by Gordon Brown
Chapter 50
Saturday August 2 nd 2008
Charlie’s friend turned out to be a bit more than ok. He is a little star. His name is David MacDonald and is one of your died in the wool ex-pats who hates everything Spanish but won’t go home because of the weather.
I met him at a small cafe ten minutes from my hotel. He looks like he could do with a good feed. He’s six feet four or so but probably weighs in at less than thirteen stone — painfully thin was a phrase created just for him.
We clicked from the start. He’s big into music and we hit common ground in seconds. Him a fan of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, me a fan of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark — go figure — I thought I was the only one. Fifteen minutes into the conversation he takes out a plastic folder and drops it on the table. I go to reach for it and he places his hand on it.
‘Ten percent or five grand.’
I give my ‘what the fuck’ look and he smiles.
‘The contents of the box — ten percent or five thousand — whatever is the greater.’
He had me sussed — wasn’t hard. I nodded and he pushed the folder towards me. If the box turns out to have no cash I would have to worry about his five thousand later.
I opened up the wallet and pulled out a number of sheets. I realised why he had ushered me into a seat with a wall behind me. The sheets were copies of the blueprints to two buildings. Mallorca Security, Inca and Mallorca Security, Palma.
He had me well, well sussed.
I scanned them and realised things were not looking sweet.
I had expected the offices to be light weight affairs. The sheets in front of me told me that the buildings were serious about their purpose. They really were banks and banks were a completely different game. I may have been good at safes in my time but cracking a bank took a team and money — I had neither.
I sipped my coffee and flicked through the sheets.
‘Not easy,’ said David.
I nodded.
He reached under the table, pulled up an envelope and flicked it onto the table. I grabbed it and opened it. Inside was a blurry picture of a girl sitting at a restaurant table and scribbled below a number and a name. Her name was Maria.
‘She works in the Inca branch. I think she has money problems.’
It was all he had to say about her. She was pretty although the photo wasn’t good enough to make out any real detail. I took another slug of coffee. Between the plans and the girl there might just be another way to do this.
We chatted about nothing for a while and parted. I had some planning to do.
At one o’clock I was standing across from the Mallorca Security building watching the comings and goings.
The notice on the office said it was closed from half past one to five thirty — siesta time. At just after one thirty Maria emerged, locked up and headed away from me. I crossed the road and tried to keep her in sight. There was no need to play the super spy role, as she had no reason to suspect someone was watching her.
She nearly had me lost in the maze of back streets that make up the centre of the town but, at last, she stopped at a front door, took out a set of keys and then she was gone. I did a walk by. There were six flats in the block. I checked the names and there was a M Lopez Tavez. None of the rest had an M for first name. She was on the second floor.
I spent the afternoon wandering. There was nothing else to do. I hung around for an hour to see if Maria emerged but this was a non-commercial area and there were no cafes or shops to hide in. All I was doing was making myself look suspicious so I left.
At just before five I was back at Maria’s door. Fifteen minutes later she emerged and I followed her back to Mallorca Security. Maria took out keys and opened up. I crossed the street and watched her through the window as she entered a code into an alarm box.
I could try and lift her keys but, from what I had seen on the blueprints, this wouldn’t get me half way to where I needed to be. Anyway without the alarm code I was stuffed — given the set up it would most definitely be linked to the police — or worse.
There was no one else in the shop so I entered. I was conscious of the CCTV camera but if I was going to get Dupree I needed to take a few risks. I approached the counter and Maria smiled at me. Not half pretty.
I enquired after a security box and she responded in perfect English before handing me a small A5 flyer. It detailed the prices and the security precautions. I signed up for a box at twenty Euros a week.
To my left there was a door and I knew, from the blueprints, that both the safe and the security boxes sat behind it. On the wall next to the door was a keypad. Maria told me that when I visited I simply punch in the key number from my receipt and that would let me in to the room. She took me in to have a look.
This was way beyond the credit union set up back in Glasgow.
She entered a number on the door keypad and the door clicked. She pushed it open and we entered a room with three curtained booths. Beyond this was a second door and another keypad. She tapped in another code and led me through the door.
There was yet another door on my left and I knew that led to the safe. On my right was a bank of boxes of varying sizes. I chose one of the smaller boxes, sitting on the second row up from the ground near the far wall.
Each box had a keypad and a small handle. I was required to choose my own five digit code and set the box. I looked at my receipt and noted that my account number had five digits. Maybe the 13214 from Spencer’s original sheet was both the account number and the access code — it would certainly be an easy way to remember it. Stupid but easy.
Maria stood in the room as I extracted my box. She escorted me back to the room with the booths, and told me to press the red button when I was ready to go back into the box room. She left me alone.
I took the box in to the nearest cubicle and dropped in a five euro note, closed it and pressed the red button. Maria appeared and escorted me into the box room and watched me replace the box. There was no opportunity to check out the other boxes.
Back in the main office I smiled at her.
