Den of Snakes

by Damian Vargas

  Over the following hours, there was much talking about the old days and frequent references to the “big job”. Eddie had the distinct impression that this cabal of suntanned wide boys were living off their past glories, and doing all they could to convince those around them - and probably themselves - that they remained relevant.

  Most of the guests had left by midnight, but Mike, Roger and Judy, Kenny, Bill and Carol were still going strong.

  ‘Okay ladies and gents,’ said Charlie. ‘Now all them fuckers have gone, I want to show you all something. Follow me inside, I have a surprise for you’.

  Charlie led the group inside the house to a sturdy wooden door while whistling “Gold” by Spandau Ballet. He inserted a key into the lock and then opened the door.

  ‘Is this where you keep the bodies, Charlie?’ said Carol. Her husband, Bill, shot her a look of amazement. ‘What? It’s a joke, innit,’ said Carol.

  Charlie flicked on the lights and walked around a large white table in the centre of the room. On top of the table sat the architect’s model of a three-story apartment block. ‘This, my friends, is Urbanizacion Majestico’.

  ‘What? So you’ve been making models in your spare time, Charlie?’ said Roger.

  Bill snorted with laughter.

  ‘You’re kiddin’ me? It’s the property project I told you all about a couple of months ago. You remember Mike? Bill? You know…the investment opportunity’.

  ‘Ah, right Yeah,’ said Bill, none to convincingly.

  ‘So you’re doing it then?’ said Roger.

  ‘You better believe it, mate,’ said Charlie. Mike reached over and picked up a mini apartment in his hand and examined it. ‘Oi, put that back you fuckin’ plonker. This model cost me a couple of grand’.

  ‘You paid two thousand quid for a toy building?’ said Judy. ‘Fuckin’ hell. You could have had a real house in south London for that a few years ago’.

  ‘It’s the way it’s done, innit. You need to get the investors excited. Show ’em the possibilities,’ said Charlie. ‘So anyway, I had a good meeting with some important locals over in Banús this morning. It’s looking good’.

  ‘You went to the local families for funding? Bit risky, innit?’ said Mike.

  ‘Nah, mate. It’s all cushty’.

  ‘So they’re in already?’ said Mike.

  ‘Not yet. But it won’t be long, trust me. They know that they can make some easy dosh if they get in on this’. He cleared his throat. ‘As can all of you. If you invest as well’.

  Faces lifted up from looking at the miniature construction project.

  ‘You’re asking us to come in on it?’ asked Bill.

  Charlie nodded. ‘Juan Fernandez and some other partners will stump up a million quid. If we get the project going first,’ he said.

  Mike stood, staring at the white building in his hand. Bill and Kenny looked to the floor.

  ‘How much have you spent on it so far?’ said Bill.

  ‘About nine hundred grand,’ said Charlie. ‘To buy the land, pay the architect and get provisional planning permission and other stuff’.

  ‘And how much more d’yer need to get it going?’ asked Roger.

  ‘About one and a half,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Million?’ said Carol. Charlie rolled his eyes.

  ‘Of course, million. That’s for phase one. I need another three point five for the following phases’.

  Mike whistled and put the building down. ‘Now that is an expensive model,’ he said.

  ‘I can stump up another five hundred grand,’ said Charlie.

  ‘So you need another million to get the project underway?’ said Bill.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Charlie, then lifted a cocktail glass to his lips.

  ‘That’s two hundred and fifty grand each,’ said Bill. ‘I dunno. What with the money I’ve got in other things, that would leave me pretty thin’. He looked at Kenny. ‘What d’you think?’

  Kenny took a cigarette out of the packet in his hands, lit it and took a long drag. ‘Well, I don’t know nuffin about property development,’ he said, then took another drag. He looked across at Charlie. ‘But if this geezer tells me it’s a good idea, then I’m in. You just tell me what I need to do, mate. Okay?’

  ‘Thanks, Kenny. I appreciate it’. He looked at the others who, Eddie thought, did not seem quite so convinced.

  ‘So, what do the rest of you think?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘It’s a lot of dough, Charlie. I’ve got the cash, just about. But like Bill said, it would leave me well exposed,’ said Roger.

