The Circle Now Is Made (King's Way Book 1)

by Mac Fletcher

  Bert ‘Hud’ Hudson, it transpired, was a used car dealer who'd started out as a plumber and moved into auto-sales almost by accident. “He bought an old van as a workhorse,” whispered Eddy, “but the van was so ropey it was taken out of commission after a roadside check. He tarted it up, got it MOT’d and dropped it for something more reliable.” The barman went on to explain that, amazingly, Hud made a decent profit and moved on to a more upmarket van.

  "After that he did a number of similar transactions – purely to remain mobile," continued Eddy. “Not being the brightest of folk, it took him time to realise he could make more off he vans than plumbing - not that he’d been any slouch in that game either. Poor people, pensioners - especially pensioners - they’ve all fallen foul of Hud."

  Eddy paused to light a thin roll-up before continuing “And if the customer couldn't continue paying his extortionate prices, Hud would obligingly take payment in kind. By force if necessary!” Eddy grinned and drew hard on the cigarette. “If you’re looking for the milk of human kindness,” he added with a wink, “Hud ain’t the cow!”

  Jan and Greg listened intently as Eddy went on to explain that Hud had ultimately been forced to retire from plumbing after drying up (though far from literally!) the local market, and had bought a small car-lot near Plymouth. Greg stared hard at the short square man, complete with greasy trilby and Krugerrand rings on several of his fat fingers. An Al Capone look-alike if ever there was one! he mused.

  "Would you buy a used car from that man?" whispered Eddy. "More likely buy used underpants off Ebay. But people do buy – he somehow attracts a couple of new mugs a week, it seems."

  The barman went on to reveal that the entrepreneur hadn’t chosen to raise standards since his early days so much as, incredibly, move slowly down-market. Most of the vehicles he bought had to be delivered on scrap lorries. "It's not rare for 'em to arrive in more than one piece – or on more than one lorry! His body repair shop looks like a motorway pile-up,” he continued in hushed tones. “He could get a government grant for his efforts at the extreme end of the recycling market. Be easy to imagine him disentangling bales of scrap to be revamped as nice clean cars."

  The trio watched as Hud sipped his gin and tonic. A copious supply of Gilbey’s had been poured into the car dealer’s purple head over the years, though his body had remained flaccid and white.

  “Like a pile of pikelets with a sheep’s heart on top,” suggested Eddy.

  Fascinated as he’d been by Hud, Greg was forced to turn his attention to his companion, Terry ‘Ten’ Tennant. Almost as unremarkable as his partner, the one-time chauffeur to Penmaric provided the perfect foil for the double act. Unlike Hud, he was tall and stringy, with large, ill-fitting dentures.

  “When he smiles he looks like he's got a mouth-organ stuck in his trap,” said Eddy without a hint of amusement. “Which fortunately isn't often - I reckon Hud got 'em for him. And have you seen the ex-War Department hearing aid? Like something out of Cash in the Attic.”

  Greg pretended he was laughing at something else as the group in question fell silent: Ten had obviously twigged that he was the subject of the conversation, so Nigel decided to break the uneasy silence.

  “Ten, d'you reckon the Ulster will make it to across Northern Spain and back?”

  Ten puffed amateurishly at a cigar Hud had forced on him: there was little respect for tobacco laws and less still for their enforcement in the Holly Tree. “That old motor would go right round the world. But why do you want to risk it in that when there are two roadworthy motors in the garage? It would be a cryin' shame to use the Ulster.”

  Nigel started to explain that he was taking it to a rally when Hud cut in.

  "Genuine enthusiasts don’t drive ‘em that sort of distance. They transport 'em, so as to keep 'em in perfect nick.”

  “Mmm, discerning types eh? Is that why you have your vehicles delivered by lorry?” interjected Eddy, though the square man ignored him and continued:

  “If you want something to make the journey for sure, I can fix you up...”

  “Yes but the whole point is that he’s going to show the car!” intervened Eddy. "He needs an old car to go with the goggles and helmet for Christ's sake!"

