Seven Daze (30 page)

“Cheers, guv.”

Another five minutes crawled by. The smallest doubt, that he kept trying to push away, was growing. He’d seen her go in the building with his five grand, but she hadn’t come out. Maybe, just maybe, there was another exit.

He shook his head. This was Charlotte, or whatever her name was, not some common criminal like himself. They’d spent last night together. They were close. Besides, what was five grand to her? She was loaded. At least she would be after this job.

He sighed. The money wasn’t hers. She was borrowing it. She wasn’t loaded at all. Like him, she had nothing. The payoff was ages away, and the surprise GDP figures had probably messed everything up.

“Shit.”

He felt sick as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.

“You alright, chief?” asked the cabbie with genuine concern.

“Not sure.” He didn’t want to panic the cabbie. They had CCTV after all. If he suspected any sort of crime he might report it. He seemed the sort. A bit of cash in hand work himself was different. It was everyone else who robbed from the taxman.

Another ten minutes, and he was sure she wasn’t coming back. It surely wouldn’t take nearly half an hour to get cash out of a box. She’d blagged him. Pure and simple. A sickly feeling rose up his throat. He had to control his breathing to make sure the cab wasn’t going to get pepper-blasted with last night’s chilli and kebab. How stupid had he been? He’d got so close too. They might have taken five grand if he’d begged. But now, just to make it worse, they were expecting him in an hour with ten grand. They were going to be disappointed.

“I don’t think she’s coming back.” He knew he’d said the words, but they seemed so distant.

“How d’ya mean, pal?”

“I think she might have dumped me.”

The cabbie looked at his meter. “Still a tenner left if you wanna go anywhere.”

Jim shrugged, pulled out his mobile and dialled her number. Dancing Queen, her ringtone, started playing from down the side of the cab seat.

The cab was just indicating to pull into traffic when she walked out the front door.

“Stop.”

The cab did, nearly taking out a car with it. The cabbie muttered something Jim didn’t recognise.

Letting herself in, she looked awkwardly at Jim. “It was busy.”

He shook his head and whispered, “Sorry. You left your phone here, down the side of the cab.”

“That’s where it is. I thought I’d lost it.”

The cabbie, his eyes heavily on the rear-view mirror, drove back south towards the hotel.

“Sorry,” said Jim again.

“You will be.”

Though she was sitting on the hotel bed, Jim had nothing to smile about. She had the briefcase too. The briefcase that contained ten grand. The ten grand he needed to pay for his life in less than an hour.

“Is this what it’s going to be like?” she said. “Every moment you’re wondering if I’m ripping you off?”

He’d messed up. What could he say to convince her? Sorry just wasn’t cutting it.

“Look. My head’s all over the place. In less than an hour I’m dead if I haven’t got the money.” He looked again at the briefcase.

“Oh yeah, the money. It’s all there. Do you want to count it first? Or make sure I haven’t replaced your five grand with cut up pieces of paper?”

He didn’t need ideas putting in his head. Maybe she was working for the big man. No. Of course she wasn’t. He breathed deeply.

“Christ, I’ve messed up haven’t I?” He tried his puppy dog look. It didn’t work.

“If there’s no trust this ain’t gonna work.” Her perfectly tutored and practised voice slipped. The black in her hair wasn’t the only roots showing.

“Once this is done,” he said, “it’ll be different, won’t it? I’ve spent the whole week thinking I’m dead. I even gave away two bags for life the other day. That’s how convinced I was. This has happened so quickly. I just ...” He paused. “I want this rod off my back.”

Her face moved into something approaching a smile. “You gave away a bag for life?”

He nodded. “I pawned that stolen laptop and iPad; told the pawnbroker to keep the bags. Look.” He changed tact and spoke softer, his eyes pleading with hers. “How many opportunities have I had to rob you? Ask yourself. How many times did I look after your bag when you went to the toilet? Or when I was in your flat, your laptop was there wasn’t it? I could have had that, and a hundredweight of stainless steel out while you were having a shower.” He shook his head. He wasn’t sure this new tack would work but he’d tried everything else in the last ten minutes. “I panicked. Can you seriously tell me you wouldn’t have?”

