by steve higgs
Good. This was good. After his promise to find his way into the tunnels earlier today I had worried that my overly adventurous and confident new acquaintance might do something rash like ask where the bad guys were and then try to arrest them all. He was playing it cautious and sensible though.
Tomorrow, with three of us there, we could make a concerted effort to find the landside tunnel entrance. Even though we had identified the river entrance, it appeared to be guarded. Big Ben and I could borrow some scuba gear and maybe get in undetected underwater to avoid being chased off by the boats. Not impossible, but also not simple either.
‘Roger. Stay safe. Let’s touch base in the morning and agree on a plan of action, yes?’
‘What time do you start work?’ He asked.
‘I’ll be in my office for 0900hrs. Does that suit you?’
‘Perfect. I’ll see you then.’ We disconnected. My concerns were somewhat placated. Pasha was making fun of us but had not verbally committed to others that we were not returning so she was expecting to see us again even if she was hoping we had quit.
Back at the bar, Aditya had a drink for me. ‘Here you go, Tempest.’ He handed me a fresh pint. ‘I’m not sure how many more of these I can drink. I took tomorrow to recover from today, well done for arranging the stag party for today to give us recovery time by the way.’ We clinked glasses in salute to my great planning. ‘Then it’s the wedding all weekend.’
‘Well, that should give you time to forgive Vihann for cutting you up on the last corner to win the race then.’
He frowned. ‘Maybe.’
The race had been competitive from the start, everyone tearing away from the line to make the first corner. We had ten laps to complete, however it was clear by the end of the first that there were only three cars in with a chance of winning. Aditya, Vihann and Hilary. The five Singh brothers had fought each other though, their efforts aimed more at beating their siblings than at winning the race as if old brotherly disputes over whose turn on the Scalextric it was were now being settled. My tactic to hang just a bit off the lead and let them tussle it out before swooping in to win at the end proved folly, but I had been happy with fifth place. There were more people behind me than ahead, unlike Big Ben who had started last and finished last and would be smarting about it for years to come.
The only disappointment was that Ian Quinn had beaten me. He came up the inside of me on the penultimate lap, cutting off my driving line as we approached a vital corner. I had been forced to go wide to avoid a collision which gave away my position. He then doggedly prevented me from passing, his effort seemingly focused on keeping me behind him instead of trying to catch the car in front. It was the sly grin he had given me as he cut me up that was stuck in my craw though.
I had put it down to the excitement of the race, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he had gone into the event with the sole aim of making sure he finished ahead of me.
I was standing at the bar, chatting with Jagjit about his planned honeymoon when I spotted a face I knew, then I noticed that conversation in the bar had dropped significantly. The face I saw was Brunilda’s, the sexy as anything brunette I had met briefly at Big Ben’s penthouse suite on Monday. She was in the bar and leading a procession of other gorgeous women. All had on cocktail dresses that contained very little material, high heels and little else. They were all clearly cold from being outside, but the door was open and there was still more coming in. I could already count twenty.
Big Ben, never easy to lose sight of, towering over everyone else as he did, was greeting them all and handing a credit card to the barman.
He leaned across so we would hear him, ‘I told the girls there was a bachelor party and I needed them all to look sexy and mingle.’
They had managed the first part of the task easily enough. Big Ben started handing out drinks to the ladies and kissing cheeks. A couple of them got a playful smack on their rumps which was warmly received by each of them. He was a master at work.
As a space opened up at the bar next to us, Big Ben stepped into it, accompanied by a dozen or more beautiful women all sipping sparkling wine from tall fluted glasses.
‘I felt there was a need to liven things up and you were insistent that there be no strippers, so I compromised. I can’t guarantee that they will all keep their clothes on though, a couple of them do like to dance and just happen to work in gentlemen’s clubs.’
‘So, by default, you managed to invite strippers anyway.’ I laughed.
‘Only sort of. Anyway, Jagjit, as it’s your stag do, last night as a single man and all that, why don’t you pick one? My treat.’
Jagjit’s jaw dropped as the gaggle of gorgeous women all smiled at him. An athletic blonde woman in her early twenties with green eyes like emeralds, smouldered at Jagjit in a way that would have made Mr. Wriggly burst out through the front of my trousers had it been aimed at me. I swear she made her nipples harden on command as they were suddenly visible through the sheer fabric of her dress.
‘Only joking.’ Big Ben said. Jagjit exhaled in relief. I understood his plight, such temptations are easy to resist when there is no way you can make it happen anyway, but far less so when put on a plate in front of you. He didn’t want to go into marriage having just cheated on his intended any more than I would. Big Ben wasn’t done though, ‘You can have three.’ He said with a laugh.
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, or even begin to work out how the ladies before us were his to command. Jagjit said, ‘I’d better pass, thanks all the same.’ Just in case the offer was genuine.
As the girls filed away, some of them looking genuinely disappointed, Jagjit grabbed my arm, ‘Dude I need a stiff drink like right friggin now. I’m freaking out, man.’
I waved for the bartender’s attention, ‘What’s up, buddy.’ I asked while I waited for the man to finish serving his customer.
‘Am I crazy?’
