by Charlie Wade
Sat on his barstool, both groups either side of him, he smiled politely at the woman. A curt smile back. Functional but no other message. That was her intention and she succeeded.
Turning to the blokes, they were trying hard to sink their bottles in one. As Jim had noticed the past few weeks, bottles made for seriously slow drinking. Not like a pint where you could just tip it down, bottles had to be sunk between gulps and breaths. He nodded at the nearest bloke and got a nod back. Again, nothing more. None of these were up for friend making or opening themselves to being ripped off. Just a quiet drink, that’s all they wanted.
Jim sighed and looked at his phone. He wondered whether he should ring James or Dave from yesterday. No, that stank of overkeeness. They had to come to him. He’d laid down the bait, but were the rats biting?
The bar soon filled. Monday seemed to have that effect in the city. Most were bored of it after four hours. After a couple of false starts with single drinkers, Jim moved onto bottles of lager offering the bloke on the seat next to him one.
“Cheers, mate,” he said, taking a sip.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” said Jim. “You could spend all weekend on the sauce, but after three hours at work on a Monday it feels like you’ve been sober a month.”
He smiled and nodded. “Charles, Charles Harker.” He stuck out a hand. Jim shook it not failing to notice the little finger twiddle Charles did. He’d no idea if it was masonic, but it seemed in the right area.
“Jim, Jim Trott,” he replied. It was Charlotte’s idea to use a false surname. She’d got the name Trott from a comedy series, but couldn’t remember which one.
“What you in, Jim?”
“The shit mainly.” He laughed and shook his head. “Brokerage. Small firm, we don’t launch rockets or anything.”
Charles nodded. “I’m over the road.” He pointed in the direction of the huge bank dominating the skyline. “Wish I was in a small company sometimes. You’re not even a number in a big place like that. No chance of ever meeting the boss or impressing anyone.”
Jim nodded. “It can have its advantages. There’s no chance of getting on the wrong side of the boss if you never see him.”
“Tough morning, eh?” He finished his drink and nodded at the barman for two more.
“You don’t want to hear my problems,” said Jim.
“Go on, problem shared and that.”
Jim sighed. “Well, bit of a misunderstanding with his daughter. Long story, short version is, next round of redundancies, I’m top of the list.”
“Business and pleasure. Don’t mix, do they?”
Jim wondered if this Charles was only going to speak in clichés. “Yeah, learnt the hard way. Just need to ...” He paused then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Go on, what?”
“Not much really. Just got to try and make myself indispensable in a week. I’ve got a plan, but it’s not very good.”
Charles checked his watch. “Love to hear it, old chap, but was only supposed to be nipping out for a sandwich.” He pulled a card from his pocket and shoved it in Jim’s hand. “Give us a call after work, about sixish. Go for a proper drink if you like.”
Jim nodded. “Okay. I’ll give you a bell. Enjoy your afternoon.”
Charles shook his head and smiled as he left. Jim folded the card into his pocket. Maybe this week wouldn’t be wasted after all.
A different bar then lunchtime was over. The clientele had been quiet and not interested in his attempts to make friends. Jim thought through the plan for Charles and this evening. He’d claim to be a good friend of Charlotte and would put through similar trades in the hope of keeping his job. Hopefully, pound signs would flash in the bloke’s eyes and he’d want in too.
Buying a coffee, he walked to the river and looked across. The time just after two. He had an hour before meeting Charlotte. He knew that hour would drag in the now nearly deserted streets. He sighed, thinking back to this time last week. What was he doing then? Selling Raif’s stuff to Terence or maybe hitting the pawn shop with the raver’s electrical goods.
He thought back to Raif. The bloke had paid enough, but was there some other way Jim could rifle a bit more from him? No, he doubted he could. He’d be on the lookout in his newly acquired wardrobe for thieving scallys. Yesterday had been a close call, but would he really have recognised him? Jim thought not.
