Taffin on Balance

  ‘Great –’ Charlotte clowns her joy – ‘Mister Adams. Who is Mister Adams?’

  ‘I don’t know his real name but he’s the geezer who wants a 1937 Cord.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Charlotte looks into Taffin’s face, absently picks something from his lapel. ‘That’s just bait. He don’t want a Cord, young man – he wants you.’

  ‘He wants me out of business.’

  ‘It’s personal. Mister Adams has got it in for you big-time.’

  ‘It’s business, girl. You know how the trade works: half goodwill, half bluff.’

  ‘This ain’t bluff. There’s plenty of ways to put us out of business if that’s all he wants. A bit of wrecking and vandalism – he’s got the guys to do it and obviously money ain’t his problem. Instead, he pushes – a little bit at a time – like he’s teasing you.’

  Taffin stands very still while she picks more flecks off his lapel. Finally he moves to the window.

  ‘I didn’t want to hear that.’

  ‘You’ve thought it, though – I’ve seen you. You don’t get to hide from me, Mark Twill Taffin.’

  ‘Personal...’ Taffin turns the word over as if examining a rarity.

  ‘That’s what I said. So... what do we do?’

  ‘First thing, get you safe. I know a place.’

  ‘You’re not hiding me away, young man. Who’s going to look after you?’

  ‘We’ll take a short holiday. Just the two of us. You need a break and I need time to think.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  DEAN ELTON doesn’t care for hospitals much; he’s seen too many of them, mostly half-gutted structures with soiled walls, corridors full of dust, debris, confusion and the shrill babble of humanity in torment.

  This one is nothing like that: the floors gleam under strip lighting and there is no sound above the whisper of a closing door. His reflected image marches with him along a glass wall, prominent jaw and black cheese-cutter cap giving his profile the appearance of an adjustable wrench.

  He has seen Doctor Clemens, who wanted to know his relationship with the patient and was clearly not happy with the reply.

  Clemens is getting used to apparently unattached men arriving for treatment: first the one called McDermott – still comatose – and now the person who brought McDermott in, the one who calls himself Doctor Morley. There is a pattern developing. Who and what these people are is not Clemens’ business but all his antennae are telling him to be vigilant.

  Elton is indifferent to quietly spoken people in white coats. He has business with Doctor Morley and that’s what counts at the moment. He finds Morley in an immaculate cubicle, sitting on an inspection bed with his arm in a sling.

  ‘Hello Silver.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Silver’s teeth flash malice.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, I’m not a doctor – but then, neither are you, Doctor Morley. All you need to know is, I’m a visitor come to see how you’re getting on. Don’t you like visitors?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A bit of respect, for a start.’ Elton sits on the bed beside Silver, taking satisfaction in the resulting flinch. ‘That looks painful –’ he prods the sling with a finger – ‘hurts, does it?’

  ‘Yes, it hurts.’ Silver recoils, glaring at him.

  ‘Broken?’

  ‘Dislocated elbow, since you ask. They’re going to pump pain-killers into me so I don’t hit the roof when they put it straight. Do me a favour and keep still.’

  ‘Delicate things, elbows.’ Elton prods the sling where the arm bends, raising a sharp cry from the patient.

  ‘What’s your fucking game?’

  ‘No need to be hostile. Like I said, I’m just looking in to see how you’re keeping. Mister Adams is worried about you.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Silver turns cautiously to look him over, noting pale eyes that convey nothing. ‘How come I haven’t seen you before?’

  ‘I’m the invisible man.’ Elton almost smiles. ‘Mister Adams wanted me to give you a message.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Good news and bad news. Which do you want first?’

  ‘Give me the good news.’

  ‘Nah, let’s go with the bad news first. Mister Adams feels you’ve lost your touch – you’re behind the curve – not up to the job in hand.’

  ‘It’s work in progress. We’ve had setbacks...’

  ‘So I hear. One of your colleagues is in a bad way.’

  ‘McDermott – he’s in a coma.’

