Conman (39 page)

In my ear the three men were moving out. A scrape of barstool on parquet, coats zipping, the wet clink of drinks downed.

Through the front windscreen, the van burst out into the main street with a blare of horn, watery winter sunshine blinding us. Julio yanked down the sun visor and hurtled the van forward.

Crouched low at the base of the doors, I couldn’t move. Hands out to steady myself, eyes peeled wide like grapes, heart pounding with panic.

I couldn’t
move
.

In my ear, a burst of traffic as a pub door swung open.

“
Then here’s where we say our goodbyes, gennermen? You have the money, ah gat Mr Superman. We’ll rendezvous as agreed.
”

The van lurched left, bumping and bouncing. Julio leaned over, pumping down the passenger window.

Through the jolts, I craned up a little.

Oh Jesus God.

Over Julio’s shoulder, accelerating fast, I saw the pub far ahead. The Atlas. Silent and still. Hanging baskets glistened. An A-board on the pavement, scrawled with lunch offers.

Three distant figures circling each other on the quiet pavement.

Briefcases in hand.

“
As agreed,
” Christopher crackled in my ear.

I could see Christopher, far up ahead. Holding a hand out to shake. His other hand played nervously across his now slightly pudgier-than-I-remembered stomach.

“
Here we go,
” a voice said.

Not Grayson. Not Christopher. Not Benno.

“
Here we the fack go
,” Julio said again.

The van exploded with a deafening blare as Julio slammed the horn and hurled the van forward with a whoop. I fell back, hitting my head a dizzying
CRACK
on the inside door.

Julio’s left hand steadied himself on the dash, low trees slapping and whipping the windscreen.

On the pavement, Andrew turned, face white with horror.

Christopher and Grayson steadied themselves, ready for action.

Julio cocked the revolver.

I screamed.

The van swerved, sending me tumbling like a mannequin against the side of the shell with a dull
clangggg
. In the rearview, Julio’s eyes widened, his jaw slack with shock.

The van continued to pummel forward.

“Who’s
back there
?! What the fack going
on
!”

The van scraped the kerb loudly, hubcaps grinding.

We lurched right with a swoop, sending me toppling the other way. Loose limbed, balance lost, I threw myself forward with a roar, clanging, banging, head scraping the filthy ceiling.

There was a scream of brakes. Three faces in wide-mouthed horror filled the windscreen.

I lost my footing, falling forward towards the peeling vinyl seats and buckled metal frame.

A click of something. Seatbelt? Julio spun in his seat, turning to me as I fell.

Right hand off the wheel. Coming round. Swinging. A flash of nickel.

I shouted. Not a word. Just madman terror.

The butt of the gun smashed me, broke me. Bang. A wet crunch, nose exploding hot coppery blood, pain shooting into my eyes. I gasped, winded and whimpering. Dizzy. My feet left the ribbed rubber beneath and I fell backwards. The world dipped and tipped, knees bending, buckling beneath me.

I screamed and hit the floor with a planet-shaking
clanggg
, like a dull gong being hit with a wet sandbag.

I clutched my screaming nose, blood on my hands, blood in my mouth, metal and blunt. Teary eyes flooding the world like dimpled glass, the roof of the van swam and splashed.

Voices. Shouts.

The sudden soothing blast of cold November air. Slamming doors.

More shouting. In my ear. Outside.

Everywhere.

Drop it. That’s mine. What is this? Step away.

I swallowed, brown, battery acid tang, coughing chewy blood into my hands.

Easy now. Listen to me. Hand it over.

I tried to sit up, tongue checking my teeth, mind flooding.
Andrew
.

Please.

Please
Andrew.

Don’t make me. Jesus they’ve both got one. Mr Grayson! Mr Grayson no!

Silence.

A long, woozy, sickly silence.

I closed exhausted eyes.

Then a bang. Loud and flat.

A bang louder than I ever dreamed. Shaking the floor, shaking the world.

And then another.

Oh God. Oh
God
.

I heaved myself up to a sitting position, the cold shell bucking and swooning, my head screaming with pain. I put my hands out to steady myself.

My head continued to scream. Loud. Andrew’s name. Raw and thrashing and screaming.

It took a moment to focus.

Andrew’s name again.

But it wasn’t my head that was screaming.

