Daily Routine Orders 11
Laughing Boy One. That was the code name of the exercise. It was meticulously planned and beautifully executed, and now it’s time for debriefing. In a well-regulated army, every operation is followed by a thorough debriefing. A sort of inquest, if you’ll pardon the grisly joke. So.
First, my intelligence work. The success of a given operation always depends on sound intelligence, and mine was a model of soundness. By golly it was. What I did was, I learned their names. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Elementary, but in fact it was absolutely crucial. I couldn’t possibly have done what I did without it.
What did you do? I hear you ask. Well, it was simple. The best tactics are often the simplest. I dogged their footsteps till they separated. You remember I said a target must be alone? Well today, one of my laughing boys – Ginger – took the tube from Camden. At first I thought they were both going, but they parted at the station. The other scruff – Link, he calls himself, though Stink would be nearer the mark – started begging along the High Street. I went away for a while – the target obviously wouldn’t be back for an hour or two at least – and then I came back and hung around, looking in shop windows and buying the occasional cup of char. This Link feller was still at it up and down the street and I kept well out of his way – I didn’t want him noticing me.
It turned out to be a long wait, and it could all have been for nothing because Link just wouldn’t bugger off. It started to get dark and I kept expecting him to leave, but he didn’t. Eventually he sat down in a doorway opposite the station and I thought, terrific. Thanks a lot, you idle, useless prat. It was obvious he was waiting for his mate. I nearly gave up, but it’s a good job I didn’t because the pillock fell asleep, and not long after that I spotted my target coming out of the station. It was time for the master plan.
I’m wearing my woolly-headed do-gooder rig. I run across the road and grab him by the arm, looking anxious. ‘Excuse me,’ I gabble. ‘Are you Ginger, by any chance?’
‘Who’s asking?’ he says. He can see I’m in a state but he’s cagey just the same. I shake my head.
‘Never mind,’ I tell him. ‘You’re Link’s mate, aren’t you?’
He frowns. ‘What’s all this about? Is something wrong?’
I nod, pulling at his sleeve. ‘It’s Link,’ I gasp. ‘An accident. He ran right out in front of me. I never had a chance.’
He gawps at me. ‘He – you mean you knocked him down? Is he dead?’ It’s his turn to grab my sleeve. ‘Have you killed my mate, you bastard?’
‘No, no.’ I shake my head, pulling at him. ‘Not dead. Not when I left. Badly hurt, though. Asking for you.’
‘Where? Where is he? Is he in hospital or what?’
‘No, my place. He’s at my place. It happened right outside.’
‘He’s badly hurt and you’ve got him at your place?’ He stares at me, wild-eyed. ‘Why didn’t you call an ambulance, you stupid git? He could be dying, for all you know. You better take me to him.’
I was magnificent though I say it myself. Here was a hard, streetwise kid, cagey as they come, and he followed me home like a three-year-old. And of course everything was set when we got there. I’d rigged up the settee so it looked like somebody was lying on it under a blanket. I’d even squeezed the blood from half a pound of pig’s liver on to the blanket and he fell for it, hook, line and sinker. He ran straight to the settee, yelling at me to call an ambulance, and I nailed him when he went to lift the blanket.
That was Laughing Boy One. A brilliant operation, but I didn’t hang about congratulating myself. I tidied up a bit, then it was time to launch Laughing Boy Two. I’d planned to use the same trick in reverse, but when I got to the High Street Link the Stink had gone. I mooched about a bit but there was no sign of him.
Still, never mind, eh? There’s always tomorrow. Unless you’re Ginger, I mean.
Next day was a Friday, and I spent it looking for Ginger. I tapped a bit as well – had to, or I’d have starved – but all the time I was looking for him and he didn’t show. It’s happened, I told myself. He’s gone back to his real mates, like you always knew he might. I kept hoping though, deep down, and when you’re missing someone you keep seeing them. There was this woman – Mrs Chambers – lived next door when I was a kid. When she was about fifty her husband died, and for ages afterwards she kept seeing him on the street or in the supermarket. She’d jump off the bus or abandon her trolley and go chasing after him, and of course it was always somebody else. And that’s what it was like for me that Friday. I’d catch a glimpse of somebody across the road or through a shop window – somebody just like Ginger – and when I got close I’d find myself gawping at a stranger. It happened half a dozen times.
