He pulled the Porsche into his private parking space next to the bar’s entrance, slammed the door shut and clambered up the flight of wooden stairs to the glass door. The circulating air from the fan hit him in the face as he walked in and he stopped to wipe the sweat from his neck with his hanky again.
‘Debs, get us a cold lager,’ he barked at the petite blonde barmaid. He dropped the box of brochures down onto the wooden surface, slung his suit jacket on a nearby stool and removed his tie.
The woman placed a pint of beer down in front of him. ‘There you go, Charlie. Nice and cold’.
He frowned. ‘How many times do I need to tell yer, Debs? Beer mats. I only had the bloody thing re-varnished six months ago. Look at the bleeding state of it already’.
‘Sorry, Charlie,’ she said and reached for a green, circular Heineken beer mat for him. He raised the chilled glass to his lips, but before he had taken a sip, he heard his name being called. He placed the drink down, huffed and turned to see Barry his bar manager making his way towards him. The man seemed agitated.
‘Wot is it, Baz?’
‘Sorry boss, but there’s a geezer outside in the garden. He showed up over an hour ago asking for you. Military type. Wouldn’t give his name. He’s only had a coke. Looks like a dodgy fucker if you ask me’.
Charlie took a step forward to get a better look at the stranger who was sitting hunched over a table, under a sunshade and facing in the opposite direction. Charlie clicked his fingers and, without turning to face his employee, said, ‘Get us me shooter’.
Barry darted behind the bar, then returned with a silver revolver, which he handed to Charlie inside a rolled-up newspaper. ‘You want back up?’
Charlie shook his head and walked towards the beer garden. He took a wide, circular route around the paved exterior, casually eyeing up the stranger who perched in the shade of one of the enormous umbrellas. The man was wearing a shabby black tee shirt and British army DPM combat trousers. His brown hair was curly and unkempt, and he sported a light beard. His skin was pale, except for the sunburnt patch on the back of his neck. He appeared to be dozing, his head resting in his hands. Charlie felt the reassuring weight of the silver Smith & Wesson in his hand and glanced around before coughing loudly. The man began to stir.
‘I’m told you were asking for me,’ said Charlie in a loud voice.
The stranger opened his eyes, lifted his head out of his hands and gazed up at him. ‘Nice place you’ve got here, bruv,’ he said.
‘Fuck me,’ said Charlie. The two men stared at each other in silence for several seconds, before Charlie placed the gun - still wrapped in the newspaper - down on a nearby chair. ‘Eddie, what the bleeding hell are you doing here?’
‘Nice to see you too, Charlie,’ said Eddie. He remained sitting at the table.
Charlie approached his brother and held out his arms. ‘Don’t just sit there. Gimme a hug,’ he said. Eddie wearily lifted himself up. Immediately, the smell of stale sweat hit Charlie. ‘Fuckin’ hell, you need a bath, bruv’.
Eddie let his hands drop to his side and pulled back. ‘And you could do with losing fifty pounds’.
Charlie roared with laughter. ‘Sign of good living, this is,’ he said, patting his belly. He looked at Eddie’s glass. ‘You’re empty’. He leaned over to the window. Barry stood observing from the doorway. Charlie mimicked sipping from a glass and held up two fingers. ‘So?’ asked Charlie.
‘So what?’
‘So why are you sitting here, in my bar? How did you even find me?’
‘I ran into Steve Tucker in town a few months back. You remember him? His dad used to own the corner shop in Rayners Lane?’ said Eddie.
‘Yeah, course. Scrawny little sod. Used to sell us fags he’d nicked from his dad’s store’.
‘That’s him,’ said Eddie. ‘Anyway, he’d been down here on holiday a few months back. He said he’d seen you here in this bar. He wasn’t sure at first, but then he’d seen the name, so he knew it was you’.
‘Why didn’t the little bastard come in and say hello then?’
‘Probably coz of that time you broke his nose in the playground after he called you an idiot’.
‘Was that him? Fuck, yeah. It was weren’t it,’ said Charlie. He laughed. The barmaid stepped into the beer garden carrying two glasses of beer which she placed down in front of the two brothers.
‘Thanks,’ said Eddie, lifting the glass to his lips. He downed half of the drink before wiping his mouth with his hand, then leaned back in his chair.
