Opening his large double garage doors, he chose the Porsche over the Audi, and set off for the gym.
It was only a five-minute drive, without any real opportunity to put the pedal down, but just sitting in the car raised his heart-rate and made him feel better.
He loved when the people on the street glanced across at him as he passed them by, and often when he saw them doing it he deliberately revved the engine to make it growl. Just to show off.
McNunn didn't go to any old gym. His was three hundred pounds a month membership and was spread out over two floors of a beautiful Victorian mansion near Duddingston Village. There was a twenty-five-metre pool in the basement, several saunas and a variety of themed steam rooms.
Only the rich and famous of Edinburgh frequented there, and membership was exclusive.
Pulling up the drive and parking in his usual spot underneath a beautiful Chestnut tree, he jumped out of the car and grabbed his sports bag from the back seat.
Strolling into the entrance he picked up a few fresh towels from reception, and a copy of the Times newspaper.
At the barrier, he took his membership card out of his wallet and swiped it across the scanner. Stepping up to the barrier, he glanced at the light above the scanner, anticipating it to turn from red to green and the chest high glass barrier to swivel open in front of him.
Oddly, the colour of the light did not change.
He stepped back from the barrier and swiped his card again.
Nothing happened.
He wiped his card on the side of his trousers and repeated the process.
The light still refused to change.
He looked at the card, wondering if it was damaged. It had worked fine a week before.
He tried one last time, but nothing happened.
Turning around, he walked across to the reception desk, where a beautiful, tall blonde woman with a desirable figure smiled at him and asked if she could help.
"My card is broken. Can you give me another one?" Tommy asked, smiling at her face and admiring the woman's beautiful eyes, but scanning the rest of her figure as soon as she took his card and turned to the computer.
"Mr McNunn?" the woman asked, her voice soft and pleasant.
"Yes, that's me," he replied, diverting his eyes from her breasts and back to her face.
"I'm sorry, Mr McNunn, but your card isn't valid anymore. According to the system you're no longer a member of the club."
"What do you mean?" Tommy asked. "I just paid this year's membership a couple of months ago. I remember paying it with my credit card. A year in advance."
"Are you sure, Mr McNunn? According to the system you cancelled your membership about six months ago. Along with your wife's."
Tommy took a deep breath.
"There's been a mistake. Is the manager in? Could I have a word with him?"
"Certainly, sir. I'll just get him for you."
The woman picked up the phone, smiled at McNunn and then spoke to someone at the other end.
A few moments later, a door opened in the corridor behind the reception desk and a man stepped out, coming straight towards them.
"Hello, my name is Roger. How may I be of assistance?" the man asked, smiling at Tommy.
"Roger, this is Mr McNunn. The system shows us that his membership has been cancelled, but Mr McNunn can't recall doing so."
"It's not that I can't recall doing it, the point is that I didn't cancel it. I come here all the time. I was even here last week. I had an appointment with the physiotherapist. And I'm here about twice a week for a swim. Sometimes three times."
"Yes, Mr McNunn, I thought I recognised you, although I haven't seen you for a while. Do you mind if I look at the system and see what the problem is?"
"By all means," Tommy replied, more by way of instruction than by invitation.
The woman passed the membership card across to her manager and stepped aside, and Roger took over.
Tommy watched as he compared the details on his card to those recorded on the computer, then spent a few minutes tapping on the keyboard.
"Actually, I'm sorry but it seems that Chantelle is correct. Our records indicate that you cancelled your membership in May."
"But that's ridiculous and not true. If it was true, how come I've still been coming here every month for the past six months."
"It's most peculiar, Mr McNunn, but the computer says..."
Roger was probably just about to say that the computer was saying 'no', but before he spoke the last word he changed tack.
"No matter, Mr McNunn, perhaps our system has made a mistake. It's not a problem, you can rejoin now immediately if you wish, and I'll authorise for the usual one thousand pound joining fee to be waived. We'll just need to set you up on the system again. Is that okay?"
McNunn looked at his watch. It was five-thirty. He was due down at the police station in a couple of hours.
"Sure, but this is really strange. I can swear to you that I didn't cancel the membership..."
"It's not a problem, Mr McNunn. It's most likely our fault. These things happen sometimes, I suppose. But we don't have any records for you at all on the system anymore. Could you give me your personal details and let me have your bank or credit card for a few moments, so I can take a note of your account details for you?"
Tommy coughed. A tingle passed down his spine, and he shivered.
"My bank card? May I not just pay cash?"
"I'm sorry. It's club policy that we must set it up digitally. The club automatically runs a credit and reference check as part of the process. I know it won't be a problem in your case, Mr McNunn, but it's the only way we can do it. You'll appreciate it is part of the policy in the club to protect its members and our exclusivity." He smiled again. They were always bloody smiling. "So, how would you like to proceed? May I have your bank card for a moment?"
Feeling a little strange, Tommy took his wallet out of his pocket, and started to extract his bank card from the wallet, before shaking his head and pushing it back in again.
