The Nothing Job

by Nick Oldham

  ‘There was no need for it,’ Georgia said sadly to Henry. She reduced the acceleration of the Terrano as the road inclined up to the Coral Bay junction. ‘She was just a silly, frightened kid from Albania, she panicked and a cop got seriously injured.’

  ‘She didn’t die, then?’ Henry asked.

  ‘No, but she’s still poorly and could die.’

  ‘I’m slightly confused though. How come we’re moving on Scartarelli if he’s already in custody?’ But he knew he had answered his own question then. ‘The guy wasn’t Scartarelli, was he?’

  ‘Just some pathetic low-life enforcer and gofer. He wasn’t anyone, really, just a driver.’

  ‘What did your informant have to say about that?’

  ‘It was two days before I managed to speak to him again.’

  From the back of the Terrano, Bill interjected, ‘Was it a set-up, then?’

  They met back at the Pelican in Pafos, Papakostas and Haram, a desperate tense encounter. Haram had lost much of his laid-back cool, his eyes darting all around, and they were sitting inside the restaurant so he could have his back to the wall and watch both entry and exit. His hand shook as he raised his strong coffee to his mouth and he kicked out petulantly as the tame pelican waddled by.

  ‘He knows … he knows it was me,’ he said jerkily.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’m the only one who could have told you. He played me and I fell for it. No fool like an old one,’ he said caustically.

  ‘No argument with that, Haram,’ Georgia said. ‘Add to that one of my officers is fighting for her life. Unnecessary. For what?’ she spat. ‘Three whores from a lawless country? Someone treading on your toes? And your useless information. Have you any idea how much I am suffering personally and professionally from this, this, cock-up?’

  ‘I think my life may be in danger,’ Haram said bluntly as though he hadn’t heard a word said.

  She stared angrily at him, unable to speak, but then she said, ‘All you wanted me to do was take him off the streets for you, isn’t it? Just to suit you, nothing else.’

  He looked away, sucked on the last of his cigarette and stubbed it out. He fumbled in his trouser pocket and extracted a crumpled piece of paper, the second one he’d passed her in days. ‘It’s up to you,’ he said. ‘He stays there from time to time. That’s all I can do.’

  He stood up wearily, his joints showing his age. He gave a curt nod and left the restaurant.

  Georgia’s fingers took the paper, then she finished her bitter espresso in one swallow and went to the toilet at the back of the restaurant.

  As she washed her hands after peeing, she clearly heard four cracks in quick succession and knew it was not a car backfiring.

  Haram had twisted out of the Pelican and walked along the quayside towards the car parks and shops of Kato Pafos. It was early season and there were not many tourists yet, so the front was rather quiet. He reached the wide-open promenade area and stopped by the low sea wall, looking into the clear water where he could see big fish swimming lazily. He flicked a cigarette out of the crumpled packet and drew it out between his lips, clicked the disposable lighter and dipped his head between his cupped hands to light up.

  He never saw who killed him. Whoever it was walked quickly up behind him, placed the 9mm pistol against the base of his skull and pulled the trigger four times. The force of the impact rocketed Haram over the wall and into the water.

  Weapon drawn, Georgia raced out of the restaurant and ran towards the small knot of shocked onlookers gaping over the sea wall. And she knew Haram was dead even before she slowed down. He had foretold his own demise only moments earlier and now he was in the water, face down, floating, his head blown apart and the fish, over their initial panic when he hit the water, now in a bubbling frenzy of feeding on the blood and brain.

  She went silent as she reached this part of the story, then pulled the Terrano into a space by the roadside.

  ‘Here we are,’ she announced. ‘It’s a hotel, but split into apartments. Hope that’s OK.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ Henry said.

  ‘Cosy,’ Bill said casting his eye over the apartment. ‘Which side are you sleeping on?’

  It was a one-bedroom apartment, meaning a kitchen area, bathroom, lounge and one separate bedroom, a very common type of holiday accommodation for the unwashed masses.

