by Albert Able
“I need a word with you.” I said quietly.
“So what takes your fancy eh?” The pimp smiled, believing that I was about to seek the services of one of his workhorses.
“Think we’d better talk over there.” I pointed and started to move towards the side street Fire Exit.
The pimp followed me at first and then suspicious that all was not well snapped. “What’s your game then?”
At the door, I faced him. “Simple” I pushed the emergency door open. “I want you and your tarts out of my hotel!”
Quick as a flash the pimp pushed his hand up and grabbed my throat. “Your hotel? Now that’s a larf.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flash in his other hand and then felt the sharp pain of a knife pushing into my stomach.
“I think we need to have a little understanding.” The pimp hissed in my ear.
The pain was steadily increasing, I felt certain I was going to die.
“I work this lobby when ever I like or one interfering Dago retires early, clear?”
I did not need to reply because the pressure on the knife suddenly stopped and the pimp’s eyes blinked from the touch of another knife held tightly against his throat and already drawing a tiny trickle of blood.
“Shouldn’t play with dangerous toys unless you mean to use them sonny.” The shorter of Ed’s ‘Helpers’ growled as he maintained the pressure on the pimp’s throat.
The other ‘Helper’ carefully relieved the pimp of his knife.
Never having been involved in physical violence of that type before, I was too shocked to speak and believe me, it is difficult to explain the numbness and total inability to respond that I felt in that terrifying moment.
My attacker on the other hand, had turned a greenish white and whilst choking and frothing at the mouth, the ‘Helper’ released him from the choking grip and nudged him towards the door.
Ed the porter, determined to make his contribution to the situation, seized his opportunity, roughly pushing the wretched man, who catapulted through the door; tripping en-route he hit his head with a sickening thump on the curb and rolled onto the road in a tangled heap.
“Now piss off and stay out of here.” Ed spat at the man “or next time we won’t be quite so lenient.”
Ed was about to assist the man with a swift kick to the protruding bottom but was stopped by the taller ‘Helper’.
“Hold on Ed.” Still holding the knife he had taken from the pimp he bent down and expertly felt for a pulse in the man’s neck. “I think we’ve got a bit'er bovver here boys.” The man looked up at Ed, raised his eyebrows and said without emotion. “I think he’s brown bread mate.”
The shorter one bent down to confirm the situation. “No doubt about it” he stood up and shrugged his shoulders “that’s the best fing could happened to a bloke like that.” The shorter man smiled for the first time.
Ed stood back, his stare transfixed in horror.
In spite of being on the verge of panic myself, I somehow managed to close the Fire Door. “I just hope no one noticed.”
“Here let’s get him off the road.” The taller ‘Helper’ urged.
Between us, we dragged the lifeless body into the shadow further down the side road.
“What do we do now?” Ed blurted out nervously.
“Oh don’t worry.” The shorter ‘Helper’ encouraged. “I’m sure my Boss will sort it out.” He looked up and down the street. “Can’t see a phone out here, I’ll have use one in the hotel okay?” He looked questioningly at me.
“Yes of course, come with me.”
We left the others lurking in the shadows and went back into the hotel through the main entrance. I remember feeling so conspicuous I wanted to cover my face.
“Relax” the ‘Helper’ whispered “it’ll all be sorted you’ll see.” He smiled encouragement.
He was right, I never knew who he telephoned but within half an hour the body vanished and absolutely no one noticed. That is other than the three young girls and a dough-eyed young man who could not find their dreaded master as they were ushered quietly from the hotel.
I on the other hand suffered the first of my reoccurring nightmares and then spent the best part of each day for the next week, waiting for the telephone to ring with “Police here I’d like to ask you a few questions?” Amazingly the call never came.
It turned out, that the two ‘Helpers’ Ed had asked to help, were professional ‘bouncers’ for a number of Clubs on the other side of the river; the territory of a certain Max Harris.
A short skinny man, with sharp stern features; in fact when I first saw him, I thought he could have been a jockey. Instead, I learned that he had graduated in the murky under-world, on the south side of the Thames.
Max was uncompromisingly tough; you had to be if you were to survive in his chosen profession. He originally started his career by smuggling booze, cigarettes and small amounts of marijuana. This was soon followed by the Night Club/Disco protection business, where he also supplied the ‘Door Men’ for any public function in the area. In this way, he ensured that only his cigarettes and drugs were sold in the clubs and discos. Any Club owner who chose not to accept Max’s offer to supply their ‘doormen’, soon found out what ‘an offer you can’t refuse’ meant. His favourite persuader was a petrol bomb into the offending club’s main entrance just before opening time.
The business grew quickly as Max Harris carved out a significant new territory, which he ruled with an iron fist.
The incident at the Riverside Hotel and the current vacuum caused by the feuding local gangs, gave Max Harris the perfect opportunity to fulfil his territorial ambitions and expand his activities across the river.
I first met him, almost one week after the vanishing pimp’s body incident, when he swaggered into the hotel one morning, escorted by two smartly dressed bodyguards one of whom approached Ed at his Concierge Station. “Mr Harris wants to meet with your manager.” He asked politely and simply.
