by Charlie Wade
“Pint of Guinness, pal,” he said.
The barman nodded and poured an unfeasibly slow pint. Business was slow. A few drunks and an American couple taking in the delights of a traditional London Irish pub. Jim considered the man’s wallet. No doubt it was heavy, almost sagging with the brown and blue notes that weren’t dollars and who’s value was confusing. A week ago he may have followed them, relieved them of all that funny money. He smiled, glad all that was over. He’d never felt comfortable wallet snatching. It had just been a means to an end. Turned out he hadn’t needed to rob anyone. That was life though.
The pint slipped down in two gulps.
“Another?” asked the Australian barman.
“Please.”
Street robbing and buying and selling wasn’t his game anymore. He’d joined the big league. White-collar crime. City crime. Stealing not from under people’s noses, but over a period of time when anything could happen. That took cojones. Large cojones. He had to do his bit not only to repay Charlotte, but to win her back after this morning. How could he have thought she’d fleece him? After last night too. Not that he could remember last night, but he knew it was special. No, he’d let her down but he’d make it right again.
The pint disappeared in three mouthfuls. Making his way to the hotel he had to get dressed and hit the city in time for the end-of-day trading pub rush.
Before that, there was one other job from his past to finish.
He reckoned he looked alright in a suit. Not a natural banker or whizz kid, but he felt he fitted. His face looked drawn and aged though. Like he hadn’t slept for a month. Last night hadn’t helped. Maybe he’d catch up on a few hours tonight.
Walking into the bathroom he pulled the top from the toilet cistern. The unused shooter was still inside almost begging to be used. How close had he come? Just how close? Not just Geoffrey either, but the other day. He’d been close to robbing a post office or that bookies. All the time, Charlotte was waiting with money in the bank.
He shook his head. He couldn’t help but smile. Today could have gone so differently. He couldn’t even remember how he and Charlotte had discovered they were doing similar jobs last night. It was just a blur.
Gloves on, he pulled out the pistol, took it from the bag then wiped at it with a towel. He’d been so careful not to get prints on it, but double checking never hurt. His plan for disposal was clear. Walk to the river and chuck it in. Though crowds were everywhere, no one noticed anything in London. No one ever noticed anything.
He felt conspicuous alongside the Thames. He knew no one could see the gun lurking in his inside breast pocket, but that didn’t matter. Paranoia was back in town. The fenced-off shoreline was busier than he’d expected. Groups of tourists taking pictures of the Millennium Wheel and the skyscraper-filled skyline. South of the river was apparently good for something: taking pictures of the other shore.
Jim wandered for ages, possibly a mile, until the river and tourists calmed down. A few launches were at the north side, taking trippers for a tour, but the south side was clear. Taking a deep breath, he looked round one last time. No one watching. Removing the gun from his pocket, his gloved hand dropped it in the river. He expected it to ignore the rules of physics and just sit there atop the water, floating away towards the nearest police boat.
It didn’t.
It sunk. Quicker than a stone. Quicker than he would have with concrete wellies on.
It was gone.
The last reminder of that failed mistake, gone. He sighed heavily then headed for the tube.
The tube network was quiet waiting for the five o’clock rush. Alighting in the heart of the city, he made for a bar avoiding a few he’d previously done his own form of business in.
A wine bar. It too was preparing for the rush. Champagne and Chardonnay was on ice. Jim bought a bottle of Mexican lager and stood near the bar, sipping it gently. The past week had been a mess of alcohol. He needed a few days from it. Rehab. That was what he needed. Alcohol seemed to go with this job though. His new job for his new employer.
He smiled. After what had happened last night, most of which he couldn’t remember, being classed as her employee gave him a chuckle. He had to be careful though. He’d already upset the boss today. Anymore messing round and he’d be fired. With no severance.