  Henry grimaced. The sofa obviously converted into a bed, but he wasn’t sure if this was appropriate lodgings for two grown cops on an official job. The two would never have shared a normal hotel bedroom together and there was enough money in the kitty to have separate rooms, or at least a two-bedroom apartment, either of which would give a greater degree of privacy required by two men well into their middle age. It wasn’t as though they were twenty-somethings on a piss-up holiday. They were blokes who had their own ways and foibles and needed somewhere private in which to do them.

  Henry wished he had personally sorted out the hotel instead of leaving it to the judgement of the locals.

  ‘I’ll go down to reception,’ Henry said, ‘see if I can sort something out.’

  ‘I’m not after bumming you, y’know,’ Bill reassured him. ‘But then again, after a few Keos I’m anybody’s.’ He blew Henry a kiss.

  Appalled by the thought and related image, the recently married Henry hurried down to see if anything could be done.

  The accommodation issue was easily sorted. They were transferred into a two-bedroom apartment overlooking the pool (even though the bathroom was still shared), which was a much better arrangement. They had quickly changed out of their travelling gear, showered (separately) and re-dressed in clothing more appropriate to a warmer climate. Henry was in a baggy T-shirt and three-quarter-length trousers and trainers; Bill was in a vividly coloured short-sleeved shirt with lots of names of cocktails splattered all over it, three-quarter pants and open-toed sandals.

  ‘Hey – we might only have one night of debauchery,’ he defended himself against Henry’s chides. ‘I’m into the holiday groove.’

  ‘We won’t have any nights of debauchery,’ Henry said sternly like some kind of police supervisor. ‘We’re here on a job, OK?’

  ‘You won’t be saying that after a pint of Keo.’

  The duo strolled down the main street in Coral Bay, past restaurants, mini-supermarkets and tat shops. The place was reasonably busy and had a nice, easy feel to it. The evening was warm, a bit clammy, and Henry was already dripping.

  ‘She said meet here, didn’t she?’ Bill pointed to an open-air restaurant across the street to which they duly made their way. Bill treated Henry to a Keo, which came in an iced pint glass. It tasted better than any beer he had ever had before, immediately dissipating the dryness of the journey which, when everything was taken into consideration, had taken a full half-day. He could feel the beer spreading its icy tentacles out across his chest. ‘Good, eh?’ Bill said. His own pint was already gone.

  ‘Bliss,’ Henry gasped, his eyes half-lidded in ecstasy.

  DS Papakostas walked into the bar accompanied by a surly man with a thick black moustache who looked like a stereotypical Greek straight from Shirley Valentine. However, Henry did not pay him much heed. His eyes were firmly fixed on Georgia, who, though dressed casually for the evening, looked more stunning than ever. Her hair was pinned up in a much more feminine way than earlier and now, with make-up expertly applied, she was the Greek beauty to the Greek beast that walked beside her, scraping his knuckles on the ground.

  Henry stood up and shook hands with her.

  ‘Hello, Henry … Bill.’ She nodded and smiled at the PC, who had a glazed expression on his face. ‘May I introduce my inspector?’ She stood aside and indicated the man with a gesture. ‘Inspector Tekke.’ He proffered his hand and Georgia continued, ‘This is Henry and this is Bill.’

  Tekke regarded the British officers through dark, ringed eyes. He reminded Henry of a lemur with a ’tache, but even so, everything about him screamed,
‘Cop!’ Henry felt immediately at ease in his presence.

  ‘Welcome to Cyprus,’ Tekke said, flashing a set of unnaturally white teeth.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I hope your visit here will be worthwhile.’

  ‘I’m sure it will … please, sit. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Just a water for me,’ Georgia said.

  ‘And for you?’

  ‘Call me Andrei, or Andrew if you like,’ Tekke said easily. ‘And water will be fine for me, also.’

  Henry turned to Bill and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Er, I’ll have another Keo, if that’s OK?’ Bill said, misunderstanding Henry’s non-verbal signal that meant, ‘You get ’em.’ Henry looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘Oh, you want me to get them?’ he said.