"Actually, I've changed my mind," he announced, knowing that there would be no point whatsoever in handing Roger his card. The moment Roger swiped it, the system would either shout to the world that Tommy no longer had any money in the account, or that the account no longer existed.
"Are you sure, Mr McNunn?"
"Yes, I'm fucking sure." he swore, then turned around and stormed out of the club.
"Bastards!" he shouted as soon as he climbed into his Porsche and put his foot down, spinning the wheels on the gravel. "BASTARDS!"
What the hell was going on?
For a moment, as Tommy had been standing at the reception desk, facing Roger and the beautiful 'Chantelle', he had suddenly felt as if the world was collapsing in around him. It was as if the walls of the club had started to move inwards towards him and the ceiling had started to move lower towards the ground.
He felt an overwhelming urge to escape.
He needed a drink. Quickly. And somewhere to think. He needed to take a moment to sit and calm down and relax and figure out what the hell was going on.
Tommy knew exactly the place.
A haven of peace and tranquillity, and where the opportunity to escape from the hum drum of modern life was guaranteed.
His golf club.
Turning out of the driveway onto the main road, Tommy headed south.
Chapter 32
Mortonhall Golf Course
Edinburgh
Wednesday
5.30 p.m. G.M.T.
Tommy strolled into the bar, and sat down in one of his favourite seats by the window, from where he could get a tremendous view over the Pentland Hills.
After sitting down, he closed his eyes and practised some of the breathing exercises he had learned from his personal Yoga coach.
His business was a stressful one, and although his employees and enemies probably never realised the toll it took on him, he was just a man like everyone else.
Richer perhaps, and more powerful, but stressed just the same.
After a few 'ins', and 'twice-as-long-outs', and visualising his favourite place to be, he slowly opened his eyes and lifted the glass of whisky to his lips.
Glancing around the room, he noticed several other people looking over at him, and whispering.
Tommy was used to that.
The important thing was that he knew who his friends were, and the rest of them could go to hell. And very occasionally, if they didn't go of their own free will, Tommy would help them on their way.
The whisky - a stiff double - was beginning to bite, and as he felt the wave of alcohol wash through his system and into his brain, he pushed back into his seat and closed his eyes again.
Shit, the past few days had been stressful. What the hell was happening? It was almost definitely Petrovsky's gang taking reprisals against him, and admittedly in a very novel way, but it had to stop. It was ruining his life.
Of course, the answer was simple. He would have to start killing them all faster. Get rid of them as quickly as possible until all this nonsense stopped.
When all this was over, he was going to take a break. Somewhere nice. Perhaps another trip to the Maldives?
A voice, close by, brought him back to the real world.
"Mr McNunn," the voice commanded, a statement, not a question. "I'm surprised to see you here. Especially after that rather rude and very abusive email you had the audacity to send me the other day!"
Tommy opened his eyes and turned his head towards the source of the annoyance.
"Ah, Charles!" Tommy replied, immediately sitting up straight, and smiling at the Club Secretary.
"Don't Charles, me, Mr McNunn. I'm afraid that you're no longer welcome here, and that it's my duty to inform you that after your email, your membership has been withdrawn. I'd appreciate it if you'd do the decent thing and leave immediately."
Tommy shook his head. Not understanding.
"I'm sorry. I'm not with you. What's the matter? What's going on?"
"Are you joking, Mr McNunn? I repeat, your membership has been revoked. Will you please leave the premises? Quickly, and without any unnecessary fuss."
"Why? What have I done?"
"Please, Mr McNunn, don't play the daft laddie. You know fine well that over the weekend you sent several emails to different members of the club, including myself. Abusive emails. Extremely rude. Downright insolent. Insulting. And if you feel so strongly about the state of the club and its other members, then why do you chose to come here? Personally, I was considering taking legal action against you, but when the committee met on Monday to discuss the matter, we all agreed that in the interests of the reputation of the Club, that we'd take no further action, except to revoke your membership. As such, with respect to yourself, this club is private property and you're now trespassing. So, please, leave now."
Tommy laughed. "Charles, you know as well as I do, that there's no law of trespass in Scotland..."
"Shall I call the police and have you removed?"
Tommy's voice changed in tone.
"Charles, firstly, I'd advise you strongly against doing that. Strongly. Secondly, I never sent anyone any emails. I've no idea what you're talking about. This has got to be some sort of mistake."
"There's no mistake. And you know it. The emails came from your personal account. You sent me two emails. The first one was bad, but nothing in comparison to the second. After the first one, I wrote back to you, to ask what you meant, and requesting you to call me or to come and see me, but you chose instead to reply in a manner I have never experienced before." He lowered his voice and leant towards McNunn. "You told me to 'fuck' off, and called my wife a whore. You claimed that you recently paid her fifty pounds to sleep with you, and that she gave you herpes. And that was the just the beginning of it... I shudder whenever I think of the rest..." The man regained his posture, his face red and obviously very upset.