  ‘I lent eighty grand to that Italian fucker, Fallaci, six months ago,’ said Bill. ‘You know, for that new trendy restaurant he opened on the beachfront in Benalmádena. He’s supposed to have paid it all back by now. With an extra twenty for interest, but I’ve not seen a penny yet. I’d have gone round and shoved a shooter up his nose by now, but you told us all to keep a low profile. That and a few other things are givin’ me sleepless nights’.

  ‘I understand,’ said Charlie. ‘Tell you what. Me and Eddie will go pay that wop a visit in the morning for you. We’ll make sure he pays up. How’s that work for you?’ said Charlie.

  Eddie shot Charlie a look as if to say ‘what the fuck?’, but if his brother noticed, he ignored it.

  Bill thought about it for a few seconds, then replied. ‘Get him to pay up, and I’ll think about it. Okay?’

  ‘Good stuff,’ said Charlie. He looked at Roger and Mike. ‘Guys, I promise you, this is the opportunity we’ve been looking for. We put this cash in now and in less than a year we will be taking deposits on these flats. Anything you invest now, you double in less than a year’. He put his hands on Kenny’s cheeks, looking for all the world as if he was about to kiss him. ‘And the beautiful thing…it’s clean money’.

  ‘If it’s like you say, guess it would be stupid not to,’ said Mike.

  ‘Good man’ said Charlie. ‘What about you, Rog?’

  Roger glanced at his wife and scratched the back of his head. ‘I’ll talk to my accountant tomorrow. See what I can do. Alright?’

  ‘Thanks, mate. You won’t regret it’.

  A little later, having seen Charlie wave off his mates and their female companions, Eddie approached his brother.

  ‘Listen, what you said about visiting that bloke to get Bill’s money -’.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, it’ll be nothing,’ said Charlie. He closed the front door and started towards the stairs, but Eddie continued.

  ‘I ain’t here to get involved in your business,’ said Eddie.

  Charlie put his arm over his brother’s shoulder. ‘We’re just going have a chat with the geezer. But I can’t do it by myself. I need you’.

  Eddie sighed. ‘And you’ll front me the cash I need to get to Angola?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s the least I can do. That’s what brothers are for, right?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Eddie.

  Charlie gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. ‘Thanks, Ed. It’s a big help’. He took a sip from the glass of scotch he was holding. ‘Listen, Ed. I’m sorry. For what I did all them years ago’. Charlie put his hands on Eddie’s cheeks. His breath was foul. ‘I was a selfish git. I’m sorry, bruv’.

  ‘Forget it,’ said Eddie. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. I don’t know what came over me’.

  Charlie stared into his younger brother’s eyes. ‘Things are different now. I’m here for yer. You know that, right?’

  Eddie nodded. ‘Sure, Charlie’. He extracted himself from his brother’s grasp. ‘I’m friggin’ knackered. I’m going to bed’.

  ‘Night bruv,’ said Charlie.

  Chapter Six

  Bad investments

  Eddie woke up to the sharp morning sunlight. His skull was throbbing, and the roof of his mouth was as dry as blotting paper. He kicked the satin sheets off his legs, forced himself out of bed and made his way downstairs. He went to the kitchen, flicked the
switch on the kettle and opened the cupboards in search of coffee.

  It was only at that point that he realised that Charlie was standing in his office across the hall, engaged in what appeared to be an awkward telephone call.

  His brother had the phone speaker on and had failed to notice Eddie, who could not help but overhear both sides of the conversation. A stern-voiced woman asserted that she could only give Charlie another four weeks to secure the investment he needed to start his construction project.

  ‘Other parties are waiting to take over if you cannot get the financing closed,’ she told him.

  ‘And I bet one of them bleeding parties is Daniel-fucking-Ortega, right?’ He plucked a tennis ball from off his desk and squeezed it in his right hand.

  ‘I can’t disclose that information, Mr Lawson’.

  ‘Of course, you can’t,’ said Charlie, tossing the ball from hand to hand.