“Benno?
Benno?!
” I whimpered, palms cold, tasting bitter panic. “Jesus,
Benno no.
No no
no.
” It was everywhere.

He was everywhere.

Head pounding, nose throbbing, I fell to the morning’s freezing pavement, kneeling in the oily blood and grit.

“Oh God, Benno. Benno, can you hear me? Oh God.
Oh God.
”

Around me there was a bang as Julio exploded back out of the pub, wooden doors crashing around him.

“Where
is
it?” he bellowed. “
Where the fack IS IT
?
!
”

But no one was in a position to answer. The small band of people about him had other things on their minds. Other things on their hands. All over their hands.

“It’s okay …” Andrew winced, angry and hurt. “It’s
ohh-kaayyyoow
! Shit, ahh, shit.” He sighed, licking his pale lips, head lolling back in Laura’s lap.

She was cradling him, holding him as he writhed and gasped on the pavement, one bloodied hand pressed to the bubbling wound under his sopping shirt, the other scrabbling with her phone.

“Help him!” she gnashed at me desperately, eyes wide and white. “
Help him!
”

I stumbled to my feet, mind thudding, trying to take it all in.

Somewhere a phone was ringing. The green Bedford was half on the pavement, driver’s door open, engine running, one back door hanging loose where I had thrown myself dizzily against it.

Julio was in the kerb, clawing at his boss, who lay there, eyes tight, gasping in the gutter, a mess of tweed and guts.

“I’m
sorry
. Chris I’m
sorry
. It all facked. I
knew
. I fack
knew
. It’s all facked up.”

“Leave him!” Grayson hollered. He stood, pale and transfixed by the bewildering tableau, his fake gun still held out, mouth slack
and pale. He looked at Andrew, writhing and bloody. He looked at Laura. He looked at his boss in the kerbside, dying and gurgling in a thick pool of blood and syrup. He looked at me, a face from the past, brain trying desperately to fill in the gaps. “Leave … Just … shit we’ve got to go. We’ve got to
GO!
”

I meanwhile jittered like a marionette, spinning and toppling, the world whirling about me. A thousand things to do.

Somewhere a phone was still ringing.

“
Neil!
” Andrew rasped, legs kicking spastically.

“
Don’t talk,
” Laura soothed, hand over the sopping wad that was once an Incredible Hulk. “
Shhh, don’t talk, don’t
– hello?” she broke away into her phone. “Hello, emergency? Please. I need an ambulance. Now, right now. A man’s been shot.”

“Where the comic? Where the money? Where our facking
haul
?!” Julio was yelling, whirling about the street. “What
HE
doing here?! What the fack going
ON
?!”

“We gotta go! Julio.
Julio!
We gotta
go!
” Grayson was at the van door, all traces of his accent gone.

“But –”

“
NOW!
” Grayson bellowed. “Look
around
you! Focus.
FOCUS!
We have to
go
!”

“The Atlas pub,” Laura was saying quickly, pacing. “Seagrove Road. Earl’s Court. It’s just … it’s just a wound I think but I can’t stop the bleeding. Hurry. Please
hurry
.”

“We have to
go
!” Grayson bellowed again.

Julio spun, taking in the bloody scene, sticky footprints leaving panicky circles on the pavement like macabre dance instructions.

“
Neil
–” Andrew gasped, grabbing my leg and my attention tight. I knelt down quickly, eyes on his. This was bad. Oh this was very bad. “
Neil I’m sorry –
”

“Don’t talk. Benno, don’t talk,” I said, sniffing, wiping stinging eyes, throat tight. “It’s going to be all right. We’ve got an
ambulance
coming.” I looked up with panic at Laura. She nodded, face torn with grief. “It’s fine. You did great, old friend. Hang in there.”

In the gutter, Christopher gave a moan, head rolling against the brick, bloody bubbles popping on his lips.

A phone was still ringing somewhere.

“We can’t leave Christopher,” Julio said, hurrying to the kerb
side. “Laura? Laura, leave him. Help me get Christopher into van.
Help
me.”

“Fuck you,” Laura scowled. “Fuck you
all
.”

“Are you out of your –”

“
Forget her!
” Grayson screamed. He clambered into the van, slamming the door with a rusty bang. “We’ve got to
go!
Keys! Give me the
keys
!
Move!
Fucking
MOVE!
”

“I … I did great old friend …” Andrew said woozily in her lap, eyes rolling.

