by Frank Coles
We both unconsciously edged away from the security staff. ‘Well,’ I shouted back trying to match Martin’s volume, ‘I was working on a story about prostitution, when I came across that man,’ I said pointing, ‘James Lawrence, leading a young girl up to a hotel room.’
‘How young was she?’
’12 years old, I was told.’
There was a shout of disgust from a woman in the crowd. One of the beefy security guards put a hand on my shoulder.
‘I followed him to the room and knocked on the door,’ I said quickly, ‘I could see the girl on the bed, that’s when I pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall and broke his nose with it.’
There were several people shouting now. ‘Is that true?’ one of them hollered. ‘I’m not investing my money with a bunch of kiddie fiddlers.’
‘What?’ Lawrence spat and pulled on the wireless headset he’d worn on stage. He flipped a switch on its side and a screech of feedback ran through the room to a collective ‘Oooh!’ from the crowd.
I shook off the guard’s hand as soon as Lawrence began to speak and slipped into the mass of investors.
‘I’m afraid you’re all the victims of a terrible hoax, I’ve just found this journalist, a Mr. Bryson, pretending to be an investor called, of all things, Stanley Matthews,’ he raised his eyebrows and got a titter from a few of the older members of the captive audience. ‘We often get these types of people at our exclusive events which is why we try to keep them out. You don’t have to worry about your investments; I’m a family man myself, so….’
All eyes were on Lawrence as I walked up behind him and pulled the headset away from him. Then all eyes were on me.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Orsa said to the guards. ‘Get him.’
I held the headset’s small microphone to my mouth. ‘So, as Lawrence says he is a family man…a family man who likes to have sex with children, is that the kind of company you want to invest in?’ I asked the audience.
‘Sure, if the figures add up,’ one man said, only to be shushed by those around him.
The investors blocked the guards’ path and refused to move. They wanted to hear more.
‘Somebody grab him,’ Lawrence shouted. The man who would have invested with pedophiles lurched as if to take hold of me. I squared up and then thought better of it. I jumped up onto a table covered with glasses full of complimentary wine and skirted around them trying not to topple the linen covered trestle.
The guards had pushed their way forward and were slowly getting closer. ‘That’s not all I’ve found out about Mr. Lawrence and his friends,’ I said. ‘The man with the white hair you see trying to intimidate my editor there is in fact Vladimir Orsa the notorious arms trader, people trafficker and all round not-so-nice guy.’ Lawrence was making the slit-throat signal to the sound desk. I spoke quickly. ‘He and a man called Mohammed Akbar are the key investors in this project.’
One of the guards made a swipe for my legs but missed, I ran off the end of the table, turned quickly and flipped the table with its pyramid of full wine glasses back onto the guards.
The loud crash made sure everybody was paying attention.
‘Mr. Akbar is a notorious trainer of terrorists and drug smuggler who is in all probability dead – killed by his partner,’ I pointed at Orsa. He roared with anger, scaring the investors as much as me. He forgot about the editor and ploughed through the crowd. They tried to stand in his way. Orsa pushed them roughly aside.
‘These men need schemes to launder their money. Sunset Heights is just one of them,’ I said. I looked for a way to delay the Russian psychopath heading towards me.
‘Mr. Lawrence has set this project up so that in the next few months the platinum investor’s money will be passed off as their own. Eventually when nothing is built on the land it will revert to the government and you will lose everything you have invested.’
I leapt onto a narrow table that held the canapés and frilly food. It nearly flipped up and I had to slam my weight down on the other end to stop it from throwing me off.
Orsa made his way to the front while the guards pulled themselves out from under the other table. The investors were becoming hostile and the sales staff couldn’t calm them down.
The sound desk happily ignored Lawrence’s commands to cut me off and the crowd blocked his path demanding to know if my accusations were true.
‘Of course not,’ he shouted at one man and pushed him out of the way. He didn’t see the woman behind him and knocked her off her feet. She screamed.