  ‘Mr Lawson, my records show that you were told when you entered this process, that council bye-laws require that you can show that you have sufficient funding for the construction to begin, and -’.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. They also advised me that we would get the planning permission in six months. It took two years, during which I’ve had nine hundred grand tied up in a plot of friggin’ weeds’.

  ‘Well, surely that gave you more time to secure investor interest?’ the woman said.

  Charlie took three rapid steps towards the desk and leaned into the speaker. ‘I had investors. I had three of them lined up, but they all lost interest coz you lot took so fuckin’ long’.

  ‘Please do not curse at me, Mr Lawson. I am new into this role’.

  ‘What happened to that last guy I was dealing with? Mr Cruz? Stick ’em on the phone, love’.

  ‘Mr De La Cruz no longer works for Marbella town council,’ said the woman. ‘There were certain accusations made against him’.

  Eddie saw Charlie look up to the ceiling, mouthing silent expletives.

  ‘What accusations?’ he said.

  ‘That is a confidential matter, I’m afraid. But I am now the acting head of planning and development. I shall be your point of contact now’.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Charlie said. ‘You’re the fifth bloody person I’ve had to deal with. You lot are a friggin’ shambles. For fuck’s sake’. He spun around and threw the ball at the wall next to the open door, at which point he noticed Eddie standing in the kitchen and lifted the receiver off the phone. ‘Hang on a sec,’ he barked into the phone. He walked toward the door, handset to his ear. ‘Won’t be five mins, bruv. Chill in the garden for a bit, bruv,’ he said while closing the door.

  Eddie made himself a mug of black coffee before making his way out into the back garden. He squinted until his eyes adjusted to the sunlight. The sky was bright blue and cloudless. The view from the terrace looked out towards a set of slow rolling hills, crested with green trees and large white, pink, mustard and blue villas. He could see Marbella and Puerto Banús several miles below, the Mediterranean gleaming beyond. It was a stunning view.

  He sat down on one of the several dozen white sun loungers, slung his legs up and laid back into the upright seat. The detritus from the previous night’s party surrounded him. They must have got through a few thousand pound’s worth of booze, he guessed.

  ‘Easy to see the attraction of living here,’ he thought. Assuming you have the cash to do so.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Charlie, who was ambling towards him with a glass in his hand containing an ample measure of what, Eddie presumed, was scotch.

  ‘Spot of bother?’ Eddie asked.

  Charlie frowned. ‘What? That?’ he said, waving towards the house. ‘Nah, that’s just the normal way of doing business down here. You know, mañana this, mañana that. They’re all just angling for a backhander to speed things up. The last geezer was helpful when he got money out of me. For a few months, anyway. That trollop will come round too, you’ll see’. He pulled another sun lounger closer to where Eddie was laying. ‘Sleep alright?’

  ‘Not really. I’m not used to this heat. Or the friggin’ mossies’.

  Charlie laughed. ‘Well, according to my Spanish cleaner, that means you eat too many candies. They like sweet blood, she reckons’.

  Eddie forced a smile; his mind still on what his brother has asked him to do the previous evening. ‘This business today, helping Bill get his money back from this Italian geezer,’ he said. ‘Is it likely to get feisty?’

  ‘Nah, it’s just a geezer taking the piss what needs a word in his wormhole, that’s all. We’re not gonna hurt him. I’m just going to appeal to his sense of social responsibility. We leave in an hour. Get yourself sorted, grab some brekky, Okay?’ Charlie downed the drink and, without waiting for Eddie to reply, continued; ‘I’ve got another couple of calls to make.’ He pulled himself up off the lounger and strode back towards the house.

  An hour later, Eddie sat in the passenger seat of Charlie’s Porsche as his brother piloted it along the coastal road, towards Benelmádana. The traffic was heavy with coaches transporting tourists to or from their hotels, lorries belching black smoke and lackadaisical taxis.

  Charlie had one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the car’s horn, which he was using every few seconds.‘For fuck’s sake. Get out of the way, dickhead,’ he bellowed at one taxi as they approached a stretch where the road opened up to two lanes.

  ‘We in a rush?’ said Eddie.