Julio roared, spinning, tossing the keys to Grayson and leaping over Christopher’s still body. He clambered into the van’s passenger seat. Half inside, Grayson threw it forward with a squeal, whirling around in a wide circle, scraping parked cars with a
teeth-grinding
shriek before gunning off fast down the quiet street and away.

“Andrew,” I said in the quiet, breathing deep, holding his cold hands tight. “Andrew listen to me. It’s all right. Shhhh, it’s all right.”

“I … oww,
ahh, shit,
I screwed it up …”

“No,” I pleaded, squeezing his hand. “No. You did good. It’s
me
, I …”

“The bags …
arrghh Jesus!
” and he screwed up his face, eyes tight, teeth bared, the pain knifing his sides. “It all happened … lost the
bags
…”

“Shhhh, we got the bags, we got the bags …” Laura hushed, stroking Andrew’s sweat-sopped fringe from his pale face.

A phone still called out, over and over.

“
Bags
?” I said, head spinning. In all the horror, I hadn’t even
dreamed
that –

Laura knelt up a little, Andrew’s head bouncing and wincing in her lap. She soothed an apology, sliding from beneath her a battered satchel and a sliver attaché case.

“First thing I grabbed,” she said, a timid smile playing over her frightened face. “You did great.”

“What’s …” I said, ear cocked, trying to focus. “What’s that
ringing
?”

“
That’s … that’s for me … I’ve got …
” Andrew began to mumble, trying to twist around.

“
Jesus!
Jesus no,
no
!” Laura yelped, wet red lines seeping between
her fingers. “He’s tearing it. He’s tearing the
wound. Andrew
!”

“
The phone …
” he croaked dreamily.

“I-I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” I said, reaching under his sweat-soaked jeans and tearing at his pockets, pulling out everything I could find – cigarettes, a Zippo, matches, penknife, fountain pen, breath mints, an old Bic and finally at last the handset, his red notebook stuck to the plastic with blood.

“That … that son of a
bitch
,” Laura was spitting. “Stupid son of a bitch Julio didn’t understand the change of plan. Thought Christopher was trying to tell him to
add
a target.”

I smeared the blood from the screen.
O’Shea.

Oh God.

“
Phone keeps cutting out
? His fucking brain keeps cutting out. Neil?
Shhh, it’s all right. Ambulance is on its way. Five minutes. You’re all right.
Neil?”

“It’s O’Shea,” I said, panic rising. “Benno’s got this deal. He’s meant to be completing some big deal …”

“
Tell O’Shea –
” Andrew gasped, face pale and scared.

“Neil, I need you to hold this. He’s losing a lot of blood …”

The phone still ringing in my hand, I knelt slowly to my best friend’s side, a cold claw of horror gripping my gut.

“
Old … Old stick,
” Andrew croaked, grabbing my sleeve hard, hauling himself up an inch. He had blood on his lips and teeth.

“Benno. Oh God, mate I –”

“
They … they can’t know …
” Andrew winced, eyes tight,
grabbing
at the phone.

“
Shhhh,
” Laura soothed. “
The ambulance is coming. Shhh. It’s all right. Neil will take care of it. Business can wait …
”

But kneeling there in Andrew’s blood, the phone calling out, calling out, I knew on this day of all days, business couldn’t wait. The phone kept ringing. Somewhere, Andrew’s future – his wife’s future, the future of the Artic Circle – drummed its fingers,
twiddled
its thumbs, refilled its coffee and checked its watch with a tut.

“Shit,” I said. “I’ve got … I’ve got to take this.”

“
They can’t …
” Andrew hissed, breathing short and tight, reaching out to me.

“Shit,” I said again. “Don’t … don’t worry old friend, I’ve got
it covered. I’ve … I’ve got it covered,” and I swallowed hard, stood up and thumbed open the line.

Fifteen minutes later, I sat bouncing, scared and tearful in the back of a black cab, hemmed in by King’s Road traffic. On the seat next to me lay a silver attaché case full of my daughter’s money. On top of that, within a tired, blood-caked satchel, behind its protective sleeve, a fading seventy-year-old
Superman
held a car aloft above his head. In my trembling, bloodied fingers was a scrap of paper. Torn moments ago from Andrew’s sodden red notebook, it was scrawled with numbers and names. Clamped under my chin, I had Andrew’s lifeline.