An hour and two bottles of lager clicked by before the hoards entered. Being Thursday, more than normal hit the bars and restaurants for their near weekend snifter. The pub was soon full, albeit temporarily. Jim surveyed the potential quarry. A gaggle of blokes, similar shirts and ties, all sipping the same lager. A swanny of girls, glasses of white wine in their hands, talked above the din sharing tales and smiles. Small groups from the same office stood round, a misfit of people desperate to go home or drink with their friends instead.
No group looked too appealing. From what he remembered of Charlotte’s advice in finding a mark, it was best to go for the boring looking ones on the outskirts. Of course, Charlotte had an advantage; she was an attractive woman. Befriending men was easy for her than women would be for Jim. He reckoned most of the women were too savvy here anyway. They weren’t greedy enough either. That was more a male trait.
The group beside him had two outlying males. Smaller and uglier than the rest, they may just be the ones. Jim moved slightly towards them, pulled out his mobile and rang Charlotte.
“Hi Charlotte,” he said in his best Home Counties accent.
“Bloody hell,” she said. “Have you been drinking?”
“Crazy day, Charlotte, crazy day. Reuben made a mint today. Absolute mint.”
Her laughing was almost hysterical. He hoped the two guys couldn’t hear it.
“Uh huh, yeah,” he said.
The two were interested in him and his call, though he could tell they thought him the very sort of upper-class twit they normally avoided.
“I hope you’re not making a twat of yourself,” she whispered.
“So then,” he paused, “how are things in Dealsville US of A. Any news for moi?”
They were definitely taking interest. If only to watch a twat make a bigger twat of himself.
“Do you really think,” she said, “that I’d deal with someone who sounds like that?”
“Ya, ya.”
“I hope whoever you’ve got your eyes on is worth it. God knows we need some help now.”
“Really? Some space for investment has come up? Oh, let me think ...” Jim nodded at one of the men in front, the one who was most obviously taking it all in. The man turned to his friend, eyebrow raised.
“Keep thinking buddy. What do you fancy for tea tonight?” she said.
“Mmmm. Can’t really say now. Johnny might be up for an investment opportunity. Seems to have his finger in many pies.”
“Steak and Kidney?”
“Ya, ya. Look gotta split, Charlotte. I’ll ask around. Let you know if anyone’s interested.” He snorted, really loudly. “Ha ha, you’ll be paying me commission next. Ciao, ciao, ciao.”
He pressed the red button and ended the call. The two men in front, still smiling to themselves, were definitely interested in his little show. It beat listening to their boss moan about targets and future prospects.
“Alright, lads,” said Jim in the Coventry accent he now rarely used. “Financial advisor.” He pointed at the phone. “Don’t want her knowing I’m a brummie, like.”
“Excellent,” said the most smiley one. The other shook his head.
Jim reeled in the net.
The long game was hard. Jim wasn’t sure if it was him or not. Just gaining friendship, contacts, with no mention of the scam or anything financial was almost killing him inside. His heart wanted to offer them the chance to be rich. The chance was for one day only. They’d have to sign now.
It didn’t work like that.
The hour he’d just spent with Dave and Gary, technical assistants on a trading desk, could have been wasted. He had their numbers stored in his phone and s
ome vague promise of meeting again for a drink one evening.
It seemed a waste of time.
During the hour, he’d spotted two wallets practically begging to be popped from pockets. He’d also pointed out to a young woman that her Blackberry had fallen from her handbag.
It just wasn’t right.
Halfway to the next pub, he checked his phone.
Home now x. How’s it going?
In hindsight, his phone call couldn’t have worked out better. The messiness and betrayal of earlier seemed forgotten. Jim knew forgotten was the wrong word. It’d been pushed under the carpet, stored somewhere mentally ready for the next time he fucked up. Was she really cooking him dinner tonight? He wasn’t sure. He really wasn’t sure.
Not bad, I think x, he replied.
