by Charlie Wade
Ooops. I’m in between meetings. So far so good x.
He sighed as he typed, Well done x, then walked back to Covent Garden. Though Raif would already be on a tube north, Jim didn’t want to go anywhere near the station.
Halfway to the river, and with the afternoon still only half over, he didn’t fancy being home alone. Or Charlotte’s home alone. It just didn’t seem right if she was working. Finding a pub he ordered a pint. The pub, a chain that was trying to be traditional, was doing a good trade. The beer garden, with barbecue, seemed the reason. Jim sat at the bar taking the place in. Families out for the day seemed to be the stock trade. Kids eating mini-burgers in between tears, fizzy drinks and running around. Adults drinking a pint with far away looks, no doubt remembering the pre-kids time when they’d have spent the whole afternoon getting wasted.
Jim sipped his beer and nodded at the glass-wiping barman. “Busy in here.”
“Always is, mate.” Another Australian. Jim wondered just how many were left in Australia. “Two for one Sunday dinners, plus the barby.”
Jim nodded. “You here for long?”
“Knock off at six.”
Jim shrugged his shoulders and smiled. That wasn’t what he meant, but he reckoned the barman knew that. “What part of Canada you from then?” His smile was matched then beaten by the Australian’s.
“Good one. Little town near Perth.”
Jim nodded. “I’ve never been. Maybe one day I’ll go.”
“You ought to, mate. Don’t worry about the flight. It just takes a day or two to get over it.”
“I suppose it does.” He’d somehow finished his drink so he tried to order another. The barman had three others in the queue before he got back to Jim.
“You living nearby?” Jim asked.
“South London, near The Old Kent Road.”
Jim nodded. He had no idea where it was, but knew it was the sort of place anyone who lived in London would know.
“What about yourself?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Apartment just south of the river. Mate of a mate’s pad, you know.”
The barman went back to serving and wiping as Jim quaffed his second pint. His head now back in the land of the drunk, he pulled out his phone. He typed, Just stopped at a pub to find new recruits, and pressed send.
A little phone icon on the screen was flashing. Jim had no idea what it meant but it definitely meant something. Opening the menus he realised it was a missed call. Dave. Some bloke from the other day. The one he’d rung earlier who barely remembered him.
Jim nodded at the barman and went into the beer garden. Lighting a fag, he dialled Dave’s number.
“Hello, Jim?”
“Alright, Dave. How you doing?” He looked at the punters sat on wooden seats. All seem to be enjoying themselves with their half cooked sausages and burgers.
“Not bad. Look, I’m out with a few mates and they’re heading off soon. So, just wondered if you were still around?”
“Yeah, I’m out and about. Just in a pub near the river, I think.” He pulled another cigarette from his pocket and searched for his lighter.
“I’m in a bar just off Leicester Square. I could meet you at the tube if you want?”
“Um.” Jim paused. The bloke sounded very keen. He could barely remember him, but thought he hadn’t got that far into his ten-year plan patter anyway. What did he want? “Yeah, go on. God knows where the tube is from here.”
“Lost are you?” Dave laughed. A bit haughty, but Jim realised it went with the job round these parts.
“Yeah. I was walking home and found a pub.”
“You could be anywhere, mate. Ask the barman or something.”
“Yeah. I’ll ring you when I get off the tube.”
“Okay.”
Jim lit his fag and shook his head. Maybe the bloke was just bored and lonely. There seemed to be a lot of it about. He looked round the garden again at the adults drinking, while the kids played on swings and tried to climb the slide backwards. They seemed happy enough, both adults and children. He did think though that each was more comfortable with their own age group.
Stubbing out his fag, he went to the bar and caught the barman’s eye.
“Where’s the nearest tube, pal?”
“What line do you want?”
“Leicester Square. Don’t know which line.”
The Aussie thought for a minute; scowl on his face. “Kind of between two stops. Probably best to go to Green Park. Saying that, you could probably walk it quicker.”
