by R J Bailey
I did the same to the second one. It wasn’t quite as pristine – whoever did the last strip of the slide had a none-too-steady hand judging by the scratches around the screw holes. But it would do. Finally I slid a magazine into the first gun, chambered a round and pointed it at Moby’s head.
He flinched and stepped back. ‘Hey. Fuck.’ His hands automatically went up.
‘Give me the keys to the shop.’
‘What?’
‘The keys.’
‘Look, there’s only like two hundred euros in the till. We do everything on cards now.’
‘I don’t want your money. I just want some breathing space.’
‘What you talking about?’
‘Just in case you told your pals in the police where they could find a woman firing an unlicensed Sig, which you will eventually get back when it disappears from the evidence room.’
‘Fuck, you’re kidding me? This is bullshit. I don’t have friends in the police department.’
‘Maybe not . . . but best to make sure.’
‘Stop pointing that thing at me.’
I lowered the gun, but kept it aimed in his general direction. ‘I can’t be too careful. The keys?’
‘I’m going to reach into my pocket.’
He extracted a bunch of keys. ‘Toss them to the boy.’ Moby did so and I took them from Myles.
‘Which one locks this workshop door?’
‘The gold one.’
‘And the rear door?’
‘Same.’
‘Go and lock the back door,’ I said to Myles, giving him the bunch back.
‘I’m going to lock you in here,’ I said to Moby. ‘I’ll leave the keys on the counter outside. You can shout to the next customer who comes in. But for the next five minutes I’ll be outside waiting to shoot you if you try to get out. You got a cellphone?’
‘No. It’s out front.’
‘Good. It’s just a precaution, you understand. Nothing personal.’
‘It is shit. Shit way to treat me.’
So was charging me close to two thousand euros. I don’t trust greedy men. They never know when to call it a day. ‘Sit down. There.’
He did so. I gave the Sig to Myles, who held it in a two-handed movie-style grip. I fetched a small-diameter tyre from the collection on the wall. ‘Arms by side.’
‘Fuck you, woman.’
‘Just do it.’
He did as he was told. I forced the rubber over his broad shoulders and down over his body and also over the back of the chair. It wasn’t much, but it’d slow him down, which was all I needed. Then I took the pistol back.
‘And you can tell your friend Big Thrash he is a shit guitarist,’ said Moby with some considerable venom. ‘Shit!’
Two minutes later we were walking quickly but unobtrusively to the turning at the end of the street where the Renault was parked up, me carrying a bag with ‘Rapha’ written on the side, but stretched with the weight of two Sigs and their bullets.
‘You really think he was going to turn us in?’ Myles asked.
‘No. But I couldn’t be certain. The main thing is, I didn’t want him to see what make or model of car we are driving. And before you ask, no, we aren’t going to the forest to test-fire the guns.’
‘I’d like to know mine works.’
‘Yours?’ I asked, appalled at the thought. ‘It isn’t for you.’
‘What? Why not? You trusted me back there.’
‘For a second. Don’t think it’s a permanent arrangement, Hawkeye.’
‘Why the fuck not, huh? We’re in this together.’
‘Look, partner, it’s for Freddie. Someone who knows how to handle a gun.’
‘I can shoot.’
‘Get in the car.’
‘I can. My uncle in Virginia taught me.’ At a firing range, no doubt. Shooting back while being shot at is something entirely different. ‘I have a permit to carry a concealed weapon in the state of Vermont.’
‘We’re not in Vermont now, Toto. I want someone I know I can trust on the other end of that Sig. Not Justin Bieber with attitude. Get in the car.’
He shook his head in dismay, but opened the door. ‘Fucksake.’
‘What?’
‘And I thought my mom was paranoid.’
I waited until we were well clear of Rennes and the irate bicycle salesman before I pulled over at a service station. I sent Myles in to get water and any snacks he wanted, and made a call. Not to the Colonel, but to Nina.
‘Any excitement yet?’ she asked once I had got through.
‘Oh, this and that,’ I said.
‘You confront the boy?’
‘Myles? Confront him with what?’
‘The frat-house business I told you about.’
I assumed she meant the dope dealing that Myles had confessed to. ‘No, not yet. Too busy herding cats.’
‘Well, just watch your back.’
‘I will. Listen . . .’
A sigh. ‘Ach. What is it this time?’
‘A name. I want you to do a search beyond the usual sources. Film magazines and the like.’
‘Who for?’
‘George Konrad.’
‘Your bodyguard?’
‘Yes. I think there might be more than meets the eye there.’ Queen of Understatement, that was me. ‘But I think he works in the movie business. It’s Konrad with a “K”.’
‘Give me a second.’
I heard her humming and the tap of keys. ‘There’s an entry in Variety. Legendary film armourer George Konrad. Famous for his work on war movies. Dirty Dozen, Kelly’s Heroes, The English Patient . . .’
‘Saving Private Ryan?’
‘Yes, that’s here. Fury was the last one.’
‘Anything else about him?’
‘Yes. He’s dead.’
