Dead End

by Andrew Hamilton

  12

  “You are very bad, time for the naughty step.” Cheryl was dominating and was currently Nurse Linda. Nappy Man went to the cupboard under the stair and lifted out a child-size stool. He was still 5’ 2” and, today, weighed in at thirteen stone and four pounds. She had just shaved his head smooth as the bottom of the baby he wanted to be. She had recorded his stats on the clipboard and had made him some rusks which he had deliberately dropped on the floor. Nurse Linda was angry with him and he sat facing the wall for fifteen minutes as ordered. Cheryl had often wondered if she could get away with making him face the wall for a whole hour but this was another ‘easy to please’ customer and she didn’t even need to shower, in the physical sense. He had once asked her to change the nappy: ‘baby need change’ he had said. That time Cheryl had come to the fore and warned him in no uncertain terms that Nurse Linda did not change nappies. He never suggested it again. She left him tucked up in a giant cot and headed to her car.

  As she drove off towards home she knew it was time to speak to Harry about Droopy’s note. He had already booked in for Friday as usual and she still hadn't said anything to the Boss. Maybe this would be a one-off and he would leave her and her son alone. That was her plan for now. Then she thought about Hugh. She hated thinking about him in the same breath as Droopy but she couldn’t get away from his rebuttal. He always invited her in, initially only to chat but eventually for what she considered to be more than a shag. She also wondered about him telling his friends her real name. Was that a mistake? What had he told them? Was she reading too much into all this? Would he be back in touch? She had a bit of a headache by the time she parked her car in the drive. Harry’s room light was on but the rest of the house was in darkness. She didn't like walking into a dark home: so unwelcoming she thought.

  “Can you please remember to put some lights on,” she shouted loud enough for Harry to hear over the din from his plasma cannon. The mission was brought to an abrupt halt and Harry appeared.

  “Sorry! Forgot! Any ‘bangin’ new customers today?”

  For a horrible moment, she thought he had her ‘sussed’ and was playing with her head. But she knew him too well. He was a loving son and a bit of a prude. Even just talking about girls embarrassed him even though he was fifteen. He hadn't shown any interest in girls so far, probably because he actually was a computer geek.

  “You done your homework?”

  “Yeah! All good. I’ve got a suggestion.”

  “Does it involve computer games by any chance?”

  “No! I’m being serious here.”

  “Ok, what?”

  “Extra tuition. G dog uses this guy.”

  “G Dog?”

  “Graeme.”

  “Your pal Graeme? G Dog? In this house he is called Graeme, please?”

  “Graeme uses an ex-teacher for extra tuition. Think he was a head teacher. Lives fairly near and he’s meant to be really good.”

  Margaret was staring, wide-eyed, at her son. Was he talking about Neo; Charles her client?

  “You ok mum?”

  “He’s too old. How could he know about teaching today when he’s eighty?”

  “Eighty? Who said anything about Eighty? He just retired last year. He’s going out with G Dogs mum.”

  Margaret sat down and started laughing slightly hysterically.

  “Mum! What the hell?”

  “It's ok, I just need a minute. That sounds like a fine idea.” She took hold of his ears pulling his head down to her level and kissed his forehead. As she walked away towards the kitchen still giggling, Harry stood still and was slightly dumbfounded. Women are so difficult to work out he thought to himself. He followed her into the kitchen wondering what was for tea.

  “Let’s order some takeaway?” Margaret offered.

  “Nice! Four seasons, two fritters and a single sausage,” he voted.

  “Ok. But what about you?”

  “Ha! You, eating a fritter or a sausage? No chance.”

  They sat at the table as always and were sharing an enough takeaway for three or four people. Harry would have late night reheats to sustain him on his next mission. Margaret was finding it difficult getting rid of the image of Neo sitting at her table teaching Harry biology and discussing effects of temperatures on the human body.

  “If I wanted to get someone’s details, someone I didn't know, but I had a name and age or an address could it be done?”

  “What kind of details?”

  “A phone number to start with.”

  “Easy enough, but it would be hacking.”

  “Do you know how to? Have you ever hacked.”

  “Yes and yes. But just to prove I could, nothing else.”

  “Could you do it for me?”

  “How come?”

  “It’s for a friend of a friend. Nothing dodgy. He is trying to trace his ex who has stolen money from his account. He has reported it but it would help if he had an idea where she was. A phone number would be great. He would just say he got a phone call from someone saying they knew her new number.”

  “What phone company?”

  “I have her existing company but she might just have changed it.”

  “Do you really need to get involved?”

  “I offered to help. He knows how good you are with computers. No harm really. It will still be the police who will deal with it.”

  “Ok. I can have a look. What else have you got so far?”

  “A name and an old number. Will anyone know you’ve looked?”

  “No. If you're asking me to hack the FBI that's different, otherwise, nobody really cares.”

  She handed him the piece of paper Droopy had given her. “I need it for Friday morning?” Margaret lay in bed thinking about her son. She hated lying to him but hoped this would soon be over.

