The little group sat around the table on the top floor of their nearly finished hotel where they were digesting the news about their message being delivered unsuccessfully.
They were insulted and angry when it was apparent that they appeared to have had one back. They were not used to being on the receiving end and this was now personal.
Their scheme was not working and it needed to be changed.
What to do? They discussed other options for some time but came back to the original plan.
It was those clubs they wanted…..and even if it wasn't actually those they needed…..they would certainly make sure they got them now! Unfortunately they could not bomb H out of existence as they wanted the clubs standing and so the obvious answer was to ignore the soldiers and hit the general. A nod of heads went around the table.
They should have done that to start with…….instead of fucking about!
H Chapter 25
Nearly……
After one hundred and fifty miles the traffic backed up and they came to a halt. They sat there for an hour until the traffic started to trickle forward and then after a further hour they saw the skid marks veering off to the left on the other side of the autobahn. Two hundred yards further and they saw the silver Carrera, now less than a quarter of its original length; the passenger compartment now one occupied by the big V10.
As they trickled on they came across a polizistin standing by the side of the carriageway. Benshima pressed the window button and spoke to him in German asking him what happened? He explained that the Carrera had somehow flipped and been launched over the central barrier and to the other side of the autobahn; it had flown through the air for fifty metres and then skidded head on into a large Mercedes truck. Benny thanked him, translated for H and they trickled again…
An ambulance drove off into the distance and its siren told its story by its silence…..why bother when there's no longer an emergency? Dead people don't need immediate care and attention.
H was horrified; not for the occupant of the Porsche but that it could have been him and Benny. H wasn't bothered about going fast and killing himself but he suddenly realised that he could not endanger Benny. He had been a selfish pillock and was disgusted with himself for having put in danger the woman he loved………. Jimmy boy you are one fucking stupid cunt!. Disgusted with himself he settled down to cruising at just under a hundred which for the Ferrari was ticking over. After a while H heard a soft voice say ‘Thank you’.
Arriving at Geneva International Airport H found the large multi storey car park. Switching off the ignition he was about to get Benny's small Ferrari valise from the tiny hold when she said ‘James….’
‘Yes?’
How long are we going to be apart?’
’I don't know….about a week’
‘I thought so’ and leaned over the centre console, undid his zip and moved her head down……..
A little while later H, quite relaxed although his pants were a touch damp, headed towards the middle of France and Hathaway's Chateau. As he motored through France he wondered why the Carrera had crashed…..?
H Chapter 26
At the Chateau
Hathaway had invited H, Big John who had headed the Lear job, Scots Eddy who handled the majority of drugs going through Scotland and Barmy Arnie.
Barmy Arnie specialised in ruining neighbourhoods by buying a house and putting yobs in, forcing the neighbours out because of their behaviour and buying them for a song until he acquired whole estates that way. Then prostitutes, rent boys and druggies moved in and Barmy Arnie made more money. He maximised his take for as long as he could until the police or the Council became too aggressive when he would throw the lot out, repaint the houses, pretty up the gardens and sell them for a magnificent profit. The trouble with Barmy Arnie was that he was quite mental. Completely volatile he could go off at a moments notice and you didn't know where and you didn't know when.
H had no idea why he was there and he was a touch uneasy that he was but it was Hathaway's place so he could do what he liked.
It wasn't every day they were guests at a chateau; indeed several of them couldn't even spell the word but what the fuck……… They had a light lunch around the pool at the back of the Chateau and with its beautiful backdrop of palms and exotic plants H was more than a little envious of this haven. Business was discussed but only light heartedly and it was mainly macho banter that was batted back and forth across the pool. Old jokes like ‘I said to my wife ‘Would you like a good fucking?’’ She said ‘Yes….. Are you moving out?’
Which were disguised as ordinary events but still made the assorted half drunken throng giggle hysterically.
Late afternoon came with one or two of them looking a little pink from the summer sun and possibly the summer grape when Big John said ‘How about a poolie H?’
