Daring Dooz (The Implosion Trilogy (Book 2))

by Stan Arnold

  ‘But I don't want to be wealthy - I just want Aub…’ She stopped and blushed a little.

  Giles immediately changed tack. ‘But that’s enough about me - what about Tallulah Hathaway?’

  Mrs Hathaway was a little put out by what she had nearly said, so she decided to humour Giles, at least until the bloom had left her cheeks.

  She told him how she had been a self-employed cleaning lady for thirty years. She stressed how meticulous she was in her approach to cleaning, then slipped into a long description of the best cleaning products and techniques to use in various circumstances. She became so enthused, she completely forgot about the blushing thing.

  Giles was pleased to hear all this. It was obvious she was the genuine article, but Christ, if he heard any more about brushes, buckets, mops, applying chemicals, hoovering, wire wool pads, bleach, preparing surfaces, scrubbing, buffing, dabbing, rubber gloves and wringing things out, he’d call reception and ask them to send up a freelance assassin. Not for her. For him.

  ‘But how does the unarmed combat fit in?’ he blurted out, just as she was about to describe how to remove bodily fluids from the grill of a Roberts R505 radio.

  ‘Oh! That’s just for fun.’

  Giles doubted whether that view was shared by the Enfield bank robber, with two broken collarbones and a ten-year stretch to look forward to. But he nodded and smiled.

  ‘I do karate, kyusho, taekwondo, aikido, hapkido and aiki jiu jitsu, kickboxing and Queensbury rules boxing. Just correspondence courses and video training. That Enfield affair was the first time I’ve had to deal with a real person. She blushed again because, of course, that was not true - as Vic and nine solicitors would unhappily testify on oath.

  ‘So, it’s just unarmed combat?’ said Giles.

  ‘Why no! I love all physical activity courses. I’ve done so many over the years.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Climbing, that’s rock and Alpine, abseiling, riding, canoeing, potholing, rifle shooting and, oh yes, I once did a course on the maintenance and accurate use of handguns and sub-machine guns. And I’ve done scuba diving, free-diving, cliff diving, yachting, wind surfing, kite surfing, skiing, snowboarding - lots of things really. Mostly correspondence courses and video training, but sometimes, like when I got my pilot’s license, I combined it with a skydiving holiday.’

  This was better, much better, phenomenally much better, fucking phenomenally much better than Giles could ever have imagined.

  ‘That’s impressive. Very impressive. Just what I was hoping. So, I’d like to make a proposal.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m already spoken for.’ The blush returned.

  Giles looked confused and Digby looked overcome with grief, despite having received this information just prior to his recent convulsive therapy session.

  ‘No, no,’ cried Giles, ‘a business proposal.’

  ‘Oh, I see. That’s fine, then.’ said Mrs Hathaway, ‘but remember my rates are £8 an hour - not a penny less.’

  ‘No,’ said Giles. ‘Let me spell it out.’

  And spell it out he did. He explained about Daring Dooz and how he’d like to do some stories featuring her in a series of dangerous, even life-threatening situations - something a woman with her exceptional skills would relish.

  Back in his office, Charlie chocked on his vodka-Campari split. Dangerous and fucking life threatening! All it would take was one crafty tarantula, one cheapo Taiwanese carabineer, one over-aggressive black mamba, or one crevasse too far - and his sperm count would be splattered all over everyone’s breakfast table.

  Back in Giles’ office, Mrs Hathaway opened one of the magazines on the Le Corbusier LC10 and flicked through the pages. She stopped at a story, which was, in Giles’ opinion, one of his best. It was about a pole dancer who, while still in her working costume, skied to the North Pole, then, after a brief spell back at work in the Cerdo Espada nightclub, Heckmondwick, repeated the feat in an even more skimpy outfit at the South Pole. It was called Pole to Pole to Pole to Pole to Pole.

  She tutted. The tuts were infused with a mixture of disbelief, contempt and indifference.

  ‘I’ve never seen such rubbish in all my life.’

  ‘It’s terrible,’ agreed Digby, looking over her shoulder. ‘How much is a subscription? You know, just to keep abreast of what the underclass is reading.’

  Mrs Hathaway glared at him. Digby evaporated.

