The American Broker

by Andrew Hill

  Chapter V Riddles

  It was nearly a month later when Tyler had a call from Chris.

  "How was Greece, then?" he asked cheerfully when he recognised the voice on the line.

  "We've got a problem, John." stated Chris, his voice hard and serious. "Take this number - Newbury 43266 - call me this evening. I'll explain then. It's...." The voice started then stopped.

  "What's up?" asked Tyler.

  "I think there are a few mountains yet to climb," said Chris.

  "God, you always talk in riddles, you clever folk!" joked Tyler, who could make neither head nor tail of the remark. "Where are you now?" he asked.

  "Can't tell you now. Look, we'll get together - but give me a call around seven thirty this evening - need a bit of help with something."

  "OK. Talk to you later."

  "Cheers John."

  Tyler called as agreed. No answer. He tried several times that night and on each of the next four evenings. All with the same result. No-one answered. Using a little of the ingenuity he had always been known for, he dialled 43267 and spoke to a Mrs Collins. With a combination of chat and direct questions he learned that Mrs Collins lived at 19 Rowdon Avenue on the Newlands estate on the outskirts of Newbury. No, she did not know of a Mr Austin or a Chris... "except, of course, for my Chris - but you wouldn't want 'im, would you? Who would! Funny 'bout that name, innit. Ooh, 'ang on a minute, I did see a young man in Sheldon Grove - that's the first on the left as you come in as if you're coming in from town. Nice looking fella. All on 'is own 'e was with a shopping bag. I remember I thought to misself: 'e ought to 'ave a lady to look after 'im. I said to my Chris."

  Tyler thanked her and wondered how many nice looking fellas would wander round the Newlands estate. "Hundreds" he guessed out loud, "and ninety-nine of them'll be the spitting image of Chris if I listen to Mrs Collins any more. Still, there are only a few ways in or out of the estate. Might be worth going down and having a look round."

  Chapter VI Another Death

  On Wednesday night Tyler always went to the local where he would have a few beers with friends and, on those nights, would get a late pass from Sally. They would go back to one of the houses to watch a movie and play cards. If he left before three in the morning it was very unusual. Sally would go to bed when the television finished and had got used to the three or four lurches in the mattress, accompanied by the tug of the covers that meant that her husband had returned.

  On this occasion, Tyler left his friend's at the usual time and, although Newbury was not exactly on his way home, he decided to go and have a look round the Newlands estate.

  "Milkman will be round in an hour or so - he might know of any recent arrivals", he pondered. "Might be a she at that!" A grin flickered across his face as he passed 19 Rowdon Avenue and thought of Mrs Collins tucked up in bed with her Chris. He parked at the end of the road and pressed in a Randy Crawford tape, adjusted the seat back and made himself comfortable.

  A screech of tyres, a shout and a sound like a heavy cardboard box being dropped woke him with a start. "Jesus Christ!" he shouted, reaching for the ignition key. The tape had stopped long ago and dawn was breaking. He revved the Audi engine and slammed it into gear, releasing handbrake and clutch together as the car shot forward and he headed towards the noise he had heard. As he noticed two taillights disappearing onto the main road he braked hard, his headlights picking out the shape of a body in the road. Tyler was about to get out when a door opened in the house opposite. Lights went on upstairs and a weird yellow pattern fell across the grass, ending sharply in a line running across the body on the ground then veering sharply towards the car, striking Tyler on the right side of his face. A dark mass under the body's head grew, slowly eclipsing the false dawn created by the house light. His own car lights showed two twisted legs and the angle he had stopped at had left them pointing at nothing other than dewy grass which sparkled like a distant city harbour. A shadow appeared in the doorway. A shout. Tyler cut his lights, reversed into the drive behind, then swiftly got away. Once round the corner he turned on the lights again and hoped that he had been quick enough for his registration not to have been spotted. It was one of those instant decisions that can never be retracted. If he had stayed he would have had a lot of answers to find and, even then, the facts looked bad. By leaving, it may have looked worse but, with a bit of luck, no one would connect him with a 'hit-and-run' he had, in all honesty, nothing to do with.

