Falling too, p.14
Falling Too, page 14
‘He was spouting off about this and that when he mentions his uncle. Now retired to Spain, he was one of the early adopters in the Spanish property game, with a small fortune earned from a consultancy job. That wasn’t what he called it, but it was the gist. When I asked who he worked for and what kind of consultancy job could let you retire, he laughed and went to the toilet. When he came out he staggered for the door and waved goodbye. Then, as the bastard walked out, he reached into the air with one hand, grabbed an imaginary cord and pulled it down, making a whoo whoo sound. Then he laughed. Actually bloody laughed.
‘The next morning, I had it figured. Tuff and his uncle had taken my idea and sold it for a cut of the take. I got fuck all.’
The Wee Man’s voice rises in volume as he speaks, the West London accent morphing to the east and the tone rising and falling like a siren. This was his story, his life story or his non-life story. The one that got away. In the criminal world, it was like missing out on the Nobel Prize after being the one that did all the hard work. The Great Train Robbery defined this man as a failure.
‘So my motivation for all this is simple.’ Another pause. ‘Revenge. I want the bastard sunk and by doing it all in the same place as sixty-three, I couldn’t send out a clearer message as to who did it and why I did it, and let them know that it was all my bloody idea in the first place.’
He picks up the glass and throws it into the fire with enough force to send splinters across the room. I feel one ping my cheek. He reaches for the bottle of whisky and for a second considers sending it after the glass. I duck and cover my face. Tina and George do likewise.
‘And one last thing.’ He wipes the bottle with the bottom of his coat before putting it down. ‘I’m not fessing up in front of you like some schoolkid. I want you to tell everyone else after the fact. If you want to make it through the next twenty-four hours then play my game, stick to my rules and do what I say and we’ll be sweet. And if you, Mr Accountant, can rip the last vestiges of financial security from Tuff as promised, I’ll put enough cash in your bank account to see you through to the day you stop breathing.’
Tina leans forward, flicking at some crystal on her lap. ‘Can I ask exactly what the plan is?’
The Wee Man looks at the mantelpiece. ‘You can, but I’ll tell you fuck all. All you need to know is that I need all three of you to be ready to go tomorrow at midday. Until then you can play threesomes in a bed for all I care. But don’t think of running. Especially you, George. Now, I’ve still got a lot to do and the time I used to check the accountant’s story wasn’t on my fucking radar.’
And with that he marches out, leaving the three of us to our own thoughts.
I need a pee and while letting go in the toilet I try and make sense of two things. First, what in the hell is going to happen in the next twenty-four hours? And second, how will I make good on my promise about Phil Tuff’s houses?
When I return to the living room it takes Tina five minutes to get into the bit about the homes and about ten minutes to figure I have no real plan. I’m not that worried. Not in the light of everything else. If we make it to tomorrow, I’ll worry about it then.
There’s only one bedroom in the house and it has a double bed.
I resign myself to the sofa and find a spare set of blankets in the bedroom.
Chapter 20
The sound cuts through my dream. No bath, no stinking liquid, just a noise that lives in the real world. The room is lit by the dying embers of the fire. A soft snoring comes from the bedroom. The out-of-place sound is the tinny beat of music, the same sound you get when someone sits near you on the train with their headphones up too loud. It’s too quiet to be the reason I woke, something else triggered that, but my hearing is good and the music is clear.
I don’t recall George or Tina carrying an iPod, but there could be a radio in the bedroom that they are using as background to sleep. I get up and pad through to the hall. Wherever it’s coming from, it’s not inside the house. I re-enter the living room, stop and listen. The music is still there. The beat is fast, suggesting something like dance or drum and bass. It would have to be ear-bursting if it’s someone with headphones outside.
The music stops.
My guess is local kids on a good time trip with high-alcohol cider and fun on their minds. The good time becomes bad time when I hear the smash of glass from the hall. The main door has a small glass panel to the right and it sounds like it has just been given a doing.
