On the Money

by Kerry J Donovan

The man sighed and all but rolled his eyes. “Nah, mate.”

  Kaine allowed his smile to widen. “Bet you wish you had a pound for every time someone asked you that, eh?”

  Not-Denny’s shoulders dropped a little, and a twitch of his lips could have been mistaken for either a grimace or a weak grin. The faded tattoos on the man’s forearms told of a lifetime spent at sea, and suggested he might be worth cultivating as a source of local intel.

  “Too right, matey. I could have retired to the Costa del Money, years back. Right now, I’d be soaking up the sun rather than standing here developing sciatica and growing varicose veins. What can I get for ye?”

  “Pot of tea for two, a buttered scone, and a Full English, please.”

  “Black pudding?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Kaine hadn’t eaten a savoury blood sausage for years. Couldn’t find a decent supplier in France.

  “It’s an extra quid,” Not-Denny said, pointing to the menu on the chalkboard over his shoulder.

  “That’s okay, don’t mind pushing the boat out. And make that two scones, two squares of butter, and a pot of strawberry jam.”

  Kaine’s largesse raised a real smile from Not-Denny. “Last of the big spenders?”

  “That’s me. Taking my good lady wife around our potential new neighbourhood. You never know, we might become regulars in your fine mess hall, ‘Chief’.”

  Not-Denny’s hard won half-smile turned into a quizzical frown. “Yeah, that’s right. Chief Petty Officer. How’d ye guess? Ye’ve had some time in?”

  “A few years.”

  “Officer?”

  “No, mate, I—”

  “Don’t tell me,” Not-Denny interrupted, “ye worked for a living, right?” He laughed at the old military joke.

  Not heard that one for a while.

  Kaine joined in with the laughter, surreptitiously throwing a quick glance at Lara, who’d buried her nose in the glossy magazine she’d picked up on the ferry. Trying hard to blend into any crowd, she wore her baggiest clothes, covered her gorgeous auburn hair with a big woollen bonnet, and wrapped a thick scarf around her neck. To complete the matronly look, she balanced a pair of horn-rimmed glasses—with non-prescription lenses—on the end of her pretty nose. Kaine still saw her as completely stunning, but the fact that Not-Denny had barely given her a second glance confirmed the power of her disguise.

  “Chief Petty Officer Jellicoe. Welcome aboard, mate,” Not-Denny pushed out his open hand and they shook hard and fast.

  “William Griffin, Bill. Pleased to meet you …?”

  “My real name’s Philip. And no, afore ye ask, ma friends dinnae call me ‘Prince’, as in Prince Philip. They call me—”

  “Don’t tell me, Joshua, right?”

  Kaine’s new friend’s bellow turned the heads of all five customers in the café, including Lara’s.

  “That’s right, mate. This here Joshua”—he jabbed a thumb into his barrel of a chest—“won the battle of Jericho all by himself.” Still laughing, he half-turned again, dropped three teabags into a large pot, and started filling it with boiling water from an urn beside the sink. “What service were ye in, mate?” he asked.

  “Marines.”

  As Kaine learned early in his time as an outlaw, one of the basic rules of creating undercover legends was to stick as close to the truth as possible. This made learning the details of the false career easier and, as a “legend” builder, Corky was a class apart. Corky’s competitor, Sabrina happened to be just as good.

  Ever since he and Lara had been forced into hiding, Sabrina and Corky, their volunteer IT experts, had competed to provide Lara and Kaine with evermore detailed legends, both as individuals and as a couple. They’d also provided the full ID and all the paperwork needed to drop into character: passports, driving licence, health papers, and everything else imaginable. Each of the legends came fully supported by detailed background information, education, habitation, friends and social background, and all the historical data going back at least two generations. With finances not being an issue for Kaine and his team, the only limitation to their ability to change backgrounds happened to be his and Lara’s facility for absorbing the facts needed to pass muster in an intensive interview.

  The two had spent the drive north through France and the nine-hour ferry crossing from St Malo in Brittany to Portsmouth, boning up on their Griffin personas and testing each other’s knowledge.

  Apparently, Lara had always wanted to be an Elizabeth.

