Authors: R. D. Ronald
*****
‘I saw your cousin Ermina with Sadiq again yesterday,’ Latif said quietly as they walked towards the hall after prayers. ‘They looked pretty friendly.’
‘Do you think there is anything in it?’ Tazeem asked, trying not to look concerned.
‘I don’t know, my friend, but she would be wise to steer clear.’
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Sadiq asked in anything but a whisper as he strode confidently between them.
‘Nothing,’ Tazeem answered, as he returned his head covering on the way out.
Tazeem had gone through school with Latif and Sadiq, and for years they had been very close. Now at 23 they all had different pursuits, social groups and seemingly work ethics. But Friday prayer at the Mosque would often see them reunited if only for a brief period.
Latif was currently in the process of buying his second business and looked in no mind to slow down his acquisitions. Tazeem worked long hours in family-run shops and oversaw redevelopment of rental properties, but so far had nothing other than a small house in the suburbs he could class as his own. Sadiq, however, never seemed to work any steady hours but was never short of cash, which he’d splash around on his frequent nights out at casinos and nightclubs.
‘Were you talking about me? My ears should be burning, yeah?’ Sadiq grinned, putting an arm around each of their shoulders.
‘So what if we were?’ Latif said angrily, and shrugged him off.
‘I’m glad to see you made an appearance today, Tazeem. Friday prayer is compulsory for all Muslim men and your absences recently do not meet approval,’ the voice of Imam Omar boomed from behind, taking all three by surprise.
Tazeem considered telling Omar he had been attending other mosques while working away, but lying to the wily Imam was pointless; his eyes could pierce and shred the fabric of a lie as easily as a pin passing through a balloon.
Tazeem and Latif retrieved their shoes and left the Mosque,
while Sadiq lingered in the doorway, talking jovially with some of the others.
‘I don’t know how Sadiq manages to convince old grey-hair of his righteousness without any feeling of compunction,’ Tazeem said, as they walked back to the car park.
‘I know what you mean,’ Latif nodded. ‘Even though I’ve done nothing wrong, standing near Omar brings on a feeling of much guilt. Sadiq is without doubt lacking a social conscience.’
Tazeem let the matter drop. He could identify with Latif ’s misplaced guilt around the Imam, but a social conscience was not something that he paid particular attention to. He said goodbye to his friend and climbed into his eight-year-old silver Mercedes, then drove off to one of his family’s stores to put in an afternoon shift.
Tazeem relieved Mavis, a local alcoholic who took shifts at short notice, happy to receive payment in alcohol. He took his place behind the cash register. There were a couple of customers browsing towards the back of the store but no one required immediate service. He took out his wallet and withdrew a number of credit cards bearing different names. Picking two at random, Tazeem reeled off around 30 Lotto scratch cards from their display cases on the counter and rang them up at the till, using the credit cards.
This was a low-risk scam he’d run successfully for a while. He’d fraudulently apply for the credit cards at addresses of properties where he was overseeing repair work, then use the cards a few times to buy large numbers of scratch cards while working at various shops. He was under no illusion that this would bring about great riches or early retirement, but the extra cash made his life a little easier.
Tazeem pulled out the silver
taweez
locket that he wore on a chain around his neck, left to him when his father died. He didn’t believe in superstition, but using the partly serrated edge to scratch away the foil coating revealing the numbers and symbols beneath had become a part of the ritual for him. Mavis waved at Tazeem
to attract his attention. She’d retrieved her coat from the stockroom and now stood beside the door holding up two1 litre bottles of Smirnoff for his approval. He nodded and she left, cradling the payment for her shift.
Before long a scattering of silver shavings had gathered beneath his chair. The winning cards he filled in with false names and addresses, and mixed them in with other cards awaiting collection by the lottery company. He took the amount he’d won from the till; money for old rope.