The girls on the other hand. He regretted that. They hadn’t deserved half of what he did. Possibly the only friendly people he’d met in London and he did that to them. Charlotte hadn’t been too impressed when he told her about that blag. It takes a certain type of low life to rob someone’s house, she’d said. His argument about his life depending on it seemed to sway her a bit, but no, it wasn’t his finest hour.
His phone buzzed. He knew who it was.
Finished early. Where are you? x
By the river drinking coffee. Where do you want to meet?
The coffee was still nuclear hot but he forced another mouthful. Scalding hot on a warm day. He knew he’d be sweating within minutes, but still tried to force another mouthful down. He wondered why he’d bought coffee instead of tea. He’d always been a tea man, but Charlotte had got him into drinking it. He found the caffeine boost intense, a real perk-up.
I’ll be in the wine bar opposite the bank x, her message read.
Binning the rest of his drink, he walked the few hundred yards to the wine bar. He didn’t know why he felt nervous. Maybe it was her first message, “can we meet”. Maybe he was reading too much into that. Shrugging, he went into the bar.
Looking round, he saw her. Sat in a booth, her floppy bit of hair was flopped down. Her face looked fresh yet flustered. Busy, yet sort of approachable.
“Hi.” She smiled as he sat down.
“You okay for a drink?” He pointed to her glass. She nodded and took a sip of the lime with ice and something else, possibly vodka.
“You not thirsty?”
He shook his head. “Been drinking all lunchtime. Don’t want to get sloshed.” He looked again at her eyes. More with it than this morning. It seemed half the world’s weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The smile was back too. It reminded him of the art gallery.
She nodded downwards at the next seat. A black briefcase, not her usual brown leather bag. He looked at her then shrugged his shoulders.
She mouthed some words which to Jim looked like “Someone’s made a dash.” He shook his head. Leaning nearer, she said, “Cash. Can you take it back to the flat? I don’t want to carry it around.”
He looked back at the briefcase and felt his eyes nearly popping out. “How much?”
“Ten big ones.” Her voice still a whisper but it seemed too loud for his ears.
“You leave it with me.” He winked which made her smile grow.
“Some’s arrived in the bank too. Kind of feels like it’s coming together.”
Jim nodded. It explained her enthusiasm. He couldn’t help but smile himself. She trusted him with ten grand in cash. That was more than a good sign. He had wondered whether to expect the worst of this meeting, but once again she’d proved more than an angel.
“I’ll get a taxi, I think,” he said. “Don’t want to mess about with tubes.”
She nodded, though her face said it was more obvious than a good idea.
“You got many more meetings?”
“Few more. After work, I’m going to dinner. That’s a big one. Just shy of fifty. Don’t know if he’ll pull out or not; always been a maybe that one. The other one’s in about an hour. Meeting for a coffee just round the corner. He’s a bit creepy though.”
Jim nodded and hoped he didn’t look angry. He supposed he was jealous. He knew from the start a certain amount of flirting would go on. It had to, the scam demanded it. But where was the line drawn?
He took a deep breath. “I take it there are no women on your books?”
“No. Men are the greedy ones. Any woman with half a brain wou
ld see right through this.”
He nodded. She had something there. Women just weren’t stupid enough to be conned this way. There’d be one or two ruthless and greedy enough to chance it, but finding them would be so much harder than men.
His smile returned as he sat there, one eye on the case, the other on her.
“Finally feels like this is actually going somewhere.” She sipped her drink again.
He wondered if she’d had too many today. She certainly looked a bit giddy. Maybe it was life giving her that high. He realised life was the wrong word. Money, or the knowledge that money would buy a better life, that was the reason.
He looked up at the ceiling then back at her. “Maybe I will have that drink.”
They toasted success before he drained half the large malt whisky. As the fire burned in his throat, he reckoned he should have eaten earlier. Running on nothing but beer and toast for breakfast was asking for trouble. Charlotte’s phone had buzzed and, as she looked at the message, Jim picked up the wine bar menu.
