Seven Daze (28 page)

She poured and drank another vodka. It wasn’t working.

“I moved to Birmingham and managed to get a proper job in an office through an agency. It was only temping; the gift of the gab helped but soon I ended up in the finance department. I’d never worked before, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I started to make plans to buy a flat. Even take exams to get a better job. I kind of realised you can’t carry on grifting forever. Guess I grew up.”

She noticed he was following her words better now. The staring eyes were focused. Maybe even his smile was returning. He hadn’t touched his whisky, but she thought that was a good thing. He’d obviously been drinking again today, just like every other day since she’d met him.

“I was doing well in this job. Just had a promotion, pay rise, everything was going well. The past has a habit of catching you out doesn’t it. Someone I’d blagged from Bristol had somehow become a bank manager and visited the office. I didn’t even recognise him in the two minutes I saw him. Unfortunately, he recognised me. It only clicked when the police smashed down my door later that night. The rest, as they say, is history.”

He’d calmed down. He still wasn’t sure if she was taking the piss. The story seemed good. Too good to not be true. He hadn’t suspected anything. Not a glimmer. This bugged him more than anything else. How could he not spot a conner?

She seemed more relaxed talking about her past than he could remember. The front was gone. He knew keeping secrets made you desperate for someone to share them with. The only problem was, did he now tell her the full truth about Geoffrey?

“So,” he said, “I take it there’s no real investment then?”

She laughed. “Welcome back. No. Greedy people think they’re getting in on a hush-hush get-rich-quick scheme. I haven’t even got a proper office. I just go from bar to bar, restaurant to restaurant and find people who look slightly drunk and corrupt.”

“No office? What if someone wants to visit where you work?”

“I’ve got a serviced phone line and address. They take messages and pass on calls. You can hire rooms by the hour too. Brenda taught me how to do it. She got ten years, but she’d hid a lump of cash. I’m just borrowing and reinvesting part of it, so to speak.”

Jim shook his head. “What made you go back to it?” He blinked and shook his head. “Once a con always a con.”

She nodded. “I knew I could never get another job in an office. That was the end of it. I decided while inside it was either a life on the dole or go back to my old ways.”

“This city blag. When was it going to happen? I mean, there must be a day when you collect in the money and scarper?”

“Next month. You scared the life out of me with your GDP figures. I imagined everyone pulling out. This place isn’t cheap to rent you know. If I blew all of Brenda’s dough she wouldn’t be impressed.”

She poured herself another vodka, pulled her legs onto the sofa and turned towards him. “Your turn now. Full story from the start.”

He decided whisky was a good idea before he started. He took nearly ten minutes explaining his childhood, teenage years and the ins and outs of prison over the past decade. Now arriving at his leaving date, he had a huge choice. Tell the truth about contract killing or a lie.

“Harry, my cellmate, offered me this job when I left. I say job, it was more a contract. You’ve got to understand this, life just wasn’t going anywhere. I was in and out of nick all the time. I was the hooky-goods man, the Del Boy of Coventry. I knew it’d only be a year until I was back inside. It’s no life. I wanted more.” He drained the whisky. Fire burned his throat before hitting his stomach. “I got talked into it. Caught up in the glamour and money. I forgot what the job actually was.”

“What was the job?”

He knew this wasn’t a good idea. She definitely wasn’t a cop, that wasn’t the problem. Taking a life is so different to taking possessions. A different league of crime. He knew that even the most messed up person offered the largest sum of money would still have the moral dilemma that killing gives. To just say you’d forgotten. No, it wouldn’t wash.

He had to lie.

While he paused, she reached over and touched his shoulder. Her warm hand made him flinch. Once again, he knew he couldn’t risk losing this by telling the truth.

“Kidnapping. Well, ‘adultnapping’.”

He turned and looked in her eyes. Her face had changed. He’d expected that.

“I was desperate. That’s what I was doing behind the cardboard box. The plan was to jump out in front of him, wave a replica pistol in his face then escort him to a van parked round the corner. We’d take him to some waste ground, scare the Bejesus out of him then let him go. Then, he’d find the money to pay up.”

