Читать книгу The Young Gangsters - E.J.P Murphy - Страница 8

BILLY DAY PUT DOWN THE LOCAL PAPER HE HAD BEEN READING AND GLANCED ACROSS AT HIS SON JIMMY.

“I suppose you were involved in the big fight down the Cross Monday then, you and your cronies. Looks like a lot of damage done. One poor kid lost his hand.” He looked at Jimmy again. “Who would do a thing like that I wonder?”

Jimmy stood up and looked across at his dad. He said quietly, “My fucking heart’s bleeding for ‘em. That poor kid, as you say, did over an old bloke in his eighties. Six of them kicked the fuck out of him.” Jimmy glared at his dad. “And did you know that the old bloke, Mr Lyons is now in hospital fighting for his fucking life? So don’t you bleeding tell me, you bastard, what’s wrong and what’s right. You don’t have any idea what goes on out there on them bloody streets day or night,” Jimmy said to him now fuming.

He turned his back on his dad and walked over to the window. He looked up and saw the sun breaking through the clouds again. It was still quite warm. He looked at his watch, it was just after 6pm. He looked down at his young brother Mark who was writing something in his school book.

“I’ll never get you involved in my business, bruv, I promise you that,” he said to himself. “Hey Mark, fancy a movie tonight? Come on, I’ll treat you, fish and chips after, what do you say?”

“Cor!” Mark looked up at him, then across to his dad. “Can I go Dad, please?”

“Yeah, course you can. Have a good time.” He looked across at Jimmy as if to say something, but changed his mind.

Jimmy, no matter how much he hated his dad, never ever said anything about it to his young brother. He would always keep it like that until he was ready to do otherwise.

“What’s on, Jimmy, anything good then?”

His big brother looked down at him again and said “Don’t know, bruv, gimme the local up here and I’ll have a look.”

Mark got up, put his school books away, walked over to his dad’s chair and picked up the local paper. He looked at the front page as he handed it over to his brother.

“Blimey, see this Jimmy,” he said pointing to the front page.

It read, “Gang war on streets of Kings Cross. Young Asian boy loses his hand in racist attack”.

“I’m not interested,” he said to Mark and turned the pages over until he came to the entertainment section.

“What is it, Thursday, ain’t it? Let’s see.” His eyes travelled down the page until he spotted what he wanted.

“Here we are at Holloway, you’ve got Batman starring George Clooney. That won’t be much cop, he’s a crappy actor … and let’s see…” his finger went lower down the page. He stopped “What about this then … Kim Basinger in LA Confidential?”

“Yeah,” his brother said, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Wouldn’t mind giving her one, Jimmy, know what I mean?”

Jimmy laughed at his young brother. “Yeah, wouldn’t we all” he said. “On the way down, I’ll see if Bertie and Dave want to come with us, OK?”

“Yeah, OK, Jimmy, I’ll go and get ready.”

Jimmy watched his brother go into his bedroom, then looked across at his dad, who, as usual, had fallen asleep.

“On the piss again. One day, mate, one day …,” he murmered to himself, looking scornfully at his old man.

He walked past his dad, opened the doors to the small balcony and stepped out on to it.

Jimmy lent over the small railing and looked down at the ground 18 floors below.

He looked at his watch; it was just after 6.30pm. The movie didn’t start until 7.30pm so he had time to nip round for his mates. Except for Paul, Micky and the others were going to see Arsenal play. Jimmy wasn’t into football, there were better things to do.

“Ready, Jimmy.” The voice startled him. He straightened up off the rails and walked back into the living room.

“OK, Mark, let’s go.”

He didn’t even look at his dad as he and his brother walked out of the flat.

They were all sat in the back row of the cinema, feet dangling over the seats in front. Bert was stuffing his face with popcorn and every other thing he could get in there. Dave was fast asleep, snoring his head off. Jimmy kept giving him a dig.

“How can he fall asleep when Kim Basinger’s half naked on the screen bloody beats me, Dave,” he managed to say between mouthfuls of popcorn.

