by P. F. Ford
‘Ah! Hell hath no fury, huh?’
Nugent looked distinctly uncomfortable so I thought I’d take advantage of the opportunity to make him feel even worse.
‘What a pity you didn’t meet me and Pete before you met Marie. We could have warned you in advance and saved you a whole lot of trouble. It always amazes me that people get into these relationships based upon deceit and are then surprised when it goes wrong, turns around and bites them. I mean, what did you expect?’
He looked even more uncomfortable.
‘It serves you right,’ I told him.
‘Look. I didn’t invite you here to give me a lecture about my bloody morals. I just want to know what can I do?’ he pleaded.
‘Just dump her,’ I said. ‘She won’t tell your wife. She hasn’t got the guts.’ I let him wallow in his misery while I returned to my pint, but I made sure he could see how happy I was at his discomfort. ‘So that’s your problem solved.’ I said, ‘So what have you got for me?’
He looked puzzled. ‘Eh?’
‘You were going to tell me why the police hadn’t been to see me to follow up.’
‘Oh. Right. Yes. Are you sure it’s going to be that easy to get rid of Marie?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘What else can you do? Anyway, the police...’
He didn’t look convinced about my solution, but eventually he turned his attention back to me. ‘So tell me,’ he said. ‘Have the local plod been to see you yet?’
‘I thought you already knew the answer to that. But then I guess you have a certain amount of influence on what does and doesn’t get investigated.’
He smiled and winked at me. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, disappearing behind another huge cloud of smoke. When he emerged, he carried on. ‘Well, I won’t admit to having any influence, but let’s just say I have an insurance policy. This insurance policy means I do usually know what’s happening. But right now there’s something funny going on.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, usually when something like this happens the plod go through the motions, interview the victim a couple of times and then decide there’s not enough evidence to go on, and it would be a waste of resources. You know the kind of thing. It gets swept under the carpet and forgotten about.’
‘I don’t know the sort of thing, but somehow I’m not surprised. So what’s different this time.’
‘Well, the thing is, it appears someone else has taken out a similar insurance policy. Only they must have a better one than mine ‘coz they’ve made it disappear even quicker than usual.’
I was beginning to feel just a little uncomfortable. Somehow, knowing Nugent was responsible for what happened made it seem as though it wasn’t really a big deal, but this was bit creepy. This meant there was someone out there somewhere pulling strings.
‘It has to be whoever paid to have me beaten up, surely?’
‘Well done, Sherlock,’ said Nugent, this time without sarcasm. ‘You’re almost certainly correct. The problem is I don’t know who that was.’
I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘I think I must have heard that wrong. Are you telling me you beat the shit out of me and you don’t even know who you did it for? You could have killed me.’
‘Oh no,’ he assured me. ‘If you were supposed to be dead, you would be. We are professionals you know.’
‘Professionals? You’re bloody animals. How can you do something like that without even knowing who you’re doing it for?’
‘Because it doesn’t matter who it’s for, does it? As long as we hit the right person.’
‘But I was the wrong person.’
‘Sorry, but you were the right person, and the fact you were a wife-beater just made it that much easier to justify.’
‘But I’m not a bloody wife-beater!’
‘Oh I know that now,’ he said, as if that made everything alright. ‘But I didn’t know before, did I?’
‘Don’t you ever think it might be an idea to check first?’
‘I don’t get paid enough to start doing that sort of thing.’
‘What about the fact you don’t know who you’re working for?’
‘Well, I tend to look at it like a sort of anonymous donation. It’s all cash and it’s not as if it goes through the books, is it?’
‘So let me get this straight,’ I said. ‘Someone is out to get me, the police are helping them, you’re helping them, and no one knows who it is. Is that right?’
‘No. I’m not helping them. That was a mistake. I want to know who it is just as much as you do. I don’t like someone else in my territory. It’s bad for business.’
He looked me up and down and took another huge drag on his cigar. ‘I think it’s rather ironic,’ he said. ‘Now we’re on the same side.’
‘Whoa,’ I said. ‘Just a minute. I’m on my own side. Sorry, but somehow I don’t see you and me on the same side. In fact, I think I’ve heard enough now so I’m going to call a taxi and go home.’
‘I understand where you’re coming from,’ said Nugent. ‘But watch your back. Right now you don’t know who you can trust and who you can’t trust. It may just be a case of better the devil you know.’ He tapped his nose and smiled. ‘Know what I mean?’
Chapter Fourteen
It was Friday night. Just a week ago I was in this same pub, but this time I was in the back bar. It was much quieter in here – the jukebox in the front bar just a dim background noise.
Not that it was particularly quiet in here. Sophia and Jelena had invited Dry Biro, Positive Pete, and me to have a drink to celebrate being reunited, and even though there were only a handful of us, we were having a good time.
The room was done out like someone’s lounge, with sofas, armchairs, and side tables rather than the more conventional tables and chairs of the front bar. At this time of the year, the furniture was arranged loosely around the fireplace where a log fire burned cosily.
Dry Biro sat in an armchair to the right of the fireplace, his pint of Guinness resting on the table alongside him. Betty the basset was stretched out at his feet, gently roasting in the heat of the fire.
