Family Business

by Mark Eklid

  He had to turn away and look for a distraction. An old couple at a table close by were watching a small child in a high chair at the next table push long, thin chips into its mouth and chew contentedly. One of the cleaning staff, with a long-handled brush in one hand and long-handled dustpan in the other, watched the child too and anticipated the mess that she would inevitably have to attend to soon.

  Graham moved his hand to touch the outside of his jacket, where he could feel the shape of a phone in the inside breast pocket. Sarah’s phone. In his heart, he knew that handing the drug shipment and the fate of the driver over to the gang was wrong but his terse conversation with Jason in the afternoon had raised misgivings. He was concerned that not going along with their plan to the letter could have implications. Not allowing them to take the drugs would surely piss them off greatly. They could get nasty. He did not share Andreas’s confidence that they would accept the decision to hand the smugglers over to the police just because they had been given no choice. They still had the choice to seek retribution.

  His hand traced the outline of the phone in his pocket and he considered again – are we doing the right thing? But what is the right thing to do? It was an impossible predicament.

  Andreas bustled back holding a plastic tray and set it down on the table next to the laptop. He handed over a red disposable cup to Graham and settled down to empty a large brown paper bag of its contents. He flipped open a cardboard box to reveal a pungent burger, then poured straggly chips from a cardboard sleeve into the empty top of the burger box and ripped open a sachet of tomato sauce with his teeth to smother it over the chips.

  ‘Want some?’ he offered.

  ‘No thanks,’ said Graham, feeling queasy from the aroma and resisting the temptation to wonder out loud where his son found the room, never mind the will, to eat so much.

  ‘When was the last time you tried Ken’s phone?’

  Andreas attempted to tear open another sachet of tomato sauce with his fingers but quickly abandoned the effort and cast it into the empty brown bag.

  ‘I’ve tried it a hundred times. He’s not going to turn it on now. He must be using the second phone to communicate with the driver. There’s no point trying again.’

  He took a large bite out of the burger.

  ‘Where is he now?’ he asked through a full mouth, looking to the laptop screen.

  Graham waited for the dot to edge along with its next refresh.

  ‘On the M62 now, coming towards Howden. Maybe another quarter of an hour, 20 minutes.’

  Andreas nodded and scooped up a large pinch of chips.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want any of these? You should eat.’

  Graham’s stomach was curdling.

  ‘Actually, I think I’ll just go and get some air for 10 minutes.’

  He got up and headed towards the exit. Tracking the truck was doing nothing to soothe his apprehension. He envied Andreas’s apparent composure because his own lingering doubt was overwhelming him. There was so much at stake.

  It wasn’t just a matter of anticipating the smugglers’ next move and then calling the police. If only it was that straightforward.

  What if there was no handover? Could they be certain Turnbull was the new carrier? Might Ken Arnold – if, indeed, Ken Arnold was the man at the heart of all this – have made other arrangements? Where had he been all day?

  What if the handover had already taken place? There might have been another liaison point closer to the ferry port they were not aware of and it might have already happened, undetected.

  What if it was still to happen but they and the police didn’t get there in time?

  If any one of those scenarios played out – and the more he turned them over in his mind, the more likely all of them appeared to be – he and Andreas would be in serious trouble. They had taken matters into their own hands by deciding that calling in the police, rather than the drug gang, was the best way to deal with bringing a close to this wretched business and if they failed... If they failed... The consequences did not bear thinking about.

  The group of young men had headed on their way, leaving only a moderate amount of mess in their wake, and he ambled back and forth by the back of the empty tables, attempting to calm himself. The hum of the motorway traffic hung over the car park as more people came and went, carrying on with their ordinary lives, oblivious to the inner turmoil of the inconspicuous man in his fifties who was loitering by the food court entrance.

  He watched them, looking over the top of his glasses as he attempted not to be noticed, and the more he watched, the calmer he became.

  The rest of the world had not changed significantly in the last 24 hours. It was still turning on the same axis at the same speed and it would still be turning tomorrow. Who knows what all these people have had to go through at some stage in their lives but they came through the challenges to be able to get on with everything as they had before, tempered by their experiences but intrinsically the same.

  Why should it not be the same for him and Andreas? This was their big test. It might go wrong but they might also get it right. They had thought it through. They were as sure as they could be that they were still in control and so, in no more than an hour or two, it will be over. Tomorrow, life will resume. He will wake up beside Janet and they will go back to Derby for the weekend and catch up with family and the balance of normality will be restored. All that needs to be done is to get through these next couple of hours, see it through.

  ‘We can do this,’ he said, aloud.

  He watched as the old couple whose attention had been taken by the small child feasting on chips tottered by, arm in arm, and ambled towards the nearby blue badge parking spots.

  He wasn’t in this alone and they would get through it, intact. They had to be focused, measured, in control. They have a plan. They need to see it through.

  Graham felt his resolve growing.

  We can do this.

  The automatic door to the food hall opened and Andreas burst through with his laptop bag over his shoulder.