‘Needed that did you, little bruv?’ said Charlie. ‘You look like shit. Not in trouble, are yer?’ He peered at his brother, who was fidgeting with a beer mat. ‘C’mon, mate. What’s up. I know we ain’t seen each other for a while -’.
‘A while? The last time I saw you was at my wedding. That was in 1977, Charlie. Eight years ago. Eight years!’
Charlie sighed. ‘I know. I know. But it’s complicated. You don’t know -’.
‘What was so complicated that you couldn’t come and meet your new niece? Or to see me off before I left for that poxy war? Hey?’ Eddie stared at his brother.
Charlie dropped his gaze to Eddie’s midriff. ‘I had stuff…things going on bruv. You don’t know -’.
‘What fuckin’ things? You could have written letters. You could have come and visited us. I was only stationed in Colchester. It ain’t that far away’.
‘That’s the thing, Ed, I weren’t, was I?’ said Charlie before taking a long swig of his beer.
‘Weren’t what?’
‘I weren’t in England, bruv. I came over here in 79.’
Eddie placed his drink down and lent forward. ‘Shut the fuck up’.
Charlie shook his head. ‘Honest. I’ve been here over years now. I had to get out of Blighty, didn’t I?’
‘Had to leave?’ said Eddie. ‘Why?’
Charlie looked around. Three tourists were making their way into the patio area, one carrying a tray on which perched a trio of Piña Coladas. Inside the bar, he could see Barry stocking up a beer fridge and Debbie who was mopping the floor.
‘Look bruv, there’s a lot you don’t know. I’ll explain, but not here. Not right now. Look, I’m throwing a bit of a do up at my place tonight. There will be a few faces from when we were growing up. Why don’t you come back with me? Get yourself cleaned up. Have some grub and a kip. You look like you need it’.
‘I can’t, Charlie. I’m just passing through. I’m on my way to Algeciras’.
‘Alge-fucking-ciras? What do you want to go to that shithole for?’
Eddie took a long sip of his beer, placed the glass back down and looked his brother directly in the eye. ‘I’m getting a ferry over to Morocco. Look, the past is the past. We can’t change that. Neither of us. But listen, I really need some travel funds. I was hoping you could help me out’.
‘Travel funds? Where are you going?
‘Angola,’ said Eddie.
‘Angola? That’s a fuckin’ war zone init?’
‘I’ve got work lined up down there’
‘What work?’ said Charlie.
‘The kind of work ex-soldiers do’.
It took Charlie a few seconds to grasp what his brother was telling him. ‘What, you’re a fucking mercenary now?’
‘It’s the only stuff I’m any good at’.
‘What about…your wife and -?’
Eddie rolled his eyes upwards. ‘My wife’s name was Hayley. And our daughter’s name is Mary’. Eddie reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet and removed the photo from inside. ‘That’s her. About two years ago’.
Charlie picked up the photo and studied it for a moment. ‘She’s pretty’.
‘She is. Smart too. I don’t see her much these days. I split up from her mum a couple of years ago. After I got kicked out of the army’. His eyes dropped to the table, and he took another gulp of his beer. ‘I was a bit of a mess after the war’.
‘I’m sorry, that’s to
ugh bruv. But Angola? That’s messed up too. If you need help to get back on your feet, I’m here for you. I’ve got a lot going on down here. Stuff you could get involved with’.
Eddie looked uncomfortable. ‘People are expecting me. Besides, all I know is soldiering. I’m no good at…whatever it is you do down here.’ He looked around at the bar. ‘What is it you do? This?’ He waved his hand around him.
Charlie grinned. ‘This place? Nah, this is just a hobby. I’m in the property game now, mate. And other stuff. Listen, park those ideas about getting your head blown off in sodding Africa. Just for a day, alright? Come back to my gaff. I’ll tell you what I’ve been up to on the way. How about it?’ Eddie still seemed unconvinced. Charlie downed the last dregs of his beer and stood up. ‘Just one day, okay? For old time’s sake. And tomorrow I’ll take you to fuckin’ Algeciras myself. Deal?’
Eddie looked at his brother’s outstretched hand, then shook it. ‘Just one day, though. No more’.
‘Deal’, said Charlie. ‘Come on then, we’ve got a lot to talk about’.
The newly reunited brothers walked down the wooden steps from Charlie’s bar onto the street outside.
‘That’s my motor over here,’ said Charlie, pointing at his dusty, silver Porsche.
