To Catch A Storm

by Warren Slingsby

  Once dusk fell gently over Sète and he felt a little more comfortable with the lack of light, he checked in. He paid half his attention to the receptionist who only spoke in French and half to what was going on behind him. He needed to ensure he wasn’t spotted by her. If she spotted him, it was all over. Well it was if she recognised him. Would she? Well she did in the lock up after she came around from the Rohypnol and that was with her brain all mushy. She would recognise him if she saw him, but there was no sign of her. She was probably taking a nap after her drive. He was a little jealous, he was absolutely shattered. He was also desperately thirsty.

  Once he was checked in, rather than go and check his room out. He didn’t have a bag with him even. He went to the bar and ordered a large beer and a glass of sparkling water with ice, then skulked over to the corner where he sat with his back to the room and drank deeply. He needed to figure a way to ensure she didn’t leave the hotel without him knowing. The grim reality was dawning on him that he might have to sleep in the car so he could keep an eye on her car all night. The way she was, she was likely to be off at the crack of dawn. He sat and pulled his thoughts together. At least, now they were in France, the stranger who’d gained access to Janet’s house was out of the picture. That whole element was still very troubling. Whoever or whatever he was, he was definitely after Janet or something she had. He’d walked up that street and went straight to her house. He might still be in the house for all Charlie knew. Did he know what she’d stolen? Was he her stalker? A previous boyfriend maybe? He looked a little rough for her.

  And then he heard her voice ordering a drink. He’d know that voice. A soft southern accent. 80% London / 15% Birmingham / 5% Ukrainian. She was at the bar ordering a gin and tonic. ‘Grande s’il vous plait’. Then she was speaking in French asking about... Where there was a good restaurant? He kept facing away from her, picked up the paper from the table and started to read that and then suddenly felt that was too obvious. He placed it at the side of him and took his phone out and started to read his emails. Then he looked at Twitter. Then Facebook. She was talking again in French, so he sneaked a quick look around. She was sat at the bar chattering with the bar man. She sounded to have a good grasp of French. He tried to understand more of the conversation but it just wasn’t going in. After fifteen minutes, she disappeared. He figured she’d gone to eat somewhere.

  He drove his car into the garage and parked with a good view of her Porsche. He parked across and about five spaces further from the exit. She shouldn’t have to walk past his car to get to hers when she came down from the hotel. He sunk down in the driver’s seat and shut his eyes for a second and started to drift off. This was stupid. He could afford to go and have a few hours at least in his room, couldn’t he? If he spent all night sleeping in this car, he’d be crippled. He considered disabling her car, so she couldn’t take off so easily but then he remembered he wasn’t that good with cars and besides he’d need the keys to get into the engine. Even then, he wasn’t really that sure. Spark plugs maybe?

  ELEVEN

  Two hundred and twenty two days after

  He was uncomfortable in the seat and his back was spasming but there was something else. In his dream there was a large, ugly bluebottle buzzing around his head. He swatted at it. But it came back at him, flying straight at his eyes. He pulled his head away from its path and banged his head on the car window. Shocked, he awoke to the sound of the Porsche’s throaty exhaust echoing through the low ceilinged car park as it slowly drove over the lip of the ramp. He just caught sight of the car’s rear right hand indicator flashing and then it was gone. Shit. He’d slept right through. It was ten past seven in the morning and he had to get his shit together. He turned the key. But nothing happened. It didn’t even turn over. He pulled the key out, stuck it back in and turned it again. This time, it turned over but didn’t catch. He turned it back off and then tried again, pushing down the accelerator at the same time. Not fully, he didn’t want to flood the engine. Almost. Once more, he turned off and then on and gave the gas a few small jabs. It caught this time. He was off. Unfortunately, as he reached the top of the ramp, she was gone. No blue Porsche anywhere. She’d gone right. So he hung a right. He saw signs for the A9 and slowed down so he could think. She was either on a road trip or Sète was as far as she was coming. If she was on a road trip, she’d probably continue along the A9, if she was just visiting Sète, then she’d probably go to the beach or something similar and be back later on. If that was the case, he could check back later. If the road trip was the case, he needed to put his foot down and get back onto the A9. That was his instinct. He put his foot down.

