The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin (23 page)

‘No problemo. You welcome.'

‘Can I buy you a drink?' continued Geoff as he stood to go and order the food.

‘Thank you. I accept from you coffee Americano, together with small cognac.'

‘You're on!' came back the quick reply. ‘You'd better come and give me a lift, Sooty. On second thoughts you'd better come, Derek,' said Geoff as he had a vision of disaster with the big lad trying to manoeuvre around all these tables carrying pizzas and beers.

Several minutes later they were all settled down around the table with their food and drink, including a coffee and large cognac for their newfound friend.

‘What next Geoff?' said John Bolton with a mouth full of pizza. Geoff's reaction was to mouth a silent
shhhh
, with his lips and look with his eyes in the direction of the old man quietly sipping his coffee at their table.

John Bolton nodded knowledgeably and concentrated on eating his meal.

They'd finished their pizzas and were near the end of their beers when the old man looked at his watch and thanked them all again for the drink.

Pushing himself upright with the aid of his stick, he slowly negotiated the surrounding tables, and left the bar, watched by the four lads.

‘He was a nice old guy,' said John Bolton.

‘Yes! We could do with someone like that to show us the ropes around here,' volunteered his brother.

‘Mmm. You've got a point there, Derek,' said Geoff, a thoughtful look in his eyes. He was kicking himself mentally for not thinking of that earlier. He made his way quickly to the entrance of the café but there was no sign of the old man in the throng of travellers milling around the doorway. Slowly, he made his way back to the table where the rest of the lads were watching him closely after his sudden rush from their company without any explanation.

‘I lost him in the crowd,' he said disappointedly to the Boltons, ‘anyway, not to worry; we'll go to the information desk. We need to find out where to go to catch a train to Pisa central station as, apparently, this airport is outside the city and we need to find our way to the station in Pisa itself.' He gave no explanation to the rest of the group about why he had suddenly shot off after the old man like he had.

*

That same morning, as Wilf Norton was being interviewed by Sergeant Robinson and Constable Wilson on how he had come into possession of so many forged £20 notes and what was his connection with Geoff Larkin and his associates; Harry Sutton, Derek and John Bolton and the murdered Mr. X, Geoff and the lads were flying past at several thousand feet above their heads on their way to the city of Pisa, Italy. It was early evening that same day when Robinson, with Constable Wilson and three other detectives, arrived at the airport hotel. It had taken them until then to trace and interview the taxi driver from the registration number left on Norton's notepad.

Also that same day they had received, from their American colleagues, a much more detailed and improved section of film which had confirmed what Robinson already suspected. Geoff Larkin had been crossing the road just before the taxi carrying Mr. X had arrived, placing him in the exact spot at the time and place when Mr. X's briefcase had been lifted.

*

The hotel lobby was quite busy that late afternoon; the three heavies sitting in the easy chairs reading the daily newspapers went unnoticed by the team of detectives that arrived in the room. One detective stayed at the lifts while the other positioned himself at the bottom of the stairs.

Sergeant Robinson, Constable Wilson and the other detective, along with the hotel manager, waited for the lift to reach the ground floor. They then occupied the same lift vacated by one of the heavies. The hotel manager opened the doors with his master card. A quick search of the rooms by Robinson and his team revealed nothing, only clothes and several suitcases, no cash and no documentation whatsoever.

‘It looks to me as if that Larkin has flown the coop again; he's a clever bugger and no mistake,' the sergeant said to Constable Wilson.

‘You're right, sarg, they could be anywhere in the world by now,' replied a disappointed Wilson.

‘Okay, let's start again, he may return. According to the manager, they've booked a table for four for dinner this evening, but I've a feeling they're not going to turn up. I think they're long gone by now. Get a team down to the airport and check on their security cameras. Go through their bookings and see if we can turn anything up. Get a team down here to go through these rooms, although I don't think there's anything here for them to find, and then leave someone in the hotel in case they return. Keep it all low key. If they do return, we don't want to frighten them off again. I'll go back and report to the chief constable; he's not going to be very happy at this outcome. He was hoping for a quick arrest and some good publicity but this info is going to spoil his evening meal.'

‘Yes, it will certainly give him indigestion,' quipped the constable followed by a little sarcastic laugh. The sergeant didn't reply, just thinking to himself that Wilson was getting far too familiar. He also had another problem, which he needed to discuss with the chief constable. One of his teams, following the trail of some of the forged notes, had traced them back through the local golf club and several of the town's more expensive restaurants to Daniel Goodier, the managing director of the town's largest construction company. Also, the principal of a detention centre situated on the outskirts of the town.