The man with the glasses who had given me the thumbs up shouted at Lawrence. ‘Look what you did to my wife!’ he said. Lawrence didn’t know how to respond. ‘You apologize right now or else!’ the man continued.
‘Or else what?’ Lawrence said irritably.
The man in the glasses huffed and puffed, trying to figure out what to do next. Lawrence grinned. The little man punched him and re-broke his nose, Lawrence howled with pain.
‘Don’t forget,’ I shouted into the microphone, ‘that man is a child molester.’ Lawrence straightened up and through the pain punched the little man, who fell to the floor. Hands grabbed Lawrence from all sides, urging him to stop, calling him vicious names and demanding to know how much money he was making out of the deal.
Lawrence panicked, turned and hit the man nearest to him, then did a one-eighty and struck another man behind him.
The investors retaliated and punches flew back in the other direction. Lawrence didn’t back down. Despite their best intentions the unwilling sales staff and guards were dragged in to the escalating violence.
A room full of portly middle aged investors turned into a wall of fists as respectable demeanors dropped and the skills from terrace fights, boarding school bullying and urban domestics were unleashed upon anyone within reach.
From the centre of the mayhem a chair was launched at one of the big plate glass windows that ran end to end along the wide top deck of the boat. I saw Martin laughing at the back. Job satisfaction at last.
‘Lawrence also hates his wife,’ I continued, ‘married her for her money and influence....’
I had foolishly forgotten about Orsa. He wrapped an enormous hand around my ankle and pulled. I crashed into a hot meaty spread of Arabian pastries and sauces. The trestle gave way at one end and I slid down to meet Orsa at the bottom.
I grabbed an arrangement of fruit and flowers that fell with me and launched a corner of its heavy wooden base at his forehead. It struck with a disgusting crunch. But he didn’t make a sound. Instead he turned quickly and hit me harder than I had ever been hit before. My nose exploded and I tasted blood.
***
I smelt the liquid before I felt it. Gravity pulled it over my face and down my neck. Sticky bubbles. I heard the noise of a party, then a voice shouting in my ear which grew louder, painfully loud, destroying the perfect peace of unconsciousness. I growled at the voice.
‘Wake up!’ it said.
I blinked my eyes and light flooded in. Someone pulled me to my feet and tried to move me forward. My legs felt like molasses.
‘Come on Bryson,’ the voice implored. I opened my eyes wider and focused.
‘Martin?’ I said.
‘Yes, you need to wake up. We have to get out of here.’
‘Out?’ I repeated groggily.
‘Yeah, I can’t be here when he wakes up’
I looked down at the floor; my feet were under Orsa’s chin. His lips were open, unconsciously kissing my shoes. I hoped they were dirty. My eyes went to the champagne magnum lying next to his head.
‘It took three blows,’ he said panting. ‘Hard bastard.’
‘Well done,’ I said and tried to clear my mind. My spine and neck were in agony. ‘I don’t want to be here when he wakes up either, how do we get off?’
‘Can you swim?’ he said.
***
We stood on a thin ledge that ran the length of the boat outside the tall glass windows and swa
yed with the movement of the boat. My nose and lips began to swell. Orsa’s fist had done more damage to my face than the extinguisher had to Lawrence’s.
‘I don’t think I can,’ I said.
‘Come on you silly sod, they’ll bloody kill us when they find us, we’ve just lost them so much money.’
‘I’m too woozy Martin. I’ll drown if I try and swim anywhere in this heat, I know it.’
We stared at the grey expanse. The nearest land was about two nautical miles away. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem, I’d chance it, but my legs kept threatening to give way.
‘You go, I’ll be fine,’ I said.
‘Don’t be stupid Bryson. I didn’t beat Vladimir Orsa around the head for the fucking thrill of it; I was trying to save your arse.’
‘Thank you Martin,’ I said. ‘You put yourself in harm’s way for me. Thank you,’ I said and put a grateful hand on his shoulder. He shook it away.
