By the end of the week word had gotten round what a great place the pub had become and it became busier and busier. Surge found himself spending half the evening behind the bar helping Gary serve drinks, something he hated as he struggled with the small talk expected of him from the customers. Gary, now having to work for a living, did not stop moaning. Friday, Saturday and Sunday became manic with the trade only dropping off during the week. Surge’s hobby now became a full time job.
Three weeks after the opening, early one evening before it became busy, Surge was in his alcove studying the books, amazed that the pub was now starting to become successful, when he looked up and saw a young lad standing there. He guessed he was in his late teens or maybe twenty years old. He was slim, five foot, ten inches tall with wavy hair and glasses. He reminded Surge of a young Buddy Holly. He said his name was Steve and asked Surge for a few minutes of his time. Surge motioned for him to sit.
“I would like to offer you a business proposition,” began Steve.
“I have a business,” Surge replied, “Why would I want another?”
“I can make your pub really successful and fill it with paying customers every night of the week,” continued Steve.
“No thanks,” said Surge. “We are busy enough.”
Steve was taken aback. This was not how this was supposed to go. He had rehearsed this with his friend Jonny and at this stage the landlord was supposed to be gagging to know more.
Surge felt a bit sorry for the boy who had obviously run out of patter. “Okay,” he said, “What’s the deal?”
“I have a degree in hotel and restaurant management and am looking to set up my own business. I have a flare for cooking and I know I could give customers really great food at a good price and make a tidy profit.”
He handed Surge a couple of menus. To his credit Surge thought they looked professional. The food was traditional but had a healthy side which Steve went onto explain was what so many people were looking for, a decent meal with lots of flavour but not too many calories, so many people were now on diets it was difficult to eat out, so healthy full flavoured food was going to be the new thing.
“So you want a job?” said Surge.
“No,” said Steve. “What I want is a partnership, a business within a business. I set up a restaurant with you as my partner and use your kitchen and premises and we split the profits 50/50.”
“Why don’t I just hire a chef and keep all the profits?”
“Well, how much do you know about the restaurant business?”
“Nothing,” said Surge and gave one of his rare smiles. He felt he was warming to the boy. “Come and look at the main kitchen.”
They walked behind the bar to a large, spotlessly clean room which housed a white porcelain industrialized sink for washing glasses underneath a big window with views of the car park and that was it.
“Where is your cooker, fridge and work surfaces?” exclaimed Steve.
“All gone,” said Surge.
“Oh,” said Steve “That kind of scuppers the plan.”
“What have you got?” said Surge.
“Well, some knives and an apron.”
“What about finance? Surely you have some money to set up your kitchen. How about crockery, cutlery, pots and pans?”
“Ah well, yeah. You see I thought that you would like the plan so much you might want to advance me some money on account I had the ideas and we were partners.”
Surge stood looking at this earnest, young man just starting out in life, sharing his dream, somehow it touched him. “What is happening to me?” he thought. All his life he had been a loner, a man who walked his own path. Was it Pru? Did she open his heart and let these emotions surface? He was changing and it worried him.
Finally making a decision, Surge took Steve back to the alcove and got a piece of A4 paper and a pen and said “Write down what you need and I will go and buy it.”
Steve’s face lit up and his smile filled the room. “We have deal?”
“We have a deal,” said Surge. “I will get my solicitor to draw up some papers. I just hope you can cook!” Steve smiled and shook Surge’s hand.
They spent the next couple of hours going over details as the pub filled up and Gary continually interrupted moaning about his workload.
As Steve got up to leave, Surge asked him when he got his degree.
Steve smiled, “Yesterday. Me and my mum and dad picked it up from Brighton Uni.” With that he waved and left the pub.
It took two weeks to get the kitchen ‘right’ and they had a couple of lunchtime trial runs to ensure everything worked. Steve was an excellent cook and manager, both disciplined in his planning and execution. He got on with Surge like a house on fire.
Steve’s friend Jonny, an I.T. geek, had put together a website and the grand opening evening was planned. The place was packed. Jonny acted as waiter and Surge moved between the bar and working as Steve’s assistant, doing whatever was necessary, pouring pints, peeling potatoes and vegetables, washing up and even cooking. They ran out of food way before they did customers.
At 11.00 pm they closed up and started to clean the pub, all of them very tired. Steve was overjoyed and Surge realized he had never been happier. He had spent a lifetime in high adventure breaking men on missions throughout the globe but this was the most satisfying thing he had ever done.
. . . . . .
Surge’s mind came back to today. He changed into his running gear. It was still dark and the air was cold and crisp. He made sure his running shoes were tied and went through his warm up routine including yoga stretching, touching his nose to his knees while keeping his legs straight. For such a large, older man it looked strange that he could be so flexible. He then set off through the town in an easy stride, the sun was just coming up and a red glow covered the roof tops. The air was clean and there was a definite taste of spring.
