Skewered

by Jones, Benedict J

  “No problem.”

  *

  As we walk along and I find myself wishing I was holding her hand, when we bump shoulders by accident I hope she’ll slip her arm through mine but she doesn’t. We cut through back streets and along a run-down shopping parade. She stops when we reach a street of Victorian houses.

  “This is me.”

  “Nice.”

  “Just a roof over my head and all that. You wanna come in for a coffee?”

  “Look…”

  I start to speak, tell her I’m not after anything at the moment.

  “What?”

  Her dark eyes harden.

  “I just think you might have the wrong idea.”

  “Asking you in for coffee, not offering to suck your cock.”

  She bounces up the stairs to the door and then looks back over her shoulder at me.

  “You coming in for this cup of coffee or not?”

  I think for a moment and then bound up the stairs.

  “Coming in.”

  She leads me down the dark hall and then ushers me through into the kitchen. I take a seat while she busies herself getting the coffee and a cafetiere out of a cupboard.

  “Mind if I smoke?”

  She shrugs and opens a window. She barely looks at me but I can hardly keep my eyes off her, transfixed by the effortless ease with which she moves.

  “Coffee, yeah?”

  I nod. She throws coffee into the cafetiere and flicks the kettle on.

  “So Andrea tells me you’re a detective as well as an artist?”

  “Yeah, true. I kinda fell into it as a side line. Pays the bills and gives me time to paint.”

  “Must be interesting though?”

  “Less than you’d think. A lot of looking through key holes and dirty pictures,”

  “Funny you should say that.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug out of my jacket and offer her my cigarettes. She shakes her head then turns and pushes down the plunger on the cafetiere.

  “Blue Mountain.”

  “What?” I reply.

  “The coffee.”

  “Oh, that’s the good shit isn’t it, Jamaican?”

  “Yeah, it is. How’d you know about it?”

  “Oh, I dunno been known to eat my Nando’s with a knife and fork on occasion if you catch my drift.”

  She laughs.

  “Not quite as ghetto as you look then.”

  “Not always.”

  She pours us both a cup and then sits next to me before throwing in her pitch.

  “I’ve got a friend and she needs help.”

  I take a sip of the coffee, it’s good.

  “What kind of help are we talking about?”

  She takes a long drink from her mug and then stares at her hands for a moment before looking me dead in the eye.

  “I’ve got a friend, Mounira, and she’s being blackmailed.”

  “By?”

  “Her ex-boyfriend, Giles Montford-Smith.”

  “He as posh as he sounds?”

  “He is, fucking prick as well.”

  “Yeah?“

  “Yeah, took pictures when they were together.”

  “Digital shit?”

  “No. Prick got old school, polaroids.”

  “Okay, good it’d virtually impossible to make sure we got the only copies of digital shit back, and?”

  “She’s getting married in two months and he wants five grand or the pictures go to her dad and her fiancée’s mother.”

  “And that’d be a major problem? Not something she could talk her way out of?”

  “Her family? Maybe. His? No way, on some strict Muslim tip. He’s okay but who’d want to see photos of their fiancée with another man’s dick in their mouth?”

  “Think I get the picture. Look, I’m not some white knight – I tend not to work just out the goodness of my heart.”

  “I knew that as soon as I looked at you.”

  I look away, a little bit ashamed. I feel her hand on my leg and look up into her face.

  “Five hundred get you started?”

  She has the notes in her hand and I nod.

  “You know where he works or his address?”

  She takes out a piece of paper and passes it to me; name, age, address, place of work and a picture of his face.

  “Thanks, this’ll make it easier,”

  My coffee’s gone and I wait for her to say something else.

  “Look, it’s been a long day and I’m tired. Gonna go to bed soon,”

  I sit there waiting for my invite. It doesn’t come. Slip back into my coat and head for the door.

  “I’ll call you when I have something,”

  *

  In the modern world people make things easier for you. I learn something about Giles Montford-Smith from his unsecured Facebook page and his LinkedIn account. I know where he went to school and who with, which University he went after, where he’s worked since he left University and a bit about his social life.

  So come morning I’m standing opposite a tangerine and lime office block at the top of Shaftsbury Avenue, just a ten minute walk from my own office. I’ve got a coffee in my fist and I stand on the corner by Rudy’s Revenge, a cocktail bar, and eyeball the entrance to the offices.

  He turns up at the office at a quarter to ten, late riser I guess, dressed in a dark blue suit and red tie, hair casually messy. I pop in a convenience store and grab a pack of smokes. Smoke three before he re-appears. Chatting away on the ‘phone and puffing away like a trooper. He deads the call and goes back inside. This time I only have time to smoke one before he comes back out.

  Mazza always tells me that the best way to follow someone is by being in front of them, maybe for him. I tail Giles down Charing Cross Road. He ducks into a coffee shop with an Italian name. I idle at the door and then follow him in. He’s at a table with another suit. I order a latte and grab a table. Play with my ‘phone while I watch – snap a photo while they talk. Can’t catch any of their conversation and then it is so quick I almost miss it; the other suit passes Giles a napkin he’s been playing with and they shake hands. I know kids in Peckham who’ve been in the game years who aren’t so slick. Giles throws back his espresso and leaves. I check which way he goes, leave it two minutes and then follow.