‘Don’t get soppy on me Bryson. I’m going to give you a good kicking myself when we get out of here. We’ll both have to leave the country after this.’ He gritted his teeth and tried not to fall off. ‘It’s only fucking journalism,’ he went on, ‘I don’t want to die for an article, writing is supposed to be indoor work with no heavy lifting for god’s sake.’
‘Yeah right,’ I said grinning, ‘tell that to Orsa.’ We chuckled, releasing the fear and tension for a moment. The shouting from inside reminded us where we were.
A trio of jet-skis sped past, cutting each other up and jumping across each other’s wake.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ he said.
‘I have no idea, what are you thinking?’
‘Hey!’ Martin yelled at the jet-skis ‘Wooooooh!’ When one of them turned he shouted, ‘Hey, over here, help us,’ and waved his hands over his head. ‘Help!’
Two of the three jet-skis had spotted us and they turned to see what the fuss was about, ‘Help!’ he yelled.
The window we were leaning against shuddered violently. We looked at each other as a vertical crack split the glass between us.
Through the window we saw Orsa’s white hair. He was holding the soundman’s mixing desk with both hands, the two guards either side of him, and using it as a battering ram. The glass shuddered again and the crack erupted across its surface in all directions. A couple more hits and they would be through.
Martin held up cash to the young men on the jet-skis, pointing at himself and toward the shore. ‘Help?’ he said again.
They shook their heads; they thought it was a joke.
‘Oh fuck this,’ Martin said and walked off the side of the boat. When he surfaced, he turned to the men who were laughing at him, ‘Help me for Christ’s sake.’
One of the riders pulled him aboard. ‘Are you coming or what?’ he shouted up.
The window exploded out over the sea, shards of glass reflecting the harsh sunlight as they fell onto the heads of our rescuers.
I ducked and shut my eyes reflexively, when I looked up again Martin was slapping his driver on the back and pointing in my direction. The driver shook his head and pointed to his friends who were already racing away.
Martin looked back for a moment and then concentrated on holding on as the jet-ski picked up speed and skimmed across the sea.
My options were limited. Go back aboard for a severe beating, possibly worse, or overboard, where I could float in the salt-rich sea and hope that Martin sent someone back for me.
I licked my lips which were already drying in the sea’s reflected heat and thought to hell with it, but I couldn’t move. I clung to the boat beneath me my head still too clouded from the blow.
I heard Orsa’s bass chuckle. The sound-desk battering-ram he'd used jutted out over the water. He leaned over it and laughed again. His teeth shone, matching the white of his hair and beard. I realized it was the first time I had ever seen him genuinely happy.
‘Your friend won’t get far,’ he said, ‘And you aren't going anywhere.’
He reached a big hand around the jagged edge of the window frame and pulled me inside.
Chapter Twenty Nine
In the back room the sounds of the main floor were muffled but audible, the investors wanted off, only the boat wasn’t moving.
‘Lawrence, make sure those people give us our money,’ said Orsa nodding his head towards the main room.
‘How?’
‘Damage limitation, you’ll think of something.’
‘Right,’ he said, ‘Right, of course I will.’ He turned to Hamza, ‘Have you called the others yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Do it now. Call in a favor from Faisal. I think we’ll need the police here.’
‘No police,’ Orsa said.
‘It’s the only way, I can sweet talk these idiots but I’m only a man in a suit. Give me a man in uniform to discredit this, this worthless hack, and I can win them back.’
***
With my hands tied behind a solitary wooden chair and time spent alone with angry violent men it was a relief to finally hear the police motor cruiser pull alongside.
‘This is Faisal’s man?’ Lawrence said.
‘Yes. He dealt with him last time.’
‘Will he do what we tell him?’
‘He will work with us. Faisal has assured me.’
‘Good,’ Lawrence said. He opened the adjoining door which led to a landing deck at the back of the ship. Lawrence waited at the top of the steps. A uniform I recognized marched smartly to meet him. Khadim shook Lawrence’s hand. ‘Thank you for coming Captain.’
