anyway.
‘You have indeed, Tone, and I’ll see you lot right. I’ll distribute a shitload of working cash to the soldiers, and use the rest to leg it.’
Maybe give me something I can give them. Just tell me about the freelancers. About the supply.
‘Anyway, it’ll all go to hell.’ He threw aside the empty can of lager and grabbed another. ‘I caused chaos in this town on my way up, but that’s nothing compared to when they’ll start fighting over what I’ve left behind. And they don’t have the advantages I had. It’ll be back to the old days, to shootings on the doorsteps. It’s meant to be the end of the world soon, innit?’
‘Always is.’
‘I thought tonight I might manage to keep my edge, that I might get someone I know to extend a deal, but. .’
Costain inclined his head, waiting.
‘Now I might be on the wrong end of it. Someone might make a better offer. And then-’
Costain looked up just then and saw Sefton in the doorway, making out that he was heading for the bog. He held his hand up: five minutes until they arrive.
Okay.
He actually found he was smiling now that they’d got to it. He was the star of this picture — inside, at least — and he’d either pull this off or it’d kill him. ‘Rob. . you know what you mean to me. And that’s real, that’s solid, but this comes from the same place, okay? No reason for me to even say it, otherwise. You see. . Blake isn’t my real name.’
‘What?’
‘Rob, mate, I’m an undercover copper.’
Sefton was out of the doorway like a shot, a horrified expression on his face, away and down the stairs without a sound. Yeah, you just scuttle off. Costain’s gaze flicked quickly back to Rob.
The king of London, his expression now a mask of horror, was getting slowly to his feet. ‘I could have known,’ he said. ‘I could have asked.’
Oh, Christ, where did that come from?! Why did he have to go and say that?!
‘I didn’t, though,’ Rob continued, ‘’cos it didn’t seem like there was anything you lot could do.’
Costain stayed sitting. ‘None of what you’ve built up can protect you from the other gangs. Or from your freelancers if they’ve been turned. All it would cost you is those fuckers. The dark side of your network. The ones who let you down.’ The ones you could have ‘asked’ about UCs!
Toshack held his gaze for a moment. Then he went for his gun.
Sefton went into the front room, where he ignored the soldiers drinking in front of the telly. He looked at his watch. Three minutes.
No, Costain, the stupid bloody sod, didn’t even have that much time.
So, which window? That one. He went over to a lamp, and checked nobody was looking at him. He quickly moved the table the lamp was sitting on by couple of feet, and switched it on. He stood between it and the window, but was smiling and watching the telly again when Mick looked round at him. Then, when Mick turned away, Sefton raised one arm in a loop right up against the window, and touched the top of his head.