  ‘He’s not expected to survive.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  Elton shrugs. ‘Just the way it is. You’re through.’

  ‘What do you mean, I’m through?’

  ‘You’re done – finished – off the job. Want the good news?’

  ‘Sure,’ Silver sneers at him, ‘I’d love to hear the good news.’

  ‘Mister Adams has another job for you. Don’t mind a bit of travel, do you?’

  Silver stares at a point in the corner, struggling to take in what he’s heard. ‘No, I’ve got nothing against travel. Where?’

  ‘There’s some business in the Caribbean he feels you could oversee. British Virgin Isles. Hot climate, fancy hotels, nice girls.’

  ‘What kind of business?’

  ‘Financial. I didn’t ask the details. How long will that take to mend?’ Elton gives the sling a nudge, raising another gasp of pain.

  ‘About three weeks. Less if they do a good job.’

  ‘Less would be better. You could travel as a wounded hero – private yacht, all the trimmings. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?’

  Silver draws breath. ‘I could live with that.’

  ‘You’ll have to earn it.’

  ‘Sure,’ Silver shrugs, ‘how?’

  ‘You discharge yourself from this place as soon as they fix you up. No discussion, no paperwork, you disappear.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a problem.’

  ‘There you go – think positive. Finally, there’s your colleague to consider.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s not expected to survive.’

  Silver takes a few moments to absorb this, during which time Elton stares at nothing in particular. After a few moments he rises to his feet and leaves.

  ED PENTECOST is not used to being driven. Julia watches him trying to straddle his Triumph, then takes his arm and guides him to the Jeep she borrowed from the Muscle Motors pool.

  ‘I was just getting the feel of it,’ he tells her. ‘Give me another minute and I’ll have it fired up.’

  ‘How do you expect to control a bike when you can’t take two steps without clutching your ribs and using foul language?’ she demands, helping him into the passenger seat and stowing his stick beside him.

  ‘I feel like an old geezer,’ he mutters.

  ‘You’re my old geezer, so do as you’re told.’

  They arrive at Muscle Motors as Rick Bishop and Kath are dismounting from the Fireblade, taking off their helmets.

  Ed glares at them. ‘That’s what we should be doing.’

  ‘Stop moaning. The Boss wants to see all of us and I said I’d get you here. You don’t see him screaming around on two wheels, do you?’

  Taffin is waiting for them in the doorway and stands aside to let them in.

  ‘Glad to see you on your feet, Ed.’

  ‘I’ll be glad to get rid of this.’ Ed brandishes the stick, stumbles without its support and let’s Charlotte sit him in a chair.

  ‘Is he giving you a hard time, love?’ Charlotte gives Julia her mock-sympathy look.

  ‘He’s a miserable git. I have to put his socks on for him because he can’t bend over with
out turning the air blue.’

  ‘You behave.’ Charlotte waves a cautionary finger at Ed. ‘We won’t have any of your fucks and buggers in here. This is a family business.’

  Taffin stands at the window with his back to the room as the group settles down. Finally he turns to them, hands in pockets.

  ‘We’ve attracted the attention of some rude people lately,’ he remarks. ‘You’re all aware of the problem and I don’t mind saying I’m proud of the way you’ve been handling it. This business don’t amount to anything without you.’

  Appreciative nods all round: compliments from Taffin are a rarity and this almost sounded like a show of emotion.

  Charlotte casts her eyes skywards. ‘Get on with it, you’re embarrassing the staff.’

  ‘We’ve got two choices.’ Taffin ambles amongst them. ‘We can shut down and hide, or stay open and risk another visit. We know what these people are, so it has to be your decision. I’ll go with whatever you decide.’

  A brief exchange of glances. Ed says, ‘Stay open.’

  ‘Wait till you’ve got all the facts.’ Taffin raises his hand, a rumble of steel on wood and all eyes fix on the revolver sliding to a halt on the table.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ Rick peers at the gun.