  “We can rig something up,” continued Hud undeterred, “those dagos know fuck-all…”

  “Thanks for your advice,” cut in Nigel, “But I’m taking the Ulster whatever the outcome. The old banger’s in perfect nick, and hasn't done a great mileage, despite her age.”

  “No, I’ll give you that,” agreed Ten, "Never drove it much: been a showpiece most of its life.”

  The ex-chauffeur went on to explain that the only times the car had been used were on its monthly excursions to the Worcester-Hereford area, where the old man had friends. Penmaric used to disappear on his own for indeterminate periods, insistent on driving himself."

  "Did he have a woman up there?" joked Greg.

  "Don't think so," replied Ten, almost indignantly. "Liked a flutter, and he'd a few upper-class connections up there." Ten tapped the side of his nose with a bony finger. "But he never made the journey without seeing that the Ulster was checked thoroughly: carried all sorts of spares and tools in case of trouble. Not as he'd have done repairs himself, mind - the on'y thing 'e ever had a go at was the trip meter, and that ain’t worked since.” He banged his empty glass on the counter for Hud’s benefit. “Do you know,” he added, “he even carried a tin of original touch-up enamel in case a stone chipped it. No flies on that old beauty.”

  Nigel confirmed what Ten had said. “Worshipped it till the day he died. Anyway Greg, I'll leave details with Eddy here so that, hopefully, we can organise something.”

  "Are you really serious about that lot?" queried Eddy as Nigel left. "Thought you had a dog?"

  Greg was quickly deflated by the remark. "Mmm - was nice to dream for a while."

  At that stage, Jan left to collect Jamie, and the company, after discussing other peripherals, eventually disbanded. Only Greg and Eddy remained in the bar, so Greg chose the opportunity to acquaint himself better with the barman. He had a good feeling about Eddy, and felt comfortable confiding details of recent events with him.

  "So that's what brought you to Trevelly in a hurry?" summed up Eddy eventually.

  "Yes, but it's not a bad place to be." Greg decided it a good time to learn more of the intriguing local situation and, more particularly, if and where Hud and Ten fitted in.

  “Rum couple, the car dealer and his mate.” Greg deliberately chose an indirect approach, having gauged that Eddy would button up if he sensed interrogation.

  “You can say that again.” Eddy grinned as he put the last of the newly washed glasses away and took out his tobacco tin. “Beats me why they teamed up together. Not a lot in common,”

  “Except they’re both rogues,” said Greg. “They've not always been friends then?”

  “Only over the last month or two; since Ten was made redundant following Penmaric’s death. He's earned a reputation as a fair weather friend over the years I’m afraid, though how he hopes to benefit from Hud – other than the odd pint perhaps – is a mystery to me."

  “Mmm... Take your point.” Greg looked thoughtful as he finished his beer. “Well… I’ll be off - that dog of mine will be plaiting his legs, else. See you then, Eddy.”

  He zipped up his casual jacket, fast becoming a personal uniform, and lumbered back to the caravan to sleep away the grey afternoon.

  ***

  "So Tammy, have you heard from your boyfriend since we last met?" asked Goldie as he placed two lattes on the table. "Any ideas where he is?"

  "You're too nosy for your own good," responded Tammy briskly, though not without humour. "What if I have?"

  "I'm just interested. Makes no difference to me in my situation, but it seems a shame for such a lovely chick to be letting her life slip away – especially at your age."

  "I know what you're saying." Tammy considered the situation carefully before
making further comment. This was only her second private meeting with Goldie, but she'd taken to him. Openly camp, yet despite his flamboyance a good listener, he came across as sincere and compassionate. The pair sat in silence as, deep in thought, Tammy sipped her latte. She knew from what he'd told her that Goldie was no angel. That he'd committed far worse offences than her boyfriend in order to support his habit, and that even if he wanted to, he'd be in no situation to capitalise on the limited information she longed to share. "If I tell you something, can you guarantee it will go no further?"

  "Look, if you're in doubt, leave it until you're ready, or share it with a female friend."

