Karen is good at silence. It is
her weapon of mass distraction. She understands the intimate power of saying
nothing. When it is used to its full effect it has a way of drawing people out
- making them talk - when saying nothing would have been a better option. She
uses it well in identifying whether a person was up for a bung. I’ve seen
people made an offer of undeniable dubiety. Then Karen will switch off her
mouth. She watches their reaction. Nine times out of ten she has them sussed in
that moment of silence. A taker and she is in for the kill. A refusenik and she
backs off with dexterity. Leaving the target confused over exactly what they
have just been offered.
She shuts the visor and sits
back.
Waiting.
Well I can wait as well. It is
her turn to do the talking. I finger the leather cover on the wheel. I run my
fingertips across the stitching. Outside the light is starting to fade. I reach
for my mobile to see if there is a message. Nothing. Quentin is still in mid
code-cracking mode. I flip on the radio. The sound of Orchestral Manoeuvres in
the Dark fills the car. They are telling me it is eight fifteen and that was
the time it has always been – ‘Enola Gay’ a favourite track of mine.
I switch it off and look at the
clock on the dash. Andy McCluskey, the lead singer for the group is a couple of
hours out. I open the ashtray and fiddle with the loose change. I stop fiddling
and close it.
I am about to open the centre
console for a rummage when Karen swings round. She leans over. Too close. Her
face is inches from mine. In a well practised move she reaches out. She grabs
my head, pulls it towards her. We kiss.
I want to pull away big time. To
stop this insanity. I don’t. I know I should but I don’t. Instead I slip my
tongue into her mouth. I am beginning to enjoy this. Then she’s gone. Snapping
back in her seat, eyes straight ahead. Tears burst onto her cheeks. She sobs
like it hurts deep down. Her breath comes in lumps. She looks on the edge of
hysterical. I’m at a loss as to what to do. The kiss, the crying, the unexpected
enjoyment - it all adds up to a hill of confusion. Then she stops, turns round
to me. A dam breaks and she goes into talk mode in a big way. The speech is an
intense soliloquy. She expects nothing back from me until she runs out of gas.
When she is finished she opens the car door and gets out. I expect her to cross
to her own car. Instead she pulls out a packet of Marlboro Light and does the
dirty habit thing.
My head is spinning at the
outburst. I try and piece together what she has just told me.
It seems that Karen has had the
hots for me for some years. Me being as thick as the proverbial two by
four missed this on a regular basis. As such she had being seeking solace on a
number of other fronts - including one Leonard Thwaite.
Leonard and Karen had been an
item for six months. Not that I would notice. According to Karen this was not
good because I was supposed to notice. The affair had come to a grinding halt
yesterday morning. Leonard had fronted up to Karen on where things were going.
Leonard had plans a plenty. Mostly revolving around marriage, kids, a mortgage.
He also desired thirty years of slippers and tea.
Karen was as far from this vision
of hell as was possible. She had told him so. Leonard did not take this
information well. After a row of biblical proportions he had threatened to
expose all our dirty little secrets. Karen had returned the threat with knobs
on. The whole thing had gone down the toilet with an extra pull on the flush.
Putting two and two together
explained why Leonard had turned rogue. Clearly the fall out with Karen had
heightened his sense of exposure. Fearing a backlash he had set up the system
of document dispersal as insurance.
During the whole thing there was
no mention of the missing millions.
I was now in a new world. A world
where I had to factor in:
a)
Karen’s
feelings towards me
b)
My feelings
towards Karen
c)
Where next?
d)
Where was my
fucking money?
e)
Our clients that would certainly kill us if the documents went public
I allowed a small smile on my
lips. You can only take so much. Leonard’s document time bomb. My potential
love affair. A fatal and very premature end to my life. All in all this was
some kind of strong shit.
