"The police have no clue as to the identity of the driver of a car which fatally injured Charles Newcombe, 30, of Grassmere Court, Newbury, when he was walking home from a party in the early hours of Thursday morning. They believe there may be a connection with a similar incident four weeks ago involving James Cockburn, 26, of Davenport Road, Newbury. Both were members of rival groups in the Seventies and police do not discount the possibility that long-standing grudges between the two may have been exacerbated. Their enquiries are continuing. Residents of the Newlands estate, where both the early morning dramas have occurred, are horrified at two deaths within a month in this normally quiet area. Fred Cockburn, father of James, told us that he couldn't understand why anyone would want to kill his son. 'He'd given up all that gang stuff years ago. I'm sure it was just one of those accidents that happen, but I would like to get my hands on the devil that can just drive away afterwards.' said Mr. Cockburn. Mr John Jones of 32 Rowdon Avenue saw a large, dark car driving away hurriedly on Wednesday morning without lights. Speculation about this bizarre incident is rife amongst his neighbours and a petition is being drawn up to improve street lighting on the estate. Said Mr Jones: 'It's bad enough trying to miss all the cars parked without lights at night - never mind driving without lights as well. With idiots like that around you don't stand a chance even crossing the road at night.' "Mr & Mrs Newcombe, parents of Charles, were not available for comment. Relatives said they were abroad."
"Two." he mused. "That doesn't make sense. Surely they're not going to run down every young guy that looks vaguely like Chris until they get the right one. Who's to say he's still around there anyway? Or is he reading this article, too, wondering what the hell's going on?" Tyler didn't like unanswered questions. He looked through an old diary and ran a large finger down the list of names. Memories filtered through his mind as the events of a few years back flashed into the present. The picture froze as his finger stopped at one name. Bob. . Tyler picked up the phone and carried it over to the table, placing it awkwardly between breakfast plates and a couple of videos he had to return to the shop that morning. The once familiar burr of a States telephone. "Hello."
Tyler said nothing.
"Hello", the voice repeated, impatiently yet with a hint of cheeriness. He put the receiver down gently. The voice was Bob's.
"Still there," he thought. "Boy, that's got to be a record." He looked at his watch. "10am in England; that means about one in the morning over there." he thought. "I'll give him another hour's sleep," he said to himself. He grabbed the videos and went out. Pausing for a moment at his car he decided to walk the half-mile or so to the shops. Sally was getting good money each week but Tyler had to try and make what little he had left last.
"Any good?" asked the seventeen-year-old behind the counter as she checked the tapes. "Bet you freeze-framed this one a few times!" she laughed, running her finger down the spine of one of the cases. An attractive girl, particularly in the white blouse and jeans she often wore. Her blouse was unbuttoned just that bit too far for respectability, though, and Tyler could easily make out a delightful young breast as the untanned skin curved down and out, pressing against the white cotton. The cheap, pearl-coloured bangle on her wrist clattered against the counter then, as she noticed his gaze, she drew her hand up to her neck and inside the top of her blouse to stroke the bone that ran from the bottom of her neck towards her shoulder, as if adjusting a non-existent bra-strap.
"Sure," replied Tyler, "and you would have had a job getting that bangle over it at one point!" he joked. Giggling, the girl turned to search for his membership card and Tyler's gaze dropped to admire the way her thin jeans held the cheeks of her bottom up and slightly apart, trying to make out any sign of underwear. He couldn't and she knew he couldn't. "You know, a body like yours is wasted on that spotty boyfriend of yours." he remarked.
"Dave's OK." she replied. "Why? D'you reckon I'd be better with someone with a bit more experience...?" She had found his card and playfully bit the corner as she brought it back to him, flashing her large brown eyes up and down Tyler's front. For an instant, he felt as if he had been stripped naked by the gesture and the thirty-plus years between them seemed to vanish.
"Maybe when you're a bit older, darling." he said, but he acknowledged that she had won that round. "And don't believe all you see in the pictures - in my day we didn't have any of this recorded muck - we got it live in the back row - half those guys are queer anyway..." He was running out of ammunition. He left before she could tease him any more. Perhaps if he hadn't already got two daughters older than her he might have acted differently but he still hadn't totally got used to the openness and sheer sexiness of some of the youngsters around. He couldn't have touched her and she knew it. Young girls felt safe with John Tyler. He quite disappointed himself sometimes but had also learned to appreciate the homely comforts and decent cooking that Sally provided. He hated to admit it but he was, as they used to say, 'past it'. Strolling back to his house his thoughts returned to the call he was going to make. He seldom planned anything in detail - just built up a particular emotion and let it explode onto the scene then saw what happened. The veiled threats of a few hours earlier had had little long-term effect other than to enhance his curiosity.
This time Violet Lindon answered the phone. "Hello. This is Mr Lindon's office. Can I help you?" she said, very precisely.
"Oh Jesus!" thought Tyler, "Vi's pissed as usual." Violet was a bony little woman with thin reddish-brown hair, often piled up on her head like the leaning tower of Pisa. Tyler could imagine her standing by the phone in that old red silk Chinese lantern of a nightdress she would wear until about two in the afternoon. She would have been on the bourbon since five thirty the day before but still managed to handle the most difficult calls and to remember a name immediately. "Hi there, Vi," said Tyler, "where's that husband of yours?"
