by J C Williams
Jack frowned, placing his elbows on the countertop. “I’m guessing this story didn’t finish with the happy ending I first thought it was going to?”
“What she said seemed to make sense. Well, no, in fact it didn’t. I hadn’t a bloody clue what she was talking about, other than a lot of people were making a load of money out of their advice. It started quite small as she said she wanted to prove how good she was before I committed too much. I bought a couple of hundred shares in a new company — something to do with the internet — and in a couple of days I’d made two hundred pounds profit. Then her sister phones me and repeats the same charm offensive. I was blinded by the flattery. They made me feel like I was some sort of intelligent, shrewd investor, where in fact I didn’t have a bloody clue what they were on about. I was blinded by two attractive-sounding women.”
Ray pushed himself to his feet and reached for a tatty-looking blue-ring binder on top of a small wooden desk. “Take a look.”
Jack thumbed through a pile of paper more than two inches thick. There were a multitude of share certificates, each with the name of a different company. “I’ve never heard of any of these companies?” said Jack.
“You won’t have, son. That’s because they don’t exist. The bank phoned me in the end due to all of these transactions that were going through. The sisters told me they’d do this and to tell them it was none of their business. Which I did. The bank eventually phoned the police who explained how it was all a big scam — I think they call it a boiler room.”
Jack shook his head and thought of what had happened to Derek. “Are all old people a bit gullible?”
“No, son. We’re just from a generation where we look for the best in people.”
“How much did you lose?” asked Jack.
“Just over thirty thousand,” he replied.
Jack’s mouth fell open, and stayed open.
“That’s not the best of it, son. A few days after the bank and police told me there was nothing they could do, the phone rang again. This time it was a man with a very formal English accent. He told me how he worked for a firm of solicitors who were recovering money from the company who’d ripped me off. He said the FBI had seized all of their records which is how they’d got my details. He said my money was safe and it was in a frozen bank account. All I needed to do was employ the law firm and they’d get my money back plus they’d recover any legal fees I’d paid out.”
“Please tell me you didn’t,” pleaded Jack.
“I was desperate, and this seemed the only way to get my money back.”
“How much did you give them?”
Ray rubbed his weather forehead in frustration. “Eleven thousand pounds.”
“No!” said Jack. “I’m guessing you didn’t get your money back?”
“Did I, bollocks. It was only when they kept phoning me back for more money that I twigged on. I have to admit, they are clever bastards, though. Talk about taking advantage. The police said they’d look into it, but pretty much told me my money was gone. So, thanks to Candy and Charity I started drinking again and ended up in hospital.”
Jack placed the folder back onto the desk. “That’s an expensive folder you’ve got there. I have to say, they are pretty ingenious, especially the follow-up scam. I bet loads of people fall for that, though.”
“That’s what the police said. There are hundreds across the UK and at least eight in the Isle of Man. Sadly, most of them are older people who aren’t getting interest on their savings, so are easily persuaded to move their cash into seemingly, safe investments. The police have put notices in the paper but there is only so much they can do.”
“You won’t lose your house?” asked Jack.
“No, son. It just means that I’ll be working in here till they carry me out in a box.”
“Come on, you stupid old bugger,” said Jack. “I’ll help you get this place cleaned up. Nobody is going to come in here with it looking like this.”
Ray was grateful, not only for the help but also the company. He lived alone so being in the shop was the only time he saw other people. It’d been a difficult few months and losing the money was horrible, but even worse and the thing he couldn’t get over was how he had been so easily taken in. He felt humiliated and despite the reassurances of the police, he felt vulnerable.
Jack closed his fingers and held his hand outstretched. “Ray, see this?”
Ray looked confused. “What?”
Jack shook his fist. “Magic beans, Ray. You can have them for only a tenner!”
Ray laughed for the first time in an age. “Cheeky sod. You should have gone higher, I’d have given you twenty!”
.
