Insecure
Page 8
‘That’s a splendid idea! I always think the best way to get to know someone is to get them pissed, what about you?’ I said.
She looked at me askance, in a ‘you mischievous so and so’ kind of way. I liked this girl. Steve was onto a winner here. ‘Excellent, you two have a head start on me though.’
‘Easily solved,’ the waiter returned with the wine list. The prices were pretty painful, but my recklessness of late made me not really give a toss. I pointed out a couple of decent whites and said: ‘We’ll start with the good stuff and once our palettes get dimmed a bit we’ll hit the cooking wine.’ Emma giggled and Steve smiled, relaxing at last.
‘You work in advertising?’
‘Yeah.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘What can I say? I advertise nappies and miracle grow. That’s my cross…’
‘…and you want to do something else?’ she asked
‘Yeah, maybe.’ She frowned, I wasn’t making a lot of sense.
‘But this thing with your brother, that sounds like it could be really exciting,’ Steve smirked and yelped out a Beavis laugh. ‘What? Steve, are you really drunk?’
I kicked Steve under the table and gave him a look.
‘Wait a minute. Have you two broken something in his house?’ asked Emma, mischievous again. Steve couldn’t help himself and let out a short laugh. She looked at him. ‘What?’ she turned back to face me, ‘what have you done? I know that you’re looking after your rich friends house.’ I thought quickly.
‘We just drunk two bottles of his wine…’ I said thinking quickly, ‘and I just saw them on the wine list and they’re pretty darn expensive.’
‘We really made a hole in his collection, ‘ said Steve, his tongue loosened from the drink. He giggled and Emma looked at him quizzically.
‘Right…’ mused Emma. I booted Steve under the table, but I only managed to kick Emma squarely on her lower leg.
‘Oww!’ She reached down and rubbed her leg.
‘Sorry, I meant…I didn’t mean to kick you, I’m really sorry.’ I stammered.
‘Were you meant to kick him then?’ She asked, frowning a bit.
‘No, no…I’ve got this…nervous tick…it makes me kick my leg out now and again.’
‘You were trying to kick Steve. Is he supposed to keep a secret about something? What did you get up to?’ Jesus, fucking women.
‘Nothing…really, Emma, we’ve only been drinking a couple of Pat’s best wine.’ Said Steve.
‘And?’ She asked seriously.
‘Well, I had a snoop around Pat’s computer and,’ I felt a tap from Steve under the table, but I carried on, ‘found his Christmas present list – I know it was wrong, I came across it by accident really – lucky break with the password - but it certainly gave us an insight into what he thinks about us.’
‘Really? Do tell.’ She liked this story a bit better and leaned forward.
‘Oh, you know,’ come on brain, ‘for me it was – ironically – a computer.’
‘Generous,’ said Emma.
‘Yeah, that’s our Pat.’ She seemed to be waiting for more. ‘And Steve here is getting a lawnmower…’ Steve looked at me like I was nuts.
‘Steve doesn’t have a garden,’ said Emma.
‘It’s ironic, I think…oh, and Pat’s wife is getting a battery powered rabbit.’
‘A rabbit?’ she asked.
‘It’s a vibrator.’
‘Wow, juicy…so, you’re a whiz with computers then?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, I can find my way around a pc, but I’m not a geek.’ I said.
‘Wish he was,’ she indicted Steve with her glass, ‘I’m always fixing his computer, he hasn’t got a clue.’
‘I’m not that bad,’ said Steve with a little indignation.
‘No…but whor kwever in other ways,’ she said in a childish voice and hugged him.
I wouldn’t ban smoking in public, I don’t mind gay men kissing in public and I couldn’t give a toss if people swear in public. But if I had the constitutional power I would make it punishable by public flaying for people talk to each other in baby talk. Why? Is it some kind of pedophile thing, connected loosely with going to a school disco night in pig tails and old school ties? Why would anyone pretend to be a child when talking to someone they shag? It’s weird, I tell you, weird.