I watched Karen leaning against
the car, feeding her nicotine habit. I had never looked at her as a woman. A
fellow director yes. A woman - no. She was wearing a loose fitting jumper and a
pair of faded jeans. Her boots were high in the heel. At five feet and no
inches Karen used high heels to their fullest extent. Her hair was cut in a
short bob and she wore make up in an obvious way.
Her face was just the wrong side
of plump. Her eyes were too wide apart to let her face work in a beautiful way.
I had rarely seen her out of her business suits.
She exhaled. I abhor smoking but
it made her look cute. Now there is a word that I never thought I would use in
conjunction with Karen. Cute and Karen were mutually exclusive terms in my
book. As she stood there, make up smudged from crying, I could easily say she
was cute.
I tried to remember how far
things had gone last night. The alcohol fairy had stolen my memory and I knew I
would have to ask Karen at some point.
I now have to decide how much I
tell Karen. I can’t think that the full bhoona will be a good idea. It’s not as
if she doesn’t know about our dealings. But I also have to remember that she
has just robbed me of a million quid as well.
I make a mental call. The big
house, the fancy cars, Robin being her brother - even sleeping with Leonard -
the architect of my current down fall - all add up to someone to treat with kid
gloves for a little while longer.
Karen finishes the cigarette and
gets in the car. We start kissing.
I could get used to this.
George does a little
night work
.
Tina is dozing at the end of
Charlie’s bed and the hotel alarm clock has just tumbled from 10:59 to 11:00. I
stand up and look down on a sleeping man and wonder if I should leave him be.
The bruises on his face are taking on a multicoloured hue and when he moves in
his sleep he moans. I think about heading off myself and sorting out my end of
this mess. If I was quick and dumped all the stuff from my cupboard maybe I
could get back before they woke. After all Tina and I would be off the hook.
Slip out, remove the gear, return, grab Tina and walk. Easy.
The thought takes on some
solidity. There is real potential in it. The owners of Tyler Tower keep a Ford
Transit in the basement car park. It’s not just for my building. It is used all
over the central belt of Scotland for picking up and dropping stuff. It was
dropped off two days ago and is due to be picked up tomorrow morning. I have
the keys and the petrol tank is full. It is even sitting right outside the
freight lift, nicely placed to load up.
I take my mobile from my jacket
pocket and finger the keys. I have a friend who will, for a small
consideration, take all the hooky gear from me and flog it. I’ll lose out
financially on a few items but in the rounding I’ll break even and I won’t have
a shed load of red hot merchandise with my name on it.
I call up his number from the
address book and my thumb hovers over the dial button. I lay my skin on the
smooth lump of plastic and rub my finger back and forward, applying ever so
gentle pressure at first and then increasing it stroke by stroke.
If I make this choice Tina won’t
be happy but she’ll see the sense in it later. Why would she want to stay
involved in this nonsense when we can both get out?
She is lying on the bed; snoring
- her mouth hanging open. Her head is lying between Charlie’s feet and she
looks… well she looks vulnerable. But it is not her that is vulnerable. Not
really. It is me. I’ve only known her a short while but she has the sort of
spirit and fortitude that I’ll never have. She should be flying career wise but
her feisty nature long ago pulled the plug on her ambitions with her current
employer. She should move on and get a better job. I haven’t brought the
subject up. It’s not easy when your own job is so bad that you have to sub it
with flogging stolen gear. If she gets in any deeper in this mess then it will
be goodbye to her future - regardless.
I press the dial button and wait
for it to connect.
Charlie rolls over and his good
eye opens. The head bandage has slipped a little and I lean forward and give
him a hand to re-arrange it. He should be back in hospital but that’s not going
to happen anytime soon. Tina stirs and smiles at me. I hear a voice on the
phone speaker and I depress the cancel button and I know that I’m not doing a
runner. One way or another we are all in this for the long haul.
Charlie seems a little brighter
and once he has showered, (not easy with a bandage around your head) and
changed into fresh clothes he radiates a bit more life. We take the lift to the
ground floor. The receptionist doesn’t even look up as we leave.
