Now I adopted the pondering face, then said, “Might this businessman not have staged it — you know, fake kidnap?”
“Mmm, a possibility, yes — maybe.”
“But you don’t think so.”
He drained the coffee. I was feeling that drained too. He made to leave and said, “If you hear anything about either of those two individuals, please call me. Here’s my card. We’ve reason to believe this Dex character is volatile and unpredictable.”
Not any more!
I took the card, made noises of agreement. At the door he thanked me for my co-operation then, looking at my suit, asked, “You’re not currently employed Nick, are you?”
Up close our suits were twins. I said, “If I were, would I be wearing this rubbish?”
Next morning I rented a safe deposit box. Not an easy thing to do but persisted. Plonked most of the cash in that and paid for one more week at the hotel. I was getting accustomed to it. Then I got hold of a motor trade magazine and arranged to sell the van. Short of myself, I had near everything up for sale. Whether I’d get to collect any or all of it was the toss of the black dice. Sure beat horse racing though. A whole new slant on the gamblers old cry of — “to make a killing”.
Friday was D-Day The initial could be Danny or worse. Then the last act. I booked a flight to New York for Sunday — ready to rock and roll.
All day Wednesday I willed myself to relax. Ate three solid meals, exercised, and tried not to project. A huge surge of adrenaline was building and I kept rein on it. Restrain and temper the flow till the hour of confrontation.
On a whim I stopped at a coffee shop and found an empty table. Ordered cappuccino and eased back. The coffee came, frothy and hopping but alas, with company. A couple in their twenties. She asked politely if they could share the table. The guy, in mandatory pigtail, gave me a look. “Not today pal,” I thought, “it’s my armistice for London time. No way can you piss on my parade.”
The guy began a torrent of abuse to his partner. Foul, ferocious, and relentless. I said, “Hey fella, you wanna give it a rest for a bit.”
He sneered, something to witness. He was built to maybe burst a balloon — all of the fashionable one-thirty pounds. He said, “This any of your business? You think your bulk intimidates me?”
The girl gave me the pleading stare, the “please don’t rile him further” number. So I leant over the table, clamped my hand on his wrist, said, “You want to know what I think? OK — I think you should be very fuckin’ intimidated. Now — if you answer me, I’m going to make you eat the ponytail, elastic band and all. See, it is my business ’cos you sat at my table. So, not a word — shush!”
I drank my coffee and after a few minutes he hepped up and stamped away. She said, “He doesn’t mean it.”
“But he does — he most certainly does. What I do know is you’ll follow him and I dearly wish you wouldn’t.”
She did.
A new tenant would have been pleased with the bag beneath the bed. They used to say, if you wanted to find a hooker’s number, look inside the provided Gideon Bible. Provided you had one. I didn’t. Lay on the bed, put on the headphones and let Neil Young sooth me.
I was wondering what to do,
and the closer they got, the more those feelings
grew.
Daddy’s rifle in my hands felt reassuring,
he told me RED means RUN son, numbers
add up to nothing.
But when that first shot hit the door,
I saw it coming,
raised the rifle to my eye, never stopped
to wonder why.
Then I saw BLACK and my face flash in the sky.
Hard to figure old Neil had been opening my mail.
As I’d put Lisa into the bin liner, she’d opened her eyes and grabbed my wrist. That terrible rattle was coming from her throat. I’d broken her grip and pounded her down into the bag, a stream of terror pouring from me. Somehow I’d tied the bag but still there was movement. I’d used a shovel to beat down and begged — “for pity’s sake, die you bitch” — and came awake.
Drenched in sweat, the headphones still on and ripped them off. It took me a few moments to realise I was whimpering. Crawled from the bed and tore off my clothes, they were sodden with perspiration. Naked, I found the half bottle of gin and gulped at it — my hands could hardly hold the bottle. Even the room was shaking, the death rattle loud in my head. The gin calmed me, it sickened me but my heart slowed down. As did the room. Staggered to the shower and tried to soak away the heebie-jeebies. Said aloud — “thing like that, put a man off sleeping.”
Going round to Bill’s, I’d
3 Videos of Alf
An Alf doll
Alf T-Shirts
Alf Cutlery
Alf Posters.
Should do it!
To my bitter disappointment, the little girl was out with her mum. I couldn’t believe how let down I was. I said, “Ah well, next time.”
Bill gave me a look, said, “I don’t fink so.”
“Wot?”
He handed me an Adidas bag, said, “It’s all in there. Danny’s address is also innit.”
I asked him the price. It was fuckin’ steep. I said, “I have a package here which should cover it but lemme add a wedge for your end.”
“I don’t want your money. We’re even now and, if you’ll excuse me...”
“OK — oh yeah, here’s the Alf collection for Chelsea.”
He looked at me as if I’d offered him a shit sandwich, said, “I don’t think so.”
“Hey Bill, don’t be such a prick. Where’d you come off bin so high and mighty. You’re going to deprive the child ’cos you’re suddenly a man of principle — gimme a fuckin’ break.”
I stormed outa there and was halfway up the road before I realised I still had the bloody toys. I wanted to weep. Of all the things I regret, that might top the list. Passing a litter bin, I dropped them in, my heart in tatters.
Thursday morning I was up at daybreak. Danny’s house hadn’t been hard to locate, his car outside. Pulled the van alongside and got out, acting as if I’d a flat tyre — even put the wheel up on the jack. Twenty seconds it took. Five minutes later, I was outa there. Jeez, that easy. Now all I had to do was get Danny and George in the car and, as Lauren Bacall said, “Blow.” Call it a whim or defiance or plain bloody mindedness, I decided to drop in on the priest, see if he could tell what I’d been at. The church retained the air of quietness but no sign of the priest. I walked up to the altar then spotted an old priest doing church things. Went up to him, said, “Excuse me.”
If he was pleased to see me, he hid it well, near barked, “What is it?”
“Sorry to disturb you. I’m looking for Tom — Father Lee.”
“No Father Lee here.”
“That’s Tom Lee.”
And feeling foolish, I gave a full description. The old codger glared at me, said, “No priest like that here.”
“Mebbe he was a visitor.”
“If a priest visited, I’d know.”
“But...”
“I have a lot of work ahead of me — you must have the wrong church.”
“I sure as hell got the wrong priest — no wonder the bloody place is empty.”
And I left him to his religion.
Continuing in foolishness, I stopped at a jeweller’s and ransomed a gold bracelet. The engraving was included. I know it was a futile gesture but for a moment, it burned bright.
Friday morning I woke early. Did a hundred push-ups, fifty sit-ups, and felt ready. A new Reebok tracksuit and I looked set. Nodded to Jack and strolled down to McDonald’s. Ordered their touted breakfast, it had eggs, muffin, sausages, juice. It tasted like absence. And, what on earth do they do to their coffee! An American company, right. But their coffee — like someone had shit in it and never even stirred it. This is not my observation, Dex said it and I thought about him for a bit. When push came to shove, he was found wanting. As Clint Eastwood observed — “you talk too much.”