  ‘He’s driven past the industrial estate. Let’s go.’

  27

  ‘I’m glad we found each other.’

  Andreas turned and smiled as he said the words and then leaned to slap his large hand twice on Graham’s thigh.

  Graham snapped out of his spell. He had been mesmerised by the motorway traffic, rushing by on both carriageways, as he locked himself away in his thoughts. Neither of them had said a word since they left the service station and set off back towards Sheffield. An affectionate declaration like this was about the last thing he expected to hear.

  He looked towards his son, a quizzical expression on his face like he expected a further explanation of why he chose to say those words at this time, rather than why he said them at all, but Andreas didn’t offer one. He stared ahead, grinning broadly, like he was driving them on a long-anticipated excursion or on an adventure.

  Was he actually enjoying this?

  That could not be possible, surely, but he appeared to be thriving on, rather than being daunted by, their desperate and dangerous situation. All Graham could hope was that this was down to strength of character and not because he did not appreciate the full gravity of the position they were in. He still had so much to learn about Andreas. They were so different.

  ‘You found me, strictly speaking,’ he said. ‘Until you turned up at my house that night I had no idea you even existed.’

  This was factually correct but Graham immediately chastised himself for his mean-spiritedness. His reply hardly matched the generosity of the original statement.

  ‘Did I?’ Andreas focused straight ahead and the smile did not move from his lips, as if he was pleased with himself for having set a riddle.

  His companion was certainly puzzled.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean of course it was me who did the legwork and initiated the contact but I think it was fate that led us to each other, j
ust as it was fate that brought you and my mama together that night. If that had not happened, I wouldn’t have existed and so many lives would have been so different. You and I were also meant to find each other.’

  Graham fell silent. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

  ‘Do you not believe that too?’

  This was not a direction he expected to be taken but he knew it would be churlish to respond to it with a flat yes, no or don’t know.

  ‘I suppose I don’t really see things that way. I’m used to drawing up the tracks of people’s origins in lines and plotting where those lines intersect with other families to form new branches and I find it interesting to establish where and when they came together but I never really think of it in terms of a greater force bringing them together. Most times in the past, people lived in the same region for generations and it was practically inevitable that they would meet someone whose family had also lived in the same region for generations. If they did move to new places it was usually to look for work or to escape difficulties – very practical reasons like that. Is destiny guided by fate? I don’t know about that. It’s a nice thought but I guess I’m just a bit too pragmatic to believe that. Sorry.’

  Andreas laughed heartily.

  ‘Who knows where the answer lies, eh? What I do know is that I am glad we found each other. We make a great team, you and I.’

  He clapped his great hand down on Graham’s shoulder this time, shaking his slighter frame.

  ‘When this is over, I would like us to work more closely. I would like you to take on a bigger role in the company.’

  This was unexpected. Graham thought of how he had been aware that Rebecca might see him as a threat and how he had determined he should prove to her that he was not.

  ‘Do you mean depot manager? I don’t think that would be fair...’

  ‘I don’t want you to be my new Rottweiler,’ Andreas interjected. ‘You could not replace Rebecca. I want you to help me drive the company forward, not do the day-to-day stuff. I need you to be my right-hand man.’

  ‘But I’ve only been in the business five minutes. I barely know anything. I’m not ready.’

  His protests ran deeper than self-effacement. It had been four weeks. His feet had barely hit the ground.

  ‘I do not need you for your experience in the business. I understand the business. I know it inside and out. What I need is someone beside me I can trust absolutely and discuss ideas with. I thought I could trust Ken Arnold but this has shown me I have very few people around me I can truly count on. You are not afraid to tell me what I need to hear and I need that. I know I can be a little hot-headed but you make me see sense again and I lost that influence in my life when my mama and pappa passed on. I respect your honesty and I trust your judgement. Besides...’

  He released his hand from the steering wheel and brought it down heavily on Graham’s thigh again.

  ‘...you are family! We are family!’

  Graham laid his hand on Andreas’s. He was moved.

  ‘That’s very kind of you to say, Andreas, and I feel flattered. Of course I’ll help in any way you want me to. I’ll do whatever I can and yes – I’m also glad we found each other.’

  Andreas shook Graham’s knee and withdrew his hand.

  ‘Good, good,’ he said, with an air of perfect contentment.

  They drove in silence for the rest of the way. There was so much he did not know about Andreas and they were so different but, in these few short weeks, they had begun the process of bridging a gap of 35 lost years and the adversity they now faced together was driving them closer still. Maybe they really could go on to achieve great things together.

  They pulled off the motorway and followed the broad sweep of the road past a mass of barely distinguishable low-level industrial units, many now closed for the night. The light was also closing fast. As the Jaguar turned off the road, at the sign directing them to the truck stop, Graham checked his watch. It was just after 10 to eight.

  A wide expanse of parking space stretched to their right and very little of it was taken by stationary trucks. It was a huge area, just right for conducting clandestine business well away from prying eyes.

