Seven Daze

by Charlie Wade

  He yawned. An involuntary action. The combination of alcohol and lack of sleep, but it was the last thing he wanted to do. She looked at her watch. Damn, he’d done it now. In a second she’d yawn too and say, “Well, it’s been a great night and all that, but ...”

  “Am I keeping you up?”

  “Sorry.” He knew he had to stop apologising but couldn’t. “Haven’t slept well lately. Feels different now though, like a weight’s been lifted.”

  Her hand moved towards his. He placed his hands gingerly on his thighs unsure where else to put them. Grabbing his left hand, she squeezed it. He turned towards her, licked his lips and moved his face nearer. Squeezing his hand tighter, she moved herself.

  Minutes seemed to count down until their lips met. He gasped a breath before starting what he knew would end the night one way or another.

  Chapter 26

  Coming out of the hotel bathroom, Jim turned the kettle on. With everything that could have happened last night sleeping in his own bed was the last thing he’d suspected. Sometimes he was glad he didn’t bet. Rolling his head round he looked out of the window. Though dull and fuzzy, his head didn’t have the hangover it should have. The whisky had flowed like a river. He’d been drinking all week, but the combination of chilli, Charlotte and a possible increase in his longevity had made alcohol more potent. How the hell did he end back here at the hotel though? He couldn’t remember that.

  “Mine’s a coffee,” said Charlotte.

  Turning round, Jim saw she’d woken. Her bouffant-like hair was tipped at right angles to her head. The make-up smeared around her eyes and lips made her look ten years older.

  “Morning. Did I wake you?”

  She yawned. “Do you know where my clothes are?”

  “Half of them in the bathroom, the other half down there.” He pointed to the floor.

  She scratched a hand through her hair. “Why did we come here?”

  “Don’t ask me.” He looked round the room half expecting to see a traffic cone or a pile of wallets. Two half-eaten kebabs in the bin gave the only clue to the venue change. “Apparently we ate kebabs?”

  “No wonder I feel like shit.” She paused. “Urm, any chance you could, er, get my clothes?”

  “God, yeah. Sorry.” He felt himself blush. Though why either of them should be embarrassed was beyond him. It was obvious by the location of both their clothes they’d seen it all before, and possibly more. He knew deep inside that much had happened last night. Three years in prison gave a strong yearning. You knew when that yearning has been fulfilled.

  Picking up the pile near the window he deposited it on the bed. Then grabbing the bathroom pile he did the same. The two piles of clothes seemed to be conflicting, the order of removal impossible. Returning to the bathroom, he said, “I’ll, er, brush my teeth or whatever.”

  He locked the door and sat on the toilet with the lid down. He remembered the gun behind him in the cistern. He hoped he hadn’t told her about that. Who knows what he’d said. He could remember much about last night, but it just seemed to go blank. They’d been sat on the sofa, next to each other. Kissed. Then, nothing.

  He thought again of the gun. She’d be in the bedroom now quickly throwing clothes on then running out the door. Desperate to get away.

  “You can come out now.” She knocked on the door.

  Okay, he was wrong. Was the loan still on though? That was the question.

  “I’ll finish that coffee.” He walked towards the low-powered travel kettle and willed it to hurry up.

  “Is it really only seven?” she said. “Seems much later.” She pointed to the window and the sounds of traffic tearing by.

  “Yeah, it’s a great alarm clock.” He poured two coffee sachets into a cup and plonked a teabag on a string in the other.

  “Just, er.” She pointed at the bathroom.

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  She smiled as she closed the door.

  Please don’t look in the toilet cistern was his only thought as the kettle started to warm.

  “Ralph? It’s Jim.” He could hear the knuckle scraper’s heavy breathing in the background. Those steroids must play havoc with sinuses.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m, er, I’ll be ready about two this afternoon.”

  “That’s good. We were getting worried.”

  “Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.” Jim paused. Charlotte, squeezed beside him in the phone box, made the okay sign with her fingers. He nodded back. “Where shall we meet?”