  “Not sure I fancy being a William,” he’d responded, adding, “Make sure you call me Bill, not Willie.”

  She’d chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of calling you Willie. Don’t want to draw anyone’s attention to it.”

  They’d been driving the dual carriageway into St Malo at the time, and he’d almost run out of the lane.

  “What was that?”

  She’d blushed. “Sorry, I meant … I wouldn’t want to draw anyone’s attention to you, not … You know what I meant.”

  He’d twitched the steering wheel to centre the car in the lane and built up speed again. Luckily, the motorways in northern France weren’t as busy as those in the UK or they might have come unstuck.

  “Is that what they call a Freudian Slip, Mrs Griffin?”

  Lara batted off his question with flick of her hand and a delightful frown.

  “Men! One track minds, the lot of you.”

  “Steady on, Beth. I wasn’t the one referring to nether regions. I hope you’re more selective with what you say when we reach Walthamstow. Things could get a little embarrassing otherwise.”

  Despite the need to concentrate in the café, Kaine couldn’t stop himself smiling at the memory.

  Not-Denny, Joshua, perked up at Kaine’s revelation.

  “Commando, eh? I thought you guys were all giants who could pick up cars wi’ your bare hands and chomp on rocks for your breakfasts.”

  Kaine shook his head firmly and added a theatrical sigh. “Yeah, true enough. I used to be over six foot tall, but the training wore me down to the nub.”

  A laughing Joshua set a large mug and a smaller cup and saucer on a tray with the teapot, and added a milk jug and sugar bowl. “Been out long?”

  Kaine frowned in question. “How did you—”

  “In my day, no’ many serving Marines could get away with a mop o’ hair that long. Mind you, the Marine’s standards have been slipping for years.” The CPO added a wink to show he was still kidding.

  Kaine scratched his beard. “Thought I’d let it grow out. See what it looked like. Bloody annoying and scruffy. If I had my way, I’d search out the nearest barber, but the missus likes it and … well, you know how it is with women.” He added the last part sotto voce.

  “Aye, I know. Got to keep ’em happy, right enough. Where were ye stationed last?”

  “RM Tamar, Plymouth,” Kaine said. That much information, he could deliver without appearing too loose-lipped.

  Joshua nodded sagely, leaned closer, and whispered. “One Assault Group?”

  Kaine shrugged and added a noncommittal, “Perhaps.” Any serviceman would understand his reluctance to talk.

  “Had a unit from One Assault aboard HMS Sheldon last time we shipped out to Malta. Good lads, the lot o’ them. Hard as nails.”

  “Yep. Tungsten tough,” Kaine admitted, digging a knuckle into his right hip and grimacing, “but this marine turned out a little brittle.”

  “So, how long ye been out?”

  Kaine’s defence mechanism rippled. Joshua might just be a friendly sort, but it never paid to be too open with strangers and Kaine didn’t want too much information flowing around the neighbourhood.

  “’Bout a year, but …” Kaine tapped the side of his nose with an index finger. “I don’t want to be rude, but can’t talk about it. You understand?”

  “Oh, yeah, aye. ’Course.” Joshua pushed the tray towards Kaine. “Understood. Mum’s the word. So, I’ll give ye a shout when yer grub’s read
y.”

  “Thanks. Really looking forward to it.”

  Kaine picked up the tray and walked it back to their table, favouring his left leg slightly.

  “Made a new friend, I see,” Lara said, stirring the tea in the pot and checking its strength—too weak for Kaine, but just right for her, judging from the colour.

  She filled her little cup, added a splash of milk, ignored the sugar.

  “CPO Philip Jellicoe,” Kaine said, “Joshua to his friends. Really chatty. Maybe too friendly, but he’s probably the type to know what’s happening hereabouts.”

  “I suppose you want me to ask Corky to run a background check?”

  “Don’t see why not. Jellicoe’s an unusual name. Shouldn’t be too hard for our hacker to run him to ground.”

  Lara took her mobile from her handbag. “You really think it’s necessary? After all, we might not be here long.”

  Kaine lifted the teapot and gave it a swirl before pouring. The dark brown liquid flowing into his pristine mug looked perfect. “Probably, but there’s something about this place … a bad smell.”