Chapter Six
P ostman Pete flew into the shop with his usual gusto. “Happy Monday, you beautiful specimens! The sun is shining and it’s a wonderful day!”
“Someone’s happy, Pete. Your blind date didn’t disappoint, then?” asked Emma.
“It did not!” exclaimed Pete, as he twirled Emma’s black hair which, for once, wasn’t tied back. “In fact, he exceeded expectations — in every department! You’re looking rather glam, for a Monday morning, are you not, Emma?”
“Enough information, and you know a girl likes to make an effort from time to time.”
“Look at him,” said Emma. “God, he’s such a loser!”
Jack was at the front of the shop clearing tables and caught his reflection in the shop window. He was wearing a close-fitting polo shirt, and rather than wincing, he was turning like a rotisserie chicken, admiring himself from every angle.
“Here, Pete, you’d definitely have a go of this, now wouldn’t you?” asked Jack. “It’s not perfect, but it’s getting there.”
“Jack, darling, I’d ride you like a rodeo bull.”
“Aww, thanks, Pete, that means a lot,” said Jack, with a proud expression. “I hope Hayley shares your enthusiasm.”
“Well, she is in here every five minutes,” said Emma. “She must drink ten coffees a day, and you don’t even charge her!”
“She gave us these flowers,” replied Jack. “And I noticed the ones she’d left on the counter seem to have mysteriously vanished and I’m guessing are now sat in your flat?”
“Oh, speak of the devil and who should appear,” said Emma, as Hayley waved enthusiastically through the large windows.
“Morning all,” she said. “And what a beautiful one it is. Pete, have you hurt your leg? I noticed you were walking a bit awkwardly.”
Pete’s cheeks flushed as he diverted the question. “What a wonderful bouquet, are they for me?”
“Sadly not, Pete,” replied Hayley. “These are the finest yellow roses, and if my memory serves me correct, Emma, also your favourite flower?”
“Oh, they’re stunning, Hayley, thank you!” said Emma, who now felt a tinge of guilt for being a little malevolent earlier. “Can I get you your usual?”
“Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you. Good morning, Jack!”
Jack grinned like a docile teenager. “Morning, Hayley, you look....” He was captivated by her glistening blue eyes. Her hair was a golden blonde bob that bounced off her shoulders. She even smelt lovely. It was a scent he’d never come across before; it reminded him of the candy floss machine at the fair. She was elegant, the type of woman who wouldn’t look out of place in a Cary Grant film. She was the sort of lady that would ride an attractive bicycle with a large basket on the front which contained a fresh picnic, ready to be unravelled at a moment’s notice. She’d stop periodically to pick up a wildflower and cute animals would congregate for an audience with her.
“Jack, back in the room!” shouted Emma.
He jolted back to reality. “Pretty. I was going to say you look pretty.”
Hayley looked a little uneasy as she took her coffee. “Thanks… Jack. Before I go, can I have a really quick word?”
She took him to the front of the shop, and as much as Emma arched her neck, she wasn’t able to eavesdrop. In
desperation, she looked to Pete — who, unfortunately, was equally uninformed.
“Thank you for the roses, Hayley, they’re beautiful!” shouted Emma, as the door closed.
Pete slow-clapped Jack. “Smooth, my friend, very smooth. I’m not sure that could have been any more cringe-worthy.”
Jack was fit to burst. “Well, I must have done something right.”
Emma lurched forward. “What? Why? What do you mean?”
Jack held out as long as he could. “She wants to see me. She wants to meet me for a drink after work!”
“No way!” said Emma. “Go you!” Her voice was wavering slightly, and she immediately excused herself.
“Check me out,” said Jack, flexing his arms. “It must be the new and improved guns.”
Emma was deflated; several of her regular customers commented on it, but she brushed it off as ‘feeling under the weather.’ She was pleased to see Jack happy; he was due some good fortune. As soon as the shop emptied from the lunchtime flurry, Jack grabbed his keys and took Emma by the hand. “I need a favour,” he said, ushering her through the front door.