Next in line was Positive Pete in another armchair. They were having an animated conversation about the importance of attitude. Or at least I thought that’s what it was about.
I had claimed the end spot on the sofa, long enough to accommodate three people. Jelena had squeezed in next to me with Sophia next to her. They were chattering excitedly about what they were going to do next. For a moment, I was left out of the conversation so I took a look around.
A young couple were getting up close and personal on a smaller sofa in the far corner of the room, eyes only for each other and completely oblivious to the rest of the world.
The only other person in the room was Daphne, a smartly dressed sixty-something lady who appeared every now and then, always on her own. We always said hello, but quite honestly I’d never really taken much notice of her before. She sat in a small armchair away from everyone else, gazing sadly into the flickering flames.
There was a loud pop as Dave opened a bottle of champagne. A moment later he came over carrying a tray.
‘Champagne for my guests,’ he announced. ‘We can’t have a celebration without champagne.’
It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him since that night last Friday. Funny that. I mean I had got beaten up after a fracas in his pub. You’d have thought he might have come to see me.
But then I suppose it can get pretty busy running a pub. Even so, surely he could have made time to come over and have a drink with us, or just say hello. I mean I know Friday night is a busy night, but even so...
I’m the sort of guy who enjoys a few pints now and then, but unfortunately I also seem to be blessed with a bladder the size of a five-year-old’s. Right now it was time for me to go and make some room for more beer.
I had to pass close by the bar on the way. Dave was stood with his back t
o the bar, so I stopped. ‘Hi, mate, how are you?’ I said above the noise. As he turned to face me, I could see he didn’t look pleased. ‘You ok?’ I asked.
He stared at me for a second, then he seemed to snap out of it and flashed a smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Got a lot on my mind. Friday night’s not a good time to try and think.’
I thought it was a bit strange that he hadn’t passed comment on my rather battered appearance. Normally he would have shown his concern before mercilessly mocking me, but today he didn’t say a thing.
‘Did the hospital call you on Saturday?’ I asked. ‘About coming to pick me up?’
‘No, mate.’
‘That’s weird. The nurse assured me she called your number.’
‘Well, she might have told you that,’ he said. ‘But she’s mistaken. No one called me.’
Before I could say anything else he made an excuse about being rushed off their feet in the other bar and was gone.
Now, I couldn’t ever claim to be an expert on spotting a liar, having lived with Gloria for years before I saw through her lies, but I was pretty convinced the nurse had been telling the truth. I mean, why would she lie?
I couldn’t put my finger on why this was bothering me quite so much, but it occurred to me this wasn’t the only thing. There seemed to be a lot of loose ends. Why was Dave being so evasive? What had happened to the thug, Gregov? Who had paid to get me battered?
I don’t like loose ends – they make me feel uneasy. I just hoped they weren’t going to come back and haunt me.
On the way back from the loo, I had to pass Daphne. On impulse I stopped. She looked up from her flame-gazing in surprise. ‘You look so lonely,’ I said. ‘We’re having a little celebration. Why don’t you join us?’
She gave me a sad little smile. ‘That’s very kind of you to offer, and I don’t want to appear rude, but I’m not really in a party mood.’
‘Well, if you change your mind...’
But she was already lost in the fire again.
When I got back there had been some moving around. Jelena was now in Pete’s seat and he was in mine. Both he and Dry Biro were hanging onto every word she said, their delight in such young, vivacious company blatantly obvious.
As I approached, Sophia patted the vacant seat between her and Pete so I squeezed in between them. ‘She seems to have a captive audience,’ I said, nodding towards Jelena. ‘I hope they don’t start drooling.’
She smiled happily. ‘She’s enjoying herself and she deserves it. She’s had a tough life so far. Now I’m going to see if I can make it better for her.’
‘You have plans?’
‘Jelena has plans,’ she said, laughing. ‘It seems she loves the idea of settling right here and running a tea shop. Can you imagine?’
I thought about it for a moment. ‘Yes. Actually I can understand that. I should think after all she’s been through the idea of settling down for a while in a pleasant little English town is very appealing. I would certainly like to see her around for a while. She’s a remarkable young woman.’
She looked across at the laughing Jelena, and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re right. She is quite remarkable.’ She leaned towards me. ‘She’s told me a lot about you. About how you helped her and how kind you’ve been. She thinks you’re pretty remarkable too. You’re her hero!’
Now that made me blush! I didn’t know what to say. ‘Well, I couldn’t just walk on by, now I could I? But a hero? No, I don’t think so.’
‘A lot of people would have walked by.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘How about we settle for “reluctant hero”. Will that be ok?’
‘Alfie Bowman, reluctant hero. Yes.’ I laughed. ‘That sounds about right.’
She reached out and placed her hand on mine. ‘Seriously, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for all the help you gave her.’
This was all getting a little embarrassing. Flustered, and without thinking, I gave her a knowing wink. ‘If I think of anything I’ll let you know.’
Now she looked slightly embarrassed. She patted my arm and gave it a little squeeze, then excused herself and set off towards the ladies.