She’d folded her arms. Had he gone too far?

“What you’ve got to understand,” he said, “is that was the third day I was there. I bottled two other chances. I would have bottled that day too, even if his heart wasn’t dicky. I couldn’t do it. Replica gun or not, I couldn’t do it. I sell stolen gear. I’m a thief, a crap one at that, but I’m not a murderer.” He quickly backtracked. “I’m not a murderer or threatener or bully-boy or whatever. I sell wallets and laptops.”

He waited.

She was regretting asking for the truth. He couldn’t hurt a fly. She could tell that by looking at him. How hard up do you have to get before you think it’s an option? She’d been hard up. Lived in squats, stole food. Physically hurting people never registered. It was just wrong. There were moral boundaries. She knew where hers were. Where were his?

Shaking her head, she said, “How did you convince yourself it was an option?”

Taking a large glug of whisky, he shrugged. “Prison. It does things to you.” He sighed. “I was banged up with murderers and thugs. Life like that, it just ... I don’t know the proper words, but it becomes normal. You forget yourself, get drawn into their world.”

“Desensitised?”

He nodded. It sounded like the right word. “The other times I’d been inside there were the hard bastards and the petty thieves like me. We stayed out of their way. If you made the mistake of talking to them you regretted it.” Charlotte’s flop of hair had pounced down, but she didn’t seem to notice it was there. “The last stretch was different. I was in at the deep end. Sharing a cell with Harry, the only people I ever saw were hardened and serial GBHers. My head got lost, stuck in this world of violence and retribution. I guess I knew it was wrong, but ...” He thought she seemed convinced. He had many other questions he wanted to ask her, but couldn’t begin to order them properly. One question though stuck out. “Were you planning on fleecing me?” He tried to word it as a joke, but it was deadly serious.

It was a fair question. She’d been wondering the same about him. Was his plan to rob her or her flat if she hadn’t agreed to his GDP scam? Something told her not. He’d had opportunities this week if he was after money. He’d been so wound up earlier though; a doomed man. God knows what he would have done if she’d said no. That didn’t bear thinking about.

“I could ask you the same question,” she replied.

He shrugged his shoulders. She knew what that meant. He’d been a mark from early on. She didn’t just give her number to anyone. He didn’t match her normal mark though. Too caring. Not full of himself. Deep down, she knew that although she’d have taken his money, it would have kept her awake at night.

“Stalemate?” he offered.

She nodded. “So, when do you have to pay them?”

“I’ve got to ring a number. Are you sure this is okay? I mean, I’m quite attached to my legs and that, but, you know.”

She flicked her hair back onto her forehead. The floppy fringe was fucking annoying. She was never getting her haircut there again. It’s all the rage they’d said. They didn’t say how annoying it was. They didn’t say how many times it would get in the way.

“It’s only money. Money versus a life isn’t close. I can get it first thing when the banks open. Four gee, yeah?”

He nodded. “I’ll get the rest together. Some of it’s in the East End. I got a lock-up there. Don’t ask, it’s been a busy week.”

“I bet it has. You’ve done well though. Six in a week. How did you do it.”

“Well,” he started, “I had a bit of luck.”

Time had flown by. Raif’s watch said eleven and he didn’t doubt it. It seemed like they’d been talking an hour, not four. They’d been laughing at one point then it got serious again. She kept returning the conversation to thuggery. He was glad he’d held back on the real reason, but wondered if it would return to haunt him.

“The problem’s prison,” he said again. “It puts you in situations that seem normal, but aren’t.” He didn’t know if his repeated argument was winning or not.

“That’s not what I meant.” She took another sip of vodka. Jim himself felt plastered after all the drink. His last walk to the toilet had been a trial. Apart from her red face, Charlotte didn’t look drunk at all. “You grow up with inbuilt morals. Deep down, you know if something’s right or wrong.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not proud of many things I’ve done. What I do want, more than anything, is a different life. A chance of something better. I had this plan you see.”

