Free Angel City by Mike Ripley Page A

diseases.
    On the way there, she asked Tigger a battery of questions about Lee’s health, diet and lifestyle, though she never asked his name. Once there, she jumped out of Armstrong and ran to the voice-access bell push.
    She said something and headed back. Within a minute, two other females had opened the door and joined us.
    Between them, they bundled Lee into the house without asking for help from either Tigger or me.
    â€˜Hey, Doc,’ I shouted, but not too loudly, ‘will he be able to play the violin when you’ve finished with him?’
    â€˜Sure he will,’ she said, giving me a smile.
    â€˜That is fucking amazing, Doc, ‘cos he couldn’t play a note up till now.’
    It got a laugh and broke the tension. Even Tigger smiled nervously.
    â€˜I’d better stay and see he’s okay,’ he said. ‘How much do I owe you?’
    â€˜Make it 20 quid,’ I said, bumping the mileage rate. Tigger handed over two £20 notes without blinking and stood in front of me weighing up the rest of his roll of notes.
    â€˜I’d better make a donation or something,’ he said vaguely. ‘Doc looks after us, you know.’
    â€˜She’s very impressive,’ I offered, realising how difficult it was to fold money while wearing plastic gloves.
    â€˜Never preaches, never grasses.’
    â€˜A real saint. See you around.’
    â€˜Yeah. I’ll be in touch. Owe you one.’
    He pointed a finger at me like a gun then skipped up the stairs and into the safe house.
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    On the Thursday, Tigger rang and arranged a meet for the Friday night for another little driving job. I agreed to meet him at 11.30 in Lambeth, near the hospital and the Elephant and Castle tube station.
    The mention of a hospital prompted me to ask after Lee, but Tigger seemed vague and uninterested, dismissing me with: ‘Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. See you tomorrow and don’t hang about.’
    He was no more forthcoming the next night. I watched him walk, jog and hop through the streetlight towards Armstrong and put it down to his normal hyperactive self. His natural mode of movement seemed to be based on a Michael Jackson video played backwards.
    â€˜You can leave the cab here,’ he said through my window. ‘The van’s round the corner.’
    â€˜Hi, there, Tigger, good to see you,’ I said sarcastically. ‘How’s Lee?’
    â€˜He’s going to be all right,’ Tigger replied without looking at me. ‘I’m going to look after him. Come on, we’ve got to get this shit over to Globe Town.’
    â€˜What? Back over the river?’ I fell into step beside him, although Tigger would never be able to say ‘Walk this way,’ as no-one else could.
    â€˜Yes. Same place as last time.’
    â€˜Why? Isn’t there anywhere around here we can dump it?’
    He held out a set of keys as we turned a corner. Twenty yards away was a parked white Transit van.
    â€˜It’s got to be Globe Town and I’ll make it worth your while, because this could be the last run.’
    â€˜How worth my while?’ I asked, pulling on the pair of leather gloves I’d remembered to bring.
    â€˜Double.’
    â€˜Okay. I can be bought.’
    I slowed down as we turned off Roman Road and approached the junkyard.
    â€˜Just go in the yard and turn round this time,’ Tigger said quietly.
    â€˜What’s up?’ I was instantly nervous and ready to hit reverse. ‘Does the alarm system work all of a sudden?’
    â€˜No, nothing like that, I’ve just found a better place. Trust me, Angel. Stay in here and let me do the dirty work. Keep the engine running if you want. Trust me, there’s nobody here.’
    I eased the van through the half-open gate advertising Hubbard’s Yard and swung it round in a circle, killing the lights in the process. I left the engine ticking over.
    â€˜I won’t be long,’