‘Steve tells me that you’re thinking of coming back to the UK?’ I asked.
‘I’m definitely thinking about it…and now that I’ve met Steve, I have another good reason,’ she looked at him wistfully.
‘Guys, you’re gonna make me vomit.’ I said, they took it well. ‘What’s the other reason?’
‘I want to put down some roots, I feel like a gypsy, traveling around all the time.’
‘Yeah, but the glamour Emma, the glamour – think of that!’ I replied.
‘What glamour? I spend all my time in a catering truck, an airport lounge or some godforsaken wholesalers on the outskirts of town – and whether they are outskirts of Rome or Romford they are all dreadful – then I end up staying in a crummy hotel somewhere. It really is awful.’
‘Crikey.’ I said.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rant – but I just can’t do it anymore, not at this stage in my life,’ she squeezed Steve’s hand and he excused himself. We sat in silence for a few moments.
‘Steve is cool, Emma, still waters and all that – he’s a good catch.’
“I know,’ she said, ‘it feels right, I think. You know?’
“No…well, maybe…I dunno, Cupid hasn’t scored a direct hit on me yet…I think’
‘Sounds like it has once,’ she mused.
‘Maybe, but it’s complicated.’ I let that hang knowing that she would probably not pursue it, because she has only just met me and you just don’t: unless you’re mad or something.
‘So, this thing with your brother, sounds promising.’ She said, Steve returned.
‘Very, but it’s a major risk I might have to risk everything,’ Steve blanched, ‘the restaurant business – it’s just not something I know anything about…’ Emma picked up on Steve’s reaction immediately. Bloody women. Steve may be loyal but he might turn out to be a bloody liability.
‘Dan, I haven’t known you very long, but there is something,’ she wagged her finger between us, ’very strange going on between you and I want to know what it is.’
‘There’s nothing going on,’ said Steve in a high pitched, guilty, I-am-hiding-something kind of voice. I looked to the heavens, I couldn’t help myself, I just couldn’t. Emma was looking at my face as she listened to her beau’s strangled denial.
I was half cut, that’s my excuse. Steve is like the pope or some sentient being from a science fiction film: he can’t lie; he’s shit at it. Also, he’s half cut as well, so he’s exempt. He’s naturally being an idiot, it’s hard wired, in built. So, in true Dan ‘kick me’ Collins style I worked out that if I told the truth – it works all the time, every time, in films – then it would be so extraordinary, so unbelievable that she would automatically disbelieve us and then in the time I had bought recounting this fisherman’s tale I could concoct a story that would just end the horror. I don’t have an excuse except that I have just had a very bad day and I felt I was in the finishing straight.
How the hell do bank robbers get on with their lives? Are all their friends criminals as well? Their lives are like boob jobs: attractive in a false kind of way, expensive but without any visible means of support. Their friends must put two and two together and realize that it just isn’t real. My robbery is going to be on the Internet by tomorrow, I’m willing to bet on it.
I recounted our tale warts and all and grinned at Emma.
‘You do know how long you go to prison for armed robbery?’ She said
‘It’s a wind up! Can’t believe you fell for it.’ I replied.
‘So, you just made me sit through all that for fifteen minutes and it’s a joke?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well...’ bloody women.
‘So is Steven in on this little scheme of yours?’
‘Absolutely not.’ I said seriously.
‘Yes.’ Said Steve at the same time. I looked to the heavens, not really worried about whether Emma would see it or not. Emma glanced at Steve. He shrugged.
‘As far as I can recall, Steve’s only duty was to keep it zipped and as he has failed this simple - but nevertheless vital – role,’ I said.
‘He is not going to be promoted to fire team number one, safecracker team A,,the swag-bag holder’s club, Raffle’s light-fingered luncheon party or anything else because It’s my mess and my mess only.’ Steve made a face. ‘I am in a world of shit. My crazy with a K brother is up for buying some black and white striped shirts, I’ve got some shaven headed gangster looking to supply the sawn offs and a couple of old Jags – probably with a couple of dead accountants in the boot…to boot – and I want out.