  “What, in the café?”

  “No, Denny’s Grill is spotless. Nothing more than I’d expect in a place run by an old salt.” He added milk to his tea and took a sip.

  Pretty damned good, and way better than the French restaurant staff could manage on the ferry.

  He raised the mug to the watching retired CPO and dipped his head as a sign of appreciation. For his part, Joshua smiled and carried on prepping Kaine’s breakfast. Despite not being overly hungry, the aroma of frying bacon made Kaine’s mouth water. Yep, he could certainly manage a plate of English grub.

  “So?” Lara asked, gently pushing.

  “The neighbourhood’s … I don’t know … wrong. Last time I felt something like this was in Helmand, ’08.”

  Lara raised an eyebrow. “That serious?”

  “You think I’m nuts?”

  “Oh no, I felt something similar myself. Outside, I was uncomfortable. It felt as though we were being watched, and not in a good way. Didn’t want to say anything in case you laughed at me. Women’s intuition and all that.”

  “Never. I happen to take intuition seriously. It’s helped me out of many a tight situation.”

  “And I happen to believe in Ryan Kaine’s sixth sense,” she said, keeping her voice low. “What do you want to do next?”

  On a signal from the counter, Kaine stood and leaned closer to Lara. “Next, I’m going to fetch our food and enjoy what I expect to be an excellent second breakfast. After that … we’ll see.”

  “You’re not sending me home,” Lara said—a statement, not a question.

  “We’ll see.”

  “No we won’t. You’ll never leave without checking on the target, and I’m staying right here until you do.”

  “Elizabeth Griffin, you are impossible.”

  “Yes, and you know I’m right.”

  Kaine frowned all the way to the counter and all the way back with his heaving tray. Lara was right and they both knew it.

  Despite their frosty silence, Kaine’s breakfast was delicious and, although she’d claimed to have no appetite, Lara ate both homemade scones, which looked delicious. She did ignore the jam.

  Lara finished first, pushed her empty plate away, and refilled her cup. “Are we having our first real argument?”

  “Yes.”

  “After thirteen years together, and twelve of them married?”

  She’d clearly memorised her legend. His mood lifted.

  “Are you going to throw the way I treated your late mother in my face again?”

  Lara pulled a tissue from her handbag. “You were horrible to her. And all she wanted was the best for her daughter.” She dabbed her eyes with the tissue, playing her scene to the max.

  “Darling,” Kaine said, reaching for her hand, the one holding the mobile, not the crumpled but dry tissue, “I’m sorry. Your mother was a wonderful woman, even though she thought you’d married beneath you.”

  Lara sniffed, raised her voice to a plaintive whimper. “Maybe I should have married Peter Lancaster when I had the chance. He made regional manager at the bank last year. The man’s far more successful than you ever were.”

  Kaine released her hand and leaned back. “You’ve been in touch with your old flame?” he bellowed. “What the hell, Beth. Why don’t you go to him then? Maybe he’s the right one after—”

  “Oh, William,” she said, reaching for his hand, “that’s so not fair. Aunt Marjory keeps in touch with Peter’s mother, and she’s the one who told me about his promotion. Haven’t spoken to the man for years and years. I’ve never once regretted my decision, you silly, silly man. At least, not before today.” She murmured the last part.

  Kaine leaned close again, lowering his voice to match her whisper. “Okay, okay. Enough showing off your acting skills. I’m convinced. We’re going to shelve this particular conversation until later, when we’re alone. Meanwhile, drop Corky a line while I go smooth things over with my new buddy.”

  She piled the plates and cutlery onto the tray. “Yes, William. If you say so. You’re the boss.”

  He shook his head in apparent frustration and grabbed the tray. “That’ll be a first time in this marriage.”

  Lara’s half-hidden smile made Kaine’s heart lurch. He limped the tray to the counter and slid it across, fixing a hangdog expression to his face. “What do I owe you for the grub?”

  Joshua rang up the bill and Kaine handed over two tens. “Keep the change, mate. Food was delicious. By the way”—he threw a glance towards Lara, who was still tapping away at the screen of her mobile—“sorry ’bout that.”

