Crash Course

by Derek Fee

  “It was all my fault,” Kane said looking into his father’s tear-stained face.

  “She died of a massive heart attack.” His father’s hand tightened on Kane’s shoulder. “It was congenital. Nothing to do with either you or me. At least she’s happy now. She’s up there somewhere playing with the young ones. I sometimes think that’s all she was waiting for. She would have gone the day after they died if she could have but that wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. She had to suffer a little first but I think she has what she wanted now.”

  “And where does that leave you?”

  “The same place you are.” He stared through red-rimmed eyes. “I’ll go on. Tonight I’ll make my way into work and I’ll try not to remember. What about you?”

  “I’m in the middle of an operation,” Kane said simply.

  “I suppose that’s why you only arrived today.”

  He thought there was a hint of bitterness in Patrick Kane’s voice. But today was not the day for an argument.

  “At least it’s sunny wherever you are.”

  “What?”

  “Your suntan,” his father said. “Is Davenport taking care of you? You must be up to something bloody important if he didn’t tell you that your mother was dead until last night.”

  The sky was a dirty grey colour in keeping with the occasion. Along the road, cars and lorries trundled about their normal business. His mother was dead but it was business as usual. The small crowd who had attended the service had dispersed. Only Davenport stood off to the side.

  “I wanted to hold a wake. You know sandwiches and a few pints of beer. But there wasn’t really anyone I wanted to share a drink with.”

  A warm rain-laden wind brushed Kane’s face.

  Patrick Kane tossed his head in Davenport’s direction. “Your boss is waiting for you.”

  Kane shuffled. “What about that drink?” he said. “Don’t I qualify?”

  His father smiled for the first time that morning. “That would be a turn-up for the books. You and I drinking together. Mulling over the old times. Raking up all the dead bones. I’m feeling suicidal enough without getting into that kind of session. The father and son bonding will have to wait for another day. Do me one favour.”

  “Name it,” Kane said.

  His father nodded at Davenport. “Tell that fellah to fuck off and find himself another patsy. We’ve put enough Kanes in the ground over the past few years. I don’t want to be around when it’s your turn. It isn’t natural.”

  “Soon, Dad, soon.”

  His father turned and hugged him. “Now, Mark, before it’s too late,” he said quietly into his son’s ear.

  Kane returned his father’s hug. “I’ll be back soon and we will have that drink together.”

  His father released his hug and cast his eyes downwards. “Aye,” he said moving towards the gates of the crematorium. “I’ll be waitin’ for your call.”

  Kane watched him leave and make his way up the road in the direction of his car. He wanted very badly to grant him his wish.

  As soon as his father left, Davenport made his way towards him.

  “Thanks for at least informing me that my mother was being cremated,” Kane said as Davenport approached.

  “I spoke with your father.” There was no emotion in either Davenport’s face or the tone of his voice. “Your mother died suddenly. There was no warning. The funeral couldn’t take place over the weekend and I knew I could get you here on time. I made an executive decision to let you race before I told you.”

  “That was kind of you. Don’t my feelings come into this at all?”

  “There was nothing you could do. Your father had it under control.”

  You arrogant bastard, Kane thought. An ‘executive decision’ made so that he could continue to build his career on the backs of others. He‘d give a month’s pay to punch out Davenport’s lights but resisted the urge.

  “Ready to go back?” Davenport said.

  “You know, you’re all heart, skipper,” Kane said, contempt dripping from every word. “What if I said no?”

  “You won’t,” Davenport said quietly. “Tom told me how you performed yesterday. That should get our friends’ attention.”

  “Who says that they’re still out there?”

  “Oh, they’re still out there all right. Europol is getting reports that a flood of cocaine is hitting the continent. It appears that coke is the ‘in’ drug again. It oscillates between heroin and cocaine for the ‘drug of the month’ prize. I’ve had Europol and the Met looking over your reports. Nothing startling. Tardelli is small time. The usual recreational user. Passes the cocaine around with the canapés at his cocktail parties. That kind of shit. He’s not Mister Big. On the other hand, your friend Sheikh Safardi looks promising. He’s appeared in a couple of dispatches but there’s nothing concrete against him. We’re still digging.”

  “What about Barrett?”

  “So far nothing,” Davenport said. “Barrett is a possible but not a probable.”

  “Some operation,” Kane said. “Two months down the road and we’re no further on.”

  “Patience is a virtue.” Davenport frowned. “It may take months for our friends to reveal themselves and then again it might not happen at all. That’s the chance we’re taking.” Davenport reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. “That’s your ticket to Cannes. Your flight leaves this evening.”

  “I’d better get a move on with my grieving then.” Kane took the envelope and put it in his inside pocket. “See you soon. I want to go somewhere and get quietly pissed.”