  Any car that moved on the way back made his heart pump that much faster. Despite his innocence, a guilty conscience made even shadows seem real and every parked car was a police car lying in wait for him. He turned off the main road and went through the lanes then cursed as he thought that he would have been far better going back along the busier main road which, even at that time of the morning, had a steady flow of traffic into which he could easily merged. Here, in the lanes, he was conspicuous and, still some ten miles from home, a breakdown would lead to questions.

  No breakdown. No police cars. No shrill siren. He pulled up at his house quietly and crept inside. Sally, fast asleep, only stirred slightly as the mattress shifted and as she was silently robbed of some covers.

  Chapter VII Mistaken Identity

  The phone rang at eight. Sally answered it. "Not in." murmured Tyler.

  "I think you are," said Sally nervously. "It's Inspector Tomlinson from Newbury police." Tyler turned over, sat up and stared at Sally.

  "John, what have you done?" she asked, seeing the obvious anxiety in his eyes. Tyler grabbed the phone and tried calmly to joke about having left the force a good twenty years ago.

  "Still looking after young Chris, are we?" sneered a voice he strained to recognise.

  "Who...?"

  "Next time it will be Inspector Tomlinson. Back off, John. Austin's ours now and he's going to take a little ride. Case of mistaken identity last night but you don't know anything about that do you? You weren't there, were you?"

  "Just what is this...?"

  "Just a warning, John. Just a warning. Keep your mouth shut and mind your own business and keep away from Austin." The voice spoke forcefully but gently. Tyler drew a deep breath, frantically trying to find the words for the million questions flooding through his brain. The phone at the other end went down and Tyler slammed his own down in exasperation.

  "John, what is it?" Sally was standing at the side of the bed.

  "I don't know, Sal. I just don't know," he said, shaking his head, "something's going on and it's to do with Chris...."

  "God!" shouted Sally, "That young man's got a lot to answer for. First he gives you a job and I hardly see you. Then you promise me the Earth next week. Then you go all quiet on me and next thing I know that crazy Bob's round here living off our food, drinking our coffee and getting me doing all his bloody washing. I mean, John, he's got to be bad news. I know he got off and all that and I do believe what you say but it seems to me that everything Chris touches..."

  "Shut up!" shouted Tyler angrily. "The poor fellow's in big trouble - has been for ages and still is. No one else knows because he can't talk to them any more. This time, though, this time...." He trailed off then, more calmly, took Sally's hand. "Sorry, sweet - leave me be for a while, eh?"

  Sally knew when to push and when to ease off. She still wanted to know why the police were calling him and why it should have had so much effect but she did not want any rows. He would tell her in his own time, she hoped.

  Chapter VIII Hit-and-run

  Jack Tomlinson was a bit of a traditionalist. He stuck to his patch and anything outside it was referred to upwards as soon as it landed on his desk. It did not help much, though. The grey metal standard stock police desk had withstood the weight of Inspector Tomlinson's paperwork for over fifteen years and a good amount of table-thumping which he was prone to, particularly when confronted with one of the 'bright young new boys who thought they knew it all'.

  "Another hit-and-run on Newlands, Tom," said a colleague, as an
other bundle of papers landed on the pile. "Reckon there's any connection?"

  "God knows Charlie", said Tomlinson, "unless we've got some madmen with a burning desire to knock off blokes in Davenport Road or...where was the other one?"

  "The first was in Davenport Road, Tom. This one's in Rowdon Avenue."

  ".... or Rowdon Avenue. I can see us hauling in a couple of kids with guilty consciences and dents in their S-reg 3 litre Capris before long. You know the type - one gang leader gets hit by accident - probably one of his mates pissed out of his skull on the way home - and they all get horny and screw up one of the others. Won't be long before they've cut their numbers down to a level we can manage!"