  ‘The Tooth Fairy pulled it on me. I had to take it off him.’

  ‘It was loaded –’ Charlotte glances at Taffin – ‘and he didn’t mention it’s been fired – the geezer tried to shoot him. This raises the stakes more than somewhat, wouldn’t you say?’

  Rick looks round the table. ‘I agree with Ed – stay open.’

  Taffin says nothing, aware of a stir in the room. After a while Kath says: ‘This is a real threat, isn’t it?’ She turns the revolver round with a finger. ‘This thing isn’t a toy.’

  Taffin nods quietly. ‘You get the point.’

  Julia says: ‘The point is you could get killed messing with these people.’

  ‘Nothing’s worth that.’ Charlotte folds her arms and looks at each of them in turn.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’

  ‘We could go to the police,’ Kath offers, without conviction.

  ‘And tell them what?’ Charlotte shrugs and stares at Taffin. ‘You can bet that gun ain’t registered, it’s been fired, and guess whose prints are all over it.’

  Taffin strolls to the window and stares out. A murmured remark behind him.

  ‘What was that, Ed?’

  ‘I said, “Which way would your brother tell me to go?”’

  Taffin turns to him. ‘He’d tell you to run and hide.’

  ‘Would he?’

  ‘This time, he would. Your necks are already stuck out a mile because you’re with me. It’s personal and I can’t let that put you guys at risk.’

  ‘You said it was our decision. What happened to that?’

  The room falls silent.

  Finally, Julia says: ‘This business belongs to all of us because we work here. Look at Ed and Rick: they’ve built it as much as you have. Me and Kath are involved in our own way, especially recently. This is what we do, and anyway, where would we hide?’

  Sounds of agreement work their way round the table. Charlotte leans back and looks at Taffin, head on one side.

  ‘I told you they’re all barmy.’

  ‘That’s why they work here.’ Taffin produces dark glasses and slips them on. ‘So you’ve decided we stay open.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’ Rick picks up the revolver and examines it. ‘Oh, look – it’s got my prints on it too.’

  Taffin reaches out and Rick reluctantly hands the gun over.

  ‘Good enough –’ Taffin pockets the weapon – ‘so it’s business as usual.’

  A general exhalation while this sinks in. Taffin continues: ‘I said I’d respect your decision. Now here’s mine. We could all do with a break, so it’s time for our annual holiday. We take three weeks off. The four of you get to go anywhere you want, within reason. Let Charlotte know where, she’ll book flights and hotels on the company so no one’ll be out of pocket. Try to behave when you’re in a foreign country.’

  A profound silence settles in the room. After a while, Julia says: ‘You sneaky bugger.’

  ‘Watch your language, girl.’ Charlotte attempts a parody of Taffin’s voice. ‘This is a family business.’

  IT IS A REMARKABLY LARGE endowment for a small cottage hospital, but the management isn’t about to quibble: it’s at least enough to provide another Intensive Care Unit, or any other facility the administration might choose to specify.

  The benefactor insists on anonymity but that’s not unusual: philanthropy comes in various guises. In this case, some preferential treatment and a high degree of discretion are implicit. The wellbeing of a valuable medical facility trumps everything.

  Doctor Clements knows he should be celebrating but finds it hard to dismiss the sense of something dark behind this windfall. It is not the first donation from the same source, he is sure of that. He is equally sure of its connection with two recent patients about whom he knows nothing, both of whom he has now lost.

  The one named as McDermott never regained consciousness: he died three nights ago. There is a question mark over an alteration to the IC staff rotor that evening that resulted in the patient being left unattended for a brief but crucial period. There will, of course, be an enquiry, but Clemens has little faith in such procedures: the patient is dead; the hospital administration will make a show of tightening up the system; legal advisors will be briefed and in a few days the tragedy will have been eclipsed by more pressing matters.