“Certainly Mr Harris.” Ed nodded towards the minder’s master.
I had been talking to a hotel guest at the reception counter at the time and had noticed Max’s arrival. Ed took a pace forward and looked in my direction signalling discreetly with one finger, I nodded understanding as I walked across the marble floored lobby.
“This is Mr Harris Sir; he would like to meet with you.” Ed looked back “Mr Harris this is our General Manager Mr Marcus Detori.” Ed completed the formalities and shuffled back to his desk.
“Ah Mr Harris, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” I held out my hand. “I was most grateful for your help the other evening.” I added in a lower tone.
Max Harris took my hand; the grip was surprisingly strong. “I was pleased to be of assistance. Is there somewhere can we talk quietly?”
I led them down a corridor to one of the secure boardrooms.
“Coffee or any thing else?” I looked at the two po-faced men who simultaneously refused with a slight shake of their heads.
“No thank you.” Max waived his hand.
“I was so grateful for your help the other evening.” I repeated anxious to ingratiate myself. “Is there some way I can help you in return?”
“Marcus,” he leaned forward and fixed my eyes with his. “I think that we can indeed help each other.”
Max Harris went on to detail exactly what helping each other meant in his view.
He was well aware that there was a large empty basement below the hotel and that had once been used as a Night Club and Discotheque. He also knew that the hotel had experienced so much trouble with drug dealers, drunken fights and complaints from hotel guests, disturbed by the noisy departure of the revellers; that the Directors of the hotel had decided to close it down.
What Max Harris wanted was to lease the area and reopen it again as a Night Club. He warranted that there would not be any of the disturbances previously experienced. Furthermore the rent he proposed would be, as he put it
‘a fair rent’ paid half by monthly standing order to the Hotel Company and half-in cash to me. All I had to do was persuade the company to accept the new tenant and allow the Night Club to reopen.
It took me just one telephone call to the Group Managing Director, the same man who years before I had met at that first ever banquet.
“Marcus I have followed your career with great interest and if you think you can control it, I am quite happy to give it another try.”
“Thank you sir, I’m sure I can control the proposed tenant. The other thing though, is that because he is going to completely revamp the place and entirely at his own expense. I would like to be able to give him a much more reasonable rental deal than the last people. Is that agreeable to you?”
“If you can produce an additional profit stream without the problems we had previously then I’m sure the other Directors will be quite happy. Good luck. I am keeping my eye on you. I expect to see you on the board one day young man.”
“I’m most grateful to you Sir.” I replaced the telephone.
I had just started down a new much more profitable though more dangerous road and the nightmares started again.
Within weeks, Max Harris had completely revamped the Night Club and reopened the doors to the public with a blaze of publicity.
The Night Club was immensely popular and true to his word, there was hardly ever any trouble or noticeable disturbance for the hotel and its residents.
The company received the rent regularly and I received my envelope each month. Everyone was happy.
About three months after the Club opened, I received a visitor in my office.
The man introduced himself. “My name is Graham Radshaw; Max Harris suggested that I talk with you?”
“Certainly. How can I help?”
The man looked furtively around the office. “Is it secure in here?” He asked in a whisper.
“Completely.” I assured him beginning to feel that strange anxiety pain in the base of my stomach.
“I hope so; you see I represent some people who need complete privacy and confidentiality. So if they are to hold meetings or even stay at this hotel, the rooms would have to be perfectly secure.” Radshaw sat back in his chair.
“That would not be any problem.” I assured him in my most convincing tone. “We can provide private access to board rooms and even to some of the bedrooms, so your clients would be quite secure and private.”
“Okay so if I wish to make a reservation for one of these services it will have to be with you directly. Is that acceptable?” He smiled for the first time.
“Of course.” I took out one of my business cards, wrote my direct number on the back, and passed it to him. “If I’m not in the office it activates my bleeper.”
Graham Radshaw took the card. “Thanks. I have quite a few clients who need complete privacy from time to time; I could bring them all here if you want the business?”
“We are always pleased to find new business.” I smiled anticipating what was coming next.
Without hesitation he continued. “I think therefore that you should regard me as an agent and pay me the commission?” He looked directly at me. “That would be fair yes?”
“Of course I can arrange for commission. I take it your clients will be paying in cash, in advance?” I peered back at him.
“Indeed they will and please call me Graham” Radshaw smiled with understanding.
“Then I see no problem.” I sealed the arrangement with a handshake and he left.
The first call came from Graham Radshaw two nights later. “I’ll be with you with a couple of clients in about one hour will that be okay?”
“Yes it is this time but a little more notice would be helpful in future.”
“Sorry, but these buggers don’t do much advanced planning.” He sounded genuinely distraught.
Almost two hours later Graham appeared at the rear entrance to the hotel with two men dressed in full flowing Arab dress. Two giggling young females clung to their arms. “Max’s compliments.” Graham pointed to the girls.