  ‘No, no,’ cried Giles, his voice breaking into a cracked falsetto. He sensed it was all about to slip away, so he decided to bite the bullet.

  His voice became hushed. He moved closer. He gave a deep breath, which sounded as though he was suddenly developing asthma.

  ‘I’m going to tell you something, nobody else knows. It’s been my terrible secret for over five years. I must ask you to never to reveal it to a living soul.’

  Mrs Hathaway and Digby agreed. Although, back in his office, Charlie wasn’t too sure.

  ‘Perhaps if it’s going to be that much of a shock, I’ll have another chamomile tea.’

  ‘Any chance of a fortifyingly large Scotch?’ pleaded Digby.

  Mrs Hathaway didn't give him the treatment, because, ever since she’d mentioned she was spoken for, Digby looked as though he’d just won a holiday at a nuclear waste dump.

  Once the chamomile and Scotch were in place, Giles took another deep asthmatic breath.

  ‘Let’s move over to the window.’

  They moved over to the window.

  ‘Walls have ears,’ whispered Giles.

  ‘This is a window,’ said Digby, who had brought the bottle over and was already pouring himself a second scotch.

  There was a short confused pause, before Giles spilled the beans. He drew Mrs Hathaway and Digby very close and whispered the whole sorry, but highly successful, tale of deception into their ears.

  The sound level of this juicy information was too low for Charlie’s equipment to pick up. All he could hear was the sound of his own frustration - the continuous thud of flick knives hitting the wood panelling on the other side of the office.

  ‘What everything!’ exclaimed Mrs Hathaway, when Giles had finished.

  ‘Yes, everything,’ he said, quietly looking down at his pride and joy.

  ‘Look there,’ he said, ‘it’s terracotta and pale blue - you don't often see them that colour. It’s a genuine Ziegler Mahal. I ask you, 200,000 dollars for a carpet! I’m surrounded by money. I making it so fast, I can't spend it. But I tell you what, I’d give it all away, well, most of it, if I could start telling real stories about real heroes and heroines - people who take on challenges and see them through.’

  ‘People,’ and he looked deep into Mrs Hathaway’s pale blue eyes, ‘people like you, Tallulah.’

  It was his last shot. It was brilliant. But he could see he’d failed.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ she said, in a matter-of-fact sort of way. ‘But I’m happy doing my cleaning. So we’ll thank you for the refreshments, and say goodbye.’

  They got up and made for the door. Giles raced ahead, his brain whirring so fast the bearings were starting to seize. He was the man who, just before the presses started running, had come up with the happy ending for the story about the female contortionist sealed in a septic tank full of electric eels. If he could do that, he could do anything.

  They stood on the threshold. There was moment of hopelessness, then a moment of total despair, followed by a blinding flash of clarity.

  ‘Oh,’ said Giles casually. ‘And give my regards to Aub... Aub… what was his name again?

  Mrs Hathaway tried to reply, but could only manage a faint stutter.

  Let me guess - Aub? Aub? Aubrey!

  Yes! He could tell by her face - it was a bullseye.

  ‘You haven't been telling me the whole story have you, now? Who is this Aubrey? If I remember correctly, you said ‘I just want Aub…’

  ‘Would I be correct in assuming Aubrey isn't quite yours yet, and that yo
u'd like him to be. And, if that happens, I have to ask you, how comfortable will your life be, together?’

  He moved closer to her. His tone was measured and his annunciation clear and precise.

  ‘Two months maximum, I set the challenges, you do them, I interview you and write the stories - the true stories, plus everything filmed and photographed. In return, a million pounds in advance. Then you and Aubrey will have everything you need to do whatever you’re planning to do.’

  Mrs Hathaway looked truly stunned. ‘I, er,’ she breathed.

  ‘OK, play hardball if you must, two million - and that’s my final offer.’

  There was a dull thud as Digby’s head and the rest of his body hit the hallway carpet.

  ‘What do you say?’ said Giles, pushing home his advantage.

  ‘It’s a lot more than £8 an hour,’ said Mrs Hathaway, closing the door behind her, leaving the comatose Digby outside.

  She sat on the arm of a chair, still with a dazed expression

  ‘Two million pounds,’ she said, staring vaguely out at the city below. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘If we tie up the details, 2 million pounds will be in your bank account by the end of the week.’