He ran past the old dilapidated Citroen garage and up through the High Street, passing the new ugly block of flats where the three scumbag drug dealers were living. Music was blaring out from the flat disturbing the surroundings. Surge thought it must be hell for the other tenants and he wondered if he should get involved but for the first time in his life he decided he did not want the trouble. Life was good and the last thing he needed was to get involved in any aggravation. He’d let the police sort it out. From the top of the hill he could see the beautiful South Downs and he ran on into the country.
Chapter 7
The Adversary
John Sea was in a meeting at his golf club which was his main base of operations. The room with the huge glass divider was closed and no diners were allowed in to the main lunchtime area. A slim, good looking man in his late forties, he wore his usual attire of brown patent leather loafers with tassels, cream trousers, a cream Pringle jumper and a beige polo shirt blending in perfectly with the golfers that belonged to his club. Outwardly always pleasant there was something about the eyes that showed his toughness. In front of him was Keith Poole, a powerful hugely muscled man in his mid-thirties. Keith had done it all, ex-military, ex-bouncer, ex-security, in fact anything violent. He stood six foot, seven inches tall and weighed in at over 300lbs, all of it muscle. He was a keep fit fanatic, training for hours day after day and was now John Sea’s enforcer, the man that John sent out to get all those nasty little problems sorted, from talking to a club owner that was not paying enough to teaching a gang leader who was boss. Keith was the man and he loved the job.
They had just started to go through the list of issues that John wanted Keith to fix when unusually John Sea’s phone rang. It was his private phone and only a very few select people knew the number. John looked at the screen and it said ‘unknown’ but he decided to answer.
“Hello,” said a cultured voice and John instantly recognized it as his old boss, Sir Thomas Robertson, C.
“How did you get this number?” asked John.
There was a sound of exasperation and finally Sir Thomas
said, “Don’t be thick John. How do you think? I have been keeping my eye on you for some time.”
John Sea had been born in Manchester where his father had been a successful villain. He had put John through the best of schools, educating him to take over the business when he got older but it had not worked out. A rival gang had killed his father and taken on the bulk of the business. John had barely escaped with his life.
Due to this background, the special skills he had grown up with and a completely amoral approach to the world, he had been recognized by MI6 at university and recruited. He had risen quickly through the ranks and fifteen years ago had headed up the department running all sorts of black ops. Unfortunately he had been caught with his hand in the till and kicked out.
The fact was John had planned it that way. He had obtained what he wanted and now needed to leave quickly preferably with MI6 washing their hands of him. Months earlier he had managed to infiltrate the The Firm at the ground level and got all the information he needed on the crooked side of Manchester, which gang operated where, who ran extortion, pimping, illegal gambling, the works. Once he was kicked out of MI6 he meticulously put his plan into operation and with a small team devastated the gangs in Manchester setting himself up as the new boss.
Always careful, once he got established he bought a level of understanding with the local law enforcement and often did dirty jobs for The Firm and occasionally MI5 and MI6. This had led to a nice status quo existing, a millionaires lifestyle and a certain level of freedom.
To get a call now from C was very disconcerting.
“I would like to meet with you,” said C.
“Actually I am very busy at the moment,” said John Sea.
“No. You don’t understand,” said C. “This is not a request.”
“Look,” replied John Sea. “I don’t know what you want and I don’t really care but whatever it is I am busy. Now I am happy to scratch your back every now and again but there are limits.”
“Right,” shouted C. “You listen to me you little fuck. I can have every one of your dirty sordid operations stopped. Every little gang, or hooker or pimp, broken. I can have your trousers dropped and your arse fucked over Hammersmith Bridge if I feel like it! Do you get my message?”
John Sea’s voice dropped. “What do you want?”
“Well,” said C in a more reasonable tone. “That’s better. I was going to take a ride up to you but now feel you can come to me. On the Thames on the Embankment in London near Big Ben is a boat called the Tattershall Castle which is a pub. I will meet you there in four hours from now. We can have a walk and a chat. Since we are three hundred miles apart I suggest you get a move on.” With that, the phone clicked off.
John dropped the phone. “Bring round the Bentley. We are going to London.”
Chapter 8
The Boy
Jonathan had come home from university for the summer. A tall, good looking boy dressed in jeans and an AC/DC T-shirt. The only thing out of place was a red scar on his cheek where a few months ago a bullet from his father’s gun had creased it on its way to killing a bad guy.
He walked into the 1930’s detached house in the heart of London’s suburbia and embraced his dad. Collins watched his son bring in his bags and made two cups of tea which they drank in the kitchen.
To Jonathan the house seemed sad without his mum and his dad appeared a little older and more distant. They talked about university for a while then Collins asked Jonathan what his plans were.
“Well, I want to earn a little money and have a quiet summer before going back for my final year. Can I still work at the shop?”
“Sure. But I have taken on a manager who is doing a great job and you would need to work for her. Is that okay?”
“No problem,” said Jonathan, happy to just be in the old place.
The next morning Collins drove Jonathan to the shop and introduced him to Olivia. “This is my son. He will be working for you a couple of days a week. He was bought up here so you to should get along great.” He smiled at both of them and left them to it.