PART SIX
TWENTY-NINE
Wednesday
There was trouble at the bar last night. Two guys came in with baseball bats and smashed some of it up. They terrified the customers, most of who ran away. Matt got a black eye fighting them off. I didn’t see it till this morning, but there was a lot of glass everywhere. The two guys were Russians, so Sarah said. Everyone was very glum. That policeman who had questioned me came down and Matt asked him, ‘What the fuck am I paying you for?’
After that, Dieter told me it was no place for me to be hanging around. It was just a problem with the pizza delivery business.
I told him I didn’t think they were that bad.
He thought that was funny.
That night Putu stayed with us and slept downstairs, just in case, they said. I had trouble getting to sleep.
Friday
They have stopped doing pizzas. Maybe they trod on Domino’s toes. It was pizza wars. That was what I said to Matt. And he said yes. That was precisely it. A turf war.
I could tell he was lying.
I’m not that stupid. I knew what was really going on. I just didn’t want to face up to it. There wasn’t just American Hots and Four Seasons in those pizza boxes. Why would people miles away in fancy villas with chefs and everything pay big bundles of cash for lukewarm pizzas with very soggy bottoms. It had to be drugs.
Mum once said Dad had done this sort of thing before. In Ibiza. Which is where he met Dieter and Theo.
I went to the surf club. I got hit on by one of the beach boys for the first time. A pretty buff one too. Normally they try and pick up older, rich women who can buy them drinks and dinner. He said he’d go with me for free. I told him to piss off.
Monday
Boring day of lessons but then Sarah announced her and Matt were going on a ‘mini-break’ together. Over to the island next door. Just as friends. But would I not tell Laura? Please. I feel like I should tell her so she’ll come back. But I think that might cause a shit storm, too. Best stay out of it. Aja is going to look after me for the weekend. Like I need ‘looking after’. That’s OK, I like Aja and I don’t think she’ll ‘look after’
me too closely.
THIRTY
Basque Country, France
I didn’t stop again until the last of the autoroute service stations before we had to turn off to the minor roads. We were south of Bayonne. I had been driving for six hours and it felt like my bladder was the size of a hot-air balloon. My need to urinate when in action was where I got my army nickname. ‘Buster’ was from the old quiz show Blockbusters – ‘Can I have a pee, please, Bob?’ And, Bob, I really needed one at that moment. Dusk was coming on strong when I pulled into a service station that advertised its WCs.
I parked up close to the entrance to the food court/shop, went in and bought a detailed map of the region, a can of black spray paint from the car accessory stand, and a six-pack of Red Bull. I got the code for the lavatory block usually reserved for the lorry drivers from the cashier and drove over and parked near it. Regular drivers used the internal toilets in the main service area concourse, which were smarter. But I didn’t want to be in there with the regular folk. For a start, I was carrying heavy weaponry – I had taken the guns with me when I went into the shop and did the same with the Dames WC, a belated acceptance that some HGV drivers were women – just in case Myles had any ideas about purloining one for himself.
The toilets were almost clean enough for me to sit down, but out of habit I didn’t. When I had emptied the contents of the Aswan dam, I examined myself in the mirror. Maybe it was the flickering neon tube that made me look as if I could draw a pension, but I didn’t think so. My skin was sallow and my eyes gritty with lack of sleep. I ought to find another hotel, get some decent drug-free sleep. But that wasn’t going to happen. I left the lavatories, told Myles to go to the Messieurs and broke open the pack of Red Bull.
I was in no hurry to get back in the Megane, so I drank one as I spread the map out on the bonnet and angled it so that some light fell on it. I located the service area, and the road that would lead me to Freddie. Except I was fairly certain I couldn’t take the direct route. Not now.
As casually as I could, I ran my gaze over the parking area, picking out the coming and going of the cars. It didn’t tell me anything, except plenty of people on the road need gas, food and lavatories. Myles came and joined me, flicking water off his hands.
‘Dryer bust,’ he explained.
I offered him one of the cans and he took it.
‘How far now?’
I had already checked Freddie’s location on the phone. ‘About ninety minutes, give or take.’
‘Want me to drive?’
I hesitated.
‘I got some sleep back there.’ Which was true, he had nodded off before we got to Bordeaux. And it was a good idea to go into enemy territory with both hands free. And I had asked for an auto for just that reason.
‘You can do the last hour, when we go to meet Freddie.’
He nodded, pleased to be contributing something. ‘What’s Freddie like? I mean, is she like you?’
‘Well, we were both in Iraq. Combat Medical Technicians – medics.’
‘Cool.’
‘It sounds cooler than it was. It . . .’
It broke my heart, I was going to say, all those kids maimed and killed for a mission that had no clear end game. I wasn’t one of those who thought certain politicians should be put on trial for what they did. It wasn’t going to bring back Jones or Carroll or give Withers his leg back. But I was one of those who wouldn’t trust any of them ever again when it came to sending young men and women off to die without a watertight case for a real threat to our country and some idea of an exit strategy. I don’t think there is any room for playing the Lone Ranger with other people’s countries. Not any more. The game has changed since 1939.