Two more pubs brought one more contact. The brokers and bankers, now either homeward bound or half drunk, wouldn’t have remembered him the next morning if he’d robbed them. A middle-aged man, Robin, propping up the bar with a seemingly iron liver and an unlimited wedge of money was the only person he talked to. Jim quickly learnt to ask first where they worked. He’d nearly been caught out by pretending to work for the same company and on the same floor as someone. A lesson learnt.
The time quarter to eight, he sent a final message, Coming back now. Shall I bring a takeaway? Both cheeky and to the point, he’d soon find out not only where he was spending this evening, but also, tonight.
When he got off the tube in south London, her reply arrived. I’ve cooked. It wasn’t a joke x.
See you in a minute x.
He stopped at the off licence for a few bottles of spirits. Just in case.
Chapter 28
The sofa was uncomfortable to sleep on. Given the cost and the sheer amount of leather involved in its manufacture it wasn’t unsurprising. As Jim woke he heard movement from above. Charlotte was getting ready, maybe having a shower. Putting the kettle on, he made her a drink. He still had some making up to do.
Looking refreshed she came down the stairs. “Morning.”
“Hello.” He pointed at the steaming mug of coffee.
“Ta.”
Jim thought the good news from last night was only two people had pulled out. Another had reduced his stake, but overall the fallout was less than Charlotte had expected. Jim had suggested they celebrate with the bottles he’d bought, but Charlotte didn’t feel like celebrating. They had a lot of work to do. Also today was Friday, the last day of the week. She’d said there’d be plenty of time for drinking at the weekend.
“Sleep well?” she asked.
“Fine.” He grimaced slightly and felt the small of his back. Her smiling face showed his lack of subtlety was appreciated.
“Look, I was thinking last night,” she started.
Jim felt his face drop. This was it. Her next words would be, “You’re really nice and that, but ...”
“Don’t look so worried. I just thought, it seems silly you paying for that hotel. I mean, it’s chucking money away.”
He felt his face move back up. Though not as bad as it seemed a minute ago, this could still go either way.
“There’s a spare room back there. She nodded towards the downstairs toilet and so-called laundry room opposite it. You could keep your stuff there and, you know.”
Jim did know. He really did. He winced and felt the base of his spine again, while trying to stop smiling.
“And you’re gonna have to be more subtle if you’re going to drag any money in.”
He nodded. The point taken.
Last night hadn’t gone so badly. They’d sat together, watched a documentary on Al Capone and even kissed a few times. The next stage never came. It was as if neither of them wanted to rush the way they’d obviously rushed the night before. He still couldn’t believe, when looking at her, that he even came close to her radar, let alone fitted it.
“Thanks.” He sipped his tea. Either it had got hot, or his face was reddening. Hers was too. “What’s today’s plan then, boss.”
She sat at the breakfast bar and twisted her cup round. “I’ve a few meetings; doubt anything will come of them, but you gotta try. Bars are always busiest Friday night. I reckon we’ll get a few contacts if we work at it.”
Jim nodded. He still didn’t fully understand how this worked. People were going to pay thousands of pounds of cash, or straight into Charlotte’s bank account which would be transferred to Switzerland. It got confusing then. Apparently, she’d withdraw it, buy gold bars then store them in a different Swiss bank. With no passport and still wanted for his release violations, Jim knew the last stage was beyond him. Whether she’d return to England after, he didn’t know.
“I’ll sort out the hotel room then hit the pubs lunchtime,” he said.
She nodded, her cheeks full of colour. “I’m free between two and four if you fancy a spot of lunch.”
Jim smiled. “That’d be nice. Like old times.”
Her piece of hair flopped down over her eyes. “I’m paying so you can eat meat too.”
He laughed and took a large swig of tea. “I’d better get ready, you know.” He pointed towards the bathroom.
“Want another cuppa?”
“Please.”
He was surprised when she gave him her spare key. He shouldn’t have been surprised. How else could he move his stuff in? There was no fuss or embarrassment just the simple handover of a small piece of shaped metal.