  The patient Clements knows as Doctor Morley – not a medical doctor, by his own admission – discharged himself yesterday, less than a day after an operation to reset his right arm at the elbow. He was full of pain-killers and hopefully will have access to more when the need arises, as it certainly will. Nursing staff reported he complained of claustrophobia, insisted on going for a walk in the hospital grounds and never came back. He left no personal effects behind and there are no contact details on record for Doctor Morley.

  The fact that he and McDermott knew each other, or at least worked for the same organization, ought to be cause for concern; but no one seems inclined to initiate any kind of investigation or ask questions. Detective work holds no appeal for Clemens; the day-to-day deserves his undivided attention.

  TWENTY-THREE

  IN THREE WEEKS, THE WORLD HAS TURNED. Lasherham’s collective consciousness has undergone a seismic shift from suspicion of all things political to a swell of unrestrained triumph over the forces of uncaring officialdom.

  Erica Lyle writes:

  STARTRACK DERAILED and goes on to relish the details:

  Gordon Glennan MP, Chair of the Select Committee overseeing the StarTrack project, last night announced the ‘indefinite suspension’ of work on the High Speed Rail loop designed to connect the Capital with commercial centers in the West Country. In a statement to the press, Glennan said, ‘This should not be seen as a decision to scrap the project for good, but the latest studies have cast doubts on its long-term viability and value for money. Cost projections are a factor and returns on such a major public investment have been called into question. In the light of these findings, the committee feels it would be irresponsible to proceed with the existing plan at this time without a lot more research at our disposal.

  ‘HE DID IT,’ crows Ivy Lewis. ‘I told you he’d pull something out of the bag and here’s the proof.’ She brandishes the paper like a battleaxe.

  Perry Butt swivels on his bar stool, eyebrows cocked. ‘We’ve all read it, Ivy. It’s gratifying to see common sense prevailing, but by what possible measure can you chalk this up to your Robin Hood?’

  ‘You think Gordon Glennan just woke up one morning and said to
himself: “Hmmm, what were we thinking – StarTrack’s got to go”? Of course he didn’t – someone persuaded him – no prizes for guessing who.’

  ‘Ivy, my darling, this is mindless hero worship. By all means wallow in it if it makes you happy.’

  ‘You miserable old killjoy,’ Ivy nudges him, slopping his pink gin, ‘they’ll probably make another film about this, then you’ll see.’

  Mostyn frowns over his half of bitter. ‘I must say, Ivy, given the enormity of any such task, I find the likelihood of Taffin’s involvement in this outcome – joyful as it is – most unlikely.’

  ‘You’re all a bunch of old dead-beats,’ Ivy tells them. ‘Here’s the best news any of us have heard in ages and all you can do is put a damper on everybody’s enthusiasm. Let’s have some credit where it’s due.’

  ‘What could that gentleman possibly have done to achieve this result?’ Mostyn offers the question to those gathered round the bar.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I think he’d say to that –’ Ivy’s face sparkles – ‘don’t ask.’

  ‘WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE?’ Charlotte stares in disbelief at Rick Bishop as he follows Kath into the front office at Muscle Motors.

  ‘Hasn’t he got spindly legs?’ Kath turns to present Rick for her examination. ‘Wouldn’t have guessed it, would you? Most people think he’s all bike leathers from the waist down.’

  Rick seems at ease in baggy shorts and a purple Hawaiian shirt with multi-coloured parrots on it.

  ‘What’s wrong with my legs?’ he demands.

  ‘They weren’t that colour when you went away.’ Charlotte walks round him with a critical eye. ‘The sun must suit you.’

  ‘Obrigado,’ says Rick.

  ‘That’s his word of Portuguese, Kath remarks. ‘He uses it all the time.’

  Rick isn’t going to let that stand. ‘Tell her your bit of Portuguese then.’

  ‘Quanto e este?’ she announces. ‘How much is this?’

  ‘You found time for some shopping, then?’

  ‘Not a lot. Rick discovered sunbathing and after that all we did was eat, drink and sleep. All I had to do was drag him out of bed to go to the beach.’