‘Fuck off’ said H ‘I've given that up’
‘Come on ya cunt, give us a splash’ egged on Barmy Arnie.
‘Nah….’
‘Getting old H? Lost your bollocks?’ he persisted.
H sighed. They weren't going to give up and he rather fancied having a go.
He looked at Ernest ‘Ok with you?’
Ernest sighed in a mixture of exasperation, resignation and expectation then nodded.
H looked up at the chateau. Above the one end of the pool a balcony led out from a lounge. Above that balcony another one, less prominent, with double doors leading to a bedroom. Several years ago H had, for a bet, taken a run from the bedroom, through the doors and dived over the balcony wall, needing enough height and length to clear the balcony below and then another few feet to reach the pool without smashing into the marble tiles around it. It actually wasn't as difficult as it looked as the distance was less than it appeared but if you had any hesitation at all you were fucked. One bit of doubt or one stumble and ……smack!
‘How much?’ said H and they all bet.
They knew they would more than likely lose their money but there was always the chance H would fuck it up and kill himself or spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair, and it was worth a few quid just to see that……
Going upstairs to the bedroom he opened the windows and checked over the balcony. Nothing had changed. The wood panelling floor had rugs for colour and warmth and H moved them to one side. Checking his trainers on the floor for grip, and then out on the balcony again to get the perspectives right.
The secret was the first balcony. The balustrade on the balcony was too high to hurdle and you couldn't vault it as you lost speed so you had to jump over it head first and keep going. Definitely keep going. You ran up to it then planted both feet down together and pushed off. As long as you kept the speed and cleared the balustrade it was easy. He walked once more to the edge and looked over. They waited below for the splash or the splat. They would prefer the splat.
‘Get your money ready losers’ shouted H
He went back in the room, put his back against the wall and pushed off with one foot. Accelerating as quickly as he could he cleared the balcony easily and as he was going down his body turned in a half circle and he entered the pool feet first. There was a whack and an enormous splash and then ‘Give me your fucking money!’ rent the air.
They paid up grudgingly….
The next afternoon Ernest had arranged for them to go to a vineyard in the Rhone River Valley for a general look around and a wine tasting at the end. Interesting though it was it was lost on Big Tony and Barmy Arnie who certainly drank wine but usually by the bottle rather than the glass. Scots Eddie surprised H with his knowledge and they chatted amiably about the different wines and vintages. Veering off at a tangent Scots Eddie said ‘Did you hear about Bigasso?’
‘No, why?’ asked H
‘Well’ recounted Eddie ‘from what I gather old Bigasso is sitting at home one night watching tele, which must be a first cause he's usually eating or paying some little girly to suck him off. Anyhow the door bell goes and he wa
ddles his fat arse over and there's two fucking thieves with a painting. Well as you know Bigasso is one of the worlds best when it comes to moving paintings but they have to be top end. Let's face it half the fucking collectors in the world have something that came through Bigasso. Anyhow there they are with this fucking painting which they've nicked from some fucking posh house somewhere and they want to move it on. Bigasso gives it a once over and decides, beautiful though it is, it's not for him. This one is in the style of’ Reubens and Bigasso can't move it. If one or two of his clients thought they had bought in the style of old Big would be in the style of a fucking corpse’.
Anyhow he gives em a drink, thanks them for their time and sends them on their way but not before, and this is the good bit, he tells them they've got no chance of moving it and it would be safer for them if they chucked it in a lake. So they finish their drinks and fuck off into the night from whence they came and Bigasso goes back to the tele.
After an hour and a good bottle of wine he flicks over to the news and hears that a paintings been stolen.
‘Originally thought to have been painted by one of Reuben's apprentices it had recently been extensively analysed and found that it had indeed been done by the Master himself and its worth was incalculable…….’