Jim shrugged his shoulders. He just wanted directions, he didn’t care walking or not.
“Out the door, turn right, then left, then right again at the traffic lights. Tube’s just off to the left. If you want to walk it, right then right then sort of carry on for a mile or so. Can’t miss it.”
Jim thanked him, left, and flagged down a taxi.
“You see,” the cabbie said, “that’s what they never thought of when they wanted the Olympics. They can put more tubes on, can’t they? But they can’t just hire more cabbies for a month. Knowledge, mate, the knowledge. That’s what it is.” The cabbie shook his head while Jim looked out of the window. “They always say, ‘what are you worried about? Be more overtime, won’t it?’ Well it won’t. We’ll still be driving the same hours, but we’ll all be stuck in traffic outside the frigging venues. Chaos it’s gonna be, chaos.”
Jim looked back at the driver’s head and neck. Strong, possibly bulletproof plastic separated them. He wondered for a minute if robbery wasn’t the only reason they were protected. “And what’s worse.” He paused before continuing. “How many of your foreigners and day trippers aren’t gonna come at all cos the Olympics are on? Eh? Didn’t think of that, did they? Gonna be quiet all year we reckons. Barely be able to make ends meet we reckon.” He paused again then pulled in to the kerb. “Here you are, squire. Eight pounds eighty.”
Jim made a point of paying the exact fare before he walked to the station foyer and dialled Dave’s phone.
“Be there in two minutes,” he said.
Jim smoked another fag while waiting. Just as he stubbed it out, a young man appeared on the opposite side of the entrance. Jim thought he looked familiar but wasn’t sure. Maybe he needed a carnation for his lapel or something. He smiled before walking over.
“Dave?”
The young man nodded. Jim barely remembered him. Friday night, definitely, but what pub? Where did he work and what job?
“Sorry,” the man said. “Barely recognised you.”
“It’s the suit,” said Jim. “Makes me almost respectable.” He pointed towards a pub. “Shall we?”
Chapter 32
Dave was from Derby and overall fairly decent. Probably too decent to rip off. Jim had noticed an occasional flourish from him when speaking. His voice sounded more than a bit camp too which for a moment worried him. He wondered if he’d inadvertently picked the bloke up or been flirting without realising.
“Have you got a girlfriend then?” asked Jim.
He shook his head. Again, flamboyant, almost theatrical. Perhaps he’d just got into the wrong job.
“I have.” Jim realised he was sounding desperate. Or like a thirteen-year-old trying to impress.
“Quite hard to meet people, isn’t it?” said Dave, swigging from his pint.
Jim nodded.
“The only time you ever meet people in this city, you’re rushing about, trying to get home. The rest of the time you’re at work or trying to forget about work.”
He knew, like James before, that this was rapidly becoming a shorts situation. The problem was he’d already drunk too much. The train to pissedville was already out of the station. He looked at the young man for a minute. Realistically, how much did he have? If anything, was it enough to make him gamble his future, and possible freedom on some bloke he’d never met?
If Jim had worn a watch he’d have checked it. He settled with, “Do you know what the time is?”
“Half five.”
He nodded. “So, no girlfriend then?”
“Nah. Been here a year now. A few dates and that, but you know how it is.”
“I only met Charlotte a few weeks ago. Nice girl, she is. You’d like her.” He wondered why he said that. He barely knew who this person was let alone what tastes he’d have in other random men’s girlfriends.
“How did you meet?”
Jim laughed. “You won’t believe this.”
Jim realised not only that he’d been talking about Charlotte for half an hour, but also Dave was the one checking his watch for his own benefit. He’d gone into some unstoppable rant about her. Of course he’d left out most of the story, but the meat of it was there.
He paused and shrugged his shoulders.
“You’re lucky,” said Dave. He nodded a few times as if trying to think of something further to say.
Jim shrugged his shoulders. “Probably ought to, er.” He pointed at the door. “One more for the road?”
Dave stood up. “Yeah, my round.”