  "Sure, Tom." agreed Charlie, a touch disapprovingly. Then, in case his boss may have noticed the tone, he added: "I reckon it's the milkman, anyway! Queer as old bats is Trevor." He laughed and turned to complete a schedule on the wall. The phone rang. Inspector Tomlinson put down his pipe and placed the new papers back with the others after a cursory glance, retaining one sheet, which he turned over to use for a note while on the phone.

  Chapter IX Hi There, Smiley

  Tyler glanced up from the newspaper. He still hadn't told Sally about his previous early morning experience. He had told her, though, that someone seemed to be after Chris and it looked as though they had been responsible for the 'hit-and-run’ case in Rowdon Avenue. The local paper offered no hint of anything other than repeating Inspector Tomlinson's views in rather less callous vein.

  "The police have no clue as to the identity of the driver of a car which fatally injured Charles Newcombe, 30, of Grassmere Court, Newbury, when he was walking home from a party in the early hours of Thursday morning. They believe there may be a connection with a similar incident four weeks ago involving James Cockburn, 26, of Davenport Road, Newbury. Both were members of rival groups in the Seventies and police do not discount the possibility that long-standing grudges between the two may have been exacerbated. Their enquiries are continuing. Residents of the Newlands estate, where both the early morning dramas have occurred, are horrified at two deaths within a month in this normally quiet area. Fred Cockburn, father of James, told us that he couldn't understand why anyone would want to kill his son. 'He'd given up all that gang stuff years ago. I'm sure it was just one of those accidents that happen, but I would like to get my hands on the devil that can just drive away afterwards.' said Mr. Cockburn.

  "Mr John Jones of 32 Rowdon Avenue saw a large, dark car driving away hurriedly on Wednesday morning without lights. Speculation about this bizarre incident is rife amongst his neighbours and a petition is being drawn up to improve street lighting on the estate. Said Mr Jones: 'It's bad enough trying to miss all the cars parked without lights at night - never mind driving without lights as well. With idiots like that around you don't stand a chance even crossing the road at night.'

  "Mr & Mrs Newcombe, parents of Charles, were not available for comment. Relatives said they were abroad."

  "Two." he mused. "That doesn't make sense. Surely they're not going to run down every young guy that looks vaguely like Chris until they get the right one. Who's to say he's still around there anyway? Or is he reading this article, too, wondering what the hell's going on?" Tyler didn't like unanswered questions.

  He looked through an old diary and ran a large finger down the list of names. Memories filtered through his mind as the events of a few years back flashed into the present. The picture froze as his finger stopped at one name. Bob. 010-1-302-796431. Tyler picked up the phone and carried it over to the table, placing it awkwardly between breakfast plates and a couple of videos he had to return to the shop that morning. The once familiar burr of a States telephone.

  "Hello."

  Tyler said nothing.

  "Hello", the voice repeated, impatiently yet with a hint of cheeriness.

  He put the receiver down gently. The voice was Bob's. "Still there," he thought. "Boy, that's got to be a record." He looked at his watch. "10am in England; that means about one in the morning over there." he thought. "I'll give him another hour's sleep," he said to himself.

  He grabbed the videos and went out. Pausing for a moment at his car he decided to walk the half-mile or so to the shops. Sally was getting good money each week but Tyler had to try and make what little he had left last.

  "Any good?" asked the seventeen-year-old behind the counter as she checked the tapes. "Bet you freeze-framed this one a few times!" she laughed, running her finger down the spine of one of the cases. An attractive girl, particularly in the white blouse and jeans she often wore. Her blouse was unbuttoned just that bit too far for respectability, though, and Tyler could easily make out a delightful young breast as the suntanned skin curved down and out, pressing against the white cotton. The cheap, pearl-coloured bangle on her wrist clattered against the counter then, as she noticed his gaze, she drew her hand up to her neck and inside the top of her blouse to stroke the bone that ran from the bottom of her neck towards her shoulder, as if adjusting a non-existent bra-strap.