  “We’ll pick you up from your hotel.”

  “Okay I’ll be outside at two.”

  The phone went dead.

  “Okay then? Really?” she asked.

  “Yeah, fine. Bit nerve-racking, but he sounded fine.”

  “Do you smoke?” said Charlotte.

  “Occasionally, why?”

  “I thought you did. I’ve got a half smoked pack of fags in my pocket, but I gave up three years ago.”

  A titbit of remembrance returned. “We went out for them last night. You smoked most of them, too.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and handed them back along with a lighter.

  “Do you mind if I have one now?”

  She shook her head.

  He lit one and exhaled noisily. For all his worry last night that she’d kick him out or ignore him this morning, the reality was the opposite. He’d treated her to breakfast in a cafe then watched her telly while she showered and changed. They seemed to be inseparable. She wasn’t going to be there when he handed over the money though. That was definite.

  By the side of the road, next to the rare telephone booth that was both working and accepted cash, they waited while he sucked the fag. She’d dressed down compared to her normal attire. Jeans and a t-shirt. However, he knew the jeans were as expensive as her normal clothes. Her hair still damp, but drying in the wind, made her look even more attractive. He had to constantly kick himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

  Crushing the fag under his foot, he said, “Taxi to the East End, Madam?”

  “You know how to treat a girl, don’t you?”

  The cab slowly worked its way through London, its driver the font of knowledge of every news event and traffic delay. His own driving was beyond reproach. It was always everyone else’s fault.

  “You ’eard we’re back in recession now?” he said.

  Charlotte sat forward. “The GDP figures? Are they negative?”

  “Yes, love. Half a percent fall. Cor blimey, this government, I ask you. I dunno what the world’s coming to ...”

  Jim could only look at Charlotte and smile. She wasn’t smiling back. “You sure you don’t work for the ONS?”

  He shook his head. Remembering from last night, a recession was bad news for fake takeovers, he tried to take her hand. She shrugged him off.

  Stopping the cabby’s rant, she said, “How’s the market reacted?”

  “Footsie’s down a few percent last I heard. You into shares then? I tried a few years back. Dot com and all that. Never again. Never again.”

  She was silent until they reached the lock-up.

  “You sure this is the right place?” asked the cabby.

  Apparently he didn’t go south of the river after ten so his near reluctance to go this far east at this time of day wasn’t a huge surprise.

  “Yeah,” said Jim. “I’ll just be a minute. It’s a friend’s lock-up. Just keeping an eye on it while he’s away.”

  Charlotte smiled at him as he left the cab. Unlocking the garage door, he went inside.

  The rolls of cash fitted nicely inside Raif’s old briefcase. Jim thought it made a fitting end to the last of his possessions. The other items left, an iPod he’d forgot to sell and The Clash CD, were tossed in the briefcase too. Back outside, the taxi was still waiting. The driver, though interested in the briefcase, made no comment.

  Traffic was heavy leading back to the city. Charlotte, who still seemed bewildered by what Jim
could only imagine was the GDP news, directed the cab towards a safety deposit storage centre.

  Taking the case inside with her, Jim waited in the cab. The driver’s stock conversations on the weather, traffic and the mayor soon dried up. Before five minutes was up, just the radio filled the cab.

  Jim had never been in a safety deposit stronghold, but he imagined the obvious security plus waiting would make this at least fifteen minutes. He could almost see her inside handing over her ID, typing in security codes and eventually being given a key to a box.

  When ten minutes had passed, the cab’s fare ticked to thirty-five quid. Charlotte had already handed the cabbie three twenties when explaining the unusual route they were taking. The cabbie wasn’t too bothered; he’d seen it all in funny old London. However, he was now eyeing the meter. They’d promised to pay him handsomely for the waiting and messing round. Jim pulled a twenty from his pocket and passed it through the hatch.

  “Cheers, guv.”