‘Maybe plastic surgery will hide me or I might wear a mask for the rest of life and move to The Shetlands or – hey, I know: Thailand and live in the jungle and smoke pot and scare the shit out of snot nosed stoned travelers on their gap year on Daddy’s money about my gangland past. Or maybe I’ll just go through with it, fuck it up, obviously - what do I know about robbing anything? –then I’ll go to prison, but I’ll be accused of being a squealer and claw-hammer Harry (or whatever the fuck he’s called) will make sure I’m soap boy in the showers and I’ll end my days like The Shawshank redemption except I won’t find a way out of The Scrubs but I will buy one of those rock hammers and make a stone edifice of my own stupid, fat, head as a tribute to what a complete and utter fucking muppet I am and send it to Pat Sullivan entitled: Use Better Passwords You Fucking I.T. Moron.’ I took a sip of my wine and looked at Emma and Steve. They looked as if they have just survived a tornado. Emma reached out and patted my hand.
‘Poor you.’ She said. After all the wine I had, and everything that had happened I cracked up a bit and started blubbing, silently. A few people on nearby tables looked at me uncomfortably – as you do when someone starts weeping openly when you’re out with your nearest and dearest for a spot of quality time. Some things in restaurants are like neon – a slapped face, someone proposing or someone crying. People’s radar are tuned into these events on a deep, primordial level, Drama rubbernecking or something.
‘I just can’t take it anymore, ‘ I spluttered, through sobs.
‘I know, I know,’ women have this embedded ability to sound soothing, to sound gentle and caring. ‘I’m sure that all of us, together, can work this out.’
‘But how?’ I sniffed, ’it’s got so serious, so real. It’s all so fucked up.’
‘Just be reasonable. I’m sure that if you say that you’ve never, ever done anything like this before, that you’re afraid and you’re just not qualified to take this, this…assignment and that they must have people who are more qualified – better equipped – to take on a, a project of…’
‘…this magnitude.’ Interjected Steve.
‘Yes, magnitude, ‘ continued Emma. ‘The people that you are dealing with, well, I am sure – positive – that they’ll understand that this is good business, they are businessmen after all and it’s good business to get a job done by professionals.’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ I said, wiping my nose with my napkin. Steve nodded sympathetically.
‘See, they just want to turn a profit like anyone else, like any other business, and it makes more sense to take the risk out of any investment,’ she continued.
‘You are so right,’ I said.
‘See? You’ll be a risk, a without that risk they get a better return on their investment, you’ll just be, be…’
‘A Market researcher…’ nodded Steve.
‘Yes, market research, researching a lucrative market that they can invest in’
‘Why didn’t I see it this way? This is perfect‘ I said.
‘Of course. Just say that it’s better business that you assume more of a background role, more research and development that implementation, that you are aligned more towards the conceptual side of the business than in the field, at the sharp end – as it were.’
‘I sure that they’ll see it this way, it is good business after all, ‘ said Steve sagely.
‘Why wouldn’t they?’ I said, ‘ it makes sense.’
‘Of course it makes sense,’ said Emma, sipping her wine, ‘money talks, and I’m sure they haven’t got to where they are today by making rash business decisions, by taking unnecessary risks – not in their line of work.’
‘I could at least try, talk to Rich about it – but what about Pat, I feel bad about him, it’s such a…betrayal.’
‘Of course it’s not!’ said Emma.
‘It isn’t?’ I said.
‘No, you’re not robbing Pat, are you? Neither is this character…what’s his name?’
‘Barney Gibbons.’
‘Him neither, it’s one of Pat’s clients, not Pat directly. He’s just going to worry about his reputation – and I’m sure that this bank is not going to want to advertise it’s security flaws.’
‘I guess so, but it still feels bad.’
‘Well, it shouldn’t – just nip it in the bud and when these guys eventually do it you’ll read about it in the paper like every one else.’