2
National Day celebrations were in full swing by the time they arrived at the stadium. Usually they queued for hours to get decent seats, but Tatiana’s father managed to call in a favour and had got them reserved seating right next to the presidential podium. He was a hard-working and very principled man, although not particularly smart, and certainly would never provide his family with any great wealth. She knew he would always do right by them, put food on the table, clothes on their backs and provide well intentioned morals to live by, but Tatiana found his frustratingly narrow-minded views clashed with her own opinions so much that she often felt oppressed and claustrophobic. His point-blank refusal to allow her to go out with her friends after the celebrations was no exception.
Her father’s pride grew along with the excited roar of the crowd as they entered the main arena. He stopped momentarily to breathe in the atmosphere, as the warm proximity of so many people mixed with the inviting smell of cooked food from vendors, and patriotic music played over the public address system.
He affectionately patted her younger brother Eski’s shoulder, and walked on. Tatiana’s mother linked arms with her and they
followed a few steps behind. Her mother didn’t have the same interest in politics as her husband, and tolerated rather than supported his passion. The most important issues for her happened within the home, while political promises rarely seemed to deliver anything tangible, as far as she could see, that directly influenced their lives for the better. Her father began to sing along with many other men in the stadium. He looked expectantly at Eski, but the boy was too young to recite the words from memory.
The presidential grandstand, to the left of the entrance, was slightly elevated. Virtually all of the seats were taken, but her father calmly proceeded through the crowd, confident that his friend would not have let him down. Sure enough, four adjoining seats close enough to the grandstand to reach out and touch, remained unoccupied by anything other than reservation place-markers. Her father beamed as he ushered his son along the aisle, her mother next, then Tatiana, and finally he took his seat.
A speaker bolted to a wooden post on the walkway a few rows in front buzzed and crackled. Tatiana winced and covered her ears. Grumbled complaints from nearby spectators indicated it was likely an on-going occurrence. Nothing would spoil the day for her father, though, who had got to his feet and was clapping and singing to the next song.
A large workman in dusty blue overalls jostled his way through the spectators gathered on a dividing walkway between blocks of seats. The exuberance of the crowd did little to lift his visibly sullen mood; Tatiana found his indifference rather curious and continued to watch his approach. He had a burly physique, with a thick muscular neck, and the scowl he wore made his features scrunch up like a fist. He carried a heavy-looking grey toolkit that was scuffed and dented along one side, and wore big black boots.
He stopped at an electrical circuit box at the foot of the post, put down his toolkit and opened up the box. He fiddled around inside with various tools, during which time the speaker continued
to pop and fizz, eliciting louder protestations from the crowd. Tatiana felt almost an affinity with the man. No wonder he looked miserable, having to work on a holiday and receiving nothing but complaints for his efforts. After another moment the sound cleared and static-free music once more poured from the loudspeaker. An ironic cheer and a smattering of applause failed to lift the man’s spirits as he began to pack away his tools.
Tatiana continued to watch as he took a cylindrical metal device from the bottom of his toolkit and placed it within the circuit box. He closed the outer door, but not far enough to lock it, stood, picked up his tools and hurried back the way he had come.
Tatiana thought this peculiar. She looked around her, but nobody seemed in the least concerned. She assumed it must be a gadget to prevent further interference. Reasonably placated by this, she glanced around and smiled at the happy faces. The workman had stopped at the far end of the walkway and was looking back in the direction he had come from. Perhaps he’d forgotten one of his tools, she thought, and was considering whether to go back now or just to get it later. Whatever his dilemma, he’d started back towards them. Again he put down his tools, but this time stepped tentatively toward the circuit box, in the manner of one approaching a vicious dog. He knelt, teased open the door and reached inside.
After further adjustments within the circuit box, the workman was on his feet and hurrying away, his toolkit discarded behind him. He’d travelled no more than half a dozen steps when he ventured a look over his shoulder. At that exact moment there was a bright white flash, and Tatiana’s whole world changed.
‘Danny, yeah, did you arrange for him to be there tonight?’ Mangle asked into the hands-free headset of his cell phone.