He looked away from her towards the stereo. She was looking at his face, following every word. He needed distracting from her eyes. “A couple of jobs, earn money then retire. Get myself a little farm or smallholding or something. When I was in Scotland, I saw places that go for nothing compared to down here. Or Wales for that matter. It wasn’t long term, it was the means to an end.”

“I didn’t think being a bovver boy paid that well.”

He knew she’d got him again.

“I’d have done other stuff too. One last blitz then retire. Or at the least get enough to get me settled and start again. What I did to Raif, you know, the broker?” She nodded. He had tried to bring Raif up as much as possible. She seemed to approve of that particular blag. “Yeah, Raif was sort of planned inside. Not the ins and outs and who. But, I knew people like that existed and were heavily insured. There’s a lot of thinking time inside. You know that.”

She sighed and poured another round of drinks.

“So,” she said, “Is that it then? No other lies or things I should know?”

He shook his head. Then, remembering something, shrugged his shoulders. “Erm, yeah, just one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

Should he tell the truth or not? He opened his mouth and left his subconscious in charge of what came out.

“I’m not vegetarian.”

She laughed then threw all available cushions towards him.

“You absolute bastard. Why?”

“Sorry.” The cushions were quite firm. Especially the pointy leather corners. “It was that restaurant. It was so expensive and I thought we were going halves.”

She looked at the ceiling, apparently deep in thought. “Of course.” Shaking her head, she leaned over to the other sofa for another cushion. “You could have told me after.”

“Stop it. Hey, look, what could I do? I was in tofu up to my eyeballs. I had to keep the lie going. I’m sorry.”

“Do you know how much effort I put into that bloody chilli?”

“It was nice.”

“No it wasn’t, it was fucking horrible. It was burnt.”

Jim laughed. “It was hot though.”

“Just like inside?” She laughed. “I can’t believe you lied about that.”

After everything else he’d lied about, Jim thought it small in comparison. But maybe she had a point. Up until an hour or two ago she didn’t know anything about him. It was all fake. Similarly, his view of her. He supposed it was like meeting all over again. Either way, she was laughing which was better than the alternative.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“No. Why, do you want me to go and get a takeaway or something?”

She shook her head. “Just asking. We didn’t really eat much. I made, well bought, a vegan cheesecake. I wasn’t sure just how strict you were on the whole milk and cheese thing.”

“No, I’m not hungry, thanks.” He wanted to say yes. Food might soak up the whisky trudging through his veins, but he got the impression food was the last thing on her mind.

With the time getting on for half eleven he was waiting for a sign that she wanted him to leave. So far, it hadn’t come. Just a yawn or a long check of her watch would do. Of course he didn’t want to force it from her. He was kind of hoping to spend the night on the sofa. If he left and went back to the hotel she might change her mind by the morning. Camping out for the night in her front room would make it harder to not lend him four grand.

“I really am grateful you know. I’ll pay back every penny. I don’t know how, but I will. Maybe street entertaining. That’s fairly respectable these days. I could make four grand in a few months.”

“Not if you live in a hotel paying seventy quid a night you won’t. Look, it’s not a loan. I said earlier. I’m helping you out. Don’t worry about it.”

He shook his head. “That’s not right. I can’t just let you pay.”

“Ooh, look at Mr Work Ethic. Where did that come from? Harry?”

He thought that was harsh. Maybe she thought it funny or it was the drink talking. He looked at his shoes nestling in the huge piles of carpet beneath them.

“Sorry, was that a bit much? Truth hurt?”

He mumbled something but couldn’t get the words out. She faked an east London accent. “Always look after our own, guvnor. And we’re good to our muvvers. Sometimes you gotta be harsh to be fair.”

He shook his head. “Don’t give up the day job.”

“I’m offering to give you money. For the last week you’ve been robbing people blind. Just take it.”

“As you said in your great accent. You’re like me. A lot like me. I’ll pay you back one day, I promise.”

Her smile had returned, if anything, cheekier than before. He thought the last few glasses of vodka had gone to her head. Her cheeks were flushed and the lump of dangling hair no longer seemed to bother her. He looked at the bottle. She’d finished it. He was surprised and impressed by her ability to drink.