  She’d been traveling at roughly 80km/h for most of her journey. He was doing 100km/h. She had about two or three minutes lead on him. If he didn’t get sight of the blue car within say twenty minutes, then he’d either lost her or she was tootling around Sète or at the beach. His calculations worked out perfectly. He had sight of her within ten minutes.

  “This is not good Janet. You’re getting predictable.” he muttered to himself.

  She was taking it slightly steadier today. About 70km/h. The sun was shining. It was thirty degrees and she had the top down and her hair blew about in the breeze. It looked slightly damp. All of a sudden he felt comfortable and relaxed again. The view of the back of her head for some reason really put him at ease. He realised he was too close and dropped back to his safe distance. His thirst had come back and was accompanied by a raging hunger now. ‘Good skills Charlie’ he told himself for allowing himself to once again be in this situation without any provisions. He imagined she probably had a bottle of Fanta Limón and some tasty snacks. Crisps, donuts and sweets. He had nothing. No spare clothing. He was in the same underwear he’d been wearing for a few days now. He had a wad of cash and a car phone charger and that was it.

  Four hours later, he was almost in a trance. His mouth, the driest it had ever been. His stomach grumbled and groaned above the level of the radio. He’d not really been taking much notice what was going on. He couldn’t remember anything to do with driving for at least an hour or more. Keeping his focus on the back of her car, the back of her head was almost too much. They were off the A9 and in city traffic. On a dual carriageway on the coast. There was a loud whining noise from his right hand side. It built and built into a harsh rumble. Then a blast through his open drivers window. Then he realised an airplane was taking off next to him. He was alongside a runway. It brought him out of his trance. He saw a sign for an airport, but he wasn’t really sure what city he was in. It wasn’t Marseille. That was hours back. He followed her a few car lengths back. He couldn’t be too far back as there were lots of traffic lights to get through. The Promenade Des Anglais, Nice - a street sign told him. She got through some lights but the traffic was so busy, she got stopped again less than half a minute along. They followed the promenade from the airport end which was in the west end to the far east end. It was pose-y. Open top Mercs, Ferraris and Bentleys everywhere. People walked toy dogs whilst trying to look as if they were on a catwalk. The promenade petered out at a headland which she followed around to the right and then the left. Ahead of them was the port. Hundreds of boats from small and cute to huge juggernauts. She drove down the side of it very slowly and then veered off up a side street. Eventually, she parked up in one of the few parking spaces and closed the roof. She got out and was off walking with her bag over her shoulder up the tight, shadowy street. Charlie ramped his car up. Stuck his hazard warning lights on and started to follow at a safe distance. She seemed to be looking at her phone for directions. About twenty feet behind her, two men popped out of a side alley and started following her. Their appearance matched the dark thin streets perfectly. Charlie had a bad feeling about this. They were gaining on her but she seemed so engrossed in looking at her phone, she hadn’t noticed them. They were about ten feet behind her now. The right hand man reached behind him and pulled what looked like a sheathed knife from a back pocket.
It suddenly occurred to Charlie he had no weapon. He was as defenceless as she was. She turned a corner to the left and was out of sight. As the men too turned the corner, Charlie sprinted to it so he could keep an eye on them. This road was narrower and darker. The men were closer now, visibly speeding up to catch her. Ahead of them, Janet looked up to her left and climbed a few steps to enter the doors of the Hôtel Le Geneva. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and crossed over the road while continuing to look inconspicuous. The two men continued straight past the hotel.

  “You’re gonna get yourself into a sticky mess if you’re not more careful Janet.” Charlie shook his head at her naivety. “What we doing in Nice you crazy woman?” Charlie asked her as he walked past the hotel’s entrance. She was checking in. He’d come round a little now, but he would have to go and eat really soon. It was early afternoon and was very warm and muggy. She was going to be staying tonight for sure. He knew where she was and where her car was. He ran back to his Fiat and eventually found a parking spot. Then he wandered off and found a little restaurant. Most people were sat outside and he wanted to but he couldn’t chance her walking by. He went inside and asked for a quiet table near the back. He glanced quickly at the menu, ordered a large beer and a jug of water, mussels to start and a pizza. He closed his eyes and put his head back for a second. Relieved. His long journey was over for now. Hopefully, she’d reached her destination. But who knew? Janet was more mysterious with every day. He typed a message to Dan.