  “If you need company…” Davenport said hesitantly.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” Kane walked off in the direction his father had taken.

  As Davenport walked to his car his phone rang.

  “You think he’ll make the flight?” Bell asked when Davenport responded.

  “Yes,” Davenport replied curtly.

  “You ride him pretty hard,” Bell said.

  “I ride all my men hard. That what keeps them on their toes and alive.”

  “He’s pretty special.”

  “They’re all pretty special. Some of them are so special that they go to the toilet, put their gun in their mouth, and see whether they’re able to pull the trigger. A few I’ve known have succeeded. The burnout rate is high. It’s my job to see that it doesn’t go that far.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have your job.”

  “I’ll bet you are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  By early Wednesday afternoon, the powerboat circus which had broken up on Monday morning in Sorrento had been completely reconstituted around the Carlton and Majestic Hotels located behind the Promenade de la Croisette in Cannes.

  The Penhalion team had arranged to assemble in the bar of the Majestic Hotel which had not gone to the bother of stringing banners to announce the residence of ninety per cent of the competitors in the second race of the European Offshore Championship. The likes of Tadeka, Hakonen, Tardelli, and even Doug Jackson were flat beer when compared to the real stars such as Cruise and Kidman who had graced the hotel during the film festival.

  As soon as he entered the bar, Kane noticed the members of other teams located at tables around the large room. He received nods of recognition as he passed on his way to where David sat with his daughter and the three mechanics. Maybe it was his ego in overdrive but he felt that there was an air of respect in the nods that hadn’t been there before the first race. None of them fancied racing into the final buoy in the company of the crazy driver. He was recovering from the ‘mother of all hangovers’. He’d missed the flight that Davenport had booked for him but had managed to pile himself onto a flight to Nice the following day. On his arrival, he had holed up for the day in a small hotel in Nice and tried to sleep off the booze. A day later and his throat still felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage.

  “The wanderer returns,” Morweena said sarcastically as he took his place at
the table beside the other members of the team.

  “Mark.” David sipped his drink. “Glad you made it. Care for a drink?”

  “Beer, please.” Kane plonking himself down beside Doc Watson. “Have you already sussed out this place for us, mate?”

  “I have no doubt that you’ll be able to find your way to the seamier parts of town under your own steam,” Morweena interjected before Doc could reply. “After all, you managed pretty well in Sorrento and you’d never been there either.”

  Despite the handfuls of painkillers he had been pushing down his gullet over the past twenty-four hours, Kane’s head still pounded. I don’t need the passive-aggressive reaction he was thinking as he engaged Morweena’s stare. Strange old world, he thought. This business was getting too heavy. But she was beautiful when she was angry. He assumed it was the Celtic touch in the Cornish which raised passions the English managed to suppress. A red blush of ire was visible beneath her tanned cheeks.

  “I’d like to say that I’m sorry for making Mark disappear for a couple of days,” Tom said. “I needed him to help me with business in Yorkshire.”

  “I didn’t think that Mark was part of your business,” Morweena said. “I don’t see the two of you going over the accounts together. Or maybe, he’s a specialist in human relations.” She laughed.

  ‘He does what he does.’

  ‘I think that we’ve shown that we’re committed to the Penhalion team.’

  “That’s why we’re all here, Tom,” David said as he passed a beer to Mark and a Scotch and soda to Tom. “We’ve got two days to get the boat ready to go again. Reg, any news on the damage?”

  “There’s no real problem there, boss.” Reg’s smooth Welsh accent poured out like nectar. “There are some cuts on the hull but we’re having those patched up with fibreglass today. She’ll be repainted overnight and we’ll go through the dry engine checks tomorrow morning. All being well, we should be ready to put her in the water on schedule tomorrow evening.”

  “Then we’ll be clear for a few practice runs on Friday morning and a qualifying session in the afternoon. Then it’s the race on Saturday.” David sipped his whisky.

  The chief mechanic nodded in assent.

  “What’s our programme?” Kane asked, sinking most of his beer. It tasted like the finest nectar produced by the Gods of Olympus. His throat purred with pleasure as the ice-cold liquid travelled down it.

  “You’re free to enjoy the pleasures of the Riviera tomorrow,” David said. “But I want both Morweena and you at the Palm Beach Port first thing on Friday morning. Third in Sorrento was one thing but we’ve got to keep up the momentum if we intend to make it to Key West.” He looked at Kane. “Let’s not get distracted by the social programme. For those of you who are interested, Dinos Karakatis has invited all the teams to a party tonight on board his yacht. Let’s make it our one and only social event.”

  “You can count Bill, Doc and myself out, boss,” Reg said. “We’ll be putting in some hours tonight on the boat. Fact is we should be on our way now.” He finished his beer and motioned to Bill and Doc.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Doc said as the other two mechanics stood and left the bar.