Around dusk it started to rain so I went and sat in a doorway on Pratt Street, watching people go in and out of a posh chippy opposite. Normally the smell of the food would have driven me out of my tree, but I guess I was half out of it already. A little voice kept going Ginger, Ginger, like that. It was doing my head in. I thought, what if he’s lying in hospital somewhere, unconscious, and nobody knows who he is? He might have walked past the end of this street a minute ago, looking for me. Or maybe he’s lost his memory.
In the end, for something to do I got up and trailed along to the station. There was a guy just inside, selling the paper. He was there a lot and I knew him by sight. I walked past him a couple of times, then went up to him. ‘Were you here last night?’ I asked.
‘Yeah.’ He looked at me. ‘Why?’
‘I – I’m looking for someone. My mate. We were supposed to meet here last night. I wondered if you’d seen him.’
He shrugged. ‘I seen a lot of people last night. Hundreds. What’s he look like, this mate of yours?’
‘Tallish. Red hair. Bit older than me. Carries a green pack. Ginger, they call him.’
‘Hmm.’ He nodded. ‘I might have seen him. There was a guy like that last night. I remember ’cause he was talking to this old feller. Shouting. Something about hospital. They went off together.’
‘Which way’d they go?’
‘I dunno, do I? Wasn’t taking much notice. It might not have been him, anyway.’
‘No.’ I hesitated. ‘Look – will you do me a favour?’
‘Depends.’
‘If you see him again, will you tell him Link’s been asking after him?’
‘Link?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He mentioned Link. The old guy. Link’s had an accident. Something like that.’
‘But – I’m Link. I haven’t had an accident. Are you sure that’s what he said?’
‘Think so, yeah. The other guy acted sort of frantic – pulling him along, shouting.’
‘And you didn’t notice which way they went?’
‘No, mate. Sorry.’
I hardly slept at all. Thoughts whirled round and round inside my skull and I was hungry as hell. There were loads of parked cars on Pratt Street and people kept coming past, chatting and laughing, banging doors and revving up. I was glad when it started to come light.
I had a coffee in an all-night joint and waited till it was time to go along to the market. I kidded myself I was going for a wash and so on, but really I was hoping he’d be there.
He wasn’t, but looking down from the walkway outside the toilets I spotted the girl Ginger had talked to in the caff. She seemed to be by herself this time. I pelted along the walkway and down the steps and found her looking at hats. I touched her sleeve.
‘Hi.’
She returned my hi, but I could tell she didn’t remember me.
‘Link,’ I reminded. ‘I was with Ginger.’
‘Oh, yeah. Where is he?’
‘I was hoping you’d tell me.’
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen him since Thursday.’
‘Me neither. Was it you he was meeting – in Holborn?’
She nodded. ‘Me, Tim and Ricky – the guys you saw before. We meet at the Macklin Street Centre sometimes. Didn’t he come back here?’
‘I dunno.’ I told her what the guy in the station had said. She shook her head. ‘Ginger doesn’t know anyone here ’cept Captain Hook.’ She frowned. ‘Accident? Hospital? Are you sure the guy wasn’t winding you up?’
‘Pretty sure.’
She pulled a face. ‘Weird-o.’
I looked at her. ‘I’m worried, er – I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?’
‘Toya.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Well, it’s not really, but it’s what I like to be called.’
‘I’m worried, Toya. I’ve looked all over. I don’t know what to do.’
She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing you can do, Link. Guys like Ginger come and go, y’know? Move on. Maybe he found work.’
‘Hmm.’ I looked down, hacking at a muddy banana skin with the toe of my trainer. ‘If you see him, will you tell him I’ve been looking for him?’