“I wouldn’t eat here,” she said, without looking up. “Over-priced crap.”
He nodded. “That’s London all over, isn’t it?”
She smiled. “He’s ready. I ought to get going.” Flicking her lump of hair back, she made for the toilets.
Jim stared at the case. A week ago he would have run. Hell, yesterday he may have ran. Something was stopping his deep urges from their normal path. That something told him there was more where it came from. It was also telling him something else. She was worth more, way more than a briefcase full of twenties. Anyway, why would he run? She was giving the bloody thing to him.
Returned and looking heavily made-up, she stopped at the table and picked up her own bag. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.” He stood and kissed her. Just briefly, he caught her eyes and smiled.
“See you.”
He decided to make the whisky last ten minutes before leaving himself. The road at the top of the pedestrianised area was busy. He’d grab a cab there. He didn’t really know why he was waiting. It just seemed the sort of thing you did with a briefcase full of cash.
Holding the case tight, he finished his drink.
Ten minutes became five as time seemed to drag. The whisky gone and his head lighter, he left the bar. There was no point hanging around. No one would be watching or waiting. Every other person had a briefcase. It wasn’t unusual.
Outside the sun beat down on the streets. Walking at a fair pace, he turned the corner and headed for the bus stop and cab ranks. It’d just be his luck he wouldn’t find a cab. The one day he needed one there would be none around.
Someone brushed past as they tried to overtake him. He turned to look but knew straight away something was wrong. He seemed to be falling, heading face first towards the floor. His arm was being pulled too. More behind his back than away from himself. The briefcase. That was in that arm. He tried to force the arm back. His other one was out ready to break the fall but the other was still twisting away.
His arm crashed into the pavement breaking most of the fall, but his cheek also crunched into the ground. It didn’t hurt, he thought it should, but it didn’t. His other arm was still twisting. That hurt more than both his other arm and his face. He let go his grip on the briefcase. He had to, his arm would break otherwise.
It was then he saw him. Young lad, hoody covering most of his face. Baggy jeans riding halfway down his arse and trainers without laces. He didn’t see his face. He just saw him run, Charlotte’s briefcase in his hand.
“No.”
He tried to stand but his arm hurt. Real serious fucking pain. Throbbing, shaking, the pain seemed to hit his head at once. His eyes seemed to be closing too. He wanted them to stay open. He had to get up and run after that little shit, but his body wasn’t having it. As he lay down, resting his head on his good arm, he saw other people, frozen to the spot, staring. A few of them had phones out, a few just carried on walking, but none of them went after the briefcase. Not one.
Chapter 34
At first he wondered what the fuck was going on. A policeman kneeling down looking at him. He was lying on the floor.
“Can you hear me? Don’t move, the paramedics will be here soon.”
He nodded.
“Don’t move your neck or back, you might have an injury.”
He nodded again. His arm ached. Felt like it was in two pieces. Pain shot through his shoulder every second or two.
“The case,” he said.
“Try not to speak or move.”
Jim blinked then looked again at the policeman. Badge numbers on his lapel. Earpiece in his left ear. Shirtsleeves on a summer’s day but his belt still had all of its Spiderman-style implements of incarceration.
“The case.”
“It’s okay, we’re looking for it. Try not to speak until the paramedics get here.”
He looked round. A crowd of onlookers, one of them phone out, maybe filming the scene for posterity. A few others looked concerned, but glad it had happened to him and not themselves.
“Try not to move your head.”
“I’m fine. Just my arm.”
He moved it. Jabs of pain raced to his brain. It didn’t look broken. Just battered, maybe twisted or whatever, or popped from its socket.
“What’s your name?” the policeman asked. “I couldn’t find a wallet or ID.”
He sat up instantly. The copper had been through his pockets. How long had he been out. He thought back. Was there anything incriminating there? No, just phone, key to Charlotte’s flat and a hundred quid or so.