  ‘That’s the general idea,’ Henry said.

  ‘Mm, OK. Another beer for you?’

  Henry nodded. ‘Cheers, Bill.’ He indicated for the two Cypriot detectives to seat themselves at the table.

  ‘Have you settled in?’ Georgia asked.

  ‘Yeah. Slight hitch with the room size, but that’s sorted now.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Henry beamed.

  DI Tekke leaned forward. ‘Can I say I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Christie?’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, too.’

  ‘I’ve done some research on you.’

  ‘Oh,’ Henry said, withdrawing slightly.

  ‘You’ve had an interesting and varied career.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘So how come you’re acting like a bounty-hunter now?’ The question stung Henry, for it was one he had asked himself. He was sure that Tekke did not mean to offend, so he took it on the chin and in the spirit in which it was intended.

  ‘There’s a few wanted people who needed catching,’ he said simply.

  ‘And you were chosen for the job?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Bill returned with the drinks from the bar and distributed them, then slumped down and instantly sank half of his new Keo.

  ‘What about you, Andrew?’ Henry took the opportunity to deflect the question.

  He shrugged modestly. ‘Work hard, follow procedure, stick to the letter of the law, get results, that’s me.’

  It was at that point that Georgia laid a hand on Tekke’s arm and Henry caught a quick glance between the two that gave him a very incisive insight into their relationship. ‘He’s being modest,’ Georgia said. ‘He has one of the best clear-up rates of any detective in the force.’

  ‘Not, you understand, that we have much crime. Not like Britain. Ours is a very low-key-crime country. Nicosia has its share of organized crime and the bigger resorts do have a drug and prostitution problem, but our main crimes are usually Brits killing Brits. Usually easy to solve.’

  ‘And every so often we get someone like Scartarelli in the mix,’ Georgia added. ‘Which is why we’d like to get him, catch him for you and deport him, never to come back.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure to take him off your hands,’ Henry said. ‘But I’m presuming you’ll want to have a long talk with him first? He may be implicated in a murder and the serious assault of a policewoman, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, when we arrest him, we will interview him,’ Tekke said. ‘But the consensus is that we would rather have him off the island than on – and unless he immediately confesses his involvement in the matter you refer to, then let’s get rid of him.’

  ‘But first things first,’ Henry said.

  ‘Yes, we need to arrest him … which is why I suggest we talk about how we hope to achieve that before too much alcohol is imbibed. And then, when we’ve done that, I am going to treat you to the best Greek mezze this side of Nicosia,’ Tekke said. ‘But business first – before you stay awake all night with a distended stomach.’

  There was no particular theme to the mezze they consumed that evening. It was a heady combination of fish, meats and vegetables and Henry lost count of the number of dishes they ate after the eighth course. On reflection he estimated there could well have been fifteen dishes brought out to them, each one tasting wonderful. These, combined with more beer and wine, had a very stretching effect on his stomach. Bill, on the other hand, did not seem too affected by the amount of food and drink. It just seemed to disappear into a hollow container.

  The meal concluded at eleven, having taken about three hours.

  Bill and Tekke had fallen into a long-winded conversation about guns, whilst Henry and Georgia made very small talk.

  Their bill came with a complimentary brandy for each of them that tasted like rust.

  Bill and Tekke were discussing the merits of the H&K machine-pistol. Two firearms buffs together.

  Henry clinked glasses with Georgia. It was her first taste of alcohol that night.

  ‘Can I just ask something?’ he said hesitantly.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I got the impression that your informant was known only to yourself, from what you told me.’

  ‘Only Andrei knows of him.’

  ‘Ahh. I know what it’s like to lose an informant, one who’s been with you for a long time,’ he said. ‘I won’t patronize you to say I know how you feel, but I’ve been there very recently and found it hard to deal with.’ Henry explained his recent experience and she listened carefully. ‘The difference is that I put my informant in a dangerous situation. You didn’t.’