‘I need some context, mate.’
‘I’m getting married this weekend to a girl I met a month ago. Did you see all those amazing women just then? I’m not just getting married, I’m giving up any chance to ever be with them or anyone like them or anyone ever again for that matter.’
The bartender arrived, took my order of single malt doubles, Irish not Scotch and I waited for them to be served before answering. Damn Big Ben and his stupidly attractive harem of women. Jagjit had been rock solid until sixty seconds ago.
I handed Jagjit his drink as I paid with my card then grabbed mine from the bar intending to sniff the heady scents and savour it while trying to come up with something wise to say about the conflict between head and heart. With my glass in my hand I turned back to face Jagjit.
He slammed his empty glass down on the bar and signalled the barman for another.
So much for savouring it.
‘Jagjit, you need to calm down. The only thing that has changed since you were talking so animatedly about your lovely Alice an hour ago is that a bevy of unapproachable, untouchable, unrealistically perfect women got wafted under your nose.’ I sipped my drink. He was served a second glass which I had to intercept on its way to his face. He was about to down a second large hit of very alcoholic whisky. ‘Tell me when you last had any form of relationship or even interaction with a woman that looked like any one of them.’
‘Err, I haven’t.’ He admitted, feeling that he was making a valid point.
‘Exactly.’ I replied. ‘Normal men like you and I don’t get to have relationships with women that look like that and I, for one, am glad about it.’
Jagjit considered that for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Nope. No, you’re going to have to explain this to me. Why is it that I don’t want to have sex with the perfect women?’
‘Precisely because they are perfect, mate. I’m going to hit you with some wisdom. Are you ready?’
‘Um, I think so?’ He asked, confused now.
‘Really attractive women are terrible in bed.’
‘Exactly, mate. Guys don’t care, so the perfect women never get to be good in bed because the men they end up with only demand that they turn up. They don’t have to try. They get used to men following them around dribbling and offering them things because men are just so utterly crap. You think any of those girls has had to buy a drink this year?’
He had no answer. ‘What number is Alice on the hot scale? If those girls are a ten, what score is Alice?’
Jagjit looked a little stunned although it might be the whisky hitting his system and making him woozy, not the power of my wisdom making him look dumb. ‘I’m going to say a nine?’
‘At least.’ I agreed. ‘Your lady is one hot number. If you don’t go through with the wedding, if you decide that you have been hasty, then it has to be for a better reason than because there are other women on the planet and they have tits too.’
‘Fair point.’ He conceded. He took a sip of his drink. ‘This is good stuff.’
I nodded my agreement.
We were silent for a while. Across the bar, Big Ben’s entourage of perfect women were getting a lot of attention from the other men and women in the place. There were several girlfriends with unhappy faces trying to get their boyfriend’s attention back.
‘Thanks, Tempest. You’re a good best man.’
I clapped him on the back. ‘Don’t sweat it. You’re entitled to one wobble. Do you need to rethink the wedding?’ I was testing him. No matter what had been spent or who he would hurt, if he really was rushing in and needed time, then he had to take it. He would do more harm marrying her and learning his mistake only later.
‘No. No, I’m good. Alice is wonderful.’
‘You’ve been saying that for weeks.’
Jagjit had a distant look to his face and was swirling his whisky in his glass when Ian Quinn approached us.
‘Chaps, I wanted to thank you for a thoroughly entertaining evening. Kit assured me I would be accepted, although I was dubious given how we met, I must say that I have learned I sometimes form opinions that prove to be false.’ I inclined my head in a gesture that said, “I know”. ‘I have to go, I’m afraid. I am on duty in the morning at five o’clock.’
We all shook hands and watched as he weaved his way through the bar saying goodnight to all the other stag night attendees. As he went out the door a whoop went up and I thought for a moment the two events were linked until I saw Basic standing on a table playing air-guitar as Big Ben’s ladies cheered him on.
Seeing the attention Basic was getting, one of the bartenders put the volume up. In seconds, the girls were dancing around him like he was a genuine Rockstar. Phones were coming out around the bar, random people filming the scruffy, air-guitar playing, crazy-haired doofus. Egged on by the crowd around him, Basic redoubled his effort and he must have known what the track was when he got started because it was nearing the end and had become a magnificent guitar solo.
On the last chord, and with an almighty sweep of his arm to strike the last note, he jumped into the air to land on his knees among the baying crowd at his feet. There was an almighty cheer and applause, which Jagjit and I had to join in with and girls were kissing him, not just one or two, but damned near all the hot women were pawing him, touching him and kissing his face.
Finished with his act and with the crowd now settling back down, he actually mimed taking off his air-guitar and placing it on a stand before coming to the bar with an empty glass. I guess playing the air-guitar is thirsty work.
I bought him a drink and shook his hand as I marvelled at the hidden depths one sometimes cannot even perceive in the people that are closest to us.
‘Dat was fun.’ He said, a smile splitting his face.
Dat is going to sell even more air-guitars.
The thought played through my head and I had to consider that maybe Basic was an absolute genius sheathed in the body of a Neanderthal and not the lumbering dopey ox we all took him to be.