Eddie let out a wolf-whistle.‘Blimey, you’re doing alright for yourself,’ he said as he ran his hand over the wing of the German coupe.
Charlie laughed. ‘I can’t complain’. He inserted the key into the driver’s door, and both it and the passenger door unlocked in unison. ‘It’s got central locking. And electric windows. Nice, huh?’
‘My last motor was a knackered, old Vauxhall Chevette,’ said Eddie. ‘So yeah, anything’s nice after that’. He sat down in the grey leather passenger seat. Charlie turned the keys in the ignition, and the big V8 under the bonnet growled into life. He dabbed the throttle a few times and grinned as the resulting guttural roar bounced off the surrounding apartment blocks. ‘I bet your neighbours love you’.
They pulled out of the parking space and headed away towards Avenida Ricardo Soriano, the main road that runs through the heart of Marbella.
‘You into Phil Collins?’ asked Charlie while inserting a CD into the car’s stereo system. He pressed the play button on the device, and a few seconds later, “Sussudio” was playing from speakers in all four corners of the car’s interior.
‘I preferred Genesis,’ said Eddie. ‘He’s gone all mainstream now’.
‘Nuffin wrong with making some moolah, bruv,’ said Charlie. ‘If people want to buy what you have, then sell ’em it. That’s my motto’.
Within a few minutes, they had left the apartment blocks and commercial buildings of central Marbella behind and were now proceeding along the wide boulevard in the direction of Puerto Banús. There was barely a cloud in the sky, and the sun’s heat was intense. Eddie pushed the sun visor down. Charlie smiled.
‘I reckon you could do with some sun, Ed. Get yourself some vitamin D and all that’. He noticed Eddie was gripping the passenger door handle as the car weaved rapidly in and out of the much slower-moving traffic around them. ‘What’s up, bruv? Am I going too fast for you?’ he said, smiling.
‘I’m just not used to being on this side of the car, that’s all’.
Charlie let out a laugh, then pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. ‘Light one up for us. You want one?’
Eddie shook his head. ‘I gave them up a few months back’. He lit one, then passed it to Charlie.
‘Cheers,’ said Charlie. He eyed up his sibling for a few seconds, then continued. ‘So, must have been a rough deal? Leaving your wife and kid behind, I mean’. Eddie did not reply. ‘Couldn’t you find no work back home?’
‘I had a few gigs. Nothing much, though. Nothing I could stick. It’s pretty fucked up back home still. Maybe you don’t know?’
‘Yeah, I read the English papers?’ said Charlie. ‘The Tories are shaking things up a bit, aren’t they?’
‘Shaking things up? You have no idea. The miners, steelworkers, dock workers, factories shutting down and laying off staff everywhere - it’s a fucking disaster. The only work I could get was cash-in-hand stuff. Labouring on building sites. Shit like that’.
‘I thought they gave you ex-soldier boys retraining opportunities or whatever,’ said Charlie. ‘So you could train to be a stockbroker or something’.
‘I went to a college for a bit, yeah. In Slough. It was fucking weird, though. Me, a few other ex-forces guys, and all these kids fresh from school. They looked at me like I was some kind of freak. The guy that ran the scheme there sat me down with this massive questionnaire and got me to fill out all these bullshit questions, like “Do you enjoy working with your hands?” and “Do you like working with people?” Utter bollocks, you know? Anyway, the end result was that they told me I should learn about computers. “It’s the future,” they said. I gave it a go. I really did. Went for about six weeks, but it did me head in. Couldn’t make head nor tail of it. Weren’t my thing at all. All I know is how to jump out of aeroplanes and shoot a gun’.
‘So you jacked it in then?’
‘Sort of,’ said Eddie. Charlie gave his brother a suspicious look. Eddie sighed. ‘Well, this lecturer guy…Geoffrey, his name was. He had some double-barrelled surname. A right posh twat he was. Drove a bright yellow Triumph Spitfire. Anyway, this one time we’re in his office together and -’. Eddie paused. He looked embarrassed.
‘What?’ said Charlie, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. ‘He never tried it on, did he?’
‘What? Nah. Nuffin like that, no’.
‘Well, what then?’
‘He told me to sit down,’ said Eddie. ‘Like he was my bleeding C.O. or something. Then lectures me about not having the aptitude for computers and that I was wasting his and the college’s time. He said he’d heard that there were jobs going at Woolworths. That I should apply there. I went ballistic. Told him I weren’t no friggin’ shop assistant. Do you know what he told me then?’