She nodded. ‘Sure, if I see him, only don’t hang by your feet, okay?’
‘Thanks.’ I had enough dosh for two coffees and meant to offer her one, but she moved off without saying goodbye and I thought, that’s the secret. Don’t let anybody close. Don’t depend on anyone, ’cause they’ll only let you down. I turned away. From now on, I told myself, I’ll worry about me. Just me. It was a resolution I was to keep for about four minutes.
I went in the caff. The same one as before. I was trying not to look for Ginger, but looking anyway. There was one empty table. I got a coffee and sat down.
The New Me. That’s what I was thinking. I don’t need anyone. Solo and coping, right? Right.
I nursed the coffee. It was warm in here and raw outside so it paid to stay put. I was halfway down the mug when she walked in.
She was dossing, I could see that, but she was the best-looking dosser I’d ever seen. I noticed her hair first. Chestnut, spilling from under her green knitted cap like fire. Her eyes were terrific too – dark and wide and shining like she’d just had twelve hours’ kip. She had on a battered waxed jacket, torn muddy jeans and broken-down trainers, but she soared above her scruffiness – her looks and bearing sort of cancelled it out.
She didn’t look at anybody as she crossed the caff, but everybody looked at her. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She got a Coke and turned, looking for somewhere to sit. Her eyes – those fantastic eyes – met mine for a second and I smiled. No chance, I told myself. Scruffy little git like you.
I was wrong. She came over. Every eye in the place followed her. She nodded at one of the three empty chairs. ‘Anyone sitting here?’ She sounded Scottish. I shook my head.
‘Mind if I join you, then?’ I nodded, saying nothing. Being the New Me. She unslung her pack, dropped it next to mine and sat down. I lifted my mug and sipped tepid coffee, gazing out the window. I was acting so cool it was unbelievable but that’s all it was – acting. In the real world the blood was pounding in my ears and it was as much as I could do to keep from goggling at that fantastic face.
She inserted a straw in her Coke and sucked. When I risked a glance at her she dropped her eyes. I sipped more coffee, sensing her eyes on my face. I mean I could actually feel them, like lasers. After a bit she said, ‘Have you been long in London?’ Without looking at her I nodded.
‘How long?’
‘Year, year and a half,’ I lied. Well – in five minutes she’d get up and walk away and we’d never meet again.
‘That right?’ She sounded suitably impressed. ‘You’ll know your way around, then?’
I shrugged. ‘Some.’ Man of few words.
‘What d’they call you?’
‘Link.’
‘Link?’ She sucked up Coke. ‘What’s that short for?’
‘It’s short for I have another name but prefer to be known by this one.’
‘Sorry.’ She looked sorry. ‘I’m Gail.’
‘Hi, Gail. Just landed, right?’
‘Right.’
‘From? Don’t tell me if you don’t want.’
‘Glasgow.’
‘Ah-ha. Heavy scene?’
‘Aye. Stepfather.’
‘Ah – say no more.’
She looked at me. ‘You too?’
‘Uh-huh.’ The New Me. The guy who doesn’t let anybody get close and here I am, spilling my guts to the first stranger I meet because she’s got nice hair and laser eyes. I drained my mug and pushed back my chair. ‘I’ve gotta go.’
‘Why?’ She looked crestfallen. I shrugged.
‘Things to do.’ I stood up. This was costing me, but I wasn’t going to wind up watching trains for her to come back.
‘Don’t go.’ So simple. So direct. Something hot and heavy stirred in my chest. I hesitated, dangling my pack, looking down at her. ‘What d’you want, Gail?’
Her eyes held mine. ‘I’m scared, Link,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t know what to do – how to live on the street.’
‘You learn, Gail. That’s all.’ Oh yeah? sneered a voice inside my head. What about your dependence on Ginger, then – that urge to cling? It came to me that this was the first time I’d thought of Ginger since she walked in, and that was powerful medicine. Maybe we needed each other. I dropped my pack and sat down.