As Good as Dead
Page 21
“Oh good, he’s here at last. I am so looking forward to this,” she said, with such a sharp edge to her voice you could have cut paper with it.
I didn’t yet know what she had in store for him, because she wouldn’t tell me when I’d asked, but I was glad he was going to be on the receiving end and not me. As it was, I almost had to run to keep up with Angela as she took off in the direction of Barker, homing in on the bloke like a guided missile.
Impact was sadly unspectacular, as Angela ushered our thief to her small office. On the other hand, the mouthful of abuse she gave him once the door was closed behind us wasn’t anywhere near so harmless. I swear he flinched as she launched into him. A few minutes later, he was collecting his stuff and slipping quietly out the back way, a new addition to the ranks of the unemployed, his prospects seriously suspect.
I was expecting him to say something, like he’d been driven to thieving after running up gambling debts or to pay for an expensive operation for his dear old mum that the NHS didn’t do, but the motive for his crime spree wasn’t that good. In fact, he didn’t even have a blood-sucking girlfriend driving him to crime under threat of being dumped if he didn’t keep her in the manner to which she liked to be accustomed. When it came down to it, he fancied living a life that was a bit better than his pay would cover, so he decided to top things up by nicking whatever he could get his hands on.
I’d thought for a brief moment Angela was going to throttle him, right in front of me. Like me, she’d been expecting some sort of half-decent excuse at justifying things and could hardly believe what she heard. Well, if there’d been any chance of him keeping his job if he promised to mend his ways, it went right out the window when he owned up to it being nothing more than pure greed. She told him to fuck off right away, never show his face there again and don’t be stupid enough to ask for a reference. He didn’t give her a chance to change her mind, but shot out the office like the proverbial scalded cat.
Once he’d gone, I looked at Angela, wondering if it was safe to speak. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then looked straight into my eyes and smiled.
“I think I’d like a gin now,” she announced, in what was just about a calm voice. “Would you like to buy me one?”
What could I say? “Yes. Buy you two, if you like.”
*
I checked out of the Churchill two days later, knackered, as well as battered and bruised. Well, I might be exaggerating a bit, but I did ache from head to foot, which was hardly surprising given the way Angela made the most of my last two nights with her. I must have come up to muster, because she told me that I was welcome back any time, just so long as I didn’t show up with any other pretty women claiming to be hiding from a nasty lover.
Nothing more had been heard of Alex and, as far as I was concerned, she was now history. Something to forget about, to move on from. No doubt others would carry on trying to find her, Tony Groves for one, but I didn’t fancy their chances very much. Lord Lucan was likely to be an easier person to track down.
Back in Peckham, I found a scattering of letters waiting for me at home and another at the office. Old friends and family, who I’d expected to be there waiting with open arms, desperate to see my happy face, hadn’t even noticed I’d been away. Even those I’d told beforehand seemed to have forgotten.
I was soon into a run-of-the-mill insurance case, looking for evidence that a bloke who had been benefiting from unemployment insurance was in fact earning a crust from gainful, if unofficial, employment. As it turned out, he was.
It was the morning of my third day back in the office when I found the postcard waiting for me on the door mat. On the front was a picture of a sun-drenched beach, packed with scantily-clad women, every one of them having a good time, or so it looked to me. On the back was a Spanish stamp, funnily enough. As soon as I set eyes on that, everything else in the world disappeared into the background, just like it wasn’t really there. It was just me and the postcard. The postcard from Spain. My eyes drifted down to the bottom left, underneath the hand-written message. There I saw, easy enough to read without trouble, the signature of Louise Greenwood.
Something inside me said to stop and savour the moment. Don’t rush it. Instead, let the anticipation linger. I looked around the office at nothing in particular, while I tapped the edge of the postcard on the desk, all the while wondering what the hell Alex was going to say. Offer of a fortnight’s all expenses paid holiday in whatever Costa she was now calling home? Or how about a heart-felt apology for mucking me around, after all the trouble I’d gone to showing her the sights of Brighton, let alone stopping her from falling into the hands of her old boyfriend? Or maybe she was simply going to gloat; point out how stupid and gullible I’d been the whole time and how bloody clever she’d been.
I held the postcard up in front of me again and focused on it for the second time. Her handwriting was neat and small, which was useful for cramming plenty of words into such a tiny space. I read what she had to say, wasn’t sure I’d got things quite right, so read it again. There was no doubting it; I had read it right the first time.
“You lovely, lovely fucking woman,” I yelled to the empty room, fist pumping the air in front of me. “Of all the...”
You see, Alex had written to thank me for my help in Brighton and, as a reward for my labours, she’d deposited ten grand in my bank account. Ten grand. I’d never had that much money, not even when I put my measly deposit down on the flat I owned. Christ, I’d have given the woman a kiss if she hadn’t been so far away. My joy was briefly interrupted when I found myself wondering how the hell she’d managed to get hold of my bank details, but I batted such a minor matter to one side. As if I really cared about that.
But that moment’s hesitation let in a whole load of doubt. I froze for a moment, fear washing through my body, overwhelming the delight that had only just arrived. Was it for real, I wondered, or was it a wind up? A last, long distance laugh at my expense? I grabbed the phone and dialled the number for my bank branch. It rang five times before a woman with a man’s voice answered. I asked my question, thanked her calmly for her reply, replaced the handset, then jumped up and did a jig. The money really was there. Ten glorious grand.
Who said the world’s a sad, cynical, shit place? Well, whoever it was, they were wrong. Or, at least this time, they were. Deep joy all round, as far as I was concerned, and time for the first of what would no doubt turn out to be many little celebrations. I picked up my coat and keys, locked up the office and tootled off towards the Chairman Bagel, where I would be ordering my favourite fried bacon bagel and a large coffee; a breakfast treat I’d not enjoyed in over a fortnight.
End
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Ben Westerham
From The David Good private investigator series
From ‘Good Investigations’
“Mr Good,” she purred like a hungry cat meeting a blind mouse, “and I do hope you will be.” She slid beautifully, effortlessly in to the knackered old punter’s chair, and I swear the thing wrapped itself lovingly around her sexy, lithe frame. Then she tempted me with those dark bewitching eyes, calling me closer, closer, closer.
From ‘Good Girl Gone Bad’
If you ask me, good girls can be the baddest there are, if the fancy takes them. Maybe it's because they save it all up for one big splurge, then go mad bad. I don't know, but what I do know is that anyone who tries telling you some little darling of theirs' wouldn't say boo to a goose is either stupid, misinformed or both. Any goody two shoes type should carry a health warning, 'Danger, Good Girl. May go bad at any moment'.
From ‘Too Good to Die’
There's a bloke I knew ran a shoe shop. Everything you ever needed for ten quid a pop. He'd been just off the High Street for ever; or at least, since I'd been at big school. Then one day, no warning, h
e packed it all in and told the world he was off to be a missionary. A missionary! I didn't even know he was religious.
From ‘Smart Way to Die’
Some people make you feel good about yourself whenever you meet them. They can’t help it. It’s like they’ve been sprinkled with fairy dust and whenever you get close to them some of it rubs off on you. He was one of those people; left me feeling twice as chipper as I was before I’d met him and we’d only been chatting for 60 seconds.
From ‘Good and the Vanishing Act’
‘Two Dogs’ Ray, or Raymond Pressley as he was known to his parents, wasn’t pleased to see me. In fact, from the look on his ugly, fat face you might have got the impression he would have been happier if he had just bumped into the tax man.
You can find out more about Ben Westerham here www.benwesterham.com.