  Lunchtime is the same. He goes for lunch at a Jamaican joint on Wardour Street, meets three identi-kit public school suits and this time I catch a picture of him slipping the wraps under the table. The quality isn’t great but it’s a start. I enjoy my ackee and salt fish, with a Guinness punch on the side, even more. Found an angle on Giles and I’m going to work it.

  Once Rudy’s opens I sit in there and have a Rust and Gold with a bottle of Heineken to keep it company while I watch the office block. Giles appears twice; first to meet yet another suit they chat for a moment and then shake hands. But it’s the second time that interests me the most. A black BMW cruises up and drops off the passenger. The guy waits at the kerb while the car turns towards the car park further up. I watch him light a cigarette and then I clock that I know him, Brixton prison when I did my second stretch. His name is Danny Spears, did four on a smash and grab beef, moped and a big hammer up Mayfair way, but everyone knows that’s just a way to fill your piggy bank for other shit.

  His driver walks back down, Everlast tracksuit and a Tap Out tee-shirt, short little fucker with a cage fighter’s build. They wait and within minutes Giles comes out. I watch and snap a few mementos. They don’t look too happy to see him and I can see his mouth moving for minutes before their backs go down. Danny pokes a finger in his chest says something and then they leave. Giles stays standing there, looks like he’s in shock – welcome to the game, brother.

  At the end of the day he leaves the offices and walks down to the Oasis Sports Centre. It takes me a second but I realise he hasn’t got a bag, call it my suspicious mind but I don’t reckon he’s got his kit in there waiting. I’ve got a bag over my shoulder with a
few tools of the trade so I follow him in. Pay my money and pad down the lino stairs after Giles.

  He waits till a knot of guys in shorts and tees head out into the gym and then goes to the lockers. I keep tight to the wall and give myself just enough to see what he’s doing. Giles looks around, doesn’t see me, and unlocks a locker. I click away with the camera ‘phone as he checks his stash and re-ups. I watch him toss a wad of cash in and take out a dozen baggies filled with white powder. Just looking at it makes my nose itch and me run my tongue over my gums.

  *

  I call Nathalie as I walk back towards my office.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey you.”

  “I think we got him.”

  “There’s a we now?”

  “Okay, I think I’ve got him.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah, we’re gonna blackmail him back.”

  “You busy?”

  “Nah, not really.”

  “Want to meet me for a drink? After the day I’ve had I need one.”

  “Where are you?”

  “By the river near Vauxhall. You know Tamesis Dock?”

  “No.”

  “It’s the only pub on a boat between Lambeth Bridge and Vauxhall. Meet me there in an hour.”

  I’m about to say I’d love to but she’s already deaded the call.

  *

  She’s waiting when I get there, sitting out on the deck enjoying the last of the evening sun with a mojito on the table before her.

  “Get you another?”

  “Hey,”

  She takes off her sun glasses and smiles up at me.

  “Yeah, I could go for another,”

  I order her another mojito and a Heineken for me.

  Once I’m back at the table I take a bite out of my lager and take out the printed photos from my bag. She picks up each in turn and studies them. Before placing them back on the table and taking a drink.

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  “That you need to take a photography class.”

  I smile.

  “It’s the content not the composition that’s important here.”

  “Touché. So he’s selling drugs, how does that help us?”

  “I’m going to sit down and have a little chat with him.”

  “Really?”

  I nod.

  “Any chance you could punch him in the face?”

  “Only if you ask nicely,”

  “And you think he’ll give up the pictures?”

  “That or I tell him I’ll pass these pictures on to the Met. Serious time for possession with intent to supply and he’s playing with the big kids now from the look of things,”

  I gesture at the picture of Giles and Spears.

  “You know him?”

  I nod.

  “Was in prison for a jewellery robbery when I knew him but that was just him trying to get the buy in cash for moving up into the drug game. He was already in with some serious people,”

  “What were you in prison for?”

  Her voice has gone small.

  “That time? It was a little thing, misunderstanding.”

  “The charge?”

  “Witness intimidation.”

  “Oh.”

  “Indeed.”

  I watch her take a drink and put her dark glasses back on.

  “So when will you sit down with him?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Do you need more money?”

  “No, the five hundred still covers it; probably owe you some change,”

  “If you can sort this tomorrow then you can keep it all,”

  *

  I call him. Tell him I need a marketing consultant for my art business. We arrange an early lunch at a Thai place off Tottenham Court Road, on Store Street. I tried to dress the part in a dark suit jacket over jeans and a white dress shirt, left my Timbo chukkas on though.

  I arrive fifteen minutes early and stand opposite the restaurant, outside the grandeur of The Building Centre. I light up a cigarette and watch for Giles arriving. He turns up just before twelve and stands at the entrance looking around. I flick the butt away and cross the road to him.