So Big rings the mobile of the purveyors of this nicked masterpiece. ‘Johnny I've changed my mind about the painting and I may be able to give you a few quid to move it……………………………. you're fucking joking ……………..a lake? A fucking lake? ……..I know I said…………I know……you chucked it in a fucking lake? I know I said it was worth nothing but…….a fucking lake…..oh for fucks sake……’
That evening with the stars twinkling brightly in the clear dark sky they sat down to dinner with Big Tony and Barmy Arnie still a bit the worse for wear from the wine guzzling session. Hathaway laid on Vichyssoise as a starter, Guinea fowl and tappenade en papillote with a splendid display of local, delicious vegetables as the main course followed by a delicate clafoutis aux abricot dessert.
H and Ernest chatted and Ernest mentioned that his daughter Katie was to be married in a few weeks in Spain. He had arranged for a large church wedding and booked a hotel for the reception with beautiful gardens and a lake.
‘James….. I would like to invite you but………’
‘It's ok Ernest, it's quite ok. We shouldn't mix business with family arrangements and I thank you for mentioning it’
More wine flowed and at the end of the meal after much hilarity and even more wine Barmy said ‘Ernest. Hear you've got a jet now…..’
Hathaway and H said nothing and Big Tony hadn't heard as he was still pigging down food he had taken off other peoples unfinished plates. Scots Eddie hadn't got a clue what they were talking about so ignored it. H and Hathaway knew immediately that Big Tony had said something earlier while half drunk and Barmy Arnie had put two and two together which wasn't that difficult considering the media coverage it got.
‘Come on…’ Barmy Arnie insisted ‘it was fucking good. Come on….tell me’
‘Think you've got it wrong somewhere’ said H pleasantly.
‘Who the fuck was talking to you……’ snarled Barmy Arnie ‘who the fuck was talking to you….?’
Hathaway smiled ‘Come on lets go into the card room and play poker and we'll sort it out’.
Barmy Arnie was just about to say something but Hathaway and H had already got out of their chairs. Barmy rushed after them. He wanted a fucking cut of this cake! It was big enough so another slice wouldn't hurt them.
Hathaway shuffled the cards. He looked at H ‘What was that name that you use on the net? You told me once but I can't remember?’
‘Cerberus’
‘Ah yes Cerberus. And from what I remember he was……. a dog in the underworld?’
‘About fucking right….a mongrel’ Chipped in Barmy and made a barking noise.
‘He was’ said H ‘the three-headed watchdog who guards the entrance to the lower world, the Hades’
‘You poncy twat’ said Barmy ‘who the fuck do you think you are?’
Ernest looked at H; he knew in a minute there would be trouble and he didn't want it. For whatever reason Barmy Arnie suddenly wanted a to-do with H and Ernest could do without it. Why had he asked Barmy? He was a maniac! Business, thought Ernest; money. What else would possess anyone to socialise with Barmy?
Ernest quickly dealt the cards and they started to play. Each had five hundred pounds and it was No Limit Hold Em with last man standing. On the first hand Ernest, Big Tony and Scots Eddie folded and H who was the small blind called Barmy who was on his left. Barmy went all in. H thought for a moment and folded. When H was the small blind again Barmy went all in. H folded. This happened twice more with Barmy goading H into betting.
‘Not so fucking big now are you? Fucking Cerebos. Fuckin salt lick.’ and he cackled at the joke.
H said nothing and waited. Several hands later Barmy went all in again and Ernest, Scots Eddie and Big Tony folded. Ernest actually had two nines but there was no way he was going to call Barmy in this mood. H called and immediately turned over two Queens. Barmy sat there and H said ‘Turn em over…’
Red spread across Barmy's face and anger engulfed him. He only had 9h, 3s. He had taken sweets out of the jar for too long and now he was caught and it was time to pay. He threw the cards on the floor.
‘Ok fucking big man’ he said ‘you and me. Out there’ he pointed out into the night ‘you and fucking me’.
H thought for a moment. It would be nice to kill this bastard here and now and fuck going outside…..however…..
‘I'll tell you what’ said H ‘there's no point in us killing each other so I'll make you a bet. If you win I give you the Ferrari outside. If I win you give me ten times what you've just lost. How's that?’