  “Looks like you’ve been grounded, mate,” Kane smiled. “You’ll have to think of all that grub and booze. What’ll I do without my sparring partner?”

  “I need a word,” Doc said.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find somebody else to spar with,” Morweena said. “Doug Jackson’s clipboard girl should be in town.”

  “Mark,” David said. “I’ll be supervising the work on the boat until quite late. I wonder would you mind escorting Morweena to the party.”

  “Sometimes I despair of you.” Morweena turned her most withering gaze onto her father. “I’m well past the age when you have to organise escorts for me.”

  “Morweena, let me be honest,” David said quickly. “Karakatis wants Penhalion Marine and what he wants he usually gets. If I go onboard that damn floating gin palace of his, he’ll spend the evening trying to convince me to give him my company. And I’m to smile while he’s doing it. I’m too damn proud to take that. However, there’ll be food and dancing and there’s no reason why the Penhalion team shouldn’t be represented by you and Mark. Please, darling, don’t behave like a spoiled child. Go to the party with the bugger and leave Tom and me to have a quiet dinner in some bistro or other.”

  “I don’t believe this.” Morweena continued to stare at her father. “David Penhalion scared to confront a creep like Dinos Karakatis. Perhaps I should attend with Mark after all.”

  “There are still times, Morweena,” David said. “When I think I really should have the right to put you across my knee and spank you.”

  “But you don’t,” she said.

  “Suppose I pick you up about eight,” Kane said.

  “Yes, you may.” Morweena stood up from the table and strode off in the direction of the lobby.

  “Oh God,” David said, downing the remains of his whisky and heading after her.

  “We have a problem,” Doc said as soon as the Penhalions were out of hearing.

  Kane motioned for another beer. The hair of the dog was working much more effectively than the painkillers. “What problem?”

  “Morweena Penhalion,” Doc said simply.

  “Tell me about it.” Kane took the fresh beer from the waiter and took a slug. The effect of the second beer was not quite as stunning as the first. But it was still up there.

  “She thinks that we’re up to something.”

  “Clever girl.”

  “She’s asking herself how you and I arrived together both foisted on them by Tom, and how come we became such firm friends if we didn’t know each other before? I had to play bloody twenty questions with her in Sorrento. And all because you weren’t there when she woke up that morning. Where the hell did you guys get yourselves to?”

  “Burying my mother,” Kane said simply.

  “God, mate, I’m sorry.” Doc leaned over and took Mark’s hand. “Condolences, mate.”

  “Thanks.” Kane swallowed the remainder of his beer and called for another.

  “Steady on, mate,” Doc said. “It’s early yet.”

  “And we’re free tomorrow. If you need to father someone why don’t you find a deserving case?”

  Kane’s third beer arrived and he deposited the empty second glass on the waiter’s tray. “I bet you’ve solved the case while we were in London.”

  “Not by a long way,” Doc said. “I’ve been doing more than a little drinking myself. I’ve pumped away at those mechanics but so far nothing.”

  “Anybody mention Safardi?”

  “No. Should they?”

  Kane explained his conversation with Davenport. “Europol is still digging into the guy but he appears promising.”

  “Where does that leave Barrett?”.

  “The same thought ran through my mind,” Kane said.

  “I better get down to the port.” Doc stood quickly. “Otherwise I might not have a job. And try to keep your pecker in your trousers tonight. I think Morweena has much more than a passing interest in you.”

  “No need to worry. I have it under control.”

  “Yeah,” Doc said as he strode towards the front door of the hotel.

  “And how are you?” Tom said as soon as Doc left.

  Kane swallowed some beer. The effect had been reduced to a slight tingle. “As well as can be expected.”

  “I wouldn’t fault you if you pulled out,” Tom said. “I can’t really ask you to go on under the circumstances.”

  “The circumstances haven’t changed.” Kane drained his glass. “Guys like me don’t have families. Don’t have emotions. I do the job that they pay me for. Tick follows tock follows tick follows tock. I plod on until I nail the bad guys. Then someone else takes the case over and I start on something new. Then after that another one and so on until I get too old and fat. Then they’ll dump me like I never exi
sted.”

  “I’ll understand…” Tom began but then stopped. Kane’s eyes were glazed over. “You want to be alone. “I have to go upstairs,” Tom stood up. “I will understand you know.”

  “Yeah,” Kane said, echoing Doc’s departing shot.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Barrett sat at the table already occupied by Sheikh Safardi. in the restaurant at the Carlton Hotel and the young Arab, dressed in a pure white silk suit, cream cotton shirt and silk tie, looked like he had stepped out of the window of a Savile Row tailor. A thin solid gold Blancpain watch adorned his left wrist.