I left and waited until she closed up at eight o’clock. No one else came to help. She seemed to run the late shift on her own. I followed her back to her flat and then I headed back to my hotel.
Chapter 51
Sunday August 3 ^rd 2008
Today was a dead day. The shop was closed and Maria was nowhere to be seen. In frustration I drove to Palma to look at the other Mallorca Security shop.
If anything it looks a harder nut to crack. It sits in the shadow of Palma ’s cathedral or as it’s known ‘La Seo’; a building that had its foundation stone laid in 1229, was not finished until 1601 and was still undergoing alterations as late as 1904. I have known a few builders like that in my time.
The Mallorca Security building lies on the Paseo de Born — a street dominated by a central walkway. The store is wedged between a fashion boutique and a bank. I tried to get round to the rear but as far as I could tell there seems to be no back entrance.
The day was proving to be a washout and, even though I had only been on the island three days, I was getting nervous. My flight was on Friday and come hell or high water I had to be on it.
I retired to a cafe and was making my nerves worse with more coffee when I caught sight of a man walking down the centre of the street. Well dressed, he had a tall slim woman hanging from his arm.
It was really the woman who caught my attention. I’m sure in Spain six feet women, dressed to kill, are the norm but even so she was a stunner. What was more intriguing was that that I knew those legs well. I caught a glimpse of the man as he turned his head to say something to her. The coffee cup in my hand froze mid air. I knew him!
I jumped up, threw a pile of Euros on the table, sprinted across the road and onto the walkway. I dropped in behind the couple and followed them as they wandered across the road and up towards the cathedral.
The stairs up to the cathedral were
busy with tourists coming and going and I had to sprint the last dozen or so as my quarry turned right and out of sight. I rounded the corner into a short street that led to a square that fronted the main entrance to the cathedral. The couple jumped into one of the many horse drawn buggies that queued up outside the entrance catching the tourist euro.
I assumed they would return at some point.
The man’s face played in my head. I knew it well. He was one of the two that I thought I had known from the photo back in Inca and I now knew who he was. As soon as I saw him with the long limbed beauty, two and two made four.
I had met him before and not in Spain.
On my wanderings from the hostel in Glasgow I often took a turn past a Spanish tapas bar that sat on Renfield Street. There was no way I could afford to eat there but the pair of legs that had just walked away from me in Palma, belonged to one of the waitresses in the tapas bar. It was the main reason I tortured myself with the smell of good food. I had nicknamed her Eleven — as in legs eleven — for lack of anything more imaginative.
After I moved in with Martin I discovered that the bar was one of his regular haunts. I asked if he knew Eleven. He said vaguely. That surprised me. You could hardly see those legs and vaguely remember them — not unless you were dead or not into women.
The man that I had just lost was a regular customer at the restaurant. Me in the rain, him sitting in the comfort of a dry restaurant sipping wine, chatting to Eleven and nibbling on plates of hot food. The other guy in the photo was his mate. What in the hell was Eleven doing here with one of them?
Martin is holding back. I can’t believe that he hasn’t seen the men in the restaurant.
I wandered for a few more hours but there was no sign of Eleven and her man. It was getting late and I gave in and drove back to Inca.
Another day gone.
Chapter 52
Monday August 4 th 2008
What a fucking day.
I waited for Maria at the shop and, when she went home for lunch, I followed her. I had made up my mind to approach her before she got back to the flat: after spending the night trying to figure a way to beat the system.
I had visited the shop twice in the morning, once when it was busy and once when it was quiet. On both occasions Maria escorted me into the box room. Short of mugging her I was at a loss as to how to check out the code from the envelope.
On the way home she stopped at a corner store. I couldn’t see what she was buying but when she emerged I walked up to her and put on my best smile. She offered a polite but wary ola. I explained that I was on my way to the shop and had caught sight of her. I apologised for approaching her in the street.
‘Do you fancy a cup of coffee? I have a little favour to ask.’
I expected to be blanked but she surprised me.
‘There is a small cafe around the corner. Ten minutes and then I need to go.’
I smiled.
When we got in the cafe we sat at the only free table and she ordered an espresso. I doubled on that.
‘So how can I help?’
‘I have a small issue to do with a friend of mine,’ I started. ‘He is a customer of yours and, when he heard I was coming to Mallorca, he asked me to pick up something from his security box.’
‘And your friend’s name is…?’
‘Well there it gets a little more awkward. You see the account is not his. Well not strictly his. It belongs to a friend who passed away sometime ago.’
‘And their name is…?’
‘Eh? Well. Awkward. My friend won’t tell me but I have the code for the box.’
‘So let me get this straight. A friend of yours has an account with us. Rather a friend of a friend of yours does. Your friend wants the contents and gives you the code but you don’t know what this friend’s friend’s name is.’
I nodded.
‘Senor, I cannot help you.’