‘What the fuck are you pulling?’ Asked Barmy suspiciously but he had already worked out he could be up a hundred thou or so and only down five grand.
‘Nothing. But if we fight we are more than likely equal which means we both get hurt and the idea is that one of us wins…. ‘
Barmy puffed up at the compliment. The others listened more intently. What was H pulling? He would fucking destroy Barmie in a fight. Done deal!
‘………..so I suggest rather than kill each other we settle this another way if you're man enough for the bet’
Barmy bridled. Man enough? Fucking man enough? What did that cunt just say? ‘Just fuckin watch me’
‘Ok, all you have to do is jump from the bedroom window into the pool. Like I do…..’
H took a long look at Ernest who held his gaze and then looked down and sipped his wine.
‘Fuckin easy! You get the fuckin keys to that motor ready’
They all trouped off up to the bedroom.
‘I'll give you a few pointers as it's only fair’ said H ‘as I've done this before and you haven't’
‘I don't need your fucking pointers. Just get your fucking keys….you cunt’
‘Ok but listen anyhow. You stand by the wall’ and he went over to the wall ‘and you push off with one foot to get moving. Also you get that rug up’ and he walked over and pulled the rug to one side. Big Tony had opened the doors and now it was up to Barmy
‘Do you want to have a look down first in case you want to change your mind? You may prefer to back out now rather than when you're going over….?’
Barmy seethed at the insult. Now the cunt was calling him a fucking coward!
‘Fuck you! And you, you cunt, jump in feet first like a girlie. I'll show you how to do it properly…….cunt’
Barmy crouched down as though he was an Olympic sprinter and raced at the balcony. Barmy may have been a Neanderthal but he was fit and agile and he sailed over the balcony. H knew he would make the jump and knew he would clear everything and reach the pool and wondered whether he had got it wrong?
Had he got it wrong?
He had manoeuvred Barmy into someth
ing but had he misread Hathaway's face? Had he read Hathaway all wrong? This would be a fucking expensive mistake if he had…….
Big Tony and Scots Eddie waited for the splash but all they heard was a dull thud…..and then……nothing. They raced downstairs to the pool and left H and Ernest standing in the bedroom.
‘You remembered’ said Ernest
H nodded ‘Last Saturday night of every month you clean out the pool, empty it and refill it the next morning. Yes, I remembered’
‘Ah well’ said Ernest and let out a long sigh ‘…………..more wine?’
Later H had a word with Big Tony about his Big Mouth!
H Chapter 27
Secure Security Ltd ??
Back in England H had several days free so he immersed himself in the clubs and his security company. He was a good manager and delegator and had structured it so that the operations did not need him on a day to day basis. The security company hired out doormen to other clubs and also to minor celebs who wanted to appear major when the tabloids were around. He also did the occasional major celeb but not as often as he would have liked. Perhaps he should put more effort into that? It paid well and the publicity was wonderful for the business…….
He once hired some of the men out to an oil company to provide compound security in Nigeria but one had been badly injured and he pulled the others out.
H liked money but he looked after his people and for that they gave unstinting loyalty.
A small fleet of executive and stretch limos also stood by. He initially rented them to all comers but found that a party that could afford the rental had no money left when they puked all over the leather or dropped a fag on it so he became selective. He demanded a £5000 deposit and those that paid were welcome! They still puked over the leather and dropped fags but they paid for the damage and inconvenience.
Quite soon his piece de resistance was arriving. He had on order a bullet proof limo from CAV in the States which was intended for the market inhabited by the very rich and very famous. It was a Level 1V standard vehicle on the American National Institute of Justice Ballistic Resistance measurements which meant that not only did it resist small calibre hand guns but also high velocity rifles and armour piercing as well. On top of that it was bomb resistant! It should have had blacked out windows but English law had been updated which said 30% of light must now pass through the windows and that fucked everything up and so H had to go to another option. Strucglas.
H When Hell Is the Favourable Option...... Page 13