A voice, a drunk whisper, swearing, and then I hear the name John.
Shit. We don’t need this.
I pick up my shoes and put them on. I grab the poker from the fireplace before stepping towards the living room door. Scaring them is the best bet. Act now and a shout should see them clear off.
I leap out into the hall and in the half-light see a hand trying to find the door lock. I raise the poker. ‘Whoever you are, you can fuck off before I call the police.’
The hand freezes but doesn’t withdraw. It waves around a little then starts to search again. I up the volume. ‘I said, I’m going to phone the police.’
A voice outside starts up. ‘What did he say?’
Another voice, possibly from the hand trying to break in, comes back. ‘Says he’s going to phone the police.’
‘That’s not very nice.’
‘I agree.’ The Hand finds the door handle.
This isn’t going quite as I expected. ‘I’m not kidding. Get the hell away from here or I’ll be forced to defend myself.’
The Hand wavers. The other voice comes online again. ‘Did he say he’s going to defend himself?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘How would I know?’
‘Ask.’
‘Ask?’
‘Yes. Ask.’
‘Ask what?’
‘Why is he going to defend himself?’
The Hand asks, ‘Why do you want to defend yourself?’
I think I’m missing something here. ‘Because you’re breaking in.’
The Hand continues to hover over the handle. ‘He says it’s because we are breaking in.’
‘Well, what else does he expect us to do? We don’t have a key.’
‘Why are you telling me? I know we don’t have a key.’ The Hand beckons me. ‘Look, we don’t have a key.’
It’s like some bizarre reality show. I step a little closer to the door. ‘I don’t give a shit. Now get lost. I’m already dialing the police.’
The Hand stops beckoning. ‘He says he’s already phoning the police.’
His partner responds, ‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why is he phoning the police?’
The Hand asks, ‘Why are you phoning the police?’
Really? ‘Because you’re trying to break in.’
The Hand flops forward. ‘He says it’s because we are trying to break in.’
‘Did you tell him we don’t have a key?’
‘Yes.’
‘So what’s his problem?’
‘Will I ask him?’
‘Yes. It’s bloody freezing out here.’
The Hand asks, ‘What’s your problem?’
I walk forward. For effect, I smack the back of the hand with the poker. Hard enough for the hand to withdraw.
The owner yelps. ‘Hey, that’s sore.’
The partner pipes up again. ‘What did he do?’
‘He hit my hand.’
‘Why?’
‘Why did you hit my hand?’ the Hand asks.
I tap the door. ‘Because I couldn’t hit you on the head.’
The Hand appears at the broken pane again. ‘He said he wants to hit me on the head.’
The partner replies, ‘He does?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
What are these guys on? ‘Look, just fuck off.’
‘What did he say?’
The Hand speaks; ‘He said fuck off.’
‘That’s not nice.’
George appears behind me. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘I think we have Laurel and Hardy’s great-great-grandsons outside.’
The Hand flirts with the gap before speaking. ‘There are two of them now.’
‘Should there be anyone inside?’ The other voice sounds confused.
‘Not sure. I’ll ask. Should you be in there?’
George tilts his head to one side. ‘No. We’re here because we missed the last bus.’
The Hand picks at a piece of broken glass. ‘They say they missed the bus.’
‘What bus?’
That’s it. I grab the door and yank it open. The Hand turns out to belong to a long-haired youth in his late teens or early twenties. He’s hoodied up and wearing Converse baseball shoes. His partner is also in a hoodie, with a tattoo of what looks like a duck on his temple, just above his left eye. The long-haired youth falls back as I open the door and his mate also staggers back.
I step out. ‘What in the hell is going on? Who are you?’
The long-haired youth stands up; unsteady is the byword for his action. ‘I’m John and this here is Jake.’
‘And?’
‘And what? I’m John and he’s Jake.’
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘A little.’