To the sergeant this, along with the large amount of forged cash found in the possession of Wilf Norton, did not fit in with the existing pattern of distribution. He wanted to clear certain points with his senior officer before he asked Mr. Goodier and the principal of the school to attend the police station for an interview.

It was an hour later after Sergeant Robinson had left the hotel, when the man who seemed to be in charge of the heavies received a phone call on his mobile. Turning to his companion sitting beside him he said, ‘Get the lads together, we've finished here, were off to the airport.'

All four men made their way, separately, through the automatic doors of the hotel entrance. The men walking behind the one who seemed to be in charge could hear him grating his teeth in anger as he walked across the car park towards their waiting black saloon.

*

While all this drama was unfolding in the Airport View Hotel, Geoff and his associates were indeed sitting down having their dinner but not where they had booked it, in the Airport View Hotel, UK, but in the dining room of the Italia Touring Hotel, Pisa, here they were struggling to order their meal from a menu that was in Italian only. They had, however, managed to order a bottle of wine and Geoff proposed a toast to themselves, ‘To Sooty, to Derek, to John and to myself I propose a toast, Gentlemen. It's better to be born lucky than to be born rich
.
We have achieved both. We are both lucky and rich. Cheers!'

‘Cheers, Geoff!' came a chorus of three voices in reply from around the dining table. On the face of it, and for the benefit of the other three, he was putting on a brave face. He had not been happy that it had been necessary to leave details of their passports behind at the reception when they had booked in at the hotel but this was the law. He realised it would only be a matter of time before the English authorities requested the help of the Italian police to trace their whereabouts, and their presence at this hotel would quickly come to the attention of the powers that be.

The lads were still struggling to order a meal from the Italian menu and whilst the waiter could speak a little English it was not sufficient to translate fully the contents of the options available.

‘Can me assist, gentlemen?' the voice spoke English with a strong accent they immediately recognised. It came from a nearby table which the speaker had occupied while they were proposing their toast. The old man rose slowly from his chair and, with the aid of his walking stick, came to stand by Geoff. ‘If bold I be, recommend pasta following by meat dish, wild boar, contorno, potatoes, fritters con mushrooms, find most tasteful, much filling.'

‘Sounds good to me,' said Sooty. ‘Great!'

‘And me too,' chorused the Bolton brothers.

‘I'll go along with that too,' said a relieved Geoff, turning in his chair to view the speaker. He had begun to feel quite helpless at losing control of the smallest of situations, sensing he was losing face in front of the other lads because he was so inadequate.

The man returned Geoff's smile and then gave their orders in fluent Italian to the waiter who thanked him, obviously relieved that an awkward situation had been resolved. The old man gave a swift bow in the direction of Geoff, who he obviously considered to be in charge, and returned, with the aid of his walking stick, to his own table.

John Bolton started to ask what they were going to do now but Geoff put his finger to his lips, as he did not want to discuss their situation within hearing of someone who understood their language. They just talked in general about their flight and the wonderful pizza they had tasted at Pisa airport, much more tasteful than the ones they had ever eaten at home.

It was later on that evening while they were having a drink in the small hotel bar that Geoff went over to the old man who was sitting on his own in the corner sipping an iced drink in a long glass.

‘Hi! Thanks for helping us out earlier. As you've no doubt gathered, we haven't been to Italy before. We're here on holiday and we're not sure where to go so perhaps you could advise us. Oh! And would you like another drink, Mr?'

‘Thank you multi kindly. Ah! My name. My name Merkel, Peer Merkel. I accept offer,' replied Peer Merkel offering his glass to Geoff. ‘As nightcap, I will accept Jagermeister, is digestive very gut, I find it is gut for me. Last time I in part of Italy, I, Peer Merkel your age, little older. I had many young comrades, as you have. Your joking-laughing brings many memories, all good friends.'

There was a long silence as the old man seemed to drift into a daydream but Geoff noticed that there were tears in his eyes. He waited a while, and then eventually interrupted. ‘You seem to speak the Italian language very well, Mr. Merkel,' Geoff said as he brought the old man his nightcap.

‘Yes, I Milano on business many occasions, this area Italy many bad memories of me, I come perhaps no more time,' replied Peer Merkel again with a faraway look in his eye.

Geoff continued to push the point that had first brought him over to the old man.

‘Me and my mates are here on holiday. We're not booked in anywhere special so you might say we're loose cannons.'

‘Loose cannons?' repeated Peer Merkel with a puzzled frown on his face.