As he walked to the bar, Jim pulled out his phone. Charlotte’s last message, Last meeting of the day, then home x, had been an hour ago. He guessed she’d be nearly finished. If London were smaller, they’d probably bump into each other on the tube.
Just about done myself x, his reply read.
Back with two pints, Dave talked for a while about football before they parted. Another midweek drink arrangement was made, but Jim didn’t feel fully into it. There just wasn’t enough time to befriend someone enough to pull this kind of blag. He thought deep down Charlotte must know it too. He was being put out to pasture for the week. She was keeping him near, but giving him a useless, unfeasible job.
The tube packed, he stood and swayed as it travelled south. There were at least eighty people on the tube. He reckoned most would have a grand they really wouldn’t miss. Eighty big ones. That’s all Charlotte would end up getting for all her work. He shook his head. Maybe they were both missing a trick. The old cream off the top blag. How many millions lived in London? Even ten pence off each person would solve both their money cravings for a long time.
How did you do it though? Ten pence from each person. “Excuse me, mate. I haven’t quite got enough change for the tube. Can you spare ten pence?” He quickly realised you could only get fifty, maybe eighty people an hour at most. No. The ante would have to be higher.
As the tube pulled into the station he thought he’d work on the plan during the week. The week he knew would seem so long while Charlotte was running around doing all the work. A kept man, that’s what he was. She paid the rent. He remembered an old Pet Shop Boys song about that. At least he thought it was about that. What was that song called?
He shrugged his shoulders as he walked past the cinema. Life could be worse. He had some sort of mid-term future with Charlotte and her scams. His own idea in Cornwall, despite needing work, wasn’t bad. A little fill-in job maybe.
Letting himself into the empty apartment, he turned the kettle on and checked out the fridge. Charlotte had eaten too, but he thought a little snack wouldn’t do any harm. Ham salad with those expensive little tomatoes and the curly salad stuff in a bag. Nothing like the salads he’d had before. The ham was actually carved straight from cooked pig instead of the watery, compacted slices of waste cuts he was used to. He’d still cover everything with salad cream though. The habit was too hard to break.
Charlotte wasn’t far behind, though well after he’d finished “cooking” the salad. Appreciative, but tired, she ate hers without salad cream and with few words.
“So it sort of went okay then?” Jim was far from giving up. She seemed too quiet, lost in a world of numbers, profit calculation and planning tomorrow’s meetings.
“As well as it could I suppose. First one’s actually paid. Well, they will tomorrow when the bank opens. Ten thousand pounds.”
Jim whistled. “Something to celebrate?”
“Not really. Need another nought on the end before we start that.”
Though glad she’d said we, he wondered about the apartment she’d chosen to rent. It seemed superfluous. None of the duped bankers had ever seen it or been there. She could have rented a bedsit in north London and been thirty grand better off. He thought maybe she was still learning too, like himself.
“We’ll get there.” She smiled. He thought it was because he’d used the word “we” so quickly and added, “You’ll get there anyway. I’ll probably be lucky to repay what I’ve borrowed.”
She took another bite of salad, or rocket as it was apparently called, then said, “It wasn’t a loan. We’ve been through this.”
Jim thought about pushing this further but didn’t. She didn’t look in the mood. Nowhere near the right mood. He took another mouthful of salad cream and ham then looked at his plate while trying to think of a different subject. Prodding a tomato with his fork, he wondered if there were any other subjects. This scam had become their lives like some all possessing demon. He couldn’t remember the last time something had consumed him as much.
Crunching on the tomato, he remembered. Last week. Ten grand, yeah, that pretty much became an obsession.
“How are your plans for tomorrow?” He knew she’d reply with busy, but it wasn’t really a question.
She shook her head. “Rammed. Seeing four people. Two at lunch, two after work. Have to make some calls too.” She looked up. The piece of hair flopped down. “Should calm down by Wednesday. Then, it’s just a case of waiting for the money and running.”