  She has driven to Nice in France. I am

  following her. I will msg you as soon as I

  understand what’s going on. Charlie

  Any sine of the money or the bag?

  Not yet.

  He hoped this would be enough to appease him. He really didn’t want to field a call from him right now. Maybe once he’d had a good feed and a full night of sleep, he could handle that. He half expected an immediate text back with more questions, but nothing came.

  Several hours later, wearing a new rucksack full of drinks and snacks, toiletries, fresh new socks and boxers and five new t-shirts in assorted shades of blue and grey, Charlie checked himself into a nearby hotel. It was basic in comparison to the Hôtel Le Geneva, but considering he didn’t even make it to the room of the last hotel, it wasn’t worth spending too much. He fell forward dramatically onto his bed and shut his eyes. His head hadn’t quite reached the pillow but he couldn’t be bothered to adjust himself. He dragged his phone from his pocket and checked on the time. It was now 7pm. He set his timer to give him eight hours, then rethought and made it ten. That would have him up at 5am. Surely she couldn’t be up and off before that time.

  He recalled Janet driving earlier in the day. Her damp hair drying out as the wind worked through it. She was so intriguing. In his mind, she had taken on the air of a secret agent. On a mission to who knows where and to do who knew what? He had no clue, but maybe that was the point of her as a secret agent.

  He had let Carl know where she was but he regretted it. He wished he didn’t have Carl to report to. If he had been smart, he could have taken the same tack as Kyle and Jim and said he wanted nothing more to do with them. Then he could have tracked her down on his own.

  He wished he was with Janet on her mission. Unfortunately due to the incident with the Rohypnol, that would not be happening anytime soon. Scrap that. Any time ever. He shut his eyes tight and drifted off.

  TWELVE

  Two hundred and twenty three days after

  When Charlie’s phone timer went off; even though tired still, he felt oddly thankful for the ten full and undisturbed hours of rest he’d managed. He showered and freshened up in the bathroom. Once dressed, he sat momentarily in the chair in the corner of the room and tucked into a pain au chocolat and gulped at a bottle of orange juice. Unaware he was staring into space, wondering what on earth today would hold. He really hoped that she was not going to drive further. It was fine for her in her open top Porsche. He was in a small and basic Fiat which was not at all comfortable. He packed up the backpack and set off. He wasn’t really sure where he was going. But he’d walk past her hotel and then her car to start with.

  As he left the hotel, the sky’s street lit ambience was succumbing to the sun as it chased down the horizon. Orange was becoming blue. He loved this time of day. Few people were about and you could feel like you owned the day. Wandering down towards where she’d left her car. He was on the opposite side of the road. It was still there. Good. Check. He continued toward the Hôtel Le Geneva. The hotel was in darkness. Even the entrance was very dim. He walked past. There was a single lamp lit on the reception counter. No one around.

  He went and found coffee to take out. Of course, it was tiny, but being French coffee, packed the strength of two large coffees. Now he was going to have to wait around for her to see what the hell she would get up to today. This was like babysitting a wayward puppy. You just had no idea what the hell it was going to get up to next. He found a small alley that led up to some steps across and slightly up from the hotel. He could see the hotel. He was within earshot of her car and within easy reach of his car should he need it. He thought he might be in for a long wait.

  Hang on though, here she was. Charlie moved slightly to the side so the wall of the alley hid him from her view. She stood on the top step in front of the hotel doors and looked around. As if she was taking the city in. She tilted her head back taking in a deep breath and filling her lungs. Then she was off. Down the street away from the car. He let her get away a little. He needed to be extremely cautious as there was no one else on the streets. He’d stick out like a sore thumb if she was to see him. She was taking it pretty easy so it was fine. She made her way to the port and went right down to the dockside as if she were about to board a yacht. To the right were smaller boats and to the left were bigger ones. In fact, some extremely large ones. She walked along at a snail’s pace. Admiring the boats?