  “Giles?”

  “Charlie?”

  We shake hands.

  “Shall we?” I say.

  I booked this for midday because I knew this place would be empty. They seat us at the corner of one of the huge square tables. We order two bottles of Singha and study the menus. The waitress comes back and we order; Dolly pad mee for me and Pad Thai for him. My ‘phone buzzes, a text from Nathalie asking if I’m with him, and I text her back that we’re just about to get into it and I’ll call her after.

  “Can we get down to business?” he asks.

  I shrug.

  “Let’s get started,”

  “So what kind of campaign are we talking about?”

  I smile.

  “I’m not actually here about that, Giles,”

  He looks confused.

  “Then what?”

  I take out the photos and push them across the table.

  “Where did you get these?”

  I shrug.

  “It’s you though isn’t it? Shifting weight,”

  He blusters and makes to stand up.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  I grab his wrist and squeeze.

  “You sit down and we’ll have a little chat,”

  His hand twitches like he’s going to try to throw a punch so I grab him between the legs and squeeze. His face goes pale and he lets me guide him back down to the bench.

  “Now I’m not looking to do anything with these pictures. Could be that I have swapsies in mind,”

  “For what?”

  “Some compromising pictures you have of a lady, asking five grand I heard?”

  “Mounira?”

  I nod.

  “Got it in one.”

  “Jesus.”

  “No, Charlie. Look it’s simple – pictures for pictures. You went to a good school so you know what quid pro quo means,”

  “You should be very careful.”

  His eyes have narrowed, full of hate.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I know people.”

  The threat of every man who can’t back himself.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, you little cunt! Heard of Danny Spears?”

  “Yeah. Did time with him a few years back.”

  Giles pales.

  “Look, you can try and fuck with me and play the big man if you want but the simple fact is you can ask these people you know if they know me – Charlie Bars. They’ll vouch for me; know who am I, who the fuck are you?”

  He deflates just as the waitress appears with our order.

  I let Giles stew and, after squirting a nice bit of hot sauce over my dish, I tuck into my food. The slices of fish cake hiding amongst the noodles are lovely. I look up. Giles hasn’t even picked up his chop sticks.

  “Think we might have a deal?”

  He nods and takes a deep bite from his lager.

  “The sake’s good in here if you’re not eating,”

  *

  I’d told Giles to meet me in The Rising Sun on Tottenham Court Road in an hour so. I grab a paper and head over there once I’m done with my food. I call Nathalie but it goes to voicemail. I order a pint and take my time over it while I read the headlines.

  He turns back up within forty five minutes, a shoebox under his arm. He puts it on the table, doesn’t sit down.

  “Bit bate isn’t it?”

  “Look, there’s the pictures. Is that the end of it?”

  I take the lid off and peek inside. Maybe thirty shiny Polaroid pictures, enough tits and arse to make a lesser man dribble. I put the lid back on and nod to Giles.

  “That’s the end of it,”

  He looks at me for a moment and then leaves. I finish my pint and order another.

  I try and call Nathalie again but the same, voice
mail. I text her and enjoy the feeling of a job well done.

  I’m on pint number four, with a double vodka red bull on the side when Giles comes back in. He’s carrying a hockey stick. I’m out of my chair before he’s even through the door. Grab an empty pint glass and prepare myself for the worst.

  Giles is red in the face, hair even more unruly and an extra button popped on his shirt.

  “Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?”

  “You know what you chiselling little scumbag!”

  “Go fuck yourself,”

  Stand my ground, wait for him to jump.

  “Hand it over and we’re done,”

  “We’re already done, Giles. I got what I came for earlier,”

  He looks confused and I can see the barmaid’s already on the ‘phone. I take a risk and put down the pint pot.

  “Do you want to tell what you’re talking about and make it fast ‘cos we’re gonna see blue lights in about three minutes,”

  Giles looks around and then at the hockey stick in his hand.

  “Shit,” he curses.

  I grab up the shoe box and drag him out the door.

  “Lose the stick.”

  “What?”

  “Drop the hockey stick and I’ll try and get us clear.”

  “Oh.”

  He drops the stick in the gutter and we cut away from Tottenham Court Road. After that it’s back streets and alleys till we make it over to the Euston Road. Have a look about and there isn’t anything unusual, no cop cars idling about.

  I push Giles into the nearest pub, The Rocket.

  “What d’you want?”

  He mumbles so I order him a brandy, double, and a double vodka red bull for me. Push him to a table and get him sat down.

  “What the fuck,” I ask.

  “The stash,”

  “What about it?”

  “All gone,”

  “Ey?”

  “The drugs, the money. After I realised I couldn’t get the five grand for the pictures I knew I had to move what I had. Pay back Spears. Had to,”

  “How did you end up in hock to Spears?”

  “I broke the golden rules; got high on my own supply and gave a lot out on the pay me later,”

  “How much did you tick?”

  “A lot.”

  “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I didn’t take it.”

  He stares at the brandy for a moment and then throws it back in one.