‘You know, free and easy' repeated Geoff.

‘Free and easy?' repeated Mr. Merkel.

God, this is going to be harder than I first imagined,
thought Geoff to himself,
I'm going to need an interpreter for the interpreter!

‘Could we tag along with you and pay you for translating for us?' said Geoff, trying again.

‘I understand pay translation, not word you speak, tag along?'

‘We'll go wherever you go!' said Geoff, speaking much louder thinking that would help Peer Merkel to understand better.

‘Aha, I understand!' It had suddenly dawned on Mr. Merkel what this group of young Englishmen wanted.

‘You come with me and pay I, Peer Merkel, translate you English from Italiano?'

‘Yes, I think that's what we want,' said Geoff a little confused himself by now.

‘Tomorrow at breakfast we discuss. As you see, I speak very excellence English also Italiano. I now my room go.'

Watched by Geoff, the old gentleman got unsteadily to his feet, clicked his heels at the surprised young man in front of him and with the help of his stick, made his way across the room. After a few unsteady steps he stopped, turning slowly towards Geoff. ‘Your name? What yours name?'

‘My name is Geoff.'

‘Damn!' Geoff said to himself under his breath. The drink had fuzzed his brain. ‘Damn.' Again? Geoff was not the name on his forged passport!

‘I think tomorrow, Geoff, all boys go Pisa Central Piazza. Observing Leaning Tower, go taxi cab. I not early rise. You return noon prompt. We leave hotel together. Good night, Geoff.'

Peer Merkel again clicked his walking stick against his heel, turned again, and proceeded towards the lift situated at the far side of the reception area.

Geoff joined the others who were sitting at one of the tables near the bar. ‘You know, Geoff,' said John Bolton, ‘tonight will be the first night for a good while that I feel I'm going to have a good night's sleep.'

‘And some more good news,' replied Geoff, ‘Herr Peer Merkel, the old guy, will act as our interpreter and he's also going to show us around. We're going to discuss terms tomorrow after breakfast but, before that, we're going to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa.'

There was a loud cheer from the rest of the lads, which startled the bartender who was beginning to doze on his seat behind the bar.

True to his word, the following day, Peer Merkel was waiting with his case in the lounge when the group returned. They were sporting their brand new digital cameras and still discussing how the Leaning Tower, that they had just tested their new cameras on, hadn't collapsed long before now.

They quickly collected their cases from their rooms where they met at reception with Geoff paying their bill in cash. This did not go unnoticed by Peer Merkel who was waiting to pay his bill by credit card. They were soon following Peer Merkel on the short walk towards the railway station, Sooty carrying the old man's case as well has own and Geoff following in the rear. He was immensely relieved that they had left the hotel and were again on the move, he was not happy with the present system of having to leave the details of their passports where they stayed; he would have to come up with a better solution, if they decided to stay somewhere more permanent.

‘All catch train Italia to grand town, very historical, very old medieval town,' said Peer Merkel to Geoff who was now walking by his side.

‘What does “medieval” mean, Derek?' said Sooty to the youngest Bolton brother.

‘It means old Sooty, very old,' he responded as he was changing his grip on his case and swinging his camera, which was hung over his shoulder, further around his back.

Under the supervision of Peer Merkel, Geoff's purchase of the train tickets for the group went without any mishap, so different from the previous day's disaster when Geoff had purchased single tickets for the group from Pisa airport to Pisa town where they had loaded their cases and boarded the coach to the town attempting to use the train tickets. Then struggling to sort out and reclaim their luggage mixed with all the rest in the coach's storage bay, watched by the rest of the bemused passengers.

*

While the group were settling down on the Italian train watching the lush, green, fertile Tuscan fields slip by, back in the UK part of Robinson's team had spent all day scouring the security cameras at Manchester airport, eventually; they had come up with positive results.

They had managed to trace the four young men; further searching revealed they were also using forged passports. They had all boarded the early morning flight to Pisa airport, Italy. As soon as this had been confirmed Acting Inspector Robinson put in motion the process of informing the Italian authorities that four suspects, travelling under false passports and wanted in connection with a murder in the UK and dealing in forged currency, had entered their country via the airport at Pisa.

Because of this quick notification of information, Acting Inspector Robinson was hoping for some fast results from his Italian counterparts. Especially as he had given them the exact time and flight number of the plane that had brought the lads to Pisa. He also knew that if they had registered in any reputable hotel, their passport details would be passed on to the authorities, so in theory, these could be quickly checked and they would soon be picked up by the Italian police.

