‘On the building site, on the building site!’
‘And what were you doing on the building site?’
‘Working…’
The hard fist caught him again and he rolled up in a ball. He tried desperately to take big gulps of air into his lungs but the pain and the sobbing were getting in the way.
‘So you're a fuckin comedian as well as a clown eh?’
James took in a big breath and then let it out again. Relax your muscles….relax…. He bent over clown.
‘Let's understand each other. A while ago we had a disagreement …..which I won. In fact I knocked your teeth out. Now that should have been the end of that. But you, you useless cunt, being a bad loser, decided to come back, with some mates I might add, to reopen that disagreement. That wasn't a good idea. When we went our ways I thought it had been settled. You thought otherwise. Obviously this time, before we go our separate ways, I want to be sure you are not coming back again…..’
‘I won't co….’
The fist smashed into his face and James grabbed his throat and squeezed it very tightly ‘Did I ask you a fuckin question? Did I….?’ he snarled. James let go of his throat and clown slowly shook his head. ‘……….so to make sure you don't come back we have to make you understand what awaits you if you do. That being the case, as I've already knocked your teeth out and broken your wrists, what else should I do to send you on your way?’
Clown looked at him in terror and shook his head violently. He went to speak but shut up just before the sounds came out.
‘I suppose you feel that enough is enough…’ Clown quickly nodded.
‘You coming back again…?’ Clown shook his head. James dragged him to the wall and sat him up.
‘Let me make you comfortable’ and he straightened clowns legs out and crossed them at the ankles. Then he raised his foot and stamped on the knee of the raised leg and clowns leg broke.
‘If you ever try anything again I will kill you….do you understand?’
In his last few moments of consciousness clown nodded then passed out. James looked at him, sighed, shook his head slowly and went home.
When clown regained consciousness he found his mate still unconscious beside him. He tried to get his mobile out of his pocket but the pain and the swelling prevented him. Clown seethed as he was left with only one demeaning alternative. What could you do….?
‘Help’ he screamed at the top of his voice ‘help……help…..help…..’
The little old lady with the obligatory terrier arrived and stood by him.
‘You all right love?’
He resisted the urge to call her a stupid old cow and asked her to ring for an ambulance. She looked at him blankly…..? She didn't have a phone so how could she ring for an ambulance…? She waited patiently for the next instruction she could not fulfil. Clown wanted desperately to kill her! Please God let me heal now and kill this stupid old woman! He felt his rage spilling over as the pain in his arms and leg grew worse. Something inside him reined him back as he knew the woman in front of him was his only hope.
‘Do you know where the petrol station down the road is?’
‘Yes’
‘Would you go there…….please…..and tell them to ring for an ambulance?’
‘Ok’
She wandered off but after a couple of minutes she was back. ‘Shall I tell them your name?’
Rage enveloped him again. ‘It's fu……fu…….George’
She nodded as though her mission had been accomplished and wandered off again. The terrier wagged its tale as she told him how she had saved a man and now she was taking him to hospital. George watched her waddle off and knew he had no fucking chance…..
He was amazed when, a few minutes later as he was about to start shouting again, he heard the sirens approaching. The paramedics jumped out, saw what a state he was in, sedated him, called the police then hurtled along the streets to the hospital with the siren wailing.
The next morning the police arrived to ask him a few questions but all he said was that he had fallen down the stairs.
‘You live three miles away George, that's a long staircase don't you think….?’
But George stuck to his nonsensical story and the coppers gave up. They had better things to do than worry about who had rolled Johnny Dick Head over. And anyway what the fuck did they care about this Neanderthal? They would have preferred it if he had been shot dead as it was one less to bother about but banged up in a hospital for God knows how long wasn't a bad result. And he was in a lot of pain. As they got up to leave one of them overbalanced and had to quickly stop himself falling on George by grabbing George's broken arm.
‘Fucking hell’ cried George as the pain hit him.
‘Sorry mate’ said the copper.
They removed themselves from the Ward and as they walked away one grinned ‘Tee…hee’
Clown was in hospital for eight weeks with plaster and bandages everywhere. Dosed up with pain killers and with nowhere to go Clown had a lot of time to think; although thinking had not actually been the reason d'etre of his life to date.
For the first week or two he went through every possible way of killing H and had managed to rough out a possible plan but he knew it was flawed. He needed something better. Much better!
After nearly seven weeks he developed a fever. Initially it was assumed to be a reaction to his anti-inflammatory drug but it got worse even after taking him off it and he steadily deteriorated. On the third day the doctor got another opinion and they realised he had contracted taphylococcus aureus the but it was the often fatal antibiotic resistant variety known to most people as MRSA; and it was flying through his system at a rate of knots! The doctors knew that antibiotics could kill MRSA; the problem was which one? It took time to try them and time was what they didn't have enough of.
As the doctors fought to stave off the organism that was feeding on George, he was experiencing vivid hallucinations, incredible colours and distinct but weird sounds and then it all became calm and he floated……
And in that void between living and dying he suddenly saw, with complete and utter clarity, what he had to do………….
