disappeared into the change room, slamming the door.
Chapter 8
----
T ubs lived in Hackney with his mother. She must have been at least eighty, I hadn’t seen her for years, but when Allen gave me the all-clear to chase up any possible connection between Sebastian’s K & R and the dogs, that’s where I went, to Hackney. When I knocked on the terrace door there was movement inside and then silence. I knocked again, harder this time.
‘Mrs Laszlo?’ Nothing. ‘Mrs Laszlo, it’s Ian Collier, I’m looking for Tubs.’
There was a sound of creeping boards, then more silence. I raised my hand to knock again but before I could a frail voice said, ‘Who is it?’
She made me shout my mother’s name twice and even then the door only opened a crack. Slight, and wrinkled like a prune, she examined me carefully over the chain.
‘Mrs Laszlo, I’m looking for Tubs.’ She pursed her lips. ‘It’s quite important.'
She seemed to think about it. At last she nodded. ‘You’re the Collier boy, Ian.'
When I smiled she didn’t respond. ‘Mrs Laszlo—’
‘You went away,’ she said.
‘Look, is Tubs around? Is there any way I can get hold of him?’ Her face was expressionless, I wasn’t sure how much of this was getting through to her. ‘I phoned, no-one answered.'
‘Phoned who?’
‘Tubs.’
‘My Toby’s not here.’
She began to close the door but I set my knee against it and she stopped pushing. She didn’t seem frightened or even surprised. I gave it one last shot.
‘Here’s my card. Could you give it to him as soon as he gets in?’
She studied the card closely but didn’t take it. Finally she looked up at me. ‘You did go away, Sally told me.’
Sally was my mother. Mrs Laszlo was raving, but it gave me a cold jolt. I took my knee off the door, giving up, and as soon as I’d done that, her expression changed.
‘He’s at the Gallon,’ she said, and immediately the door banged shut.
Like Tubs’s house, the Gallon Club was a place I hadn’t been to in years. A lot of the shops had changed at street level, the old tailor had gone and there was a kebab house where the butcher’s used to be, but just along from there the green doorway to the Gallon hadn’t changed a bit. The brass plaque was still fixed to the left of the door too, and when I stepped in and started down the stairs the same smells wafted up from below. Cigars and beer and polish. I could have been ten years old again, following my old man down into the club for the first time.
At the foot of the stairs the room opened out to the right; there was a bar along the far wall. The barman was talking to a customer; he glanced over, took me in and kept talking. Around the tables there were a few more men, no women, and on a ledge up behind the barman a TV The TV was about the only change in the whole place, it used to be a radio up there. On the TV a pundit was giving his opinion on the lead-up races to the Cheltenham Gold Cup but no-one was watching.
Tubs was at one of the tables by the wall, his back turned to me, gassing to a fellow I didn’t recognize. I went over.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, craning round. ‘You know you look just like a bloke used to be a member here. Name of Ian Collier.’ He was surprised to see me, but pleased too, I think. He introduced me to his friend and pulled out a chair.
‘Tubs,’ I said, ‘can we have a word?’
He looked curious now. ‘Sure.’ He pulled a roll of tenners from his pocket, counted off seven and dropped them on the table. His friend scooped them up and left. I sat down, keeping my voice low. ‘The other night, you remember, that guy, Sebastian’s runner?'
Tubs nodded. ‘Pike.’
‘Eddie Pike. He’s dead.’ I waited for some reaction but Tubs just sat there. ‘He was in Sebastian’s house when it burned down. He burnt to death.’
Tubs’s gaze wandered to the bar. ‘You feel like a drink?'
‘The guy’s dead.'
He faced me again. "The cops’ve been out
Chapter 8
----
T ubs lived in Hackney with his mother. She must have been at least eighty, I hadn’t seen her for years, but when Allen gave me the all-clear to chase up any possible connection between Sebastian’s K & R and the dogs, that’s where I went, to Hackney. When I knocked on the terrace door there was movement inside and then silence. I knocked again, harder this time.
‘Mrs Laszlo?’ Nothing. ‘Mrs Laszlo, it’s Ian Collier, I’m looking for Tubs.’
There was a sound of creeping boards, then more silence. I raised my hand to knock again but before I could a frail voice said, ‘Who is it?’
She made me shout my mother’s name twice and even then the door only opened a crack. Slight, and wrinkled like a prune, she examined me carefully over the chain.
‘Mrs Laszlo, I’m looking for Tubs.’ She pursed her lips. ‘It’s quite important.'
She seemed to think about it. At last she nodded. ‘You’re the Collier boy, Ian.'
When I smiled she didn’t respond. ‘Mrs Laszlo—’
‘You went away,’ she said.
‘Look, is Tubs around? Is there any way I can get hold of him?’ Her face was expressionless, I wasn’t sure how much of this was getting through to her. ‘I phoned, no-one answered.'
‘Phoned who?’
‘Tubs.’
‘My Toby’s not here.’
She began to close the door but I set my knee against it and she stopped pushing. She didn’t seem frightened or even surprised. I gave it one last shot.
‘Here’s my card. Could you give it to him as soon as he gets in?’
She studied the card closely but didn’t take it. Finally she looked up at me. ‘You did go away, Sally told me.’
Sally was my mother. Mrs Laszlo was raving, but it gave me a cold jolt. I took my knee off the door, giving up, and as soon as I’d done that, her expression changed.
‘He’s at the Gallon,’ she said, and immediately the door banged shut.
Like Tubs’s house, the Gallon Club was a place I hadn’t been to in years. A lot of the shops had changed at street level, the old tailor had gone and there was a kebab house where the butcher’s used to be, but just along from there the green doorway to the Gallon hadn’t changed a bit. The brass plaque was still fixed to the left of the door too, and when I stepped in and started down the stairs the same smells wafted up from below. Cigars and beer and polish. I could have been ten years old again, following my old man down into the club for the first time.
At the foot of the stairs the room opened out to the right; there was a bar along the far wall. The barman was talking to a customer; he glanced over, took me in and kept talking. Around the tables there were a few more men, no women, and on a ledge up behind the barman a TV The TV was about the only change in the whole place, it used to be a radio up there. On the TV a pundit was giving his opinion on the lead-up races to the Cheltenham Gold Cup but no-one was watching.
Tubs was at one of the tables by the wall, his back turned to me, gassing to a fellow I didn’t recognize. I went over.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, craning round. ‘You know you look just like a bloke used to be a member here. Name of Ian Collier.’ He was surprised to see me, but pleased too, I think. He introduced me to his friend and pulled out a chair.
‘Tubs,’ I said, ‘can we have a word?’
He looked curious now. ‘Sure.’ He pulled a roll of tenners from his pocket, counted off seven and dropped them on the table. His friend scooped them up and left. I sat down, keeping my voice low. ‘The other night, you remember, that guy, Sebastian’s runner?'
Tubs nodded. ‘Pike.’
‘Eddie Pike. He’s dead.’ I waited for some reaction but Tubs just sat there. ‘He was in Sebastian’s house when it burned down. He burnt to death.’
Tubs’s gaze wandered to the bar. ‘You feel like a drink?'
‘The guy’s dead.'
He faced me again. "The cops’ve been out
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