‘Hey, where did you go?’ Asked a delightfully petite Japanese girl. Not one of Big Ben’s thankfully, her interest in Basic looked real. ‘That was really fun, can I buy you a drink?’ She asked him.
‘Sure fing.’ He replied.
I backed away a pace to give her room at the bar next to him. Basic was taller than me, though his height was a mystery as he never stood up straight. The young lady, in contrast was at least a foot shorter than him and she had on heels.
‘What’s happening?’ Jagjit whispered in my ear. I was just as mystified as he was. The lady had her purse in one hand and her other hand was on Basic’s arm as it rested on the bar. She was being tactile and playful.
‘I need to learn to play the air-guitar.’ It was the only answer I had for the magic trick unfolding in front of me.
As the dutiful best man, I stayed until the very end and made sure I escorted Jagjit to his door, which is to say I paid for the taxi we were both in and had the driver wait in the road outside his parent’s house until he was safely inside. It was his last night living there, although in truth he had moved out a week ago to move in with Alice and moved back in to his parent’s place two days ago so he wouldn’t see the bride before the wedding. I hadn’t asked but it was probably something Alice had requested.
It was 0043hrs when I wobbled ever so slightly over the threshold and into my house. The two wonderful dogs I live with came to greet me at the door, stretching and yawning themselves. My arrival would have woken them from a deep sleep on the sofa. They were pleased to see me and just as pleased to exit the house via the back door so they could water the garden and bark at imaginary creatures.
I found enough energy to make overnight oats for the morning, fill a glass with water to take to bed and clean the scuzz of the day from my teeth before I flopped weary and happy into bed.
I drifted into a contented sleep, but I wouldn’t have if I had known what was happening at the Dockyard.
Rude Awakening. Thursday, November 24th 0800hrs
I was woken by the muffled sound of my phone ringing. I had forgotten to switch it to silent, but when I saw the time, I ruefully acknowledged that it was time to get up anyway.
I had a faint buzzing at the back of my skull when I sat up, the barest trace of a hangover which might have been far worse had I not stayed off the alcohol until we reached the pub after dinner and then bought myself a bottle of water every third drink. Most of the chaps had taken today off and were at the wedding tomorrow so had attacked the bar with abandon. I would be suffering had I attempted the same.
The phone was inside a sock. How it got there would be one of those mysteries one never solves. The missed call was from Alan Page and I had three missed calls from Joseph plus two text messages.
I called Alan first. ‘Good morning, Alan.’ I said as he answered the phone.
‘Mr. Michaels there has been another development.’
I sat up sharply. ‘Another death?’
‘No. Not that I am aware of. I always get here for about half past seven in the morning. Me and a few of the other boys use the time before we start at nine for a bit of practice. Anyway, we usually see the two Daves and recently we have been making a deliberate habit of meeting up. They are coming off shift as they finish at eight and we are all just arriving.’ I waited patiently for him to arrive at the point. ‘They weren’t here this morning. Neither one of them and I checked the log; they both started their shift last night.’
A sense of dread was settling in my gut. My gut that was still bruised as a reminder of the violence the Ukrainians were willing to perpetrate.
‘Have you tried calling them?’
‘Of course. Neither one is answering their phones. I can’t leave now that I am here, but I was hoping you could go to their houses and check if they are there. Maybe they got fired or something.’
I had Alan give me the phone number and address for Dave McKinnon as I already knew where Dave Saunders lived and told him I would make it my
first task.
Then I called Joseph. While I was in the bar last night, he had been acting the role of Ukrainian cleaner to poke about and see what he could learn from the other cleaners. I wasn’t sure there was anything to learn from them, but he would be able to glean what information they did have far more easily than Big Ben and me.
He didn’t answer his phone though, it went to voicemail instead. Rather than leave a message, I checked the text he sent.
My heart plummeted as I read it.
I think I have found the entrance to the underground. There are stone steps leading down into the dark. I cannot raise you, so I am proceeding. I will send you video footage of what I find.
I clicked on the second text message. Sure enough, it was video footage. The forty-two second clip started playing, displaying the shaky hand-held image one always gets. It was dark, but I could make out what appeared to be a damp and curving wall.
An underground tunnel.
The camera advanced a couple of feet, the picture then showing the view around a corner. A large room came into focus. Soft overhead lights provided illumination, the cables to power them draped loosely across the floor. What I could instantly see was perhaps two dozen people operating machines and boxes upon boxes of branded cigarettes. The quality of the picture was too indistinct to make out the faces of any of the people. It was evidence though.
‘Tell me how you got in.’ I pleaded, my voice a quiet hiss as if any noise I made might be heard by the people in the video.
The clip ended.
Dammit.
I tried calling him again. I had told him not to do anything alone. Still no answer.
Three men missing. The Daves might be at home asleep having finished early or something but it felt like a hopeful stretch. My money was on the Ukrainians having done something with them.
Swearing under my breath, I sent CI Quinn the message containing the video clip and called him. After weeks of trying to get to him through the main switchboard at Maidstone police station or having to go there in person, I now had his mobile number. I got it more than two weeks ago when I was setting up the stag party but hadn’t realised who the Ian in question was.