Oh, you idiot. You’ve blown it now. Why had I given her the suggestive wink? I’ve probably put her right off. What will she think of me now?’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daphne totter unsteadily to the bar for another sherry. She looked half-cut. Not that it was unusual. In fact, now I thought about it, I couldn’t remember ever seeing her sober.
The evening wore on and I announced I was going to write about the events of the last week. I figured it make a great first story for this series I was planning. The girls though it was a wonderful idea. Positive Pete offered to be my editor, and Dry Biro gave me the nod of approval. Yes, of course he would mentor me, I didn’t need to ask.
I wandered up to the bar to get some more drinks. They were rushed off their feet in the other bar but I was suitably mellow by now so I didn’t mind waiting. I leaned on the bar, staring absently at the large clock on the wall. It was 10 o’clock. I felt someone bump into me.
It was Daphne. Her earlier totter had developed into a definite stagger now and she had just been unable to miss me. ‘Sorry dear,’ she mumbled, staggering backwards.
I caught her arm and steadied her. ‘Are you ok?’
She peered at me for a moment, struggling to focus. ‘Oooh,’ she cooed. ‘You’re the writer chappie, aren’t you?’
My surprise must have shown. Much as I like to think of myself as a writer, no one’s ever actually addressed me as such before.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said slowly. ‘I overheard you talking. I didn’t mean to be nosey.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m just not used to being called a writer. I haven’t really started yet.’
‘Ssshhh!’ She looked around. ‘Mum’s the word. I shan’t tell a soul.’ She hiccupped loudly, followed by a little burp. I let go of her arm. She swayed dangerously back and forward. Then another idea came to her. ‘Are you going to use a psuedonium?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘A psuedonium. You know.’
No, I don’t know…
She struggled for a few moments, frowning in concentrated effort as she tried to find an alternative in her befuddled brain. Then a triumphant smile swept across her face.
‘A nume de plom!’
I must have looked totally lost. I certainly felt it.
‘Oh dear,’ slurred Daphne. ‘You’re going to have to improve your vocabulary.’
Me? If only you’d speak in English...
She held a finger up. ‘One moment.’ She closed her eyes to focus her concentration, swaying gently from side to side. For a moment I thought she was about to pass out, but then she opened one eye. ‘Got the little bugger!’ she said, leaning dangerously to her left. ‘I knew it was in there somewhere.’
I was losing the thread here. I wondered, were we still on the same subject?
‘Pen name!’ She said it as though it should have been completely obvious all along.
Just then I was rescued by the arrival of her taxi driver. ‘Come on then, luv,’ he said, putting an arm around her.
She gave me a sly wink. ‘Isn’t he wonderful? Come to take me home,’ she said. Then, very slowly, and gracefully, she collapsed against him. Carefully he gathered her up in his arms.
‘Poor old thing,’ he said, sighing and looking at me. ‘Look at her. Pissed as a fart every night. Just shows what a broken heart can do, eh?’ Tenderly he put his lips to her ear, ‘Come on, darlin’,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s get you home.’ Then he carried her gently out through the door.
When I got back to my seat, I asked DB what he knew about Daphne and how come she was always three sheets to the wind.
‘Ah. Sad story that one,’ he said. ‘She lost her son 30 years ago. He just disappeared. Her husband kept her together for years, but then when he died...’
‘How long’s she been drink
ing like that.’
‘Ever since her husband died. That must have been four or five years ago now. I think she just wants to know what happened. Being numb keeps the pain away.’
‘Wow. That’s such as a sad story.’ I really couldn’t think what else to say.
‘You want to help her?’
‘It’s a bit late now isn’t it?’
‘It’s never too late to help someone and right a wrong, is it?’
‘What do you mean? Right a wrong?’
‘It was a big story back then, but I always got the feeling something was wrong with the way it was handled. Why don’t you come and see what I have on it? Maybe you can find out what I missed.’
‘You’re on,’ I said. ‘Just as soon as my arm’s mended.’
***
Thank you for taking the time to read this book. I hope you have enjoyed it, and if you can spare the time I would be very grateful if you could leave a review.
Other Books by P.F. Ford
Dave Slater Mystery Novels
Death of a Temptress
Just a Coincidence
Florence
The Wrong Man
The Red Telephone Box
The Secret of Wild Boar Woods
A Skeleton in The Closet
The Kidney Donor
Learn more with these P.F. Ford links:
P.F. Ford website
P.F. Ford’s Author Central page
P.F. Ford on Goodreads
About The Author
Having spent most of his life trying to be the person everyone else wanted him to be, P.F. (Peter) Ford was a late starter when it came to writing. Having tried many years ago (before the advent of self-published ebooks) and been turned down by every publisher he approached, it was a case of being told ‘now will you accept you can’t write and get back to work’.
But then a few years ago, having been miserable for over 50 years of his life, Peter decided he had no intention of carrying on that way. Fast forward a few years and you find a man transformed. Having found a partner (now wife) who believes dreamers should be encouraged and not denied, he first wrote (under the name Peter Ford) and published some short reports and a couple of books about the life changing benefits of positive thinking.