  In front of them, they could see moving trucks on the motorway, setting a suitable backdrop for the red-tile-roofed building they were now approaching. It appeared to be more like the kind of pub families would go to for Sunday lunch than the archetypal truckers’ haven he had in his mind’s eye.

  ‘It’s not what I expected,’ he said.

  Andreas steered the Jaguar towards an area marked out for car-sized spaces close to the building.

  ‘They’ve moved on a long way from the greasy spoons, thank god!’ he replied as he pulled up and turned off the engine.

  Inside was also like a pub – the type that tries to attract diners rather than drinkers – but most pubs would hope for a few more customers on a Friday night. A group of three drivers, each eking out the remains of a pint in front of them, were almost lost among the lines of tables as they crouched forward wearily in quiet conversation; talking over the last dregs of another busy week on the roads.

  Andreas headed for a table at the opposite end of the dining area and quickly set up his laptop.

  ‘Shall I go and get us a drink?’ Graham suggested, as Andreas fidgeted impatiently, waiting for the WiFi to kick in and the page to load.

  ‘I could kill for a beer, thanks,’ Andreas answered, his finger poised over the mouse, ready to progress to the next stage of finding out how far the truck was behind them.

  Graham thought his terminology unfortunate but he understood the sentiment. Since they had arrived at the truck stop, the adrenaline had really begun to kick in and his mouth felt dry.

  ‘Hi.’ Graham mustered an edgy smile as he approached the bar. ‘Two pints of Pedigree please.’

  The barman, a prominent pot belly straining behind his apron, picked up a straight glass and began to fill it from one of the hand pumps.

  ‘Will you gents be wanting food? We stop serving at nine.’

  Graham turned to look towards Andreas, who was staring intently at his laptop screen and tapping on the keyboard. He didn’t feel entirely confident that the chance to eat again would be turned down but decided not to put the option to him. It might only be another quarter of an hour until they found out whether their truck would be heading for this truck stop. If not, they might have to track it to a new destination. Either way, they didn’t have the time to order and eat a meal.

  ‘No, just the drinks please.’

  He carried the pints back to the table. ‘Have you picked him up yet?’

  Andreas snatched up the glass almost as soon as it was placed in front of him and took a large swig.

  ‘I’ve got him past the junction for the A1(M),’ he replied. ‘Not far away now. Seven or eight miles.’

  So close! Graham swallowed two mouthfuls of his beer before moving near enough to watch the menacing red dot pulsing its way across the map towards them.

  Their task would be much more complicated if the dot cruised straight past junction one and away towards the convergence with the M1. They watched together, united in their desperation for it to be drawn into the trap of the next left turning. The page auto-refreshed again and it edged another few millimetres their way.

  ‘Should we make the call now, do you think?’ Graham asked.

  ‘The police?’ Andreas’s gaze remained fixed on the screen. ‘Not yet. We have to be certain.’

  ‘But they could be on their way.’ The response left Graham feeling uneasy. He did not want them to be left open to any risk of their prey slipping through the net.

  ‘We wait.’ Andreas was adamant. ‘If there is police activity and Turnbull does not turn off here, we might scare them away. We have to be sure.’

  ‘But the truck isn’t going to disappear. The police can still apprehend it and if the drugs are in the load...’

  ‘We wait.’ His tone allowed no room for c
ompromise and silenced Graham’s objections, though it did not ease his concerns. Andreas reflected on his abruptness and realised he needed to explain himself more fully.

  ‘I want us to catch them both. It’s not enough to stop the truck and seize the drugs. Arnold cannot get away. We have to be sure where the transaction is happening before we bring in the police. We have to get this right, so we wait.’

  ‘But if they’re too late because we should have called sooner...’

  ‘There will be time. Patience.’

  Ordinarily, in his past life, it was Graham who had to urge patience in others but, in these new circumstances, he found his own stretched to breaking point. Andreas wanted to see the whites of their eyes. He was more aware, after all, how long it might take to offload the shipment and transfer it. Perhaps he was right in his judgement that they should hold their nerve.

  ‘Almost on top of us now,’ said Andreas.

  The red dot had moved beyond the point on the motorway where they might have been able to stand out in the large lorry park outside and watch it speed by. If it was going to turn off, the truck must be slowing down.

  They waited for the system to refresh again and simultaneously reached for another gulp of their beers.

  It was on the slip road. It was turning off.

  ‘That’s it. Come to daddy.’ Andreas was staring at the screen with eager anticipation. The next refresh showed the dot past the junction and heading towards the road leading to the truck stop. Andreas’s confidence over the rendezvous point appeared well founded.

  Graham sucked in a long breath. This is it. Taking away the doubt over the destination was a huge relief. Now for the next stage.

  ‘Once we definitely know he’s heading for this lorry park I call it in to the police,’ he said decisively. ‘Once we get eyes on him we turn it over to them, like we agreed, right?’

  Andreas continued to glare intently at the screen, like the dot was a bug he was poised to swat.

  ‘Right, Andreas?’