The other UK group, which had more sinister motives and were also trying to trace the four lads, assumed that they had now left the shores of the UK following a surge of withdrawals from cash machines.

As Geoff had surmised, these accounts had been purposely left open to try and trace their whereabouts. But these withdrawals had suddenly stopped.

The leader of the heavy gang was back at the airport hotel with two of his companions. He too had run out of information, even though all the local underworld were aware that there was a substantial cash sum available for any leads to the whereabouts of Geoff Larkin and his associates.

‘The police have left the hotel room now boss,' said one of the heavies, having come down in the lift. ‘The manager says that he overheard two of the officers talking. He said they found nothing of interest in the bedrooms.' The man they called boss ground his teeth before replying.

‘I'm going to take great pleasure in dealing personally with this little shit, Larkin. When I've finished with the fucking little bastard, he'll be begging to be put out of his misery, the little runt!' The boss's cursing was cut short by the ringing of his mobile phone.

He was still seething when he answered the call.

‘Yes! Hello! Yes sir!' It was obvious by the change in his attitude that someone of greater importance than he was on the other end of the instrument.

‘Yes sir! We think they've gone abroad. No sir, we don't know as yet. No! The police found nothing in the hotel rooms so they must still be carrying the goods with them. Yes! The carrier was trying to do a runner. Yes! He has been paid off so we will not be employing him again. I'm waiting for a phone call from our contact now. I'll do that as soon as I know.' The phone went dead. The boss was shaking slightly and looked distinctly uncomfortable.

‘That was a supervisor of the association; he's not very happy, not very happy at all!' he said more to himself than to Marco, the younger of his two companions.

All three men left the hotel, joining the rest of the gang waiting in their vehicles in the hotel car park.

The youngest of the heavies, Marco, had a thoughtful frown on his face. During the phone conversation for the first time since he had been employed he had noticed the faint glint of fear in his boss's eyes. It was apparent to Marco that there was a much bigger boss than the one who employed him. Marco was ambitious; he wanted to move up the ladder. He wanted to work directly for the top man!

Marco was a native of the divided island of Cyprus. He had been involved in fights ever since he could walk. Not only was the village where he had been born divided between Greek and Turks, he also lived in a divided household not accepted by either of these nationalities with

his mother being Greek and his father a Turkish national.

In his early teens he had moved to the town of Nicosia, eventually finding work for which he excelled, as a minder for the local crime lord. After beating a man to death in a brawl, he had been forced to flee the island. The dead man's family were out for revenge and had put a price on his head. He had moved around the major cities of Europe, doing casual work, usually waiting on tables or the occasional doorman duties at the various big city nightclubs.

Marco had a short fuse and his temper was the cause of him being dismissed from most jobs usually after a very short term in employment. He eventually arrived in London finding work in the nightclubs there. It was during this period that he eventually came into contact with the criminal fraternity, being taken on as a soldier by his present employer.

It was Marco using his favourite weapon, the knuckle duster, which had taken the beating of Mr. X one step too far resulting in the unfortunate man's brain damage.

The fact that this guy, Larkin, was giving his boss the run around gave Marco a lot of satisfaction because his present employer treated everybody around him like shit and, more so Marco, taking the piss out of him because of his accent and swarthy looks. This left Marco inwardly fuming and vowing he would, at the end of the day as the English put it, have his pound of flesh!

After a telephone call to Mr. Brown from his contact, it was Marco with two other heavies who accompanied his boss and caught the plane the following afternoon for the Italian city of Pisa.

With them they carried the photographs and information of four forged passports that were being used by Geoff Larkin and his three friends. This information had been provided to the gang by a small-time fence. He had come forward in response to the large reward on offer that had been circulated to the local underworld fraternity for any information leading to the whereabouts of the four young men.

*

While all this was going on in the UK, Geoff had the seed of a scheme forming in his mind. He was very free with his spending, paying for theirs and Peer Merkel's cases to be kept in store at Florence railway station, or Firenze, as Peer Merkel called it. He also stood the cost when the group sat down to a lavish lunch at a five star hotel that Peer Merkel had chosen. It was close to what Sooty called the big church. The Bolton brothers called it a cathedral and Peer Merkel called it ‘The Domo'.

The food was certainly different to what Geoff had been used to in the past. The four lads were unanimous in their praise for their meal ordered on their behalf by Peer Merkel. It was during this meal and after Peer Merkel's third glass of a very expensive white wine that Geoff decided the time was right for him to bring up the subject of accommodation.