  ‘Fuck me!’ cried a tinny voice from over near the telephone.

  Giles ran across the room and found the bug in seconds.

  ‘Who is this?’ he shouted.

  Back in his office, Charlie ripped out the connection. Jesus, what part of ‘one-way sound’ didn't those two surveillance geniuses understand? And it couldn't pick up the fuckin’ whispered stuff!

  Charlie was very cross. Still, a quick call to Vlad and Vic should get the surveillance team sorted out, as long as they brought back the overalls without bloodstains. There was a five quid deposit to collect.

  Chapter 22

  Between them, they made sure Digby was OK. Mrs Hathaway wrote him a note and tucked the envelope into his inside jacket pocket, while Giles called the in-house medic.

  Digby returned to consciousness in seventh heaven. Mrs Hathaway was kneeling beside him, cradling his head in her arms whispering, ‘It’s alright Digby, you’re going to be alright.’

  She’d felt rather ashamed of herself shutting the door on his seemingly lifeless form to discuss Giles’ amazing financial offer.

  ‘If you were going to pass out, this is the place to do it - good thick carpet,’ said the brisk young doctor. ‘I suspect your cranium hardly noticed the impact! And whisky tends to make you relaxed when you fall, even at 10.30 in the morning!’

  Digby, on the other hand, felt he’d been hit by a baseball bat wrapped in high quality shag pile. He sat up gingerly. Mrs Hathaway kissed his bald head. He concentrated hard on remaining conscious. If she was going to be kissing him, he didn't want to miss a single pucker.

  Once he could stand, they took him down in the lift.

  ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ she asked.

  ‘Six and a half,’ said Digby, quickly followed by ‘only joking - four or five.’

  He was obviously still struggling to get out of the twilight zone.

  They hailed a cab, and Giles gave the driver an extra twenty pounds to make sure Digby got into his office and was safely sat in his chair with a cup of coffee.

  ‘OK mate,’ said the cheerful cabbie, and off they went. Digby waved goodbye out of the window, but it was the window opposite the pavement.

  Nevertheless, they both waved back before taking the lift up to the restaurant on the 28th floor, which they were sure would be bug free.

  As it was early, they easily found a table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows with yet another spectacular cityscape at the tablecloth’s end.

  But Mrs Hathaway was focused on other things.

  ‘Just how dangerous will all this be?’

  ‘Oh, well - there’ll have to be an element of danger to make it exciting for the Daring Doozers, but if there’s anything you think is over the top hazard-wise, just say, and we’ll think of something else.’

  ‘Where will all this danger be taking place?’

  ‘No idea, yet,’ replied Giles.

  ‘That sounds like a plan,’ she said, a little sarcastically. Then she thought of the two million pounds and the wonderful life she was going to have with Aubrey.

  ‘But I’m sure someone as brilliant as you will come up with something.’

  ‘’Course,’ said Giles, basking in the compliment. ‘We’ll have to get a video crew sorted out.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’ll have to be as brave as you. They’ll not have to flinch at danger. They’ll have to the ultimate professionals, willing to follow your every exploit, no matter how life threatening.’

  ‘Or, strapped for cash.’

  ‘You know someone?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Mrs Hathaway, ‘I’m not sure about the bravery, but I know they were strapped for cash.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Michael Selwyn Barton and James Redfern Chartwell of Implosion Productions. I used to clean their office. They were drunk most the time and revoltingly unhygienic, but they told me they’d won awards in their youth - even had a few documentaries on TV.’

  ‘Still, they sound dodgy.’

  ‘I agree. But I believe I can get them off the booze, stiffen their backbones and get you what you want. I think, underneath, they’re nice enough people. And I’d like to work with nice people rather than people I don't know.’

  ‘Up to you,’ said Giles. ‘Let’s do it.’

  ‘Only trouble is - they’ve gone missing.’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘Yes, I believe the popular phrase is “done a runner”. I heard they got behind with their rent, and escaped just before they had run in with Vlad, Vic and Charlie Sumkins.’

  Giles didn't like any sentence with the words Vlad, Vic and Charlie Sumkins in it. He’s read the papers, and their reputation sent shivers running from his ankles to his earlobes.