‘It was rough. But Freddie’s very capable. If she’s got eyes on your mum, then your mum is OK.’
I crumpled my can and tossed it into a nearby bin. He tried the same and missed. He shook his head. ‘And I shoot hoops.’ He walked over, picked it up and threw it in, hard, like a slam-dunk.
‘You ever bodyguard anyone famous?’
It is what they all want to know, sooner or later. And there are PPOs who do nothing but the celebrity circuit. Incidents like Kim Kardashian West’s ordeal in Paris cause a big uptick in requests, and every time an EastEnders actor or a reality-TV star is mugged for his or her Rolex in their driveway, there is a surge in demand for protection. It never lasts though. After a few weeks of shelling out for someone to walk with them to and from the house, the client realises it’s easier and cheaper just to hand over the watch and buy a new one each time.
‘I’m not a BG,’ I said. ‘PPO. Personal Protection.’
‘Well, whatever you do, you ever do it with anyone I’d’ve heard of?’
‘Probably. But I can’t talk about clients.’
‘Seriously? They probably talk about you.’
I laughed. ‘I doubt it. Clients barely notice you when you are there, unless something happens to spook them. They certainly don’t think about you when you’ve gone.’
‘Yeah, but come on. There must be someone . . .’
I threw him a bone. ‘There was this one pop star, I guess you’d call him. An English rocker with a penchant for blondes. Been around since the Seventies. Sixties, maybe. I did his wedding. Well, one of them.’
He took a few wild stabs before he got the name. ‘And?’
‘And nothing. I was close protection for the wife, who was lovely. Well, we had one thing happened. The wedding was at a villa in Italy. We were there three days before the guests arrived. And every night I’d go out on the terrace and feel like I had an itch I couldn’t scratch. Just a sense of being watched. Then, on the night before the ceremony, I caught it, a flash of light from the hillside. Just from the corner of my eye. Next morning we went up there and found a paparazzo who had dug in like it was the end of the world. He’d made a cave with enough food to survive for weeks, a chemical toilet, and, of course, cameras with the longest lenses I’d ever seen. There was a door made of twigs and ferns that blended in perfectly. But he’d opened it with a light burning inside and I’d caught it.’
‘You get him arrested?’
‘Nope. When the groom heard, he let the guy take one photo of him and his bride posing at the villa. Said his ingenuity was impressive. Then he punched him on the nose.’
‘Fuck. Did he sue?’
‘You kidding? That one picture earned him thousands. It was worth a swollen nose for a few days.’
I folded up the map. ‘We going?’ he asked.
‘In a minute.’
‘I thought we were in a hurry.’
I decided to share something with him. ‘You know that feeling I said I had at the wedding?’
‘The one about feeling you’re being watched?’
I nodded. ‘I don’t want you to react in any way. Certainly do not turn your head. But I have it now.’
His body stiffened a little, but that was all. He put the can to his lips and drank before he spoke. ‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes, like with the light from the hills, you pick up a subliminal signal. Someone holds a look at you for a second too long, you see the same car twice. I’ve had it for a while now. It isn’t going away.’
‘You sure you don’t want to give me a gun?’
‘I am positive. We are not going to have a shootout at a service station,’ I assured him. At least, I hoped not. But it reminded me I had to prep the guns, just in case. ‘Get in. I have something to do.’
Once we were inside, I took out one of the pistol’s magazines, emptied it of shells and began reloading them. Bullets left too long in a mag tend to become sticky, used to each other’s company. It was a good way to cause a jam. Myles watched intently as I slid the rounds home with my thumb.
‘You really shoot?’ I asked.
‘I’m an American. It’s in the constitution and my DNA.’
I smiled. ‘Yeah, I was forgetting. You still can’t have one.’
H
e gave a grunt of annoyance. I suspected he wasn’t used to being denied anything he wanted.
‘OK, can you do the same to this one for me, though?’ I asked, passing him the second Sig. ‘Take the bullets out, mix them up, reload.’
He did so, admirably cautious with the loaded weapon, and dextrous when it came to handling the ammunition. He completed the task in a faster time than I did. I still wasn’t going to change my mind about arming him, though.
When we finally left, I was behind the wheel. ‘You going to get gas?’
‘I am. I’m just going to forget for a moment.’
‘What?’
‘Just stay calm, no matter what happens.’ I tossed him the can of spray paint. ‘Give that a good shake.’
The little ball bearing inside rattled as he shook.
‘I hope you have a steady hand.’
‘You are fuckin’ weird, you know.’
With luck, just weird and unpredictable enough to throw someone off my scent.
I started the car and set off, taking the lane that indicated the fuel stop. Myles said nothing when I passed the entry to the pumps and apparently sailed on by. I waited until I had passed the ‘Exit Only’ sign of the petrol station and stomped on the brakes. A car behind me hooted and swung by. Another crawled past. I waited for two more to pass, watching in the mirror for anyone who had stopped to observe what the hell I was doing. None had. I engaged reverse and steered my way into that ‘Exit Only’ gap, then over to the furthest row of pumps.