  "None of my friends outside the group are druggies," she said. "So they'd hardly be able to understand, let alone sympathise…"

  "We're not here for sympathy Tammy; I've learnt that already. Someone explained to me, very crudely I'm afraid, that I'd find sympathy in the dictionary between shit and syphilis, and about as much use as either. Empathy is all we need."

  "You put it so beautifully - but you're right." She paused again and decided to grasp the nettle. "The bottom line is, although I miss my boyfriend, I'm more concerned about his situation. What he did was wrong, but I'm sure he's not a lost cause – certainly not beyond redemption."

  "He's in jail?"

  "No, sometimes I wish he was, for everyone's sake." Tammy paused again, obviously still having second thoughts about opening up. "He's an addict like us, and had been selling drugs for a long time…purely to support his own habit."

  "Doesn't make it any better, but loads of us have done it, Tammy. I know I did."

  "I'm sure, but the point is he was caught and charged. The big problem is, although it was a forgone conclusion he'd receive a custodial sentence, he got unconditional bail…" She paused again.

  "Go on."

  "We'd booked a coach holiday in Malgrat in Spain, and we went between the preliminary trial and the full hearing…"

  "And he jumped bail?"

  "Yes, we’d had a fantastic holiday, and I never dreamed he'd do a runner, but when I woke up on the last morning he’d gone. I was gutted – especially as we’d discussed getting cleaned up after his sentence and all."

  "So now he's missing in Spain? Do you have contact with him?"

  "No. He bought an unregistered mobile over there, though I've no idea if he kept it, and I was scared to ring him anyway for obvious reasons… I'm just so worried." Tammy became emotional.

  "Look Tam," interrupted Goldie. "You've said enough for now. But if and when you’re ready to get in touch with him let me know. Let's say I know a lot of people."

  "Thanks Goldie. I'll think on it." Tammy collected her things." See you at the next meeting if you're there."

  Chapter Three

  For the next few days Greg did just as planned. He rose at ten thirty; took Red for a walk; went to the pub; slept all afternoon; drank all night; took Red for a walk; went to bed…Rose at ten thirty.

  Lunchtimes were invariably quiet in the Holly Tree: except for Wheeler - who Greg avoided where possible - there was rarely anyone other than Eddy about. Greg enjoyed the barman’s company however. Because for the most part he was a man of few words, his observations were to be savoured by virtue of their rarity. Sleek and gypsy-like, the sinewy barman delivered his comments without flexing one unnecessary face muscle. Greg imagined him likely to be a handful if necessary, and was prompted one morning to ask why such a capable man should be working behind a bar.

  “Is this your own pub, or are you a tenant, Eddy?"

  “Neither.” Eddy pulled vigorously at one of the pumps to clear it of cloudy fluid. “I just manage the pub for Vi.”

  “Vi?"

  “Violet Ball,” explained Eddy, “old lady who owns the Holly Tree. Forgot, you've not met her have you?”

  “No - I had the impression the pub was in your family, actually.”

  “Wish it was,” Eddy smiled, "only came into the trade a short while ago. Came out of the marines and worked on a building site for a while. This place is just a stop-gap till I can start making a living again.”

  “I know just what you mean: I thought you looked like an outdoor type. I worked on a building site many years ago - forced to leave uni and make a living after my parents died.”

  "I can imagine; you'd be in fair nick yourself if you got rid of the bad habits."

  "Thanks."

  "My pleasure - were you on the building long?”

  “No, not really. I took a second job selling domestic security systems to ease finances in the early days. The firm took a liking to me and set me on full time – and I eventually went on to start up on my own.”

  “Oddly enough I'm trying to get into security – commercial or domestic,” said Eddy with surprise. “I was an engineer in the Royals, but I'd no idea how difficult it would be to find work when I came out.”

  “I’ve heard it can be a nightmare.”

  “Not easy for anyone at the moment, mind.” Eddy nodded slowly as the misty fluid in the glass he was filling turned slowly amber.

  “No,” agreed Greg. “But it’s a wonder you can stick something as hum-drum as this?”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad. I’m lucky to have this I reckon." Eddy handed Greg a crystal clear pint of bitter and winked. "First out of the barrel that one - compliments of Violet Ball.

