‘Just make sure he knows he’s to be on his best behaviour,’ said Button.
The line went dead. Shepherd went back into the sitting room. Harper was grinning like a naughty schoolboy. ‘What?’ he said.
‘Your voice changes,’ said Harper.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That was your boss, right? The woman?’
‘Charlie, yeah.’
Harper’s grin widened. ‘Well, your voice changes when you talk to her. It goes softer. Lovey-dovey, in fact. It’s like she gets you in touch with your feminine side.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Shepherd.
‘Just saying, it’s nice to see a softer, gentler Spider, that’s all,’ said Harper.
‘Carry on taking the piss like this and I’ll show you my softer side all right,’ said Shepherd. ‘Charlie Button’s my boss, end of.’ He could see from the look on Harper’s face that he didn’t believe him and that there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. He sighed and poured another slug of Jamesons into his glass.
Harper spent the next day holed up in his hotel watching television and eating pizza delivered by Domino’s. The Polish lady who cleaned the rooms seemed happy enough when he told her that he’d make his own bed and that he didn’t need a change of towels. He waited until it was dark before heading out and as always kept his head down and his parka hood up as he walked along the street. He let three black cabs go by him before holding up his arm and flagging down the fourth. He waited until he had climbed in the back before telling the driver where he wanted to go – a street close to Clapham railway station. It was starting to get dark and most vehicles had switched on their lights. He took out his cigarettes but then saw the no smoking sign on the glass panel behind the driver’s head. He settled back in his seat as the cab crawled over the Thames.
The street lights were on when the cab dropped him off. He kept his head down as he walked along the street, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his parka. It was a rough area, where the cops tended to drive by mob-handed in grey vans, and where street muggings happened so often that they weren’t even mentioned in the local paper. A stabbing would be dismissed in a couple of paragraphs and the paper had long since given up printing police requests for witnesses as no one ever came forward.
There were two large black men in Puffa jackets standing in front of the house. It was in the middle of a run-down terrace and one of the few that hadn’t been converted into flats. The two men were both wearing wraparound sunglasses and leather gloves and they stared at Harper with unsmiling faces as he walked along the pavement towards them. The bigger of the two men, his shaved head glistening in the light from a street lamp just feet away, clenched and unclenched his fists.
Harper kept his head down until he was right in front of them, then he looked up at the bigger man and grinned. ‘Bloody hell, T-Bone, you’re not planning to stick one on me, are you?’
The big man’s face creased into a grin. ‘Lex bloody Harper? Fuck me, a blast from the past.’ He stepped forward and grabbed Harper before hugging him to his massive chest. Harper gasped as the big man forced the air from his lungs.
‘Steady, mate, don’t break me,’ said Harper.
‘Fuck me, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ said T-Bone, as he released him. ‘How long’s it been? Three years? Four?’ He put a hand around the back of his neck and squeezed.
‘Four, I guess,’ said Harper. He shook hands with T-Bone, and then bumped shoulders.
T-Bone looked at his companion, who was watching them with amusement. ‘This here’s Lex Harper, aka Harpic.’
‘You’re the only one who calls me that,’ said Harper,
‘Because you’re clean round the bend,’ laughed T-Bone, thumping Harper on the shoulder. ‘This here’s Jelly.’
Jelly reached out with a hand the size of a small shovel and shook with Harper. ‘You buying?’ asked Jelly as he bumped shoulders with Harper. He had his Puffa jacket open and a gold medallion the size of a saucer dangled in the middle of his chest from a thick gold chain. There were heavy gold rings, most of them sovereigns, on each of his fingers, though they looked to Harper to be more like makeshift knuckledusters than decoration.
T-Bone laughed. ‘Harpic here don’t need to buy gear from us, he’s big-time. He’s a player. Isn’t that right, Harpic? You’re a player now.’ He gestured at Harper’s parka and grinned at Jelly. ‘Don’t let the homeless threads fool you. He’s worth millions.’
‘Good to see my PR’s doing a decent job,’ said Harper. ‘Actually I need something. Is Perry in?’
‘Yeah, ’course,’ said T-Bone.
A black Golf drove down the road, rap music booming through its open windows. They all turned to look as the car drove by. There were four black teenagers in baseball caps but they were laughing and passing a joint around and T-Bone and Jelly relaxed.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Harper.
‘We’re having a bit of a turf war with some Somalians but it’s all good,’ said T-Bone. He clapped Harper on the shoulder. ‘Come on, I’ll take you in, but stay behind me and I’ll pull Perry’s chain.’
He opened the front door and walked down a purple-painted hallway. He walked like a weightlifter on his way to attempt a personal best, his arms bent at the elbows and swinging in time with his steps. Harper followed. He could smell the distinctive aroma of smouldering marijuana and from upstairs came the pounding beat of a Bob Marley track.
T-Bone stopped at a door and pushed it open. From inside, Harper heard the rat-tat-tat of a video game being played at full volume. ‘Hey, Perry, remember that Scottish prick you keep talking about. What was his name? Your old mate. The one who went out to Spain?’
‘Lex? Lex Harper.’
‘Yeah, Lex. Turns out he’s a grass.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘He’s spilling his guts to Five-O. He’s a bloody supergrass.’
‘No fucking way.’
‘That’s the word. I always knew he was a bad ’un.’ T-Bone slapped his hand against the wall.
‘Lex Harper? A grass? You sure about this?’
‘Sure enough to put a bullet in his head next time I see him.’ T-Bone stepped into the room. ‘Bloody grass.’
The room went quiet as the video game was paused. ‘This is bullshit,’ said Perry Smith.
‘You always said you never trusted him, remember?’
‘T-Bone, what the fuck are you on?’
Harper heard footsteps and then T-Bone moved to the side so that Perry could see him. Perry flinched and took a step backwards, then burst into laughter, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth. ‘Lex, you bastard!’ he shouted.
Harper pushed the hood of his parka down. ‘Long time, no see, mate,’ he said. The two men hugged, then Smith put his hands on Harper’s shoulders and held him at arm’s length as he stared at him, shaking his head in amazement. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Just wanted to see the new pad. You’re coming up in the world, aren’t you? This is better than that rathole you used to have in Streatham.’
The two men hugged again and Smith patted him on the back, hard. Smith grinned at T-Bone. ‘I knew you were pulling my chain, bastard,’ he said. ‘Lex here’s one of the best.’ He released his grip on Harper and waved to one of three sofas around a square coffee table that was home to three tall bongs and a large silver bowl piled high with a white powder. Above the table was a white paper spherical lampshade that must have been three feet across.
A huge TV dominated one wall, with a heavily armed trooper in mid-flow, blowing apart two men holding rocket launchers. Harper laughed. ‘Still one for the video games, Perry?’ he said as he sat down.