A Cool Head

‘What?’

‘Well, I had this wild thought when I saw him. I wondered if you’d sent him.’

‘Me?’

‘That way you’d get your money back, and Hanley couldn’t complain. He’d still have to keep his side of the deal.’

George was shaking his head. But he was thinking too. Don reckoned he knew what he was thinking, Wish I’d thought of that…

‘And you just handed the cash over to him?’ George asked.

‘I’m not a martyr, George. The gun was real.’

‘So how did the shooting start?’

‘There were the three of us, me, Hanley and the mask. Nobody was paying attention to Raymond. He must have had the gun tucked away somewhere. He shot twice. It was deafening. ’

‘And he got the guy?’

‘First bullet went wide, second one hit him in the chest.’ Don paused for a moment. It was painful for him, remembering this. He made a show of clearing his throat. ‘But by then he’d fired back at Raymond. Went straight into his skull and he dropped. The money was still in my car, so the mask got into the driver’s seat and backed out of the garage. Headed across the forecourt and was gone.’

‘Before you could pick up Raymond’s gun?’

Don just shrugged.

‘What did Hanley do? Besides wetting himself, I mean.’

‘He ran back to his car and hightailed it.’

‘Same direction the bandit took?’

Don shook his head. ‘You reckon Hanley…? But he was going to get the money anyway.’

George thought about this and nodded. He folded his arms. ‘This isn’t good, Don. How did you get out of there?’

‘Well, the Bentley had its keys in.’

‘Where is it now?’

‘Parked up behind the Portakabin. Reckon it needs to go in the compactor?’

‘Of course it does!’

‘Shame. Raymond did a beautiful job of cleaning it.’

‘Well, Raymond was a pro, wasn’t he?’ George gave Don a look, as if to say, And I thought you were too.

‘I’ve never shot anyone in my life, George. In the old days, fists were enough, maybe a bottle or a knife now and again.’

‘These aren’t the old days.’ George thought for another moment. ‘I need to talk to Hanley, make sure he’s okay. Meantime, you need to find your car. And there’s still that other little matter to be taken care of.’

Don nodded. ‘What about our bandit friend?’

‘He’s wounded, maybe badly wounded. He’s got to have ended up in hospital.’ George jabbed a finger at Don. ‘So start making some calls.’

‘Then we pay him a visit?’

George just nodded. ‘Was Raymond married? Is there someone we should send flowers to?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Find out, will you?’

‘Before or after the other matter?’

George glowered at him. ‘What do you think? No, never mind what you think. Whoever was wearing that mask, they knew the cash was being handed over. That means it’s someone we know, or someone Hanley knows. It means someone somewhere has blabbed or else got greedy. It means they’re close, Don. And if they’re close, we’re going to have no trouble finding them.’

Don nodded his agreement. Thing is, George, he thought to himself, you don’t know how close.

‘When do we tell Stewart?’ he asked.

‘When I’m ready,’ George snarled, marching back towards his dogs and the Portakabin.

Don waited for another minute, then headed in the same direction. The German Shepherds snarled and spat, baring their teeth. They were up on their back legs, front legs off the ground and pawing at the air, willing their studded collars to break. Don ignored them and headed for the Bentley. He didn’t know whose car it was. There was some dust on the windows and a bit of mud on the tyres. Plus some of Raymond’s blood and brain matter on the right-side wing. A wipe would get rid of it. Or a hose, if you wanted to be really careful. But the inside of the car was clean, immaculate in fact. He considered his options. But if he kept it, it would be noted as missing, and the cops would assume Raymond’s killer had taken it. No, Gorgeous George was right, it had to be turned into scrap. Shame, though.

But Don had plenty of other problems. He knew he should be angry, but all he really felt was sorrow. There was no way out, that was the truth of it.

No happy ending.

Chapter Three. Gravy’s Story (2)

It took me a while to find her house. I don’t know that part of the city. Benjy’s car had one of those little map-readers, but I didn’t know how to work it. I can drive a car, though, not much different from dodgems. Benjy’s was an automatic. Those are the cars I can drive. So I drove to her address. The piece of paper was in the glove box. Why is it called that, a glove box? I tried it with my own gloves, but they wouldn’t fit without squashing them, and I didn’t want to do that. But I found the piece of paper and it had her name on it, plus her address. She was called Celine Watts. I stopped the car beside some kids on bikes and showed them her address. They shook their heads. Then I tried at a bus stop and a man pointed up the road. So then I got lost a few times but a woman on her way home from the shops told me exactly what to do. Right, and right again. I write with my right hand, that’s a good way to remember left from right.

Ten Merchant Crescent was a council house on a council estate. But there wasn’t too much graffiti and no supermarket trolleys or burned-out cars. It was quite nice, really. I parked the car by the kerb and had to work out how to use the hand brake. Then I walked up her path and pushed the bell. I didn’t hear any noise from inside, so I tried again. Then I knocked instead, and a voice called out from behind the door.

‘Who’s there?’ It was a woman’s voice.

‘I’m Gravy,’ I called back. ‘I’ve come about Benjy.’ See, the thing was, I needed to tell someone. I needed someone to know what I knew.

‘Who?’

‘Benjy. Your friend Benjy.’

‘I don’t have a friend called Benjy.’

I looked at the piece of paper. ‘It says Celine Watts.’

‘It’s pronounced Se-leen,’ she called out. Then the door opened an inch and I could see a bit of her face and one of her eyes. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Gravy. A pal of Benjy’s. Look.’ I held the paper up so she could read it. ‘It was in his car, and now he’s… he’s had a bit of an accident.’

She stared hard at the piece of paper, and then her eyes met mine. ‘Who sent you?’ she asked. She sounded scared.

‘Nobody sent me.’

‘Are you going to kill me?’

‘No.’ I think I sounded properly shocked.

‘You don’t look like you are.’

‘I’m not.’

‘But I don’t know anyone called Benjy.’

‘He had your name in his car.’ I pushed the piece of paper closer to her.

‘So I see.’ The door had opened another couple of inches. I could see more of her now. Her hair was brown and short. Her face was round and shiny. Her eyes were green. ‘So this friend of yours called Benjy, he had my name and address in his car?’

I nodded, and she looked over my shoulder.

‘Is that his car or yours?’ she asked.

‘His, I suppose.’

‘You suppose?’

‘Well, it’s not his usual car. His usual car is green, a bit like your eyes.’

She almost smiled. ‘And what’s happened to Benjy?’ The door was all the way open now.

‘He’s not very well.’

‘Who is he? What’s his last name?’

‘I don’t know his last name.’

‘Do you work with him?’

‘No.’ I paused while I had a think. ‘I don’t know where he works. But he must have a job because he always has money.’ Then I corrected myself. ‘Always had money, I mean.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying he’s dead?’

I sniffed and rubbed my nose. ‘I suppose so,’ I said. Celine Watts lifted the piece of paper from my fingers.

‘And you found this in his car?’

‘Yes.’

‘But it’s not the car he usually drives?’ She was looking over my shoulder again. ‘How did he die?’

‘I don’t know.’ I think she could see that I was lying. ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’