Closer Than Blood. Paul Grzegorzek
my bag and into the pocket of my jeans, just in case. “Remember when I nicked Colin Murphy last year?”
“The paedophile? Yeah, vaguely.”
“Well, turns out he was targeting the school where Eddie’s little girl goes. He was there outside the school when I nicked Murphy, nearly had to nick him as well when he found out there was a nonce trying to pick up kids there. Anyway, now he figures he owes me, so I was hoping to call in the favour.”
“And what if you’re wrong?”
“Then we have a nice polite chat and walk away. Even I’m not stupid enough to go two against however many of the Bakers are nearby at the moment.”
We climbed out of the car to the sound of aggressive barking coming from the house, accompanied by the scrabbling of claws on wood. The sound cut off abruptly with a yelp.
Sticking carefully to the path, I made my way towards the door with Barry close behind. Before I could knock it was opened by a disgruntled-looking Eddie, huge arms folded across his chest, rippling muscle underneath full sleeve tattoos. He was about my age but looked ten years older, his fair hair receding and greying at the temples. He wore a white vest and grey jogging trousers, the latter looking like they hadn’t been washed in a month.
“You’re on my property,” he said bluntly as I stopped a safe distance away.
“Actually Eddie, it’s council property, but I’m not here to fight.”
“Why are you here then?”
“I thought we could have a chat.”
“About what?”
“About,” I paused and looked around ostentatiously, “something that probably shouldn’t be discussed out on the street.”
He eyed me up and down, then glanced back over his shoulder. Deeper in the house, I could just hear the sounds of something heavy being moved, along with a rapid scraping noise.
“Is this a bad time?” I asked, trying to look past him without being too obvious.
“Depends. You looking for one of my brothers?” He squared his shoulders.
“Christ no. It’s about one of your employers, actually.”
“I’m on the JSA, ain’t got an employer.”
“Come on, Eddie, this is me you’re talking to. How long have we known each other?”
“Years, but that don’t make us friends.”
“I never thought that it did. I prefer to think of us as opposite tradesmen, but there’s no reason there can’t be a bit of mutual respect, is there?”
“All clear, Eddie!” A young-sounding voice called from inside. Eddie shut his eyes and shook his head. I tried not to grin, knowing he’d take it the wrong way.
“You can come in,” he said, then nodded at Barry. “But the poof stays outside.”
I felt more than heard Barry stiffen. Brighton was famed for being laid back to the point of falling over, but on the outskirts, homophobia was alive and well and both the Barry’s went nuclear when it raised its ugly head.
“That poof,” I said, before Barry could react, “is a police officer, my colleague and my friend. Whatever you and your brothers might believe, Eddie, you can’t catch gay, and even if you could Barry wouldn’t give it to you. Now stop being a dick, and either let us in or fuck us off, but get on with it.”
Eddie grunted something unintelligible and gestured us inside. I glanced at Barry to make sure he was happy going in, and he gave me a reassuring nod.
The hallway smelled like a kennel, if the dogs in it smoked forty a day each. I almost gagged as we were led through into a tiny lounge, where three mismatched armchairs crowded around a coffee table completely hidden by ashtrays, beer cans and coffee mugs.
One of the other brothers, Greg, was sat in a chair, while his eldest son, a gangly kid of about sixteen, hovered by a suspiciously clean sideboard on the far side of the room.
“Officers.” Greg nodded, lighting another cigarette to add to the haze that already filled the air. “What can we do for you?”
“It’s Eddie we need, actually.”
Eddie stepped in, closed the door and sat in one of the chairs, neglecting to offer either of us the third one. A quick glance was enough to know I’d have to burn my trousers after sitting in it anyway.
“Anything you can say to me you can say in front of them.” He lit his own cigarette, his face almost lost in the smoke.
“Eric Simmonds.” I let the words float there for a moment with the smoke, watching their faces carefully. “He just tried to make a buy from someone, I want to know how they were introduced.”
Eddie shrugged and stood. “Don’t know no Simmonds. Sorry you wasted your time.”
“What happened to mutual respect?” I asked, squaring up so that Eddie would have to go through me to reach the door. “You’re lying to me, Eddie.”
The heat seemed to drain from the room as the big man looked up at me from beneath his eyebrows, chin lowered like a bull about to charge.
“You what?” The words were soft, laced with menace.
“You’re lying. I saw your face when I said his name, you know him. I also know that you’ve been seen at his office on at least three occasions, so don’t treat me like a mug.”
“You come into my house and call me a liar? I should put you through the fucking window!” He roared the last, bringing Greg out of his own chair to loom protectively behind his brother.
I pulled my pepper spray out and began playing with the catch, keeping my eyes locked on Eddie’s.
“I don’t think that would do either of us any favours, do you?”
“Get the fuck out!”
“Fine.” I shrugged. “Barry, we’re wasting our time, let’s go.”
I heard the door open behind me and Barry’s hand landed on my shoulder, guiding me backwards so I could stay facing the angry brothers as I left. Eddie edged forwards in time with me, keeping just out of reach as Barry pulled me down the hallway and through the front door. I reached out and closed it behind me, almost in Eddie’s face, then turned and hurried back to the car, ignoring the frown Barry was throwing at me.
“What the hell?” He demanded once we were in the car. I started it before he had his door fully closed, then spun it around and shot out of the close. I tore up the road about a hundred metres then swung it around again, parking up behind a van.
“Tactical goading.”
Barry’s frown deepened. “You what now?”
“Just trust me, OK?”
“You can be a real pain in the arse, you know that?” he asked, shaking his head.
“I know,” I grinned, counting out the seconds silently in my head. I had got to forty-seven when a battered Ford Focus pulled out of the close. I pointed towards it as it shot towards the town. “But I’m a pain in the arse who’s good at his job. Now, let’s go see where our good friend Eddie is off to in such a hurry, shall we?”
Simmonds’ office was in the basement of a seedy hotel on the seafront in Kemptown, the area of the city that started out full of trendy bars and shops and gradually bled into Whitehawk. It was about five minutes’ drive from Eddie’s house, but he made it in half that, ignoring red lights and give-way signs with equal abandon.
It was hard to keep up without