  There was one other thing which would haunt her that night. She burped and felt slightly ill with the recurring taste. “Bloody fritters!” she said out loud.

  13

  Friday morning and Bob drew into the car park. He didn't like leaving the Jag out of sight but the yard was built on loose chips and no matter how many times you warned the drivers there was always someone skidding in and out in vans and trucks. The car park was full and he looked for Dario’s car which was absent. Maybe his car was still in for service he thought.

  “Morning! Is Dario in?”

  “Yeah! In his office,” replied Ashley. She had her hair a different colour once again, this time blonde with a hint of green. Gross! Bob thought. He was sure that one day he would come in and her hair would have fallen out completely.

  Dario was on the phone and motioned that he would come through to Bob’s office in a minute. Bob wanted to go to the Roadways Exhibition. They had been invited but initially hadn’t seen it as a possibility due to the move to the new yard.

  After ten minutes Bob went back to Dario’s office. He was busy texting and was smiling at his own humorous message. The list that Carla had given him was on his desk and had the remnants of a jam donut on it. There were large greasy blotches all over it and a splash of tea or coffee.

  “Fancy a run over to the Exhibition Centre,” said Bob, slightly annoyed that Dario was so distracted.

  “Thought we said we weren't going?”

  “We’re further ahead than I thought we would be.”

  “I’ve made other plans. I have a couple of meetings lined up.”

  Bob wanted to ask about those meetings but thought he might still be overreacting.

  “I’ve got the Jag.”

  “Of course you have, it’s Friday isn't it?”

  The two men smiled and any tension in the exchange was gone.

  “What if I drop you off and pick you up later? Just give me a call?”

  “No! Think I’ll just get on with stuff here but thanks anyway.”

  An hour later Dario had revved off on his bike. Bob had watched him leave and then found himself sitting in Dario’s seat. His hand moved furti
vely towards the top drawer and just as he gave a tug to the handle Carla walked in. Bob sat bolt upright and looked as guilty as hell.

  “Eh! Need a dictionary. I’m sure Dario has one. In there. His drawer.”

  Carla sat some papers in Dario’s tray and walked back out. “Try ‘word’ on your computer, spell check is a wonderful thing,” she said in a patronising manner. She was highly amused by Bob’s reaction and her own response, and she was delighted that she might have helped to plant a seed.

  Later, Bob called a team meeting to discuss the company's position, at the end of week one, in the new premises. Craig went first as it was never a good idea leaving the yard unsupervised for any length of time. He updated on staffing levels which he said were manageable but new crews would be required if the upcoming contracts materialised. Craig didn't need to know about the office matters and left. Dario spoke about new business which was pretty much old news. Carla updated on the financial side without really speaking figures which Bob was happy with. They had arranged a pre-meet and the promised payments had been banked and the VAT man would, for now, be kept from the door. Eddie and James reported that planning was in hand and there were no issues. They had been speaking to Craig on a daily basis and the crews were suitably well balanced to deal with all the current legislation. Bob asked Dario to wait behind and the others went back to work.

  “You getting anywhere with the list?” asked Bob.

  “I’ve been trying but you know what it's like?”

  “What’s going on?“

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Dentist crap and not trying a leg?”

  “Dentist crap?”

  “You left your mobile on my desk yesterday afternoon. They called. You missed your appointment on Wednesday? Where did you go?”

  Dario looked away. “Sorry. Just had to get out of here for a while.”

  “How come?”

  “If you want the truth I’m starting to think I am not appreciated.”

  “Talk to me?”

  “I’ve brought in major money to this company. You said I would get Director. You and Zoe have taken out a fortune in Director dividends and are running about in big cars...I could go on?”

  Bob remained calm, he had dealt with ranting employees before and biting back just escalated the situation.

  “I agree you’ve done a great job and I have complete faith in you to help take us forward.”

  “So does that mean directorship?”

  “Nothing has changed; you just need to be patient.”

  “Lots of things have changed.”

  “Like what?”

  “We used to be mates.”

  “We still are.”

  Dario didn't reply. He got up and walked to the doorway.

  “I need to get on with my list. Not only do I get the contracts I am now in charge of chasing debts.”

  “Just try your best, thanks.”

  Dario spotted an opportunity. “I am going to need some more cash.”

  “What for?”

  “More ‘cake’.”

  “Not Smith, surely?”

  “No. Same idea but a new contract. Same brown envelope probably.”

  Bob wanted to say he had already told him to go slowly but Dario had moved into a safety bubble for a moment. He could see his poker cash pile and didn't like the idea of giving any more of it away.

  “I’ll need to speak to Carla and sort something out.”

  Bob hadn't foreseen that tantrum coming and knew that there was some bitterness in Dario’s attitude. He was far from convinced by his reason for disappearing to somewhere that wasn't his dentist. There was also the issue of the locked container which Dario appeared to have monopolised. He was the boss but it would look strange if he went searching round the yard. He called Craig back in and asked him to check over their existing inventory: All vehicles and equipment and to include contents of buildings and containers. He phoned through to Carla and asked her to come to his office. He asked about the possibility of another dividend payment. As expected she suggested that would be bad timing, especially with their current cash flow issues. There would be plenty of money for both Bob and Zoe, and even for Director Dario, when the time was right and when business picked up.