  Another five minutes crawled by. The smallest doubt, that he kept trying to push away, was growing. He’d seen her go in the building with his five grand, but she hadn’t come out. Maybe, just maybe, there was another exit.

  He shook his head. This was Charlotte, or whatever her name was, not some common criminal like himself. They’d spent last night together. They were close. Besides, what was five grand to her? She was loaded. At least she would be after this job.

  He sighed. The money wasn’t hers. She was borrowing it. She wasn’t loaded at all. Like him, she had nothing. The payoff was ages away, and the surprise GDP figures had probably messed everything up.

  “Shit.”

  He felt sick as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.

  “You alright, chief?” asked the cabbie with genuine concern.

  “Not sure.” He didn’t want to panic the cabbie. They had CCTV after all. If he suspected any sort of crime he might report it. He seemed the sort. A bit of cash in hand work himself was different. It was everyone else who robbed from the taxman.

  Another ten minutes, and he was sure she wasn’t coming back. It surely wouldn’t take nearly half an hour to get cash out of a box. She’d blagged him. Pure and simple. A sickly feeling rose up his throat. He had to control his breathing to make sure the cab wasn’t going to get pepper-blasted with last night’s chilli and kebab. How stupid had he been? He’d got so close too. They might have taken five grand if he’d begged. But now, just to make it worse, they were expecting him in an hour with ten grand. They were going to be disappointed.

  “I don’t think she’s coming back.” He knew he’d said the words, but they seemed so distant.

  “How d’ya mean, pal?”

  “I think she might have dumped me.”

  The cabbie looked at his meter. “Still a tenner left if you wanna go anywhere.”

  Jim shrugged, pulled out his mobile and dialled her number. Dancing Queen, her ringtone, started playing from down the side of the cab seat.

  The cab was just indicating to pull into traffic when she walked out the front door.

  “Stop.”

  The cab did, nearly taking out a car with it. The cabbie muttered something Jim didn’t recognise.

  Letting herself in, she looked awkwardly at Jim. “It was busy.”

  He shook his head and whispered, “Sorry. You left your phone here, down the side of the cab.”

  “That’s where it is. I thought I’d lost it.”

  The cabbie, his eyes heavily on the rear-view mirror, drove back south towards the hotel.

  “Sorry,” said Jim again.

  “You will be.”

  Though she was sitting on the hotel bed, Jim had nothing to smile about. She had the briefcase too. The briefcase that contained ten grand. The ten grand he needed to pay for his life in less than an hour.

  “Is this what it’s going to be like?” she said. “Every moment you’re wondering if I’m ripping you off?”

  He’d messed up. What could he say to convince her? Sorry just wasn’t cutting it.

  “Look. My head’s all over the place. In less than an hour I’m dead if I haven’t got the money.” He looked again at the briefcase.

  “Oh yeah, the money. It’s all there. Do you want to count it first? Or make sure I haven’t replaced your five grand with cut up pieces of paper?”

  He didn’t need ideas putting in his head. Maybe she was working for the big man. No. Of course she wasn’t. He breathed deeply.

  “Christ, I’ve messed up haven’t I?” He tried his puppy dog look. It didn’t work.

  “If there’s no trust this ain’t gonna work.” Her perfectly tutored and practised voice slipped. The black in her hair wasn’t the only roots showing.

  “Once this is done,” he said, “it’ll be different, won’t it? I’ve spent the whole week thinking I’m dead. I even gave away two bags for life the other day. That’s how convinced I was. This has happened so quickly. I just ...” He paused. “I want this rod off my back.”

  Her face moved into something approaching a smile. “You gave away a bag for life?”

  He nodded. “I pawned that stolen laptop and iPad; told the pawnbroker to keep the bags. Look.” He changed tact and spoke softer, his eyes pleading with hers. “How many opportunities have I had to rob you? Ask yourself. How many times did I look after your bag when you went to the toilet? Or when I was in your flat, your laptop was there wasn’t it? I could have had that, and a hundredweight of stainless steel out while you were having a shower.” He shook his head. He wasn’t sure this new tack would work but he’d tried everything else in the last ten minutes. “I panicked. Can you seriously tell me you wouldn’t have?”