He wanted to ask run where, but knew he couldn’t. Some of the money would end up in Switzerland and she’d have to go there, swap it into gold then reopen the other account. He knew he’d be staying here, probably camping in Devon the way things were going.
“Just hope it’s worth it.” She pushed the plate aside having barely touched his carefully arranged salad. He didn’t feel too hungry himself. He supposed all scammers must feel this way. The lull before the storm.
“Want me to run you a bath?” he said, trying hard not to grin.
She shook her head. “I’m not that tired. I think I can manage to turn two taps on.”
He stood and picked her plate up. “I’ll wash up then. Give me something to do.”
Chapter 33
He spent the evening fiddling with the laptop while Charlotte took and received what seemed like hundreds of calls. Despite finding what appeared to be a convict-reuniting website, his heart wasn’t really into it. The thought from earlier kept pounding back into his head. A few million Londoners, fifty pence each, problem sorted. How though? He wondered if every entrepreneur came across the same problem. Probably marketing or something would do it. Fake charity? No, that wasn’t fair. They’d have to willingly give it without any expectation of it doing some good to anyone but himself.
Bed came all too early and with it came sleep for Charlotte. Jim found himself lying awake and going over and over the same thing. Redistribution of wealth in a way Robin Hood wouldn’t have agreed with. Was it possible? Maybe a hundred thousand at a tenner each?
By three o’clock, sleep came. The alarm woke him at six, dog-tired and groggy from the previous days drink. Charlotte seemed well rested. Eager, determined and with a purpose, she made toast and coffee as Jim slumped at the breakfast bar.
“Didn’t you sleep well?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not really. Something going round and round.”
She poured a coffee and sat opposite. “Care to share?”
“Kind of a plan, but it’s half-hearted. Possibly half-arsed.”
She smiled. The first one of the day. He was expecting her lump of hair to fall down but it’d just been cemented with half a bottle of hairspray. “Go on then.”
“It’s going to sound stupid, but ...”
Her eyes seemed to gloss over halfway through as he told his modern day inverse Robin Hood idea. Maybe it was stupid, infantile even. She nodded in t
he right places, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
“Sorry,” he said, “here I am babbling on about a hare-brained job and you’ve got a hectic day.”
She shook her head. “Not at all. There’s just so much going on upstairs it’s hard to concentrate.”
He left it at that and made another coffee. The time nearly eight, he knew she’d be leaving soon, but it was the thought that counted. Half a caffeine boost was always welcome especially in a rush.
A goodbye kiss and she’d gone. Jim cleaned up the breakfast bits, played his Clash CD then got dressed.
Emerging onto the street at eleven, he looked both ways. This week was going to drag. He was little more than a spare part, but he knew there must be some way he could pull his weight. He’d pester his contacts again later, but they’d probably come to nothing. Maybe a few grand if he was lucky. No, this was Charlotte’s big one, not his. He needed his own blag. Sitting around all day moping or cleaning wasn’t cutting it. He had to physically do something; get some money in.
On the tube he sighed. Another hour spent underground going back and forth to the city’s heartland. The ten pence idea was stupid in hindsight; he couldn’t believe he’d told Charlotte about it. That was stupid. She’d probably change the locks while he was out. Deep down he knew she wouldn’t. Okay, she was the boss, more than in charge of both this scam and everything, but he knew she needed him too. This world was scary alone. They both knew that. Finding someone alike was a one in a million chance.
The city pubs and restaurants were only just opening as he hit the square mile. Checking his phone, he retrieved a message.
Can we meet later, about threeish? x
Okay x, he replied as he ordered a tea.
He wondered for a minute what she wanted to meet for. Probably a gap between meetings. Maybe they’d have a bite to eat.
As the first lot of city workers came for their lunchtime drink, he took a deep breath and looked around. Couple of blokes together. Similarly, a couple of women a few paces behind. He realised they weren’t together, but noticed the difference in what they did. The blokes headed straight for the bar, no messing. Drink came first. The women, however, found a seat, took off their jackets then ummed and arrred before one of them went for drinks.