‘Look I know it sounds fishy but here’s the bottom line. I’ll give you the code. Go and check for yourself. I’m not sure the bloody thing exists. I’ve spent enough time on this already. I’m supposed to be on holiday.’
“So why did you open an account?”
“I wanted to check that it was possible. That’s why I came in twice this morning. I mean it sounds daft to me and I wanted to check that the code I have might be genuine. My account and the friend’s account numbers have the same number of digits‘.
‘I still cannot help.’
‘Look all I’m asking for is a little help.’
‘But I cannot open someone’s box.’
‘Why not?’
‘You are not the box’s owner so I cannot help.’
She drained her coffee. This was not going anywhere so I changed tack.
‘Do you enjoy your job?’
‘Si.’
‘It seems strange that you work on your own all the time. Don’t you have any help?’
‘It is the way my boss likes to run things.’
‘What do you do on your days off?’
She said nothing.
‘You do get days off.’
She went to stand up. I reached out and put my hand on hers.
‘Look I’m not an ogre and I’m not trying to chat you up. I just said I would pick up the contents for a friend and I like to keep my word.’
The chat up line was weak but to my surprise she sat back down.
‘Where are you from?’ I asked.
She opened up a little. Mainly small chat but she didn’t seem in a hurry to get away once she got chatting.
She was from Barcelona, although she had spent ten years working in London. This explained her excellent English. She had been working in hotels. Mostly cleaning. She knew she had no future in the UK and was tired of businessmen hitting on her. It seemed that some of the guests thought that the maid was a complimentary extra. Her sister lived in Palma and had told her that a friend of her husband’s was looking for someone who knew the UK, to manage one of his stores.
Maria had jumped at the chance and for a year she had managed the Palma branch of Mallorca Security.
Most of the customers were British and to her dismay the customers took it for granted she was on the game. Mallorca Security turned out to have a far sleazier clientele than even the worst hotels had exposed her to. She had complained to her boss who had moved her to the Inca branch.
Things were better in Inca. The new job was much like the old one, only quieter. At first there had been three of them working the shop but, earlier that year, this had been reduced to two and for the last three weeks she had been on her own. She worked six days a week.
‘I need to go now.’
I stood up to let her leave. She looked at me.
‘Come to the shop at six o’clock and I will see if I can help.’
With that she was off.
I have no idea why she changed her mind. I didn’t utter a word during her monologue. Maybe she just needed someone to listen. Maybe I look sympathetic. Maybe her money problems made her act a little irrationally. Although if she had such worries she never mentioned them. I didn’t care. This was the in I needed and the fact it didn’t involve breaking and entering was good news.
I was outside the shop before five thirty. I wanted to check that I wasn’t being set up. It had occurred to me, while lying on the hotel bed, that maybe she had decided to phone her boss and tell him about our little chat.
Two people entered and left as I looked on. Both looked like customers and, unless someone was hiding in the back shop, Maria seemed to be on her own.
I walked into the shop at six on the dot.
Maria smiled and gently nodded her head up and to the left. I put on my ‘what the…’ face and she did it again. I looked over and realised she was motioning towards the CCTV. I nodded and told her I wanted access to my box. She clicked the little gate that led to the box room door. I punched in my code and the door opened. I walked in.
Once inside the box room I look
ed round but there was no sign of a CCTV — but given the size of cameras nowadays that meant nothing. I assumed that there was none. I couldn’t see anyone being too happy at being watched as they deposited and withdrew from the boxes. The few Mallorca Security customers that I had seen didn’t seem the kind to take well to such intrusion.
To keep up appearances I retrieved my box and retired to one of the three small booths.
The booths looked like voting booths, even down to the small drawn curtain and shelf where you would have marked your X on the voting slip. It occurred to me that they may well be second hand voting booths — it would fit with the Mallorca Security cost ethic.
I heard the door open behind me, followed by the soft whoosh of cloth opening and a voice came from the booth next to mine.
‘Give me the code.’
I told her and she left. A few seconds later and she returned, holding a box. I was surprised at how quickly she had found it. After all the only thing I had was the code and there were a lot of boxes in the room to check. I took it and laid it next to my own and lifted the lid.
My mouth dropped open.
A single sheet of paper lay in the bottom of the box. Written large in flowery script were the words:
‘Bonjour. Vous etes mort.’
I knew next to fuck all French but I recognised the word for dead. Jesus this was a set up. Either that or an elaborate joke. I closed the box and left the booth. Maria looked at me and I knew she was wondering why I didn’t return the boxes to their homes. The reason was simple. If this was a set up I needed to get the fuck out of this place with speed.
As I slammed open the door leading to the front shop I saw two men standing at the entrance door. Both were looking directly at me. As soon as I appeared they stepped forward. I weighed up the option to charge them, but they were bruisers and focussed on me. Dupree’s men. I jumped back into the room and pulled the door shut. I heard the lock click and could only hope they didn’t have the access code. I turned to Maria.
‘Is there another way out?’
‘Why?’