“Where are we going?” she protested.
“I need a new shirt, and let’s face it, my fashion sense is—”
“Non-existent,” said Emma.
“I was going for eclectic, but I suppose non-existent works.”
Jack marched her with verve towards Marks & Spencer. “Seriously, no,” said Emma. “If you’re after a nice shirt we need to go somewhere else.” The wicked side of her wanted him to buy something a bit naff, but she also wanted him to look his best; she knew he really liked Hayley.
She took the lead and brought him into a large shop that was littered with designer brands. Jack was impressed but aghast, as he looked at the price tag on the first shirt she picked out, A hundred and ten pounds, holy shit, Emma.”
“Do you want to look nice or look like a vagrant?”
“Here, you go into that changing room and I’ll bring you a few over to try on. What size? Medium?”
“A generous medium. Call it a large to be on the safe side,” said Jack.
Jack sat in the small changing room and pulled over the wafer-thin green curtain. He didn’t like shopping for clothes; it made him anxious. He undressed and shuffled uncomfortably on the white bench seat as he looked at his watch; there was something about dressing rooms he didn’t trust. His eyes scoured the room, looking for a hidden camera or any other form of covert voyeurism — he wondered if this mistrust was as a result of his own perverted mind. He strained his eyes towards a black hole in the bottom left corner. Dirty bastards, he thought, moving closer. There was a narrow hole — small, but big enough to accommodate a tiny camera. He couldn’t get a clear view from his seated position, so he crouched down, first on one leg, and then he fell onto his knees. He moved his head into the gap between the end of the seat and the exterior wall, but it was still difficult to get a clear view. He stretched his hand and extended his middle finger, but it was too thick. He prodded with his little finger, which fit snuggly into the tight hole. The wall was a thin layer of plywood and it became quickly obvious that the hole was redundant, perhaps from a previous shop fitting. As he tried to retract his finger he realised — to his complete horror —that it was stuck. He composed himself and tried again, but it was useless. The more he pulled his finger, the rolls of skin would form and prevent exit. Shit, he thought, trying to manoeuvre his other hand to assist, but the lack of space and angle he was knelt meant assistance was impossible. He pushed and pulled his hand, but the scruffy edges of the drill hole were ripping into his skin. His shopping anxiety was amplified, and he could feel the sweat dripping down his face.
“Jack, I’ve got four shirts to try, three I like but the other I’m not too sure about, but see what you think,” said Emma, through the curtain.
“Jack?”
“Eh, just a minute, Emma, I’m just getting undressed,” replied Jack, who was now very uncomfortable.
Emma paced outside for a few moments. “What you are doing in there?”
“Nothing,” responded Jack, through gritted teeth. “Emma,” he said finally, in desperation. “I think I’m stuck.”
“What do you mean, stuck? Okay, I’m coming in, make sure you’re decent.”
She slowly pulled open the curtain and as she peered around, she was greeted by the vision of Jack kneeling in front of her with his rear end directly in her eye line. “Holy hell, Jack. What on earth are you doing down there?”
“I got my finger stuck in a hole.”
“But… you’re bleedin’ naked!” she said, in a state of bewilderment. “Why are you naked and why have you got your finger in a hole?”
“I thought it was a camera. And I told you, I don’t do underpants.”
“Good god, Jack, can you not do anything that doesn’t end up with you potentially being arrested or barred?”
She took his t-shirt and placed it over his bum which was now open and presented to her like a bloom on a summer’s day. “I need to cover that before I come down there!” she said.
Emma struggled to get a view as the light was blocked by Jack. “Get your phone,” said Jack. “And use the camera light.”
“Okay,” she said. “But this is a loan phone as my other one broke when I was out the other…”
“I’m sure the story of why you have a loan phone is enchanting, but right now, please help me get out of this hole. I was buying a shirt to get into a hole, and it wasn’t this one!”