"Are you serious?" Tommy couldn't help laughing. "I called Sarah a whore? And fifty pounds?"
"Please leave. I'm going to call the police. I will..."
"Don't fucking bother. I'm going."
By this time, everyone in the bar was staring at them.
Tommy picked up his glass and downed the rest of the whisky in one.
Picking up his jacket and his car key from the table he stepped away from his chair and towards the exit, turning briefly to talk to the Club Secretary.
"I'm going to tell you the truth now, Charles, and I want you to listen. Carefully. I never sent anyone any emails. Someone has hacked into my email account and did this without my knowledge or any involvement. You've made a huge mistake, a fucking huge mistake by kicking me out of the club. I loved it here. I was a decent and loyal member, and you're bang out of order for doing what you've done. Secondly, I never paid Sarah fifty pounds to fuck her. She let me do it for free, at the Christmas party, upstairs in the Billiards Room on the table. She wasn't very good. I wouldn't even have paid ten pence for it. And one last thing..." Tommy said, leaning forward to the Club Secretary and pretending as if he was taking a breath in through his nostrils. "Charles... you smell!"
Tommy then turned and walked away.
As he passed through the room, everyone in the bar fell silent and looked away.
Behind him, all the colour had drained from Charles's face. He was as white as a sheet.
-------------------------
Tommy's Car.
The Grange
Edinburgh
6.00 p.m.
After climbing into his car, Tommy did some more of his breathing exercises. As he stormed out of the club, he had managed to keep control of his emotions and put a brave face on it, masking his true feelings. But now he was alone, he needed to take a moment…
Flicking the switch that locked both his doors, he closed his eyes and tried to get a grip on reality.
A twinge of fear passed through his body.
What the hell was going on?
What was happening?
Was Tommy going mad?
No, no, he couldn't think like that.
He knew he wasn't.
Or was he? Did he really send those emails?
Maybe he was drunk and sent them then.
No, no. It wasn't possible. Tommy was drunk last night, but not the past few days before that.
Switching on his smartphone, he logged into his email account, and went to his ‘Sent’ folder, dreading what he would find.
If Charles was right, if Tommy had sent that email, it should still be there.
Nervously, he waited for the screen to load
‘Shit!’, he swore loudly in disbelief, staring at the screen and shaking his head.
There were pages of emails that he didn’t recognise. Screen after screen full of emails to people he knew, organisations he knew, his friends and relatives.
Titles such as ‘Hi Wanker!’, ‘I’m going to kill you’ and ‘Your wife is a whore and I fucked her…’ left nothing to the imagination.
He clicked on several of them, opened them up and read them, incredulous of what they were saying. At the bottom of each email there were several words that for a few moments began to make him question his own sanity: instead of a polite ' thank you' or 'kind regards', each email finished with - ‘Fuck you, from Tommy McNunn!’
Shit, who was behind this?
He’d never written any of these!
Or had he? Was it possible that for an hour or two he had gone completely nuts? Or…he’d heard about people sleep-walking…could he have been sleep-emailing? Writing emails in the middle of the night, wide awake but fast asleep, with no recollection of it the next day?
He looked at the times the emails had been sent. Mostly all of them had been sent during his daytime, or from early evening to late evening. There was no way that he could have sent them.
‘Shit’, Tommy suddenly realised, the answer being obvious. ‘Someone has hacked into my email and been emailing all
my contact list!’
Reading through more of the emails he began to shake with anger. The emails had been carefully designed to wreak havoc with his personal life. Some of the people who would open and read the emails would never forgive him for what Tommy had apparently said to them. Sure, he could try to explain to them what had happened, but he already knew that most of the recipients would not believe him.
Should he email them all and apologise?
Tommy fumed.
He knew he should, but…it was a matter of principle: Tommy never apologised to anyone.
Ever.
Knowing that he had to stop this happening again, Tommy logged out, and then tried to log back in again, this time selecting the option at the beginning of the login sequence to change his password by feigning that he had forgotten it.
He was quickly presented with several security questions to check who he was.
Tommy answered the questions.
The computer said no.
Incorrect answers.
His hands shaking, he tried again.
Given several new security questions, he gave several new answers in reply.
‘No.’
The computer said no.
None of his answers were recognised.
“What the hell?!” Tommy swore.
Starting the whole sequence again from scratch he put in his account details and real password.
Wrong password.
What?
He tried again.
Wrong password.
WHAT!?
Repeating the process again, and then again, he repeatedly tried to get back into his account.
The computer said ‘no.’
In fact, the computer said, ‘Fuck off!’
Tommy was confused. How could this be happening? How? Only a few minutes before he had been reading his email, and now…now…it looked like he’d been locked out?
BASTARDS!
Tommy dropped the phone on the seat beside him and closed his eyes.
Was this really happening?
Say You're Sorry: A Gripping Crime Thriller (A DCI Campbell McKenzie Detective Conspiracy Thriller No 1) Page 25
