Old Friends

by Angus McLean

  Chapter Twelve

  Terry Marcus was in his office when Mike got there. He looked as frazzled as he normally did, with untidy piles of paper scattered across the desk and a half eaten sandwich spilling its guts onto the blotter.

  He drained a coffee mug as Mike entered, and stood up. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  Mike waited while his former-boss-turned-client refilled the mug from a machine against the wall and returned to his desk.

  ‘Got some news for me?’ Marcus asked, sitting again and scooping up the sandwich-egg and sprouts by the looks of the soggy mess it left behind. ‘I haven’t got much time.’

  ‘Not a result as such,’ Mike said carefully, ‘I just need to check a couple of things. You claimed insurance for these thefts, right?’

  ‘Well yeah, of course.’ He looked like a chipmunk with a large wad of sandwich wedged into one cheek so he could talk round it. ‘Hasn’t been paid yet though, I don’t think. Check with Brian.’

  ‘Hasn’t been paid yet?’

  ‘Well, I dunno, check with Bri.’

  Marcus swallowed and opened his mouth to shout, but Mike hurriedly waved him down.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll go see him. You didn’t have anything to do with all that end of it then?’

  ‘Na, not a thing. That’s what he’s there for.’

  ‘No worries. What about any more thefts, anything you’re aware of?’

  ‘Na.’ Marcus gave him a sideways look. ‘Not in the last couple of days.’

  Mike wondered if Marcus still thought he was involved, and felt a twitch in his gut. He pushed the thought aside for the moment.

  ‘You do your own recruiting don’t you? You do the hiring of the drivers and that?’

  ‘Mostly.’ Marcus shrugged, crammed in the last bite of sandwich, and tossed the wrapping at the bin. It missed and he left it where it fell. ‘Brian’s done some, and occasionally the supervisor, but mostly me. Why?’

  Mike shrugged non-committally.

  ‘Just covering the bases. I need to have a look at the personnel files too, are they handy?’

  ‘That box there.’

  Marcus indicated a cardboard box on top of a filing cabinet in the corner, with FILES scrawled in black marker across the ETA chips labelling. It had a tear down one side and Mike could see paperwork bulging out the gap, ready to cascade onto the floor. He took it down and had a quick look inside. The contents didn’t look any better than the outside.

  ‘Cheers, I’ll drop it back as soon as.’

  He hefted the box onto his hip, being careful not to let it explode everywhere as he left. With that and the discharged egg ingredients, it would be chaos.

  As Mike was loading the box into his car he heard footsteps approaching. He straightened up and closed the boot, turning to find Gabe and Luther standing behind him. They both had their hands by their sides, loose and ready. Neither was smiling. Looking over Gabe’s shoulder he saw Hooch standing in the loading bay, watching them from a distance.

  Mike looked at the two heavies. They were waiting for him to speak, so he didn’t. They obviously had something to say, probably better to let them say it. Gabe couldn’t keep the silence for too long.

  ‘Whassup.’

  ‘Good opener,’ Mike told him, and a flash of anger crossed Gabe’s face.

  ‘Whassup,’ he repeated, more forcefully this time.

  ‘Not such a good follow up.’

  Mike held his gaze, figuring something had to happen sooner or later. Probably sooner. Gabe glanced at Luther, as if unsure how to proceed from there. He wasn’t getting the response he’d hoped for. When Gabe confronted people they usually started trembling. Mike wasn’t, in fact he seemed unusually calm and maybe even a bit amused.

  Luther gave Gabe a tilt of the chin, and Gabe turned quickly, bringing his right round in a sharp jab straight at Mike’s nose.

  Impact pain jarred Gabe’s arm as his fist was met, caught and stopped faster than his brain could register. He saw his fist suspended in mid air, Mike’s own hand wrapped round it and applying pressure. He was leaning forward off balance, and realised that Mike’s other fist was cocked and ready to strike. Even as he realised though his own animal instincts took over and that’s where it all went wrong. Gabe pushed into the strike he’d already failed with and wound up his left into a swinging haymaker.

  Before he could unleash it though, Mike hit him with a rocket of a right uppercut to the jaw and stars popped in Gabe’s vision. His legs went from under him and he sank abruptly to the ground. Mike lowered him into a sitting position and let him slump over.

  He straightened up again and met Luther’s gaze. Luther scowled at him, but made no move to intervene.

  ‘Cheap shot, blondie.’

  Mike snorted derisively.

  ‘That wasn’t a cheap shot, he was just too slow. If he was any good that’d be me on the deck, not him.’ He glanced down at the unconscious figure. ‘I didn’t hit him that hard, but you might wanna get him seen to. Take him home to his mum.’

  With that he turned his back and went round to the driver’s side. Looking back in the rear view mirror as he drove out he saw Hooch still watching him, making no move to assist his mates.