  "Sure," replied Tyler, "and you would have had a job getting that bangle over it at one point!" he joked. Giggling, the girl turned to search for his membership card and Tyler's gaze dropped to admire the way her thin jeans held the cheeks of her bottom up and slightly apart, trying to make out any sign of underwear. He couldn't and she knew he couldn't. "You know, a body like yours is wasted on that spotty boyfriend of yours." he remarked.

  "Dave's OK." she replied. "Why? D'you reckon I'd be better with someone with a bit more experience...?" She had found his card and playfully bit the corner as she brought it back to him, flashing her large brown eyes up and down Tyler's front. For an instant, he felt as if he had been stripped naked by the gesture and the thirty-plus years between them seemed to vanish.

  "Maybe when you're a bit older, darling." he said, but he acknowledged that she had won that round. "And don't believe all you see in the pictures - in my day we didn't have any of this recorded muck - we got it live in the back row - half those guys are queer anyway..." He was running out of ammunition. He left before she could tease him any more. Perhaps if he hadn't already got two daughters older than her he might have acted differently but he still hadn't totally got used to the openness and sheer sexiness of some of the youngsters around. He couldn't have touched her and she knew it. Young girls felt safe with John Tyler. He quite disappointed himself sometimes but had also learned to appreciate the homely comforts and decent cooking that Sally provided. He hated to admit it but he was, as they used to say, 'past it'.

  Strolling back to his house his thoughts returned to the call he was going to make. He seldom planned anything in detail - just built up a particular emotion and let it explode onto the scene then saw what happened. The veiled threats of a few hours earlier had had little long-term effect other than to enhance his curiosity.

  This time Violet Lindon answered the phone. "Hello. This is 796431. Can I help you?" she said, very precisely.

  "Oh Jesus!" thought Tyler, "Vi's pissed as usual." Violet was a bony little woman with thin reddish-brown hair, often piled up on her head like the leaning tower of Pisa. Tyler could imagine her standing by the phone in that old red silk Chinese lantern of a nightdress she would wear until about two in the afternoon. She would have been on the bourbon since five thirty the day before but still managed to handle the most difficult calls and to remember a name immediately.

  "Hi there, Vi," said Tyler, "where's that husband of yours?"

  "Oh John, dear," she crooned, "How nice to hear you. But don't you know it's two a.m. in the morning over here and Bob really needs his sleep. He works so hard you know, John. It's all coming together at last and we sure do appreciate all the help you and Christopher gave to the project in...."

  "Yes, Vi," interrupted Tyler, as politely as he could manage. "True to form - the old bat never changes," he thought. "Chris asked me to call, Vi, and I've got an important message for Bob. I think he'll want to know before he goes out tom
orrow." He had taken a chance that Bob might rise to the bait. It worked.

  "Well dear, I'll do what I can," said Violet, "just you hold on a moment and I'll wake Bob. Would you like him to call you?"

  "Yes," thought Tyler, realising the cost of the call, particularly at peak time, but "No" he replied, "I'll wait.", knowing that Bob might well not call back and, instead, might make a few checks and discover something to make him move. Tyler had no idea why he might move but it was rare enough to get hold of the fellow and he didn't want to lose him before he had learned a bit more.

  "Well you just wait, John", said Violet, then adding, "Isn't it marvellous news about Christopher? Bob and I got a call yesterday from London and we were both so delighted. Bob had always told him that he would take care of all that tiddle-de-do in your English Courts and I just know that he'll have some good news for Christopher. I liked it so much in England but you know I can't stand the cold, John. It makes me so tired and Bob wouldn't be able to manage without me at my best now, would he. His work is so...."

  "Vi...! Look, this is costing me a fortune..."

  "Oh dear, John. I'm so sorry. Right away I'll get him to the phone."

  Tyler breathed a sigh of relief. Once she started there was no stopping her. How on earth Bob had stood her for this long he couldn't understand.

  "Hi there, Smiley!" The cheery rasp of Bob Lindon's voice was loud and clear. Tyler could have predicted those three words.

  "Bob!" shouted Tyler, as if the distance between them required him to speak louder. "Sorry to get you out of bed."