“Don’t sit up. Your neck, you might ...” The policeman gave up and looked into his eyes. “I’m sure I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?”
Jim saw the look in the copper’s eye. Recognised it from his past. There was only one way he could recognise him. Wanted posters circulated round a nick.
“Raif Mortimer,” he said, instantly regretting it. In a split second it had seemed a good idea. It was anything but. If the copper searched he’d see the outstanding crimes.
“Name rings a bell, too.”
Jim looked round. The onlookers had parted to let a green-suited female paramedic through.
“Have we got a name?” she asked the policeman.
“Raif, Raif Mortimer,” he replied. His face had changed again. His mind lost going through some internal database trying to get a match.
“Any pain in your back or legs?”
“No.” Jim shook his head causing his shoulder to move again. Shit, it hurt. “Just the arm.”
She squatted down and looked at his arm. He turned his head; it didn’t look right. Not in its socket. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I’ll check on the ambulance,” she said.
Jim opened his eyes. He thought she’d come in an ambulance, but when he saw the motorbike parked he realised she was some speedy paramedic thing. Rapid response he thought they called them.
The policeman, now stood up, seemed to be on his radio. Jim caught the odd word, heard the name Raif Mortimer said a few times.
“I’ve got to go,” said Jim. He tried to stand but the paramedic held him down. She seemed strong for her size, not that it took much to keep him down. The pain from his arm was restraint enough.
The policeman moved forward again, his arms out. “Where are you going? Stay still. You can’t go anywhere with your arm like that.”
“I’ve got to go. My arm’s fine.” He winced while saying it. It so obviously wasn’t fine. He wanted nothing more than to go to hospital. But, what about the briefcase. Shit, he’d lost all the money. He’d lost Charlotte’s money.
“Can you send a picture through,” he heard the policeman say. That settled it. He’d been rumbled. Any minute now his good arm would be cuffed and he was going back down. Taking a deep breath, he tried to stand. He could probably outrun the copper. He had to, his free life depended on it.
He made it halfway up. Th
e policeman had his big hands around his good shoulder. “Sit down.” It wasn’t a question.
Jim struggled again, but the copper’s hand was too big and powerful. A few people in the crowd were talking to each other, nodding accusingly. The policeman now had his other hand around the scruff of Jim’s shirt. He wondered if he’d get another chance to escape. He had to at least try.
“When the ambulance arrives we’ll give you something for the pain.” She looked at the policeman after saying it. He recognised a knowing look when he saw one, but didn’t know what that one meant.
“It’s okay,” the policeman said. “They’ll be here soon.”
Jim knew he wasn’t imagining the copper’s hand grip his collar tighter. He knew all about having his collar felt, and knew just where this was going.
The ambulance arrived with two young, but male paramedics. They diagnosed a possible elbow sprain and gave him gas and air. Apparently his shoulder was fine, just bruised. As Jim sucked greedily on the tube, he thought the mixture of alcohol and gas wasn’t going to help any potential getaway. The first paramedic had now sped off seemingly after not doing anything. He wondered if it was just some scam to get callout times down or something. The whole world seemed obsessed with figures and targets.
When the policeman’s Blackberry beeped, Jim had thought little of it. Now, after he’d opened the email, Jim wondered if he’d missed his chance. Pulling cuffs from his Spiderman belt he stared at Jim.
“Well then, Jim.” He snapped the cuffs over his good wrist. “Who’s been a busy boy then?”
He tried to stand but his legs weren’t moving. Just one thought in his head: this was it. The end. The end of what, Charlotte or freedom? He tried to stand again, but his legs had turned to jelly in some gas and alcohol reaction.
As the policeman snapped the other end of the cuffs to his own hand, Jim knew it was over. In some ridiculously stupid way, he felt relieved. He supposed it was relief at not having to run or hide. But he’d been enjoying being on the run. The hiding at Charlotte’s gaff hadn’t been too bad either.