H Chapter 17
The first club
In five years H learned a lot. He learned because he enjoyed learning and because he enjoyed what he did. He enjoyed using his mind, he enjoyed managing and organising. And anyhow, he thought, its easier organising other people to do the work than doing it yourself. Bets, odds, gamblers, suckers; how to lose money; how to make money were all being stored in his brain and an as yet unrecognised business model was developing in his head. H saw Mr Evans lifestyle and knew he had to make money to get what it bought. Cars, homes, power, influence, prestige…..
H wanted it. But more than that he wanted the freedom and independence that money gave you.
Along the way H also learned why Mr Evans had helped Arthur. Arthur was a very successful punter; horses, dogs, football, cricket……
When Mr Evans had bought the shop and not been going too long Arthur had laid a series of bets with him and Mr Evans hadn't hedged the bets and been taken to the cleaners. Mr Evans couldn't pay and was about to shut up shop when Arthur made him a deal. Forget the debt and make him a silent partner.
But no one must know.
And no-one did.
And Arthur was now a millionaire, had a half share in a very profitable group of bookies shops, made money betting due to his incredible photographic memory for previous stats and form and still worked on the roads. Fucking amazing! You just never knew….you just never fucking knew.
At weekends James used to go to a run down club to meet women and have a drink. It was a crap place but it was all that there was. No ventilation, smoke everywhere, drinks too expensive, music out of date, customer service nil. How did they make money? One day, inevitably, the law of supply and demand forced the club to close and a ‘For Sale’ sign went up outside. James knew he could do better. He had severa
l thousand pounds as he had become a saver and liked having money in the bank to be used as and when a little ‘opportunity’ came along, which usually meant something dodgy, that he bought cheap and sold dear.
He contacted the selling agents and got a price but it was way too much. The club was quite small and James surmised the big boys would not be interested and so only a private punter would give it a try. The price would be much better if he was the only bidder. James paid two very rough mates to sit outside the door of the club with half full bottles of whisky and scare the shit out of any interested parties. No one even went through the door. It took two months of patience but in the end the agents accepted his minimal offer.
James still didn't really have enough money to put in the things it needed and refurbish the place and so he went to the bank and found the Manager a complete arsehole.
‘Have you had a business before?’
‘No’
‘Sorry, can't help….’
And that was about it. Fuck off we don't want you! James was stuck. He had resigned from The Enclosure to do his own thing so there were no wages coming in. Fucking great move Jimmy boy! Right fucking on!
He decided to refurbish using his own labour, his mates, favours, nicked bits and anything else that could be done. He got the keys, opened the place up and let the stale and dank air out.
James knew exactly what he wanted to do and was deeply disappointed that he would be doing a sub standard job just because of a lack of money. It made him even more aware that money was everything. Everything!
After a week of eighteen hour days he was lying on his back, water dripping down his neck trying to plumb in an S bend when someone said ‘You wanted a quote?’
‘Eh?’
‘You rang. You wanted a quote’ He looked at a piece of paper ‘New counters, seating, carpets, lights…… You wanted a quote’.
‘I wish mate’ said H ‘but I didn't ring cos I don't know who the fuck you are and I don't have any money’.
‘Says here you rang mate’ persisted the man. ‘You're Jimmy ain't you?’
‘Yes mate’ said H ‘but you've got the wrong place. Try next door or something’
The man consulted his notes again. ‘You've got to agree the quote and then we have to send the invoice to Arthur, care of Mr Harry Evans at The Enclosure.
James understood. ‘Let me ring you tomorrow after I've sorted this out’.
That evening he went round to see Arthur and thanked him for his offer but refused it.
‘You don't have to fuckin pay it back’ said Arthur ‘fuckin take it’
James shook his head. ‘Thanks Arthur but it's my problem and I'll sort it out’
Arthur sighed. ‘Come with me Jimmy’ He took him outside to an outhouse, lifted a dirty old carpet and opened a safe concreted into the floor. Rummaging through some papers he found a small file. Finding the sheet of paper he showed it to H. A deposit account with over £500,000 in it. He found something else. Another deposit account with over £300,000 in it. He went to another file and showed H the deeds to seven houses that he had bought over time. Fuck a duck!
In due course H agreed to borrow the money, payable in full in three years with interest.
He was on his way.
James took to running the club like a duck to water and it became instantly successful. The club gave him a business and a home as he converted part of the upstairs to a flat and moved in. It also provided him with an entrée into the criminal fraternity which again he took to with relish. Starting to act as a middleman he arranged deals, arranged jobs, put people together. People who needed his expertise paid well for it.
After two years James saw an opportunity in the next town when a large furniture store shut down just off the High Street. He made tentative enquiries but was told that change of use would not be issued. Making one or two discreet enquiries through a friend of a friend he met the local planning officer who also told him that it would ‘not be possible’. After further chats it became ‘unlikely’ and then moved to ‘possible’. When the Planning Permission was passed there was local uproar but it was too late. The Planning Officer shrugged and quoted obscure planning Acts then went off to enjoy a bit of a rest in his new Timeshare in Lanzarote.
