‘Ah, who de backside beat down me door!’ stormed a voice on the inside.
‘It’s Biscuit. Open de door nuh, man.’
Smiley opened the door, wearing only his football shorts and a not-this-time-of-morning expression on his face.
‘Look, right, I ain’t buying nutten. Dis is Sunday, man. You wanna observe de rarted Sabbath.’
‘Char! Shut your mout’ an’ let us in de yard. Serious business we come to discuss,’ announced Coffin Head.
Smiley, taken aback by Coffin Head’s temper and wondering if his two associates had had a recent visit from the police, stood aside and let Biscuit and an impatient Coffin Head pass inside. Reaching the lounge, the visitors recognised the expensive furniture and top-of-the-range Sony hi-fi system from a burglary they’d done two months back. The hardware was totally out of sync with the crudely painted blue walls, the home-made coffee table and ageing burgundy carpet.
‘If you ain’t selling den why are you beating down my gates,’ inquired Smiley.
‘Dose t’ings we sold you the uder day – we got to ’ave dem back,’ answered Biscuit.
‘What d’you mean ’ave dem back?’
‘We raided the wrong friggin’ yard! It turned out to be Nunchaks’ brudder’s woman yard.’
Smiley fell on the sofa in hysterics. ‘You two raided the wrong yard! What a palaver. Nunchaks mus’ ah been well happy.’
Biscuit and Coffin Head looked at one another, both thinking that a punch on Smiley’s jaw was not totally out of the question.
‘Dis might be a joke to you but I nearly get fling over a friggin’ balcony cos of dis,’ said a solemn Biscuit. ‘Where’s de t’ings, man? You ain’t sold dem on yet ’ave you?’
Smiley needed a few seconds to compose himself. In his mind, Biscuit was suddenly transported back to the top of the tower block and his confrontation with Nunchaks. Coffin Head shifted his feet uneasily, fearing Smiley’s reply.
‘No, not yet,’ he finally answered. ‘Lucky you, innit. Der still in my van. I ain’t had time to put dem in my lock-up yet.’
‘Thank fuck fe dat,’ sighed Biscuit. ‘Where’s de van?’
‘Behind the block. But before we go down, we affe chat ’bout de money side.’
‘Char,’ Coffin Head scoffed. ‘You paid us two hundred notes for de t’ings an’ we jus’ gi’ you de money back, innit.’
‘No, dat can’t work, man,’ Smiley argued. ‘You affe gi’ me a nex’ twenty notes for my inconvenience.’ He rubbed his fingers together, gesturing a little payback.
‘Inconvenience? Char! Wha’ inconvenience? Your backside weren’t on the job so fuck your inconvenience. I should inconvenience your fockin’ backside wid a drill to rarted,’ Coffin Head threatened.
‘I had to cancel some runnings I had to do dat T’ursday night. Like my sound was s’posed to be playing up Settlement in Peckham, but I had to reschedule.’
‘Reschedule which part!’ contested Coffin Head. ‘Since when your sound plays in Settlement? You’ve got barely got enough boxes to play in a t’ree room blues, let alone a hall like Settlement.’
‘Look, I ain’t arguing wid you. Gimme a nex’ twenty notes.’
‘Char! After all de favours we done you.’
‘Give ’im his twenty notes, Coff. You know how he’s grabilicious from time.’
‘Char!’
Coffin Head pulled up his trouser leg, rolled down his sock and took out a wad of notes bound with elastic bands. He carefully counted out £220 and begrudgingly handed it to Smiley, who checked the amount again.
‘It’s nice doing business wid you,’ grinned Smiley. ‘I’m gonna rinse off my BO, pull on one of my Cecil Gees, den I’ll drive de van ’round to your lock-up. You can follow me in your mash-up car.’
‘Fuck you! It gets me from A to B,’ Coffin Head argued. ‘Jus’ ’urry up, man.’
Twenty minutes later, Smiley was opening up the back of his van. ‘No damage,’ he proclaimed. ‘You can check everyt’ing. I even got one of my girl to polish an’ clean de goods de uder night. Bwai, you wanna see de legs she’s got; Dawn’s her name.’
Coffin Head, not entirely convinced by Smiley’s assurances, leaped into the back of the vehicle and cast a critical eye over the stolen goods. He noticed a small tear on the back of one of the armchairs, but remembered that was done while loading the van. He hoped Nunchaks wouldn’t see it. ‘Yeah, he’s right, man, everyt’ing looks alright.’
Keeping a keen eye out for any nosey-parkers, Biscuit caught sight of a moving net curtain. ‘Coff, ’urry up an’ close de shutters, man. Don’t trus’ de people in dis estate. Some of dem are squealers.’
‘Wha’ did you see?’ asked Smiley.
‘Someone’s watching us,’ replied Biscuit.
Coffin Head jumped down and hurriedly closed the shutters behind him. ‘Let’s remove from dis place, man. I’m parked up jus’ ’round de corner. Follow us, yeah. We’re going to Biscuit’s lock-up behind Cowley.’
‘Yeah, I ’ear you. Don’t boder drive off too fast cos dis van is a crawler – second gear don’t work.’
‘Seen.’
On their way to the car, Coffin Head and Biscuit walked past the teenagers they had seen earlier, who glared at the two as if they wanted trouble. They returned the challenge with cut eyes of their own before jumping into the Dolomite.
‘Better be careful, Coff,’ advised Biscuit. ‘Dey could be members of de Field crew.’
‘Char! If dey wanted to start somet’ing, dey would ’ave!’
Coffin Head U-turned and drove slowly out of the estate, waiting for Smiley to catch up with him. Biscuit, more concerned about the twitching net curtain than the ever watchful gang, silently urged him to speed up; he didn’t trust anybody from this place.
Turning right into Brixton Road, Coffin Head pulled out in front of a police car. Shit! Why didn’t I see de beast wagon? he cursed himself. ‘Char, beast. Let’s hope dey jus’ drive past.’
Biscuit slapped his palm on the dashboard in irritation and glanced over his shoulder to see if Smiley was immediately behind. He was. ‘Shit!’
‘I’ll slow down,’ Coffin Head said. ‘Hopefully, de beast will jus’ drive past.’
The patrol car accelerated ahead then veered across the road, forcing Coffin Head to brake sharply. Smiley, in the van behind, bottomed his brake pedal to stop himself from driving into the back of the Dolomite. The stolen cargo shifted forward and Smiley heard a faint crushing sound. He looked out through the windscreen and saw he had missed the back end of Coffin Head’s car by six inches. He then met Biscuit’s frantic gaze before looking ahead to the white and blue Allegro with two officers inside.
‘Ah wha de blouse an’ skirt!’ screamed Smiley. ‘You waan kill me?’
‘Oh my fucking days,’ cried Biscuit, shaking his head. ‘We’re fucking jinxed, man.’
Coffin Head looked down to the floor of the car and closed his eyes. ‘We’re fucked, totally fucked. An’ Smiley’s gonna go into one.’
A