‘Herr Merkel,' he said, attracting the old man's attention. ‘Us lads will be staying in Italy for quite a while. It would obviously be much cheaper if we rented some digs and, of course, it would be free for you to stay there as long as you wished to act as our guide.' He paused to let what he had said to the old man sink in before continuing, ‘Do you think with your contacts and excellent knowledge of Italian you could arrange that if I provide you with the green stuff?'

Peer Merkel thought for a moment. He sometimes did not understand this young man's terminology, like digs and green stuff. But he understood the gesture of rubbing thumb and fingers together, that sign was universal; it meant, CASH!

‘You require apartmento, think I. An in Italiano would you like to digs?'

Peer Merkel was quite pleased with himself as he thought he was learning quite well what was obviously slang language used by these young men.

‘Yes, that's right,' replied Geoff. ‘You've hit the nail on the head, wherever you suggest, just somewhere for us to crash.'

Nail in the head, crash!
he thought, perhaps on reflection, as he proceeded to pour the last of the white wine into his glass. It would take longer than he had first anticipated understanding these lads properly.

‘Okay! Halt here, hotel very nice. Tonight I telephono calls comrade, you boys tomorrow have very bella apartmento.'

‘Are we stopping here, Geoff?' said John Bolton who had been following the conversation closely whilst looking at the very expensive décor of the five star hotel.

‘It looks like it,' said Geoff, ‘our friend and translator, Herr Peer Merkel, seems to have very expensive tastes.'

He was quite pleased with the afternoon's work, even though the meal, if he had been back in the UK, would have had cost him more than a week's wage.

All being well, Peer Merkel would rent an apartment in his name and the lads would move in without having to produce or register their passports. Geoff would make a point of keeping Herr Merkel sweet.

If things went to plan, they would lose themselves amongst the thousands of tourists and slip through the net of the Italian police, for a while anyway, who, no doubt, would be looking for them very shortly, if they had not already started.

Geoff told Herr Merkel to book himself into the hotel; he would reimburse him later while he and the lads would go back to the station to collect their luggage. His idea was to have as big a gap as possible between Herr Merkel's name and their names on the hotel register.

He was not particularly worried at the moment as, he reckoned he had another couple of days before the Italian authorities got their act together and started to trace them through the hotel bookings but he did not want to leave anything to chance.

The following morning the group left the five star Florenze Hotel. Geoff made sure that he and the lads booked themselves out a good while before Peer Merkel, settling their bill in cash to a surprised receptionist.

They were all waiting in a café across the road from the hotel until the old man eventually appeared, struggling with his large suitcase. That is until the Bolton brothers appeared; one to carry the case and one to assist the old man across the busy road to the café.

Peer Merkel had felt quite weary that morning but he had enjoyed an excellent breakfast followed by several cups of coffee laced with schnapps; this had quickly lifted his spirits! He had made several phone calls to previous business associates and old friends living in the area, eventually managing to find a property available for rent. The price was quite high but these lads did not seem to be short of money and, hopefully, he would end up with free accommodation close to the city where he had intended to stay anyway.

Eventually, after waiting in vain in the hotel lobby for twenty minutes, he had paid his bill, and then feeling rather disgruntled wandered outside the hotel, where he was then met by two of the young men.

After settling down in one of the comfortable café chairs and ordering his third cup of coffee of the morning with its schnapps chaser, Herr Peer Merkel was feeling happy, relaxed and very pleased with himself, in his inside pocket were the euros given to him as promised by the boys' leader to cover his night's hotel expenses.

The accommodation that he had arranged was not an apartment but a six-bedroomed villa with its own swimming pool set in its own grounds outside the medieval-walled city of Arezzo in Tuscany.

‘Ah Geoff! My associates negotiate little rent for Italino property my behalf. Charge usually uno thousand euros per week holiday season, but as we taking bella villa several months cost you 800 euros week, very, very cheap, very good deal.'

Geoff felt his stomach turn over as the figure was mentioned; he quickly calculated the total that would be required.

Putting on a brave face in front of the rest of the lads and Peer Merkel, he counted out a month's rent in advance, in cash, with a flamboyant, ‘That's not a problem Peer but will there be a problem with us paying in English pound notes?' as he proceeded to count out the money into the outstretched hands of their newfound guide-come-interpreter.

‘No! Landlord not have problem with green stuff,' replied the old man, smiling at the use of their terminology, as he stuffed the wad of £50 and £20 notes into the inside pocket of his jacket.

‘All embark rail Italia to Arezzo. I meet associate for keys accommodation. You much like, very nice, Bella-Bella Casa, in Italiano; in English, beautiful, beautiful house.'