“Okay, I’m trying!” Emma answered. She fumbled with the phone and frantically pressed buttons until a beam of light erupted from the rear. She cast the light towards Jack, but it was useless — there was nothing she could see. She manoeuvred the phone further and caught a glimpse of his hand which had now gone a painful shade of white as a solitary bead of blood ran down his wrist. As he pulled again, the shirt covering his bum fell to the floor, revealing his bare cheeks.
“I can’t believe you’ve not got trousers on,” whispered Emma.
“I was going to try new jeans on. I asked you to get jeans,” said Jack.
“You didn’t, you only asked for shirts,” said Emma, who was now slightly offended.
“Do you think I would sit naked if I didn’t ask you for jeans?” said Jack, getting more agitated. “What’s that noise? Are you taking pictures of me?”
“What? No! If you could see what I can see, you’d understand why I’m not taking a picture of you.”
The pinging sound continued, so she moved the screen to her face, which was filled with Jack’s naked torso. She was confused, as the screen was covered with miniature ‘thumbs-up’ symbols. She panicked as the realisation set in. “Jack,” she whispered. “Jack, please don’t get mad.”
“About what?” asked Jack. “I don’t think things can get much worse.”
“You know this phone is a loan phone?” said Emma.
“Yes, I remember you saying. It was an interesting conversation. Please, tell me about it again.”
Emma twitched her nose like Samantha from Bewitched. “Well, the thing is, Jack, in my rush to turn the light on, I think I may have also turned Facebook Live on.”
“What’s Facebook Live?” said Jack, with a tinge of panic in his voice.
“Well,” said Emma, “Imagine I had the ability to live-stream what I’m looking at to all of my friends, instantly.”
“Please tell me you’re joking?” pleaded Jack.
“No. But the good news is you’ve had forty-six likes.”
“That’s pretty good,” said Jack. “You’ll need to show me the video when they release me from jail.”
“Wait there,” said Emma.
“Well, I’m not bloody going anywhere, am I!” snapped Jack.
Emma opened the curtain and moved around the corner to see a changing room on the other side of the wall. Fortunately, the room was empty, and Emma moved to open a small cupboard in the bottom corner; she could see his
finger, which had visibly swelled. “I’m going to try and push it. Stand by.”
She gently pushed the reddened digit and as soon as she did, she could hear a groan of pain through the wall.
“I’ve got an idea!” said Emma, darting to retrieve her handbag. She returned to the other dressing room. “I’ve got a lip balm,” she said, loud enough so Jack could hear.
The pain in Jack’s knees was becoming uncomfortable so he shuffled as best as he could to distribute the pressure. His bum moved in unison with his knees and as he gyrated the curtain opened. An elegant older woman with styled silver hair stood, perplexed by the vision before her.
Jack was in too much pain to appreciate that he now had company. “Make sure I’m properly lubed up before you start pushing it in,” he demanded.
Emma pushed and Jack pulled; in a wonderful instant, his finger was removed from its incarceration. As the finger released, he fell sideways and landed on his back in a crumpled, sweating heap. His relief was short-lived when he looked up and saw the horrified lady looking down on him. “Morning. I’m not even going to try and explain this one,” he said.
“Bloody deviant!” she said, in disgust.
“We need to get out of here,” said Emma, helping him to his seat. “And put your bloody jeans back on.”
“I can’t go, I need a new shirt for tonight!” he said, in desperation.
Emma had forgotten why they were there, and the recollection saddened her. “Okay, try them on and I’ll come back in a few minutes.”
She looked at dresses she couldn’t possibly afford and the thought of Jack going on a date filled her with dismay. She was irritated that she’d not done anything about her feelings, but in reality the attraction was as much as a surprise to her. Her phone continued to beep and the video was now up to 108 likes. He is such a loser, she said to herself, with a smile. Jack was a klutz; he couldn’t do anything without it ending up in a drama of sort, but she liked that. She could see it would get embarrassing, but Jack didn’t care, so why should she? Hayley was lovely but she knew she had to tell Jack how she felt, at least then he would have all of the facts.