Back at the hotel, he felt a stranger. He’d barely been there to sample their wonderful food or service the past few days. Settling his bill and carrying his suitcase out, he half expected a Range Rover to offer him a lift. He’d been warned off the East End, but not the city. He kind of knew they were keeping an eye on him; anyone would. He just hoped they didn’t involve Charlotte. If they did, it was going to get messy.
Back at the apartment, he realised the spare room cum laundry had a guest bed. Just a single, unmade, foldable bed, but it was a bed. He wondered what her idea of the sleeping plan was. Remembering back, she hadn’t actually invited him to sleep there just leave his stuff. She could hardly expect him to sleep there amongst the mountain of her underwear and skirts. Could she? If so, why all the red faces earlier?
He made a cup of tea and put the stereo on. He found nothing he really liked amongst the Enya, Jazz and Tracey Chapman ones. Getting The Clash CD he’d bought, he blasted out “I Fought The Law” and settled on the couch. He still couldn’t believe this. Realistically, he should be dead. Charlotte had saved his life. No two ways about it.
And if she wanted separate bedrooms, that was fine by him.
For a day or two.
Chapter 29
Lunchtime brought another contact. A monotonous-voiced trader from Northumberland. He’d latched on to Jim a but quick for his liking. He was after fools with money not friendless losers. He took his number anyway. “You never know” had become his new phrase for the week.
Charlotte looked flustered over lunch. Her phone barely stopped ringing through the soup and main course. It had been her idea to eat three courses. “It’ll soak up the drink you have later,” she’d said.
Jim had agreed and laid off the wine choosing coke instead. In the pause before the main course, she said, “Two weeks on Monday. I can’t risk waiting longer. There are more stats out from the ONS on the Wednesday as I’m sure you know as you’re working there.”
Jim poked his tongue out, but she didn’t smile back.
“I thought this would be it, you know.” She looked philosophical. Jim wanted to stand and walk to her, put his arms round her.
“You mean the last one?”
“Yeah. Exactly what I mean. After costs and the rent on the flat, sorry, ‘apartment’, there’s nowhere near enough to retire on.”
She spoke clearly, yet quietly enough so only he heard. He didn’t know what to say. This was the only job she’d be able to pull in London for years, plastic surgery aside. She’d spoken last night of Switzerland or
Monaco. There were some seriously rich people there. But, she’d have to use almost all this money for a future blag. If it went wrong she was back to square one.
Jim didn’t envy her the decision. He knew what he’d do with the money, but it wasn’t his. They hadn’t talked of a share or wage. She’d given him five hundred last night the leftovers of what she’d drawn from the safety deposit box. When that ran out, he’d have to go cap in hand asking for more. He hoped she’d bring the subject up before then.
He shrugged his shoulders. “This is your game, not mine. I couldn’t possibly think of an idea of anything this size.”
“You could.” Her voice was much softer; he could barely hear. “You just need practise. Start at the beginning.”
He smiled. “It would take me months.”
“I didn’t do this overnight, you know. I spent months researching markets making the whole thing believable, yet just secretive enough. Literally months.”
“I can believe it.”
“It’s never too early to think of the next one.”
“It’s putting up money that would worry me.” Though the alcove felt private, he kept checking round. Just in case.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Speculate to accumulate. I bet you’re useless at poker, aren’t you?”
“Not if I cheat I’m not.”
She smiled. Her piece of hair plopped down. He wondered again how she put it with it. Surely it was annoying?
The work conversation ended though Jim had an unasked question, and he thought she did too. He hoped she did. But there was plenty of time for that. No point worrying over what may or may not happen in the future.
They chatted about music, which pub or bar they hated the most and just why was everything so expensive. Jim had fillet steak for the second time in his life. Though nice, it still wasn’t worth the extra money.
Parting, he headed for the same bar as the previous day. Still an hour before knocking off time he thought he’d grab a bar seat. Drinking expensive Mexican bottled lager, he thought again of Charlotte and the unsaid next job.