Jake staggers again. ‘Well, maybe a bit more than a little.’
I swing the poker against my leg. ‘No shit. And in your world, it’s okay to break into houses when you’re drunk?’
John thinks about this. I can tell he’s thinking because his lips are moving. He stops the lip thing. ‘No.’
‘So why are you doing it now?’
‘Doing what?’
George has a lower threshold for idiots than me and he grabs John by the hood. He yanks it down and John tumbles to the ground. George bends down. ‘Listen to me and listen good. Answer the fucking question and answer it with sentences that contain more than two words. Why are you breaking into the house?’
Jake takes a brave pill and decides to intervene. He moves for George, but George is ahead of the wave. He drops John’s hood and ducks Jake’s outstretched hand. He grabs at Jake, pulling him down, next to John.
Standing above both of them, he rolls a foot onto Jake’s hand. ‘Let’s make this easy. My man here, with the poker at the ready, is going to ask you one more time for some answers. Failure to do so will result in said poker remodelling your head into a more interesting shape. Do you fully understand?’
They both nod. George backs away and leaves the court open for me. I raise the poker for effect. ‘Start talking.’
John snorts. ‘What’s the big deal? Mr Roughead told us to be here and here we are.’
‘At two in the morning? And did he tell you to break in?’
Jake tries to roll over. ‘Well, no, not exactly. We were supposed to be here at midday tomorrow. But we got slung out of the pub and couldn’t be bothered going home. It’s a bit of a two-day camel ride, so we figured we’d roll up early and be good to go in the morning.’
‘And it never occurred to you,’ I say. ‘That anyone else would be here, that breaking and entering is illegal, that being here at midday means being here at midday, not necessarily before midday?’
Jake nods. ‘Not really.’
John tries to stand up. ‘Can we come in? It’s Baltic out here.’
I push him back down. ‘No way. Let’s say that bullshit tends to smell worse in the countryside. I don’t care if it’s cold enough to freeze the nipples off a dead sheep, go away and come back tomorrow.’
Jake’s face is the cat who didn’t even see the cream. ‘Come on. Where will we go?’
‘Try home.’
‘It’s miles.’
I place my hand on Jake’s shoulder. ‘Planning isn’t your strong point, is it? Spent all your time in a pub a long way from home and thought the solution was to spend the night in a house that you have no key for. Smart. Now piss off and if I sniff you back around here, I’ll take this poker, stick it in the fire and then brand the inside of your arse with it.’
I step back inside and George follows. I slam the door. ‘I need a drink.’ We both step into the living room. George fetches the whisky and we sit opposite each other listening to Laurel and Hardy arguing outside. I sniff at the whisky. ‘How far is the nearest pub?’
‘Not sure. I think I saw one as we made for the bridge, maybe a couple of miles. It’s cold out there.’
‘Do you want to invite them in?’
‘No. Just saying.’
Wind is blowing through the broken pane and into the living room. In the bedroom there’s a small bookcase. It has some heavyweight books on the bottom shelf. George fetches a coffee table sized book on gardening and props it up to cover the hole. He removes the key from the lock. The only way in now would be to kick in the door in.
‘George why would Roughead need a couple of kids?’ I ask him as he re-enters the room.
‘I don’t know him. I told you before, I never talked to him before yesterday.’
‘George—’
‘If you ask me once more what this is all about or tell me I know more than I’m letting on then I’m off to bed.’
I open my mouth, then decide better. ‘If this all goes well, what then?’
‘I’ll deal with that if we get there. Right now I’m only bothered about tomorrow. You?’
I have no idea what I’ll do. There are too many variables and none of them seem to add up to me getting away from this without a mark. ‘I’m not sure. I’d like to think that there’s a way that this all ends with me going back to my job and planning a couple of weeks in Tenerife.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘It’s bollocks. We now have to survive the repeat of an event that will, whatever happens, make front page news. Even if it’s a complete cock-up the papers will eat up the Great Train Robbery Two.’