CHAPTER 6
‘Not a a Cornetto’s chance in hell.’ Said Rich.
I thought I had pitched Emma’s ideas pretty well, despite helping them to finish off two more bottles of wine. We then moved onto more random, drunken subjects that would never make interesting reading but emotionally bonded us for ever and ever, amen. I must have had a thousand goodbyes like that in my life and due another thousand, in all probability.
Rich had, as promised, turned up at Pat’s later that evening. After a short snooze I had sat myself in front of the television and watched some of the Grand Prix, which is quite possibly the most boring sport ever conceived. I only watched it because of a small part of my Neanderthal brain requires watching men in fast cars risk their lives for no reason whatsoever…apart from money that is…and enormous social cachet…oh, and the virtual guarantee that they could shag any woman within a ten mile radius of the track…or man for that matter. But it is, basically, like watching Scalextric but without the interactivity.
Rich had plonked himself down next to me and his attention was also drawn to the blurring cars and frantic commentary.
‘Looks like Ferrari is going to win again,’ he added.
‘But Rich, surely Barney will see the logic in this, that it’s doomed to failure?’
‘Totally, but I think it’s also quite likely that’s he’ll squeeze your testicles in a vice for even thinking that you could back out.’
‘But Rich, we’ve never done this before, we’ll mess it up.’ I whined.
‘He doesn’t know that.’
‘We could tell him.’
‘I think it’s better that he thinks we’re players,’ said Rich frowning, ‘I cannot believe that Willams are doing a three stop strategy – it’s barmy.’
‘But he’ll make enquiries and find out that I’m a nobody.’
‘But I’m not and that association is enough for him. Besides, you don’t make enquiries like that in his world, it just causes aggro.’
‘What have you done that makes him think you’re a player,’ I asked, turning to him.
‘Don’t worry, nothing that serious, but I’ve done a few dodgy things,’ he looked at me, ‘relax, brother, I haven’t killed anyone or anything like that.’
‘So what, specifically, have you done?’
‘Nothing you need to know about,’ he said, t
urning back to the motor racing.
‘Fuck’s sake, Rich, I’m not going to turn you in, what ‘dodgy’ things have you done?’
He sighed, ‘I’ve fenced a few stolen things, couriered a few packages – I never even wanted to know what was in them – supplied a few alibis – small time, really, nothing to worry about.’
I brooded in silence for a bit. ‘But he must know, or even suspect, that I’m a nobody.’
‘I guess so,’ said Rich, ‘but I think he prefers to risk us than his own people.’
‘What do you mean, ‘I guess so’?’
‘I mean it’s likely that he knows you’re not connected to the criminal fraternity.’
I watched the cars robotically winding around the bends on the television, ‘but if he know that I am, like, an innocent, then he must know this is not going to work?’
‘I guess so,’ said Rich.
‘Will you stop saying that?’, I snapped, ‘it’s really fuckin’ annoying.’ Rich just took in a deep breathe and said nothing. ‘So what you really mean, is he knows so, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘But why?’ I asked. Rich shrugged and continued watching the Grand Prix. ‘Come on, spit it out,’ I said.
Rich looked towards me and sighed. ‘I think that Barney Gibbons is taking a bit of revenge on me, that he is paying me back for something that happened a while back.’
‘Go on,’ I urged.
‘When I bought this club, Barney offered to loan me the money to fix it up in exchange for being a partner in the business. He just waltzed in, literally the day after I got the keys and was figuring out where to put the bar, let alone give it a coat of paint and said he’d be interested in going into business with me. He knew me because I managed that club in Shoreditch for him.’
‘I never knew that.’ I said.
‘Why would you? I never knew the name of your boss.’ He said.
‘Okay, fair play.’
‘I turned that place into a goldmine for him, but he also used that place for meetings, a storeroom for bent gear, a place to clean money and lots of other stuff that I either didn’t notice or was never meant to see.