The night is cool and the sky a
murky mix of cloud and red, the Glasgow lights reflecting from the underside of
the sky. We cross to the multi storey car park and have to dodge a couple of
lads hanging around the ticket machine on the blag for loose change.
Tyler Tower isn’t that far away
but Charlie is in no fit state for a walk. Although to give him credit, he is
moving well given the way he walked not a few hours earlier. We want the option
of a quick getaway should the world piss up our leg so we’ll take Tina’s car.
The plan is to cruise down the
back alley and I’ll open up the underground car park. I know the over night
security guard well so there should be no issue. A couple of iPods and he will
be sweet. A couple more and he may even arrange for the CCTV to lose a few
hours. The system is forever screwing up anyway so it’s hardly a risk.
I’m also praying that the police
will have left the scene by now.
I’ll load my gear into the
Transit with the help of Tina while Charlie will retrieve Leonard’s hard drive
and then we are out of there. I ask if Charlie is up to this and he says yes.
Tina works her way round the
Glasgow grid and onto West George St. We do a fly-by of the Tower - looking for
the gorillas and/or the police but if they are there we can’t see them. We
circle onto the square behind the Tower and then slip down the lane. I jump out
of the car, remove my keys from my coat pocket, open up a small panel on the
lane wall and enter a six digit code. From within there is a clunk and the
steel shutter rattles up.
The noise is like a drum roll in
a church and my eyes dart around expecting someone to appear to see what is
going on but the lane stays empty. The shutter slams into the roof and I get
back in the car and we slide into the car park. It should be deserted but I see
that, along with the Transit, Simon’s BMW is in its slot. My breathing ceases.
Tina asks what’s wrong and I tell her who the car belongs to.
She is for turning right round
and leaving. I disagree. For a start I know Simon was in this morning and maybe
he left the car. Tina tells us that she saw the police in the lane with what
looked like the same BMW and a man lying in the gutter this morning. I tell
them that Simon had been at a party and thrown up in the office. Maybe the
police gave him a break and told him to put the car back and go home?
‘We should go. There is no way
that Simon isn’t in on this?’
You have to give it to Tina for
verbalising the blindingly obvious.
It is a thought that has crossed
my mind a few times today. Since Tina’s revelation about Robin it occurred to
me that Simon might be involved. Now here was his car sitting in the garage and
we were on our own. If the gorillas were with him we were walking right into
their arms - dead meat ripe for the mincing machine.
We argue. Tina is still for
getting out. I still disagree. If we don’t get the upper hand in this whole
sorry affair then running will fix nothing. Our only hope is to get the hard
drive and pray it holds the answers we need. Tina reverts to type and wants to
go to the police once more. She tells me that a few stolen goods are zip
compared to a couple of contract killers. Charlie chips in and makes our minds
up.
It is simple. If we go to the
police what do we have. We have no evidence to link Robin or Simon to Leonard’s
death. We have a bunch of documents that may or may not relate to illegal
dealings by Retip - that is it!
Charlie’s right. Even
if
Charlie and I could ID the gorillas and
if
the police caught them what
is the tie back to Retip? What’s to stop a fresh set of thugs being despatched
once we are out of sight of the police. No, we had to get a grip. If Simon was
in the building we would simply have to deal with it.
Tina is still unsure but I
persuade her by saying that I’ll check out with Tam, the security guard, on
Simon’s BMW. If it has been here since last night then we can proceed. If not
we think again. With that I take the emergency stairs up to the ground level.
If Tam is on the ball he will have seen us driving into the garage and be
expecting me.
I enter the reception area
conscious that a bright Managing Director of a successful company might have
asked Tam to give him the head up if anyone comes in the building. The
reception is empty. I suspect that Tam is on his rounds. He does two full
rounds a night. All forty four floors. It takes him the best part of two hours
and he could be anywhere right now. It could take me as long to find him.