  ‘These twerps wind me right up. They’d never pass the English driving test’. He pulled the car sideways to the right and motored past a slow-moving truck on the inside lane’.

  ‘I reckon you need to relax, bruv. Don’t want to bust that nose of yours again, do you?’

  ‘We’re almost there,’ said Charlie while wiping the sweat off his forehead with a blue handkerchief.

  Eddie was feeling the heat too. ‘Mind if I stick the air con on?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s up the swanny. Been that way for ages. Fuckin’ kraut engineering’.

  ‘Why don’t you get it fixed?’

  ‘Because the thieving fuckers wanted over a grand to mend it. Flipping ridiculous. The flipping thing’s only five years old. I weren’t paying that’.

  ‘How much did you spend on booze last night?’ said Eddie.

  ‘That’s different,’ said Charlie. He looked over his shoulder and manoeuvred the car towards the approaching slip road, the large blue sign above it showing that it was the exit for Benalmádena.

  ‘Got to impress the locals, right?’ said Eddie.

  ‘Exactly right, bruv. That was an investment in our futures. Havin’ get-togethers like that is important for business,’ said Charlie. ‘You’ve got to bring people together. Find out what’s happening. Oil a few deals and all that. Last night was putting cash to good use. Spending a grand on this piece of German crap? That’s just burning money’.

  ‘I thought money wasn’t an issue?’ said Eddie.

  Charlie half glanced at him again, while wiping more sweat away. ‘Yeah, it’s just that this deal is taking up a lot of my liquid funds. That’s my top priority. Fixing this bloody thing can wait’.

  ‘How bad is it?’ Charlie shook his head.

  ‘It’s just about investing wisely for a while. Until the property deal is underway. After that, once the cash is rollin’ back in, I’ll get rid of this jerry shitheap and get myself a Jag or something. One of them new XJS convertibles. They’re right fuckin’ sweet, they are’.

  Charlie drove towards the seafront. It being the middle of July, the streets were awash with pink-skinned holidaymakers.

  A group of Scandinavian-looking men in their twenties broke into a scamper as the Porsche approached, Charlie refusing to slow down as they crossed the road. ‘Use the bleedin’ zebra crossing,’ he shouted as he sped past.

  Eddie peered into the wing mirror to see one of the pale men trip over, before flipping a finger at the German car.

  That’s where we’re going,’ sa
id Charlie, a couple of minutes later. He was pointing at a restaurant ahead of them, on their left; an Italian eatery called Fallaci’s. Charlie continued driving, ignoring several empty parking spaces.

  ‘You just passed two spaces,’ Eddie said.

  His brother was looking in his rearview mirror. ‘I’m wanna stick it around the corner,’ he said. ‘Out of sight’. He turned left onto a side street, found a space and parked the silver car. ‘Right. Let’s do this,’ he said as he got out of the vehicle. ‘This Italian fucker is Gino Fallaci. Bill lent him eighty grand six months ago to get his place set up. He’s not paid a penny back yet, even though I know he’s rakin’ it in’. Charlie thrust the key into the lock and twisted it, both doors locking and the indicators flashed twice in unison. ‘The restaurant has been packed every night,’ he said while he rolled up his sleeves. ‘I reckon he’s clearing four of five grand a night, easy’.

  They started off around the street corner and marched up the pavement for a few hundred yards, before arriving at the restaurant.

  Charlie tried the front door, but found it locked. ‘We’ll go round the back. I can hear someone inside’.

  The brothers both clambered over a small row of shrubs and jogged towards an open door at the rear. A member of the kitchen staff, a short man in chequered blue and white trousers and a grubby yellow tee shirt, approached holding a bucket full of peeled potatoes. He attempted to block their passage, but Charlie shoved him and he fell backwards, the bucket and its contents emptying onto the white tiled floor. Eddie looked behind him to see the man clamber up, before running towards the exit.

  Charlie stopped at a door marked “Prohibido” and took a deep breath. ‘Just follow my lead, okay?’ He pushed the door open and marched in.

  A man in a cream flannel suit and a white shirt was leaning against a large wooden desk, smoking and studying a copy of El Pais. He looked up, a look of surprise clear on his face.