She sighed and picked up the briefcase. “Call me when it’s over.” She threw the case into his lap.

“Charlotte.” She was heading for the door, but turned round as he said her name. “I won’t let you down.”

“You better fucking not.”

The blackened-windowed Range Rover arrived on time. Jim thought it might. Money had a habit of making even the most tardiest punctual. Not that the front seat passenger was tardy in any way.

The door was held open for him by Ralph the knuckle scraper. Placing the case on his legs, he waited for the car to tear off at high speed.

“Good afternoon,” the man in front said.

“Afternoon.” Jim had been unsure whether to reply or not, but politeness couldn’t possibly cause harm or offense.

“I hear you’ve been busy.” He paused briefly, though he definitely didn’t want a reply. “One of my little birdies tells me you done well. I’m very nearly impressed. You see, hard graft’s something I respect. We’re all in this boat together, aren’t we? It’s hard enough getting by these days as it is. I respect hard graft. It’ll always come through in the end.”

Jim remembered how much he liked his own voice. Also, given the cost of the car, he wondered just what his experience of being hard up was.

“Anyway, down to business. If you hand the briefcase to Ralph, he’ll count it. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I’d just hate for anything to be realised later that could be sorted now.”

He handed the briefcase to Ralph. He’d counted the money four times and it was bang on. He had a feeling Charlotte had counted it a few times too. His heart was still in his mouth as Ralph opened the case then flicked through the wads of cash.

“As I believe I said last time,” he continued, “it’s a shame our business relationship had to come to this. However, I’m not in the habit of making enemies. They cause such time-consuming complications as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Ralph was nearly halfway through counting. Though he’d run out of fingers a long time ago, Jim thought he was doing a great job.

“Similarly though, friendship is something that I believe should start correctly. Therefore, assuming all is correct with the case, I think our parting of ways should be permanent. If ever I see you again, I will have no way of knowing whether you are intending to recollect the compensation or not. So it stands to reason that, should I see you approach my businesses, my home or any part of London that I, for want of a better word, control, I will have to assume the worst. Is that clear?”

Jim had lost him halfway through, but he had a feeling the phrase, “don’t come back looking for your money,” would have saved him some wear on his vocal cords. “Yes,” he croaked.

“Good.”

He turned and looked at Ralph counting. Jim guessed the speech was over. In a perfect world the car would pull over and he’d be turfed out. However, the Ralph factor hadn’t been taken into account.

He knew an embarrassed silence would fill the rest of the short journey. But for the first time in a week, he felt free. The week that might have been the last he’d ever see had been and gone. As long as he kept out of east London, he could live to a ripe old age.

“It’s all here, boss.”

The man nodded at the driver who pulled into the kerb. “Well, that concludes things nicely. As it’s such a lovely day, I’m sure you’ll be glad of the walk. Goodbye. It’s been a pleasure doing business.”

“Thanks.” He wasn’t sure why he thanked him, but he had to say something.

As Ralph let him out he took a deep mouthful of clean, fresh London air. Coughing slightly, he looked round to get his bearings. The West End. An Irish themed pub on a corner looked inviting, but there was something he had to do first.

“Hi, it’s me,” he said to the voicemail. “Just to let you know, everything went well. I’m off to get changed then I’ll head for the square mile.” He wasn’t too bothered she hadn’t answered the phone. Her phone had been ringing all morning. Clients wanting to meet to discuss things they couldn’t on the phone. The GDP figures had messed up the plan. Jim only hoped some punters were left in by the end. If not, then Charlotte would end up owing money to Holloway’s answer to the big man.

Sat at the bar of the fake Irish pub, he knew he’d help her. He’d rob every twat in a suit in the square mile for her. Every last one.

“Pint of Guinness, pal,” he said.

The barman nodded and poured an unfeasibly slow pint. Business was slow. A few drunks and an American couple taking in the delights of a traditional London Irish pub. Jim considered the man’s wallet. No doubt it was heavy, almost sagging with the brown and blue notes that weren’t dollars and who’s value was confusing. A week ago he may have followed them, relieved them of all that funny money. He smiled, glad all that was over. He’d never felt comfortable wallet snatching. It had just been a means to an end. Turned out he hadn’t needed to rob anyone. That was life though.