The Porsche lurched sideways as Charlie undertook an old blue Citröen.
‘Go on,’ said Charlie.
‘He said that life is hard, and the world doesn’t owe me a living just coz I was in the Falklands’. Charlie’s mouth was wide open. ‘And this is from a guy whose daddy probably bought him his house and car,’ said Eddie.
‘You’re fucking having a laugh? What a prick. What did you do?’
‘I smacked him one. Hey, watch the road bruv’. Charlie had just cut inside another slow-moving car.
‘You punched your lecturer?’ Charlie roared with laughter. ‘Guessing you didn’t get your qualification then?’
‘As it happens, I did,’ said Eddie. ‘After that, he just left me alone. I got the certificate in the post a month later. It didn’t help me none, though. I still haven’t got a bleedin’ clue about computer -’. Eddie’s body suddenly tensed. ‘Charlie! Red light!’
Charlie looked forward to see a stationary green Volkswagen Golf thirty feet ahead of the Porsche. He slammed his foot down hard onto the brake pedal, and the two brothers were forced forward by the sudden reduction in speed. Eddie, who was wearing his seatbelt, remained in his seat. Charlie, who never wore one, found his face propelled into the steering wheel, breaking his nose in an instant. The car lurched to a stop just inches behind the green hatchback, in a cloud of its own tire smoke.
‘Fucking, poxy fuck,’ screamed Charlie, blood dripping from his damaged face. The blue Citröen saloon car pulled up next to them. The young Spanish driver and passengers were snickering and pointing at Charlie’s freshly bloodied face. ‘What the fuck are you laughing at you dago bastards?’ He reached under his seat and started fumbling around.
‘What are you doing?’ said Eddie.
‘Looking for my fuckin’ gun,’ Charlie shouted, blood dripping from his nostrils. He located the weapon and started opening the door, but his younger - and much stronger - sibling grabbed hold of the hand hold
ing a black revolver.
‘Don’t be stupid. That was your fault, you fucking muppet’. Charlie continued to try to break free from Eddie’s grip for a few seconds, his face red with rage. ‘Charlie! Give it up’. The militaristic authority in his younger brother’s voice jolted Charlie out of his red mist, and he relaxed.
‘Okay. Okay. You’re right. It’s okay. You can let go now’. Eddie released his grip and Charlie placed the pistol back under the seat. He looked back at the blue car as it drove off. ‘Wankers,’ he shouted as he reached into the glove compartment to find a rag which he then held to his nose. ‘Fuck, that hurt. Sorry, Eddie. I wasn’t watching where I was going’.
‘No kidding, you dozy twazzock. The lights are green. You alright to drive?’
‘Yeah, no worries’. Charlie restarted the car, pushed it into first gear and pulled away.
Eddie wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve. ‘How’s the nose?’
‘It fucking hurts’.
‘Uh-huh. And I guess the property business is quite competitive down here?’
Charlie glanced at his brother, then quickly returned to looking at the road ahead. ‘What d’ya mean?’ said Charlie.
‘Don’t play stupid. Why have you got a shooter?’
Charlie took a deep breath before answering. ‘I told you, Ed. There’s stuff you don’t know’. He lifted the rag to his nose again.
‘Then best you tell me,’ said Eddie, looking at his brother.
‘I will. Let’s get to my place first. I need to sort my face out,’ said Charlie.
They travelled for a mile before Charlie turned off the busy carriageway, and onto a smaller road that would take them up towards Nuevo Andalusia. It was a long twisting street lined with dozens of expensive-looking houses behind tall palm trees and imposing walls.
‘Nice area. Don’t tell me you have one of these gaffs?’
‘Nah,’ said Charlie. ‘Mine’s bigger’.
A few minutes later they pulled up outside a robust-looking metal gate inset into a ten-foot-high brick wall. The entrance was wide enough for two cars. Charlie reached for a plastic gadget in the glove box and pressed on one of the silver buttons. Eddie heard a whirring sound from behind the doors, which began to slide open to reveal a shallow driveway leading down to a big white villa. It was lined with small bushes of a uniform size and shape. Beyond it, there were lush green lawns and several towering palm trees.
Den of Snakes Page 3