  The boats got bigger toward the end of this row. Huge. The very last one was shockingly huge. Billionaire huge. She stopped here momentarily. Like she was mentally noting something down about the boat. Then she was off again. Looking at the yacht, there was someone on deck. He looked to be sweeping or mopping it down. She moved away from the water’s edge now and walked towards a row of cafes. She took up a seat outside. The waiter brought her coffee and a croissant. Her eyes remained steadfastly fixed to the large yacht that she had examined.

  “What’s with the yacht Janet?”

  She stuck it out at the cafe for the rest of the morning. Taking notes and doing something on her phone. Maybe texting or browsing the internet. Charlie did the same and kept his eye on her. Relaxing in a cafe, sipping coffee after coffee, watching Janet was not a bad morning. Even though he wasn’t really sure why he was in Nice. At just after midday, a man came and sat at a table at the cafe next to the one Janet was at. It only took a second to click. It was the stranger from Barcelona who had broken into her house. Now he was sat not five meters from her. Looking over her shoulder at what she was doing on her phone.

  . . .

  As much as she’d been thinking long and hard during her drive from Barcelona to Nice, she didn’t really have a plan of action as such. Was this just indicative of how little she had going on in her life that she could drive from Barcelona to Nice without any clear plan of action? It probably was, but was that a bad thing? Many would see that as a good state of affairs. She now thought maybe she would see the lay of the land with the Still Waters. See if she could see how secure the boat was. Nice was more cosmopolitan than Barcelona. It would be no hardship to spend a little time here. Plus obviously, there was nothing to get back to Barcelona for. No job awaiting her.

  So far, she’d seen one young man who was not Nicolay Zhestakova on the deck of the Still Waters. A good looking young man who had been sweeping or mopping the decks down, wiping surfaces and tidying things away. First thing this morning, the port had been like a ghost town. Now at almost lunchtime, t
he port was thronging. The roads around the port were busy, the main car park which was in front of her, constantly had a queue of cars waiting to get in and out. She decided she’d watched for long enough for now, she paid up and went for a walk. She’d been studying the layout of Nice on her phone and she seemed to be not far from the old town part of Nice where there were lots of shops and restaurants packed into narrow little alleys. She decided to head over there. En route, she stopped in at the hotel and changed into cut-off denim shorts and a light shirt. She might spend a little time on the beach later. Walking around the road that led to the Promenade des Anglais gave a view along the beach front that spread out in front of Nice and went all the way to the airport. She could understand why this was called the Cote d’Azur. The sea was the most vivid blue she remembered ever seeing. It almost made the heart skip a beat.

  At the Flower Market, she grabbed a snack and then headed back to the beach. She took a bed for the afternoon and sunned herself whilst she continued to think about her next steps. It felt good to be somewhere new. A little like a holiday. Even though she hadn’t been working recently. Being in Barcelona wasn’t like a holiday. It was now where she lived, where she studied, where she spent. But this had the feeling of a holiday. She decided her next step was she’d go back to the port tonight and watch the yacht once again. Hopefully she could see Zhestakova even. It did seem like it would be quite easy to board the yacht if she really wanted to. There was a gangplank there this morning. If the opportunity arose, would she dare? Well if she wanted excitement. That would be exciting.

  At nine o’clock that evening, she was back at the cafe. The evening was warm, the sky a hazy, orangey pink. Once again, she was sipping a large G&T. She hadn’t ordered a large, that was just how it came seemingly all along the south coast of Spain and France. The young man was on deck on the Still Waters once again, but this time he was with two men similar in age to himself. They were drinking. And playing loud music. Although there was music coming from all directions. Bars, topless cars, youths played music from their phones as they walked by and then the yachts competed with it all. She guessed they had the better sound systems. You wouldn’t spend that amount on a boat and expect it to come with a shitty sound system.