"Oh John, dear," she crooned, "How nice to hear you. But don't you know it's two a.m. in the morning over here and Bob really needs his sleep. He works so hard you know, John. It's all coming together at last and we sure do appreciate all the help you and Christopher gave to the project in...."
"Yes, Vi," interrupted Tyler, as politely as he could manage. "True to form - the old bat never changes," he thought. "Chris asked me to call, Vi, and I've got an important message for Bob. I think he'll want to know before he goes out tomorrow." He had taken a chance that Bob might rise to the bait. It worked.
"Well dear, I'll do what I can," said Violet, "just you hold on a moment and I'll wake Bob. Would you like him to call you?"
"Yes," thought Tyler, realising the cost of the call, particularly at peak time, but "No" he replied, "I'll wait.", knowing that Bob might well not call back and, instead, might make a few checks and discover something to make him move. Tyler had no idea why he might move but it was rare enough to get hold of the fellow and he didn't want to lose him before he had learned a bit more.
"Well you just wait, John", said Violet, then adding, "Isn't it marvellous news about Christopher? Bob and I got a call yesterday from London and we were both so delighted. Bob had always told him that he would take care of all that tiddle-de-do in your English Courts and I just know that he'll have some good news for Christopher. I liked it so much in England but you know I can't stand the cold, John. It makes me so tired and Bob wouldn't be able to manage without me at my best now, would he. His work is so...."
"Vi...! Look, this is costing me a fortune..."
"Oh dear, John. I'm so sorry. Right away I'll get him to the phone."
Tyler breathed a sigh of relief. Once she started there was no stopping her. How on earth Bob had stood her for this long he couldn't understand.
"Hi there, Smiley!" The cheery rasp of Bob Lindon's voice was loud and clear. Tyler could have predicted those three words.
"Bob!" shouted Tyler, as if the distance between them required him to speak louder. "Sorry to get you out of bed."
"Did you call earlier - about one hour ago?"
"Yes...."
"I said to Violet: 'That's John calling from England, you see if I'm not right.' That's crazy isn't it, John? Crazy... but great to hear your voice. You know it's...ah...two o'clock over here in downtown Santeno and all the good people are tucked up. All the bad people are fucked up!" Bob laughed. "Hey, what's new in your world, John? Violet says you got something going on. You thought this crazy son-of-a-bitch was mad. Well, you ain't seen nothin' yet. This world's a foul place for the likes of you an' me, John. I've been out of pocket for a while. Some folk from your Revenue Department were after my balls but what you ain't got you can't lose!" He carried on laughing. "Oh shit!" he remarked, joyfully, at his own humour. "What can I do for you?" Finally, Tyler got a word in.
"Bob. Thought I'd call to see how things were with you," he started, weakly. "Now that Chris is free he wanted to try and patch things up with you and try and bring some good out of all the problems."
"Fine. You just tell him to get his ass over here and Violet and me can find him a bed in this delightful littl' ol' pad of ours here. How's that little lady of yours? Sally, isn't it?"
"She's OK, Bob.", then returning to the subject; "I don't know if he can get over to the States - can you get here?"
"I'd love to see you all again - you know that, John," said Bob, "but a little bird tells me that I might still have a problem with your Revenue Department. You listen to me, John. All that shit we've been through for this programme. I've been blacked. I've been jailed. I've been livin' off a dime and no asshole's going to put me through that again. Everyone wants to get paid. 'Where's my commission?!' I'm telling you, John, I'm through with it. If anyone wants to know how to do these programmes they'd better put their money on the table. I'm not going to take any more of this shit. You tell Chris to get his ass on a plane and stop whining. I don't lie, John. Those shits in the banks - they lie - they steal - d'you hear that - steal their depositors' money. Every day, every night, every week, every goddam month. Day, night, day, night! You all think I can do these things yesterday! I don't know when the job will get done. I don't know if it's this Tuesday, next Tuesday or two years Tuesday. I'm not playing games or putting my ass on the line for anyone. Not you, not Chris, not Brian, not George, not Michaelis. I've got the paper, John. I've done it. Did you hear that? I - have - done - it!! You don't believe it, huh? You bet your sweet ass you don't. I have over twenty million dollars in transfer today, t-o-d-a-y, and no-one will get to it until I am ready and..."
"Bloody hell, Bob!" shouted Tyler. It was vintage Bob, slowly working himself into a frenzy as his voice rose higher and higher. "All I wanted..."
"John, you're a beautiful guy. You and Chris. You're both beautiful...I just shout at the world. What d'you expect at 2 am in the morning? Shit! You'd think I really was a crazy Jew if I didn't yell at you, wouldn't you?"
"OK, Bob. OK. Take it easy or you'll burst a blood vessel. I'll try and get Chris to call. He's 'out of pocket', as you would say, at the moment.
"John. I've got about twenty dollars to last the year out! If you can send me a ticket from one of those agencies you've got over there I can tie up with Chris anywhere. Zurich's best but put it into your computer and call me back."
Tyler put the phone down and rubbed his left ear. It had been a while since the days when that sort of conversation had been an everyday occurrence and, even now, he felt totally confused. "The man's mad." was all he could say, shaking his head and wondering how he could get hold of Chris.
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