I led them up to Suite 401 the only room available that particular night.
After that, I took Suite 401 off service for refurbishment. It would remain ‘off service’ indefinitely.
My pension fund had just benefited from the new income stream but that same old nightmare started to haunt me again.
******
It was soon after Connie started at the Riverside Hotel, that I had managed to organise the lease on the basement for Max Harris and it was also the time when I had my first run in with Killip Obshina, an African American claiming to be an importer of precious stones, uncut diamonds in particular.
Killip Obshina was a tall smartly dressed man with an easy soft American droll. I first met him in the hotel ‘Cocktail Bar’ when he was holding court with a small group of eagerly listening businessmen; he had already excited their interest with some wild stories of fighting through the Angolan forests, dodging smugglers and bandits, until finally, together with his hard won pouch of uncut diamonds, reaching the safety of the British Consulate.
The enthusiastic audience craned their necks to see the half dozen sparkling stones, sitting tantalizingly in the palm of his hand.
As I walked past the group, one of the men recognised me and signalled with an urgent wave. “Hey Marcus,” he called in a hushed voice “what do you think of this?”
I was indeed quite startled when I saw the stones. I had never seen anything quite like it.
“If those are what you’re selling, then it looks a bit too rich for me.” Was my immediate reaction.
“Not selling my friend,” The American’s voice drooled “inviting you to invest!”
“Okay so what’s the story?” I replied cautiously.
Killip Obshina went on to explain how his contacts in Sierra Leone and Angola had legitimate mining concessions but were currently constrained by the civil war raging in the countries. “These people are desperate to sell their stones but all the usual wholesaling facilities ‘De Beers and people like that, have stopped trading in what has been designated ‘conflict diamonds’ and closed down their operations at this time. That means the diamonds from those areas can be bought very cheaply, at least for the moment and so together with some close friends over there, I made a personal trip and brought back about one hundred thousands Dollars worth of diamonds.” Obshina casually poured the stones from one palm to the other. “On that occasion I simply acted as a courier. Mind you, I was handsomely paid for it” he grinned and shook the stones in his hand as if he was about to throw some dice “so now I am planning to make one more trip at least and to bring back as many stones as I can buy, but this time gentlemen, for my or our own benefit.” Killip Obshina looked at the attentive faces.
“When are you going?” One man asked.
“Ah well there’s the thing. I may have made a few bucks on the last trip but I’m leaving most of that cash with my wife. You have to understand this is so dangerous, there is a very real chance I could get topped.” Killip Obshina paused and eyed his audience. “You see, I not only need cash to buy the stones which come at about sixty percent discount but I have to buy my safe passage through the country and most importantly, pay off the officials still controlling the borders. So when I leave here I must have enough hard cash to deal with all these situations.”
“How much do you think it will take to do all that?” Another asked.
“I’ve tried to keep it as realistic as possible but if you think about it, it will cost almost the same, whether I bring back one or five hundred thousand dollars of stones. So taking all the risks into account I think I should try to bring back the maximum possible.”
“So what are we talking about?” The last speaker persisted.
“Right, let’s say we go for five hundred thousand dollars worth. In fact for that amount I reckon we’d get an even bigger discount, say seventy percent!” Obshina lifted his chin and closed his eyes as he
calculated. “Say one hundred and fifty for the stones and another fifty for the bribes etc, that’s two hundred thousand Dollars and at about two to the pound I’d say around one hundred thousand pounds Sterling.”
“That’s still quite a hunk of dough?” One of the others chipped in.
“Yes it is and that’s exactly why it makes such good sense to syndicate it.” Killip Obshina looked around at the silent faces. “Naturally I will put up half, so there is an investment opportunity for some one to put up the other fifty thousand pounds!”
“What do you think Marcus?” Killip Obshina looked directly at me.
I do not think he would want to hear what I really thought, because to me, it was an obvious scam. Yet even with my hardened and cautious principles, I could not help but be modestly excited and tempted by the fantasy. Killip was a very convincing operator and it was obvious to me that these partially inebriated chickens, were about to be plucked.
“Well since you ask.” I tried the diplomatic approach “I think, that the reward from any deal must always reflect the risk and a two hundred and fifty percent profit in how many weeks?” I looked at Killip Obshina.
“Not more than two” he confirmed nodding his head emphatically.
“Okay two weeks, then quite honestly that kind return would still represent far too big a risk for me but then, I’m only a poor hotel manager and I don’t have any money anyway!” I smiled trying to lighten up the conversation.
Fortunately one of the men intervened. “Fifty thousand, I agree that is a big chunk of money but if we syndicate it?” he raised his eyes and looked around his group of friends trying to be casually philosophical about it “Okay so there are six of us here, unless you want to get involved Marcus? That would be seven?” he looked at me hopefully.
“Sorry gentlemen, like I said its right out of my league.” I was relieved to be able to say and promptly left hoping the others would follow suit but the look of excitement written in their features, told me that several were going to take the bait.
Later I learned that they had each committed to three thousand pounds and promised to find other friends to top up the balance.