  “No problem. Good health!’ replied a bemused Greg as he took the drink and sat at a table. "We'll have a chat about security when you've more time. You never know, I might be able to point you in the right direction." Greg paused for a second. "Erm…"

  "Go on."

  "Different subject altogether, but do you have access to the internet? I'd like to look something up."

  "Not me personally: I'm a bit of a Luddite in that respect, but if I ask Vi she might lend you hers - as long as you leave the porn sites alone."

  "Not into 'em," said Greg with a grin.

  "Vi's porn sites, I meant."

  Greg laughed again. "It's not a problem - I need to find out the exact address of my family in Perpignan."

  "I'm sure she won't mind; I'll ask for you."

  That evening in the Holly Tree was quite different, as were most Fridays. The bar was packed by nine, and Greg was able to make some interesting acquaintances from among the estate employees. Not least were brothers Bart and Simon Cashmore, both of whom made excellent drinking partners. To his surprise, Greg was readily accepted by the pair: despite having always been told how clannish Cornishmen could be, he met with no resentment at all. Greg had always found this to be the case whilst on holiday there, but suspected attitudes might be different towards immigrants.

  Bart and Si, both in their late thirties, around Greg’s age, looked much older and stockier; each sporting beer drinkers’ bellies and faces. Much brasher than Greg's notion of Cornishmen, he felt at home with them because of their resemblance to their midland counterparts.

  By about ten-thirty the trio were quite drunk, though eventually the conversation came round to the situation in Trevelly. Bart and Si made no secret of their anxieties, and Greg was in a good position to sympathise though, despite the beer he’d downed, he spoke little of his own experience.

  “I didn’t think such a situation could occur in this day and age,” he commiserated. “Surely they can’t just throw you out on the street - they’ll have to find alternative accommodation.”

  “It’s alright everyone saying they’ll have to house us,” groaned Bart, “but where? Trevelly’s our home - we were born and bred here – and we could be moved anywhere.”

  “Mmm.” Greg nodded. “I suppose there’s more than one way of killing a pig - if they really want rid of you.” He brightened a little as he collected the glasses for refilling. “Let’s not get too glum though - it hasn’t happened yet.”

  The trio drank until closing time, and eventually left the Holly Tree holding each other up, as they were to do on subsequent occasions.

  *

  The
following morning, Greg found it necessary to make an exception to his ten thirty rising time, eventually getting up at mid-day. He took Red for his usual long walk, though didn’t enjoy it due to drizzly conditions and a thumping headache.

  "One of those days that never gets light properly." He said to Red as he left him lying comfortably in the caravan. "Back soon."

  Greg trudged the muddy path to the Holly Tree, almost pleased to see Wheeler propping up the bar. Any company, he felt, was preferable to none on such a day, and a third party - especially Wheeler - provided an excellent foil for Eddy’s banter.

  He was surprised to see the bar fill up quickly after his arrival though, his surprise turning to delight when Bart and Si joined him.

  “Of course - it’s Saturday!” Greg beamed as he called for drinks for the fuzzyheaded pair. "I'm losing track of days let alone dates since I've been here."

  Even Jan called in with her boyfriend, Mick.

  "It's good of you to remember, Jan," said Greg as she handed him some paperbacks promised earlier in the week.

  “You ain't goin' to waste time reading?” said Bart as Greg examined the books. “How you going to find time to read with all the drinking you’m doin'?”

  Greg almost panicked as he acknowledged the truth in Bart’s words: he’d done little other than drink for almost a week. Eddy picked up one of the books as he cleared some empty glasses from the table.

  “Crap!” he almost spat with disgust.

  “Have you read it?” asked Jan, a little hurt.

  Eddy examined the spine. “No I haven’t, but I’ll tell you what it’s about,” he replied. “The heroine, for want of a better word, spends the first ten chapters avoiding some inconsiderate, surly faced-bastard who doesn’t want anything to do with her anyway. Then for the last couple of pages he finishes up screwing the arse off her in some beach-house in San Tropez!”