Jonathan looked at the young girl sitting behind the till where his mother had sat for so many years. It was a strange feeling to see her there. To her left was a little boy playing at the bottom of the stairs just in front of the safety gate.
“This is little Ben,” she said. “And Baby Tom is upstairs in the cot asleep.”
Jonathan smiled at Ben who ignored him, as toddlers do, and continued to play with his Lego.
Jonathan turned back to Olivia. In her way he could see she was pretty, not beautiful but nice looking. Slim with long hair pushed back into a pony tail he gave her one of his best winning smiles. It irritated the life out of her. She stared right through him. All she saw was a good looking, privileged college boy who had been spoon fed all his life and who thought the world was his oyster. She decided that she hated him on sight.
At that moment the bread van pulled up outside and the driver came in for instructions. Jonathan reached for his delivery sheet and pulled a pen from his pocket.
“What are you doing?” hissed Olivia.
“Signing for the bread,” Jonathan replied.
“Well, you don’t sign for anything here. Right?” said Olivia. “I am the manager, not you and it is my responsibility to account for everything that comes in or goes out of this shop!”
“Okay, okay,” said Jonathan and handed her the slip of paper. “What do you want me to do?”
“First, find a broom and sweep the shop. Then get a bin bag and pick up all the rubbish blowing around the front of the shop. Then get a bucket and a shammy leather and wash the windows. After that you can report back to me. Is that okay with you, college boy?”
Jonathan stood for a second as his temper flared. “This is what she wants,” he thought to himself. “A big row, then she can complain to dad and I am out of her hair.” So instead he smiled. “So what,” he thought to himself. “This is only pin money. If she wants her empire let her have it.”
Then much to her chagrin he turned, picked up the broom and quietly began to sweep up.
At 10.00 am Jonathan asked Eli if he wanted a cup of tea and started up the stairs. Olivia flew off her stall. “Where do you think you are going?” she shouted.
“Up to make some tea,” said Jonathan. “Do you want some?”
“Look,” she said slowly. “Upstairs is my home. It is where my private and personal stuff is. The only people who go up there are those I say can go up there and you can’t! So get on with your jobs and when I think you can have a break, Eli will make the tea. Do you understand?”
Jonathan thought she was now going too far and was being bloody ridiculous. He vowed to talk to his dad. This was his shop. She was just the bloody manager.
Later that night, when he told his dad all about it, he was surprisingly uninterested.
“Look son. She is doing a great job. You are just back for the summer. You don’t even have to work there. I will give you the same money and you can stay at home. What do you say?”
“That’s not necessary. No worries Dad. I will find a way to get on with her.”
So over the next few days Jonathan kept his mouth shut at the shop and Olivia bossed him around far more than she did Eli and far more than she needed to. Eventually the game got stale as Jonathan put up with whatever she asked him to do and the shop started to function properly, each person knowing their specific job and whilst there was always an atmosphere, it all settled down.
Little Tom slept in the mornings and Olivia nursed him in the afternoon and at breaks. Little Ben had the run of the shop and spent a lot of time with Jonathan. Children seem to instinctively know who has a gentle soul and soon they were good friends. At 3.00 pm on the days he worked, Jonathan would tell Ben a short story and Olivia would take him upstairs for a nap.
Jonathan also got on great with Eli who he had known all his life and they happily chatted away as they worked. Only Jonathan and Olivia did not
talk. The animosity appeared mutual and neither made any effort to break the tension.
The little shop was in the middle of a rough housing estate and all sorts came in. Olivia had grown up there and knew the more difficult customers and handled the rowdier ones. She was one of them and was not messed around. Occasionally boys would come in and try to chat her up but she gave them short shrift.
On around the third week of Jonathan joining, he was stacking shelves and as usual Little Ben was helping, or hindering depending how you looked at it, when in came a couple of tough looking teenagers with a dog, half bulldog, half bull mastiff, a powerful and mean looking thing with an old piece of string wrapped around its neck as a lead which the smaller of the two teenagers kept tugging.
Olivia knew them both and they chatted easily. Little Ben wandered away from Jonathan and went to see the dog who reacted nastily snapping and biting. Little Ben, shocked, stood still and started to cry. The noise infuriated the dog who lunged and the lead broke. The dog pounced towards Little Ben but not before Jonathan had dived full length smashing the dog in the side and knocking him down. The dog went crazy biting Jonathan in a frenzy as they rolled round the floor, knocking tins and boxes from the bottom shelves. Blood was pouring from Jonathan’s arm and chest. Olivia grabbed a heavy cast iron pot from the display, rushed over and with all her might slammed it down on the dog’s head who keeled over stunned. She put her fingers in the dog’s mouth and prized his jaw open which was clamped on Jonathan’s arm. She then dragged the dog to the door, opened it and kicked it onto the pavement. She picked up the pot again and advanced on the two teenagers, “Fuck off. And don’t ever come here again.”
To Kill a Grey Man Page 4