In his third year a local businessman saw how well H was doing and decided he wanted a bit of the action so he bought a large unused restaurant that was for sale to convert into an upmarket night club.
James watched this development with some interest, realising that the businessman had seen the potential that he had overlooked through sheer fucking laziness. If you want to make money, real money, then for fucks sake keep your eyes open! And work hard! You lazy fucking cunt Jimmy!
It took the businessman several months to renovate and refurbish and with only a few days before it was due to open it somehow caught fire. The building was not badly damaged but the interior was a write off.
The businessman was severely financially embarrassed as he had borrowed heavily against his own business and although the insurance would eventually pay out it would take a while to convince them that it wasn't him that responsible for the arson. And he hadn't got that much time to find the money to keep his main company afloat before the banks got jittery and pulled the plug. Through a nominee James made an offer for the building. It wasn't a good offer but it was good enough under the circumstances. Although he now had the building he was still incensed that it had taken some idiot with a fucking printing company to show him the way.
Lazy bastard Jimmy! Get off your arse!
He refurbished the club and moved it upmarket. Not only did the two in the town now make him a lot of money they also taught him a lesson; you can't beat a monopoly. Especially when you can have the best of all markets.
Then he started a company offering a doorman service which, in due course, started offering ‘protection’.
‘………..and so you see’ he continued to the listening Reyes family before him ‘I was quite lucky to have got a little help from the Bank when I needed it and it started me off and I've been quite lucky since’ and he finished his little story.
The Reyes family looked at him…..it was almost believable.
At the end of the meal Benny asked H if he would like to go for a stroll but he politely declined and said mysteriously ‘At dinner I realised how I could do it and so I'm going to do it or I'll never do it’
‘It? What is it? Do it? What are you talking about?’
But he just kissed her cheek and went off to his room.
H Chapter 18
The twins
In the Chateau in France Ernest Hathaway waited for his visitors. One had already used the remote to enter though the large electric gates and Hathaway watched his progress on the bank of security monitors. The other would only be a few minutes away.
The SLK 55 AMG burbled as it went up the drive to the house. A young man in his late twenties sat at the wheel, tanned and casually though expensively dressed. He parked the car by the large entrance and let himself in with a key. As he went in he was greeted by Hathaway ‘Luke’ he said affectionately ‘you are looking extremely well’
‘Thank you Ernest’ said the young man ‘and you're not looking so bad yourself’
Ernest paused for a moment as he heard the alarm telling him someone else had let themselves in. He went to a side room and looked at the monitors. It was him. Good.
The SLK 55 AMG burbled as it went up the drive to the house. A young man in his late twenties sat at the wheel, tanned and casually, though expensively dressed. He parked the car by the large entrance and let himself in with a key. As he went in he was greeted by Hathaway ‘Lliam’ he said affectionately ‘you are looking extremely well’
‘Thank you Ernest and you’
The young men went to each other, shook hands and embraced. From where Ernest was looking it was impossible to tell them apart. They were identical twins and the only way Hathaway knew the difference was that they put a t
iny lapel badge on their clothes when they went to see him.
Lliam on the left and his brother on the right.
Tonight was a celebration and Ernest had arranged for a chef from one of the finer restaurants in Paris to prepare a meal for them. Initially they went into a large baronial style hall and sat in front of a large firepalce. They chatted for a while then the gong summoned them for dinner. When the large Japanese gong sounded the twins looked at each other for a second but said nothing.
‘It's Japanese’ said Ernest as though that answered all their questions.
They strolled into the dining room and two liveried butlers served the meal while the chef looked on. Ernest took a small taste of the meal before him, let the texture and aroma permeate his senses and marvelled at the complexity of the dish. He raised his hands to the skies ‘Magnifique Henry. Magnifique!’
The twins applauded discreetly. The chef smiled, bowed and left them. Ernest beckoned to a butler who took one of the bottles of Champagne from an ice bucket. He poured the Louis Roederer Cristal Rose 1999 into their glasses then retired to be summoned when needed. Ernest stood up and raised his glass. ‘To you’ he said to them both ‘on your birthday’
‘Thank you Ernest’
‘Thank you’
Ernest felt a glow of pride in his ‘boys’.
‘Lets eat’ said Ernest ‘and then I have a little something for you’
They talked for quite some time and at one point when the twins were engaged in a technical discussion of the merits of the Mazda rotary engine Ernest's mind wandered to another time and another place……….
………….It was seven years ago and he was in Vietnam arranging a shipment of arms to North Korea. His Russian go-between had invited him out one evening to the ‘bear pit’. Whilst Hathaway had few scruples about anything he was not sure he wanted to see a bear ripped apart and so he declined but the Russian insisted; and as Hathaway needed his goodwill and his money he reluctantly agreed.
They went outside the town to an isolated farm whose yards were packed with parked cars. Cars of all types but most were expensive; many had blacked windows. This was obviously a ticket only do. They parked and the Russian led him across a field to a wooded area. In a clearing he saw a round seating configurtion and in the middle a large circular cage with a small caged tunnel leading off it towards the back of a truck. Taking a seat on one of the benches they waited……
H When Hell Is the Favourable Option...... Page 10