  “Don’t worry, mate. Been divorced twice. I know all about marital strife.”

  “Poor woman’s still getting used to having me under her feet, twenty-four-seven. It’s the longest we’ve been together since the wedding, and house hunting is always fraught.”

  “Ye looking for a new billet?”

  Kaine shrugged and scratched at his beard, playing his part. “We’ll lose our married quarters in a couple of months. The West Country’s okay for a holiday, but a bit quiet, you know? Bloody expensive to buy a place and precious few decent houses for rent, too. At least not at the prices we can afford.”

  “Yeah, far worse in London though.”

  “Tell me about it. Bloody shoeboxes we’ve seen in the past few days claiming to be luxury apartments, doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “Where’ve ye been looking?”

  “All over. Started in Stratford and headed east, chasing the lower prices.”

  “Why Walthamstow? Not exactly the go-to place if yer looking for the nightlife. To be honest, the place is a crap-hole.”

  Kaine shrugged again. “Why not? We put a pin in the map and this is where we ended up. You never know, by the time we find something we like and can afford, we might end up in Canvey Island.”

  Joshua laughed. “Canvey Island’s no better than Walthamstow. No idea why they call it an island, either. Pretentious, I call that.”

  Never having visited the place in question, Kaine simply nodded along, keeping a hopeful smile in place. “Don’t suppose you can recommend a decent place for us to stay overnight. We were going to head for the nearest Premier Inn, but if you know somewhere better and closer …” He let the sentence trail off and scratched at his beard again.

  “Actually,” Joshua said, raising a finger in the air, “I might well do. Give me a sec and I’ll see if me old mate, Bernie, has a room. Nah, there’s no need for that old-fashioned look, mate. Bernie Halfpenny runs a decent little hotel aroun’ the corner on the High Street. Keeps the place clean and tidy, if not exactly shipshape.” He took note of Kaine’s questioning look and added, “Bernie’s an ex-squaddie, but don’t let that put ye off. He’s good people. There’s off-road parking, too, if ye have a motor. Won’t break the bank, either. ’Specially if I can twist his arm and get him to give ye mate’s
rates.”

  “Thanks, Joshua. Beth and I appreciate your help. But, before you do that, can we have a refill?” Kain asked, pointing to the teapot.

  Joshua did the business and refilled the milk jug.

  “There ye go. Just give me a sec and I’ll get back to ye,” Joshua said before turning his back and unhooking the landline from its cradle on the wall beside the till.

  Kaine returned to the table and poured while updating Lara on his chat.

  “Makes sense,” she said, taking what seemed like a reluctant sip. “If I know anything about military men, our Joshua will be a mine of local information.”

  Kaine watched as their host chatted into the phone and received payment from the three remaining customers. He noticed Kaine’s interest and smiled, adding a thumb’s up.

  “Looks like we have a bed for the night.”

  “Good. Hope it’s not too downmarket.”

  “We can make do for one night if it turns out to be a dive.”

  Kaine and Lara nursed their teas, waiting in silence for Joshua to end his call.

  “There ye are,” he called, replacing the handset and wiping his hands on a spotless dishcloth, “everything’s arranged. Double bed, with colour TV, sixty-five quid a night. Sound good?”

  Kaine glanced at Lara, who nodded, and he said, “Sounds perfect.”

  “Excellent. You’ll no’ be disappointed. By the way, that price doesnae include breakfast, but Bernie’s place is only aroun’ the corner frae here and ye can eat here. We’re open at five bells … that’s oh-six-thirty”—he said to Lara—“and don’t close ’til late.”

  Lara smiled her thanks, not that she would’ve needed an explanation of ship’s bell times. Kaine had explained it to her once a few months earlier, and she had an excellent memory.

  Kaine made a show of scanning the café.

  “Since we’re the only customers left, care to join us for a chinwag?”

  Joshua rubbed his hands together. “Don’t mind if I do. Need to take this great big weight off o’ me pins.”

  He paused long enough to fill a huge mug with black coffee, stirred in three heaped teaspoons of sugar, and joined them at an adjacent table to give himself plenty of elbow room.