  Bob was last out apart from old Bill who was waiting to lock up. He jumped into the Jag and switched on the radio. SportsChat was talking about the ongoing World Poker Series in Nevada. Around $10m to the winner and even being in the top thirty would return in the region of $1m. He listened to the conversation all the way home. The presenters knew about football and cricket but struggled with this sporting event. He wanted to call in but he was enjoying listening to their buffoonery. Even better were the callers, some of whom were complaining about the ridiculous amounts being paid for playing cards. This from people who followed a Premier League full of, not so bright, Prima Donnas and in reality, cheats, being paid television money they hardly deserved. To Bob, poker was an art, requiring intellect and an attritional resilience. He hoped that when he and Zoe headed off to a retired life they might find themselves in Nevada, watching or maybe even taking part.

  As he arrived home he watched in his rear-view mirror as the gates closed. The house was in darkness which was unusual. He hadn’t heard from Zoe during the day but that wasn't unusual as she had such a ‘busy’ life. There was also the issue of the poor mobile phone signal at the yard, something that needed to be remedied sooner rather than later.

  On the dining table was a note from Zoe saying she had gone for a pedicure and would be back about seven. It was six thirty so he had half an hour to himself. He poured himself a whisky: 21-year-old Antiquary; his favourite. He had tried all types of whisky over the years and had paid silly money for some of them but this one just had something about it. He looked at the liquid gold and gently nuzzled the glass taking in the aroma and savouring the moment. With wine, he just liked the taste and effect but with this he got it: the underlying smoky, sea salt, hit. He felt better as soon as he took his first sip. His shoes were already off and he removed his tie. He sat in complete silence for a full five minutes. Then he got his diamonds out and scattered them across the table. He prided himself on being able to spot the genuine ones amongst the frauds. As a student, he had studied geology and although he didn't complete his degree it was a subject he was fascinated by. He collected them up and rolled them across the table again.

  Zoe arrived home about twenty minutes later leaving the TT outside the front door. Bob had just returned the diamonds to the safe and met her in the hallway. He hugged her tightly.

  “Hi! Good day?” asked Zoe.

  “Fine, thanks. When did you get the car back?”

  “The garage dropped it off. They said they'd tried to get you a few times today.”

  “Good. How’s the toes?”

  “All the cuts and hard skin gone, thankfully.”

  “What d’you fancy for tea?”

  “What you makin me?” she replied laughing like a schoolgirl.

  “Let’s go out. Take a taxi. Have some nice vin. We deserve it after a hard week?”

  “Where then?” said Zoe.

  “Let’s take the short route to a decision and tell me where you want to go?”

  She objected to his suggestion but she knew, deep down, that manipulation was something she was not only good at but something she could run courses on.

  14

  Margaret was home after an uneventful day. Two customers, one straightforward and one completely twisted. After seven years of working in customer satisfaction, she was still amazed at what people got up to during daylight hours. She had always enjoyed love-making with Paddy in their early years but it was usually last thing at night and, if not, first thing the morning, and generally at the weekend. She often wondered about writing a book but thought it might be difficult to make it believable. Would people be convinced enough to accept that what she did was actually happening in their neighbours’ homes of an afternoon
?

  She was sorting an Indian curry and shop bought pakora for Harry’s tea but she had one more call that evening and she was dreading it. Harry sat at the kitchen table and she placed a large plate of chicken korma, white basmati rice and four pieces of golden vegetable pakora with chili dip in front of him. He used a dessert spoon and scooped a large portion into his mouth. He gave her a thumbs up and continued to munch.

  “You not having the same?” he said with difficulty and spitting some rice onto the table.

  “Don't talk with your mouth full. I’m out for a couple of hours.”

  She headed off to shower and forty minutes later was back in the kitchen. The seat was empty and so was the plate which had been left behind much like the Mary Celeste. She was happy to avoid speaking to her son for the moment. He had come up with the information she had asked him for even though the phone number which was only a day old, according to records held. She felt guilty about her using him but she tried to reconcile that with the idea she was protecting him. Her body was sore with tension and she kept thinking about hitting Droopy with a weapon. Sometimes it was a baseball bat on the back of his head and sometimes it was a hatchet between his neck and shoulders. She could see images of her doing this and she was surprised she liked the idea. She left, locking the door behind her. A note on the table said ‘phone me if you need me. Love mum’.

  She stopped the Porsche on the driveway leading to the Blake household as always. She wondered if Blake might have returned, sent Droopy on his way and was waiting for her, but she knew that was clutching at straws. Her optimism was dashed when she stopped outside the front door. Droopy was standing at one of the arched full-length windows. He didn't smile or acknowledge her in any way. By the time she reached the door he had already opened it and walked away and was now standing by the fireplace in the main living room. He nodded towards a seat.