‘It would make a good movie.’
‘You think?’
‘A damsel in distress, a hero riding in to save her, the dutiful partner, and two baddies that despise each other. It’s a plot that has all the hallmarks of a summer blockbuster. I’d put money into it.’
‘And who would star as you?’
‘I’ve always fancied I look a little like Robert Downey Jr.’
‘And that’s a good thing for him?’
‘Loved him in Iron Man and even more in Sherlock Holmes.’
‘I like Benedict.’
I normally like banter and stupid diversions, but after the two jokers and given the situation I end it there. Bed is calling.
I finish the drink, check the door. I listen for Laurel and Hardy. The wind is building. George slips back to the bedroom. I envy him the warmth of Tina. I pull the sofa a little closer to the dying fire and try to get comfortable.
Chapter 21
Tina runs a sausage sandwich under my nose less than ten minutes after I fall asleep. At least it feels that way. But it’s nearer ten when I ask her the time.
The good news is that the shower is in working order, there are spare towels, and plenty of cleaning product. It’s just a pity I have to put my clothes from yesterday back on. I go commando. My pants were none too fresh when I subjected them to the nose test. I emerge from the bathroom a little fresher. A can of Lynx and a blunt razor make me smell and look better than I should.
‘My phone is nearly dead.’ George is looking at the mobile’s screen.
‘Better than mine. Did you see any charging cords lying around?’
‘No.’ George shouts to Tina. ‘Do you have much charge on your phone?’
She shouts back from the bedroom. ‘No. I’m down to ten percent.’
I take a slug of my cooling tea. ‘Well, if we need twenty-first-century communications to get through today, then we can sing.’
I’m glad my phone is dead. The last thing I need is for the Wee Man to see the documents I photographed.
At half past ten there’s a knock on the door. I open it to find Laurel and Hardy outside. I’m a picture of health and beauty next to them.
Jake is shivering. ‘Can we come in now? We spent last night under a hedge.’
George has the fire going again and this time I step back to let them in. They huddle round the flames, trying to ingest the heat by osmosis. Tina brings them two cups of milky, sweet tea and some toast. George must have explained to her who the lads were last night. The tea and toast is gone in sixty seconds. Tina vanishes to do a refill. Laurel and Hardy crowd into the fire; both are shivering like fresh jelly. I leave them and go outside, as much to get away from people as to breathe the fresh stuff.
With the sun rising in the sky, the surrounding farmland is not as remote as it first seemed. For a start, the train line is a feature in the distance and the tops of a few houses can be seen back towards the main road. Beyond the wood a spire rises, poking into the misty air. A car runs by in the distance. Last night feels a little distant.
I circle the building, stretching muscles that have seized up overnight. I see Tina in the kitchen pouring boiling water into two cups. She sees me. I hold up a finger. She nods and pulls another mug from somewhere to fill a third cup. I approach the window and tap on the glass. She slides it up and hands me the fresh cuppa.
‘Thank you, madam.’
‘I’ll put it on your bill.’
‘American Express?’
‘Whatever.’ She closes the window.
I walk to the fence and lean on it, savouring the tea. The field stretches out in front of me. To the left it rolls down a small incline. The slope hides the far extremes of the land. I wonder where it leads. I contemplate hopping over for a walk. To walk away from here and just keep walking.
Another car’s engine breaks into my thoughts and I dismiss the idea. Phil has long arms and no doubt The Wee Man does, too. Absconding might just speed up my demise.
I cradle the mug, walking back to the house. When I get back, Laurel and Hardy are still soaking up all the heat. At least they’ve stopped shivering. The clock hints at eleven o’clock. There is nothing to do but wait.
At five to twelve the sound of the ridiculous car makes itself the noisiest thing in the neighbourhood. George stands up, but I think it’s the wrong time to show The Wee Man much respect. I stay seated.