‘I did, yeah. You’re still sure about this?’
‘I am,’ Mangle said, sounding more convincing than he felt. ‘So what’s the plan?’
‘He’ll meet you at the club and you can sort out collection. Are you on your way up there already?’
‘I managed to line up a job nearby, so I can get the office to pay for the fuel.’
‘Nicely done. A bit out of your area though, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but I convinced the boss that if they sign up with us then I may be able to get their other stores as well. Besides, I’m better off out of the way. Arthur, one of the other reps left his car running outside the office this morning and someone stole it. The boss is fuming. I’m happy to let the dust settle before I come back tomorrow.’
‘OK man, let me know how you get on,’ Danny said, laughing. ‘Speak soon.’
Mangle terminated the call. He thought about calling Vicky just to say hi, but he’d only left her an hour ago, and less than a month into their relationship he didn’t want to seem too clingy.
It may have only been a few weeks but they were the best he could ever remember. Vicky had been fantastic. They were planning a future together, and against her parents’ wishes she’d used her savings to put down a deposit on a house for them both. Mangle had promised to match the amount to buy furniture and fix the place up and they’d use their combined wages for mortgage repayments.
His parents appeared to approve of Vicky at first, after all she was very presentable, well-spoken and charming, and she seemed to give Mangle a previously bereft sense of direction. However, after she mentioned working in a library, and offered little inclination of career ambition, he noted more than a slight chill had crept into the atmosphere. Frankly, he didn’t care what they thought, but until he and Vicky were able to move in together, keeping the parents placated was essential.
Mangle pulled up outside the showroom after spending four hours on the road. It was a decent-sized shop in what looked to be a popular industrial estate with good highway links to two nearby
cities. A large order and continued custom might actually prove as lucrative over time as the deal Danny had arranged at the club later that night. Taking his suit jacket off the hanger behind his seat, Mangle put it on, straightened his tie and smoothed the creases from his pants. It was time to impress.
A nearby steeple bell tolled four o’clock as Mangle arrived at the hotel. He didn’t realise churches still announced the hour; perhaps just in more rural locations. The company had booked him into an out of the way hotel to save on city centre prices. It would mean an expensive cab ride to and from the club, but given the order he’d logged that afternoon, nothing was going to spoil his mood and the smile that had taken root after his meeting seemed quite content to remain.
The hotel, Antonine’s Lodge, looked to have been formed from a cluster of old farm outbuildings. The sign outside boasted 16 bedrooms in the main building, a spacious bar and well stocked wine cellar in another, and an excellent restaurant that served
the best beef dishes for miles around
in a third.
‘A room for Garrett,’ he told the woman behind the large oak desk as he walked into reception.
She returned his smile emphatically, probably believing it was for her benefit, fetched his room key and again grinned. Mangle plucked it from her hand and whistled as he walked across the blue-carpeted lobby and up the stairs toward the rooms.
His room, No.11, was reasonably sized but painted a garish red, matching the red and green tartan drapes secured by red tasselled cord that hung either side of the bow window. Two club chairs sat inside the bow, and a small table which was crowned with hotel-themed stationery, two bottles of spring water and three complimentary miniatures of spirits. The room was quite homely in daylight despite the overbearing colour scheme, but once night fell he guessed it would quickly become oppressive.
Mangle sat in one of the chairs and took in the panoramic
view of the landscape for a few moments, before taking out his phone to call Vicky.
‘Hi,’ she said, picking up on the second ring. ‘Did you get booked into your hotel OK?’
‘Yep, I’m looking out on lots of fields and big brown fluffy things eating grass, from my incredibly red room.’
‘That sounds like fun. I wish I was with you.’
‘Well I’m sure it would be fun if you were here, but as you aren’t, I’ll have to make do with my complimentary notepaper and some tiny bottles of Macallan whisky,’ he said, picking up one of the miniatures and squinting at the label.
‘Aren’t you going out tonight to see what the locality has to offer?’