  She sighed and picked up the briefcase. “Call me when it’s over.” She threw the case into his lap.

  “Charlotte.” She was heading for the door, but turned round as he said her name. “I won’t let you down.”

  “You better fucking not.”

  The blackened-windowed Range Rover arrived on time. Jim thought it might. Money had a habit of making even the most tardiest punctual. Not that the front seat passenger was tardy in any way.

  The door was held open for him by Ralph the knuckle scraper. Placing the case on his legs, he waited for the car to tear off at high speed.

  “Good afternoon,” the man in front said.

  “Afternoon.” Jim had been unsure whether to reply or not, but politeness couldn’t possibly cause harm or offense.

  “I hear you’ve been busy.” He paused briefly, though he definitely didn’t want a reply. “One of my little birdies tells me you done well. I’m very nearly impressed. You see, hard graft’s something I respect. We’re all in this boat together, aren’t we? It’s hard enough getting by these days as it is. I respect hard graft. It’ll always come through in the end.”

  Jim remembered how much he liked his own voice. Also, given the cost of the car, he wondered just what his experience of being hard up was.

  “Anyway, down to business. If you hand the briefcase to Ralph, he’ll count it. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I’d just hate for anything to be realised later that could be sorted now.”

  He handed the briefcase to Ralph. He’d counted the money four times and it was bang on. He had a feeling Charlotte had counted it a few times too. His heart was still in his mouth as Ralph opened the case then flicked through the wads of cash.

  “As I believe I said last time,” he continued, “it’s a shame our business relationship had to come to this. However, I’m not in the habit of making enemies. They cause such time-consuming complications as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  Ralph was nearly halfway through counting. Though he’d run out of fingers a long time ago, Jim thought he was doing a great job.

  “Similarly though, friendship is something that I believe should start correctly. Therefore, assuming all is correct with the case, I think our parting of ways should be permanent. If ever I see you again, I will have no way of knowing whether you
are intending to recollect the compensation or not. So it stands to reason that, should I see you approach my businesses, my home or any part of London that I, for want of a better word, control, I will have to assume the worst. Is that clear?”

  Jim had lost him halfway through, but he had a feeling the phrase, “don’t come back looking for your money,” would have saved him some wear on his vocal cords. “Yes,” he croaked.

  “Good.”

  He turned and looked at Ralph counting. Jim guessed the speech was over. In a perfect world the car would pull over and he’d be turfed out. However, the Ralph factor hadn’t been taken into account.

  He knew an embarrassed silence would fill the rest of the short journey. But for the first time in a week, he felt free. The week that might have been the last he’d ever see had been and gone. As long as he kept out of east London, he could live to a ripe old age.

  “It’s all here, boss.”

  The man nodded at the driver who pulled into the kerb. “Well, that concludes things nicely. As it’s such a lovely day, I’m sure you’ll be glad of the walk. Goodbye. It’s been a pleasure doing business.”

  “Thanks.” He wasn’t sure why he thanked him, but he had to say something.

  As Ralph let him out he took a deep mouthful of clean, fresh London air. Coughing slightly, he looked round to get his bearings. The West End. An Irish themed pub on a corner looked inviting, but there was something he had to do first.

  Chapter 27

  “Hi, it’s me,” he said to the voicemail. “Just to let you know, everything went well. I’m off to get changed then I’ll head for the square mile.” He wasn’t too bothered she hadn’t answered the phone. Her phone had been ringing all morning. Clients wanting to meet to discuss things they couldn’t on the phone. The GDP figures had messed up the plan. Jim only hoped some punters were left in by the end. If not, then Charlotte would end up owing money to Holloway’s answer to the big man.

  Sat at the bar of the fake Irish pub, he knew he’d help her. He’d rob every twat in a suit in the square mile for her. Every last one.