The pint slipped down in two gulps.

“Another?” asked the Australian barman.

“Please.”

Street robbing and buying and selling wasn’t his game anymore. He’d joined the big league. White-collar crime. City crime. Stealing not from under people’s noses, but over a period of time when anything could happen. That took
cojones
. Large
cojones
. He had to do his bit not only to repay Charlotte, but to win her back after this morning. How could he have thought she’d fleece him? After last night too. Not that he could remember last night, but he knew it was special. No, he’d let her down but he’d make it right again.

The pint disappeared in three mouthfuls. Making his way to the hotel he had to get dressed and hit the city in time for the end-of-day trading pub rush.

Before that, there was one other job from his past to finish.

He reckoned he looked alright in a suit. Not a natural banker or whizz kid, but he felt he fitted. His face looked drawn and aged though. Like he hadn’t slept for a month. Last night hadn’t helped. Maybe he’d catch up on a few hours tonight.

Walking into the bathroom he pulled the top from the toilet cistern. The unused shooter was still inside almost begging to be used. How close had he come? Just how close? Not just Geoffrey either, but the other day. He’d been close to robbing a post office or that bookies. All the time, Charlotte was waiting with money in the bank.

He shook his head. He couldn’t help but smile. Today could have gone so differently. He couldn’t even remember how he and Charlotte had discovered they were doing similar jobs last night. It was just a blur.

Gloves on, he pulled out the pistol, took it from the bag then wiped at it with a towel. He’d been so careful not to get prints on it, but double checking never hurt. His plan for disposal was clear. Walk to the river and chuck it in. Though crowds were everywhere, no one noticed anything in London. No one ever noticed anything.

He felt conspicuous alongside the Thames. He knew no one could see the gun lurking in his inside breast pocket, but that didn’t matter. Paranoia was back in town. The fenced-off shoreline was busier than he’d expected. Groups of tourists taking pictures of the Millennium Wheel and the skyscraper-filled skyline. South of the river was apparently good for something: taking pictures of the other shore.

Jim wandered for ages, possibly a mile, until the river and tourists calmed down. A few launches were at the north side, taking trippers for a tour, but the south side was clear. Taking a deep breath, he looked round one last time. No one watching. Removing the gun from his pocket, his gloved hand dropped it in the river. He expected it to ignore the rules of physics and just sit there atop the water, floating away towards the nearest police boat.

It didn’t.

It sunk. Quicker than a stone. Quicker than he would have with concrete wellies on.

It was gone.

The last reminder of that failed mistake, gone. He sighed heavily then headed for the tube.

The tube network was quiet waiting for the five o’clock rush. Alighting in the heart of the city, he made for a bar avoiding a few he’d previously done his own form of business in.

A wine bar. It too was preparing for the rush. Champagne and Chardonnay was on ice. Jim bought a bottle of Mexican lager and stood near the bar, sipping it gently. The past week had been a mess of alcohol. He needed a few days from it. Rehab. That was what he needed. Alcohol seemed to go with this job though. His new job for his new employer.

He smiled. After what had happened last night, most of which he couldn’t remember, being classed as her employee gave him a chuckle. He had to be careful though. He’d already upset the boss today. Anymore messing round and he’d be fired. With no severance.

An hour and two bottles of lager clicked by before the hoards entered. Being Thursday, more than normal hit the bars and restaurants for their near weekend snifter. The pub was soon full, albeit temporarily. Jim surveyed the potential quarry. A gaggle of blokes, similar shirts and ties, all sipping the same lager. A swanny of girls, glasses of white wine in their hands, talked above the din sharing tales and smiles. Small groups from the same office stood round, a misfit of people desperate to go home or drink with their friends instead.

No group looked too appealing. From what he remembered of Charlotte’s advice in finding a mark, it was best to go for the boring looking ones on the outskirts. Of course, Charlotte had an advantage; she was an attractive woman. Befriending men was easy for her than women would be for Jim. He reckoned most of the women were too savvy here anyway. They weren’t greedy enough either. That was more a male trait.