Khadim waved his hand dismissively, ‘It is not a problem Mr. Lawrence. It is my duty. Please tell me what has happened?’
Their voices lowered to a whisper. The policeman’s eyes flicked towards me from time to time as Lawrence told him his story. Orsa joined them and I felt rather than heard his rumble as he greeted the captain in a quiet voice.
Both men talked at Khadim who smiled back in a workmanlike fashion. Voices began to rise with what sounded like frustration until Khadim raised his hands in a halting gesture. ‘Please. Gentleman. Let me take care of this.’
He walked around the two men and into the air-conditioned gloom.
‘Clean his face,’ Khadim ordered the two guards.
They looked to Orsa for their lead.
‘Do what he says.’
They pulled me roughly to my feet and poured mineral water onto small paper serviettes in their oversized hands. They scrubbed at my face and neck until the white serviettes turned a deep muddy shade of red.
Their ungentle prodding and poking seemed to hurt more than their blows. As they wiped, they reopened the broken skin that the blood had sealed. With each touch painful sensation returned to another part of my swollen face.
‘That will do,’ Khadim said eventually, he pulled out a knife and cut through the cable tie the guards had used to bind my hands. Khadim slapped a more official looking pair of cuffs on me then dragged me by the elbow through another door back into the main function room.
The noise of angry investors overwhelmed me as we entered. The room was a mess, one floor to ceiling window was smashed through and another hung loosely in its frame. The sound desk had been pulled back in and a warm breeze battled with the air conditioning to keep the room cool.
The investors sat on the scattered chairs or congregated around surviving food and drink tables, exchanging stories about the afternoon’s fracas. The emotions on display were divided equally between excited and distraught.
‘Look, the police are here,’ a woman said, relief in her voice.
The noise of the room grew in intensity as the investors bombarded Khadim with questions.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Why isn’t the boat moving?’
‘When do we get our money back?’
‘Do you have any idea what’s been going on?’
Khadim waved his free hand in the air, ‘Please be quiet,’ he
said.
A few hyped up drinkers kept babbling, ‘Please!’ he demanded.
‘Sssshhh!’ said the woman.
‘I am afraid that you have all been involved in a terrible hoax.’
‘A hoax?’
‘Ssshhh!’
‘Yeah, be quiet, let the man speak will you?’
‘Thank you sir,’ said Khadim. ‘The man to my right here is a journalist, a Mr. David Bryson, please remember that name. He is a British man who has been welcomed into our country but who has betrayed our trust. A few nights ago I arrested him after he was found soliciting an underage girl in a hotel. The man who has been your host, Mr. Lawrence, interrupted Mr. Bryson’s advances. Bryson broke Mr. Lawrence’s nose with a fire extinguisher and escaped. However we caught him on his way out and he is currently under investigation.
‘I believe that what you have witnessed today has simply been a revenge attack by Mr. Bryson against Mr. Lawrence. I urge you not to believe anything he might have told you.’
‘So it was him all along?’ the woman said. ‘The bastard.’
‘Does that mean he was lying about all the other stuff as well?’ a man asked.
Khadim didn’t say a word; he just let the crowd convince itself.
‘None of it was true!’
‘There is no money laundering, no scam?’
‘He was just trying to stop Lawrence from making money.’
‘And us!’
‘Yes, and us. God what fools we’ve been.’
‘Would you look at this place, what have we done?’
‘Lawrence stopped him.’
The hubbub rose as everyone convinced themselves of what they wanted to be true. That they would make money and that they had been duped. When Lawrence walked back in he was given a hero’s welcome. Spontaneous applause rippled through the room.
‘Well done that man.’
‘We’re so sorry.’
Lawrence couldn’t stop smiling. ‘Please, please….’ he started and then shook hands as the applause rose and hands patted him on the back. The man he’d hit gave him a hug. He ran up to the now disheveled stage and called for silence. He got it. Looks of admiration came from the dancers who hovered on either wing.