“He’s bloody nuts,” piped up Mark looking at his brother.

“Shush, listen to the bloody film,” Jimmy said to them, “let him bloody sleep.”

“Jimmy, Jimmy,” a voice came out of the darkness away to Dave’s left.

“Who the fuck’s that?” Jimmy said, trying to see in the darkened cinema.

It’s me, Jimmy, Morris, you know, Morris Wright from the flats.”

“What do you want? Can’t you see we’re watching the bloody movie?”

“I know, I know, but it’s very important, might be of some interest to you, know what I mean?”

By this time, Morris had worked his way up to the seat in front of Jimmy.

“Can’t it bloody wait, mate? Every time I get into this film, someone interrupts.”

“Sorry, Jimmy,” Morris said.

“That’s all right. Now what’s so important to stop me watching Kim getting screwed, it’d better be bloody good.”

“Well, you know my old man works down the Caledonian Road in that warehouse?”

“Yeah, yeah, get on with it,” Jimmy said, looking daggers at him. “So what’s fucking urgent about that.”

Morris went on, “Well, the other night he was talking to his mate who works with him and I heard my old man’s mate tell him about the money they leave in there on Friday nights.

“Oh yeah?” Jimmy said. “I can see them leaving bloody money in there over the weekend, in a bloody meathouse, yeah, pull the other one.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Morris said. “The reason the money’s in there, Jimmy, is because the owner is a bloody Greek and he’s on the fiddle ain’t, he?”

Jimmy looked at Morris. “What you mean, on the fiddle? What’s being a Greek got to do with it?” Jimmy looked at him waiting for an answer. “Well?”

“Most of the Greeks and Cypriots own fish and chip shops or food stores,” Morris said, “even though they’re the worst fish and chip fryers in the world.”

“Bloody get on with it, Morris,” Jimmy said, losing his patience.

“Sorry, Jimmy. Anyway, most of the money they take they ship back to the old country, don’t they? You know, no money, no tax, know what I mean, Jimmy?”

“So you’re saying that these Greeks, to avoid tax or whatever, take money out of the country illegally … is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Morris beamed at him.

“On a Friday night, some of them take their money over to my dad’s place of work, and the owner, Stavros, ships it out for them. He doesn’t know Dad knows anything about the money by the way.”

“When does the money go then?” Bertie said leaning over the seat, “and why are you telling us,” Jimmy said, reading Bertie’s thoughts.

“I thought you might be interested,” Morris said.

“And what’s in it for you … and how much money are we talking about in the warehouse?” Jimmy asked.

“Just a nice earner for me, say about £500 – and to answer your next question, I should think about £20,000 in there.”

“Fucking hell,” Bertie said, “big time, we’re not in to that much yet, are we, Jimmy?”

Jimmy looked at Bertie. “There’s always a first time, mate.”

“OK, Morris, I want to know everything about that bloody warehouse – how to get in, who’s on guard, where the money’s stashed, etc, etc. You with me?”

“Yeah, Jimmy, I’ve got it all for you. Here…” He reached inside the pocket of his coat and took out a folded sheet of paper. “It’s all down there, everything you want to know.”

“I’ll look at this tonight when I get home. I’ll let you know during the week. They do this run every week I hope.” Jimmy said.

“No, it’s done every fortnight on a Saturday morning very early.”

Jimmy looked at him. “And it’s due this week then,” he said.

“No, next week, it will give you time to plan it, if you want to do it.”

Jimmy leaned back and looked down the row at his young brother. He was too interested in the film to hear what they were saying.

“OK, Morris, we’ll think about it. Come up to my flat Monday night. Me and the boys will have a meet, see what the score is. All right?”

Morris got up and shook hands with Jimmy and Bert. “See you Monday then, about 9. I’ll ring you first.” He got up and walked out of the cinema.

Bertie turned to Jimmy when he had gone and said, “Bit out of our league, mate, don’t you think?”

“Maybe not, maybe not …” he replied. “We’ll see, mate, let me think on it. Now enjoy the rest of the film.”