“
I’m sorry, who is this
?” the phone crackled.

“A friend. I-I’m a friend of Mr Benjamin’s. An old friend. Please –”

“
And you say he can’t come to the phone
?”

“He’s told me …” My mind thudded. “He’s doing a deal for a man named O’Shea? An important deal? Something in Holborn?”

“
Where is Mr Benjamin now?
”

Up ahead, the traffic began to clear and the cab moved forward a few feet, which was more than I could say for the situation on the telephone.

“He’s … Look please, I just need to know how I can complete this deal for him. It’s very important. He’s wiring across some money or something? From a new account?”

“
One moment please,
” the voice said and the on-hold music came back.

Teeth gritted, I checked my chunky watch, as the cab slid forward another few feet.

It was five past eleven. The ambulance would be there by now. Paramedics tending to him.

Please God,
I prayed silently.
Save him.

“Hello? To whom am I speaking
?”

“What? Sorry. My name is Neil Martin. I was telling your colleague –”

“
Did you say Mr Benjamin is unable to complete the telegraphic transfer as stipulated? When did you speak with him?
”

“He …”

I jumped at the blare of siren behind me, rearview mirror flashing with blue light. In front, the gridlocked traffic began to shuffle, edging, inching apart, sliding sideways.

“Hold on,” I said to the phone, the cabbie heaving left all the inches he could spare.

“
Hello? Hello?
” the phone squawked. “
Hello?
”

“Sorry, there was … it doesn’t matter. Look, Mr Benjamin is aware of how important it is that this deal goes ahead and I need to make sure it does. He’s given me some figures. Hello?” I shoved my finger in my ear as the ambulance weaved slowly through the traffic past me, siren screaming, edging between Chelsea’s vans and 4×4s. I flapped the sheet of notepaper. “Eighteen, twenty, fifteen, then what looks like forty … forty million, a hundred and –”

“
What you have isn’t … Look, we need to speak to Mr Benjamin. When is he likely to be free Mr …
?”

“Martin,” I said, watching the ambulance disappear among the throng of traffic up ahead.

“
Mr Martin, I’m not certain you understand the complexity of this situation. Without Mr Benjamin’s written authorisation, clearance codes and password, the money simply can’t move from the account.
”

“But …”

“
Until Mr Benjamin calls into the office, the deal is suspended and the relevant contractual penalties will be incurred by Mr O’Shea. I strongly urge Mr Benjamin to contact this office immediately.
”

I snapped my phone closed and hurled it bouncing to the vinyl beside me.

“Here,” I called to the cabbie. “Left here. Please, as fast as you can.”

The cab circled, sending me sliding across the bench, and we accelerated, gunning down Chelsea Park Gardens. It was down here.

Andrew’s only hope was down here somewhere.

My ugly watch said eleven minutes past eleven.

By twenty-five to twelve, Andrew’s only hope was juddering beneath an oiled ancestor in his first floor study, fat hand clamped about that favourite peaty scotch of his. Trembling, knees bouncing, I sat on the edge of a huge leather armchair, dabbing my punctured
nose tentatively with a heavy, monogrammed handkerchief, trying not to get blood on the rug.

“Well,” Edward sighed, looking into his glass. I blinked back silently. “Well,” he said again.

“Yes,” I squeaked, swallowing hard.

Somewhere down the hall, a grandfather clock tutted.

“Well well,” he said again. “Quite a
story
.”

Hot-cheeked and shamed, I opted for silence.

“And where is he now?”

“Andrew or Christopher?”

“Both.”

“Christopher, I don’t know. Shot in the chest. He looked … well he wasn’t moving when I left. There was blood …” My throat dried, lips sticking to my teeth. “I don’t know. Guess the police’ll have it all fenced off. Laura was waiting for the ambulance with Andrew,” I said. “She thinks it’s just a wound but he’s in a bad way.”

“Laura being who I caught you with that day on the Underground, I assume? Who did you say she was then?”

“I can’t remember,” I said.

“A collector, I believe you said,” Edward harrumphed. “A
collector
. Which is what I informed my daughter.”

“Jane
knows
?”

“I gave her enough information for her to make her own mind up. She covered for you of course. Said you met a lot of collectors. Not many
leggy female
ones though.
That
surprised her.”