  ‘But they’re maniacs!’

  ‘Oh, they're not too bad, if you know how to handle them.’

  Bloody hell, thought Giles, she handles Vlad, Vic and Charlie Sumkins - this was going to be even better than he thought.

  ‘So how do we find these Implosion guys? If Charlie and the V-Twins are on their trail, they’ll be well under cover, by now.’

  If Charlie and the V-Twins were on Giles’ trail, he’d have bought a mausoleum in an obscure suburb of Djakarta, under a false name and lived in it, until he died.

  ‘Oh, I have the terrible trio eating out of my hand. I’m sure I can coax them into telling me where Mick and Jim are. In fact, pass me your mobile and I’ll phone Charlie, now.’

  When Charlie’s office phone rang, he’d just come off the line to Vlad and Vic, and was shoving the remains of the surveillance gear into his waste bin.

  ‘Allo’

  ‘This is Mrs Hathaway.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m interested in Mick and Jim from Implosion Productions.’

  ‘So, why should I want to know about your disgustin’ sex life?’

  ‘I want to speak to them, as soon as you find them.’

  ‘Is that before, or after, I deal with ‘em? Cos if it’s “after” you’re goin’ to have to hire a spiritualist.’

  ‘Before, of course! I suspect they're well hidden by now, but when you find them, your first call is to me, is that clear?

  ‘’Course it is,’ said Charlie, and put the phone down, abruptly.

  Giles was impressed. ‘Was that…?’

  ‘Charlie Sumkins. I have information - very secret information - about Mr S. He’ll do anything I tell him.’

  Giles was intrigued, but there were plans to make.

  ‘Look, you know it might take months to dig out these Mick and Jim characters from their hidey-hole. But thinking about it, that’s not much of a problem, we work on Daring Dooz about three editions ahead, so there’s plenty of time.’

  ‘Hey!’ he said, bouncing ou
t of his seat. “I’ve just had a great idea. When we find out where Mick and Jim are, your first challenge could be to sail some ocean-going yacht, single-handed to meet them. With a bit of luck, it’ll be somewhere hot, so you can wear a bikini. I can see the shots now - standing at the wheel with a gorgeous tan, your blue eyes sparkling as you gaze out fearlessly at 30-foot waves.’

  Mrs Hathaway wasn’t too happy with the bikini bit, but thoughts of the two million and a happy life by Aubrey’s side made her move on.

  ‘But if I’m travelling alone, how will we take video and photographs?

  ‘We can rig up remotes all over the yacht, no problem,’ said Giles.

  ‘There is one other thing.’

  ‘You got it!’

  ‘I will have to take Aubrey.’

  ‘But it’s supposed to be single-handed!’

  ‘It will still be single-handed, even with Aubrey - he’s a lovely little man, but absolutely clueless.’

  Reluctantly, Giles agreed.

  ‘So, how are you with yachts?’

  ‘I’ve read all the manuals; from Super Snarks to AC72 catamarans - and single-handed yachts like the Open 60.’

  ‘Yes, but have you ever been sailing?

  ‘Well, no not exactly, but I’ve seen videos - and I always believe that, if you have a good manual, and a well-shot video, you’ll be fine, plus I presume I’ll have GPS, VHF radio, autopilots and all that. I also did a computer-based course Rounding Cape Horn In Winter, The Easy Way. So it shouldn't be a problem.’

  This, thought Giles, was going to be one hell of a ride. Two million quid, and already he could see it was going to be worth every penny.

  Chapter 23

  The cabbie did a good job. Digby had started feeling better during the trip back to his office, so it wasn’t a problem to get him ensconced in his chair with a steaming mug of black coffee in front of him.

  ‘You alright then, mate?’

  ‘Tallulah,’ said Digby, quietly, looking down at his coffee.

  ‘Great,’ said the cabbie, and left.

  Once Digby was alone, the enormity of what had happened sunk in. She was so beautiful - and those eyes! But she was going out of his life, for ever. How could he live with the heartache? He could see nothing ahead but melancholy, depression and a slow, pathetic decline. He sniffed a long, sad, slow sniff. And drank his coffee down in one.