  ‘They put themselves into dangerous situations. They’re usually in dangerous situations to begin with,’ Georgia said philosophically. ‘Situations that can easily go wrong.’

  Henry thought about it. ‘Maybe.’

  Tekke picked up the bill and slapped a wodge of euros on it and waved at a passing waiter. He had not been as alcohol-free as Georgia and was slightly drunk. Bill was suddenly very drunk. Henry was just about right, but bloated by the food.

  They all stood up and left the restaurant, tumbling on to Coral Bay’s main street.

  ‘I parked outside your hotel,’ Georgia said. She and Henry walked ahead.

  Bill and Tekke were loudly discussing the merits of the Glock pistol. Apparently it was light, well constructed, reliable, had hardly any recoil and was therefore a good weapon for putting bullets into villains’ chests.

  ‘Great double-tap,’ Bill slurred, eight pints of Keo swishing about inside him.

  ‘One of the best,’ Tekke concurred, two bottles of wine in him.

  Henry and Georgia had put about twenty metres between them and the firearms argument. The street was fairly quiet now, many of the restaurants starting to close up for the night, all the shops having done so an hour and a half earlier. A few cars drove past.

  ‘Live locally?’

  ‘Pafos.’

  ‘That’s why you’re sober – designated driver.’

  Georgia nodded.

  Henry yawned. ‘Been a long day.’

  ‘Could be a long day tomorrow. Will Bill be all right for an early start?’

  Henry laughed. ‘In the best traditions of the Lancashire Constabulary, he’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.’

  They stopped at the kerb.

  Forty metres away, Bill and Tekke were loudly disagreeing over the best sniper rifle available.

  ‘What about your inspector?’

  ‘I’ll make sure he’s up.’ She glanced quickly at Henry, confirming his guess about them.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘That’s my car.’ She pointed diagonally across to another Terrano and took a step off the high kerb.

  Henry heard the acceleration of a car, the deep growl of an engine, a crunch of gears. His head twisted quickly to the right. Headlights on main beam glared at him, four of them on a bull bar, and a huge four-wheel drive vehicle hurtled towards them. Georgia had left the kerb and was now a metre and a half into the road. She spun to face the noise, stunned momentarily in the beam. The vehicle was maybe twenty metres away to her right. Not far. Maybe two
seconds away from ramming into her.

  A roar emanated from Henry’s throat.

  He saw the vehicle, two figures in it, driver and passenger, the passenger leaning out of the window, in the hand the dark but unmistakable shape of a gun.

  He saw Georgia in the road.

  And he had four pints of beer slushing inside him and a huge mezze, neither, either separate or combined, designed to make him the most efficiently operating human being on the planet.

  He reached out and grabbed Georgia’s forearm and violently dragged her back to the footpath, the force of his strength making her go like a rag doll. The vehicle swerved in towards them, front wheels mounting the pavement. Henry yanked her as if they were in some kind of brutal dance, still twisting her away. Both of them staggered until the back of Henry’s knees hit a low wall surrounding a cafe terrace and they fell over it, falling through spiky bushes and smashing into tables and chairs, landing hard on the concrete-paved floor.

  Henry looked up from their embrace.

  The vehicle had stopped.

  The passenger was leaning out. The weapon he held was aimed at them – and he fired.

  Georgia screamed.

  Henry, still holding her, gripped tight and rolled them over and over across the terrace, crashing into the furniture, hearing shots fired, bullets whizzing just over them, all the while expecting to be hit. Then the vehicle accelerated away, and there were three more shots and shouting.

  He had rolled on top of Georgia.

  She pushed him roughly off and clambered to her feet, drawing her own weapon, which Henry didn’t even know she had in her possession tonight. She scrambled back over the wall and ran into the road.

  Suddenly Bill Robbins was standing over Henry.

  ‘You OK, boss?’

  Henry picked himself up very gingerly. He’d clattered a few parts of his body – the backs of his legs, his elbows, his sore ribs and his head, but all in a minor way. Bill assisted him to his feet and they were joined by Georgia and Tekke, both now with weapons drawn.