Pay Off (14 page)

We walked on in silence, Read with his brow furrowed as if he had a difficult decision to make but he'd already decided to bite. The only thought in his mind now was how much of the cheese he could grab before the trap clamped shut.

'What's in it for me?' he asked, and he looked across at McKinley who was busy trying to scratch the middle of his back, shoving his left arm down his shirt collar and grunting. McKinley had already told him he could stick out for ten per cent of the gross if everything went smoothly, so when I offered him three thousand expenses up front and five per cent he sucked air in through his front teeth as if he was testing for cavities.

'Not enough,' he said. I pressed him.

'I'm offering almost sixteen grand for setting up one deal. I put up all the cash, McKinley and I will collect the coke, you don't even have to be there. All you have to do is make a few phone calls.'

He gave me the sort of look the wolf gave Little Red Riding Hood and he damn near started rubbing his hands together, pound signs rolling up behind the gold-rimmed glasses.

'Look, squire, if it's that easy you don't need me. And if it isn't that easy, and you can take it from me that it isn't, then I want more than a lousy five per cent.'

'I could find somebody else.'

'Sure you could, sure you could,' he said. 'Except we both know you're running out of time, don't we?'

I gave McKinley a withering glare for Read's benefit and 112 fingered my watch. 'I suppose I can go as high as ten per cent.'

He positively beamed. 'That's more like it. But I'm still going to want the three grand expenses.'

I had the money ready and I handed it to him. 'You're quite happy taking the rest of your fee in cocaine?'

'I wouldn't have it any other way,' he laughed, because twenty-five thousand pounds in white powder would be worth ten times as much on the streets. He wouldn't be pushing it to estate agents and record company A and R men, he'd be selling it in little plastic packets diluted to a fraction of its original strength.

'I'd like to talk specifics,' I said. 'How do you plan to make the delivery?'

He took the handkerchief out of his pocket again, and snapped it open with a flourish as we started our second circuit of the garden.

'The people I have in mind usually bring it over from Ireland by sea, and I'll arrange to collect it, probably somewhere on the west coast of Scotland. I'll let you know where. But if you like I'll bring it right to your door. At no extra cost.' He smiled, just sign on the dotted line, sir, you won't regret it.

'I want to be there when the stuff is handed over and when my cash is counted. And when you take your percentage.'

'That's fine by me,' he said. 'I'll ring Get-Up with the arrangements.'

'Don't leave it too long,' I replied. 'I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible.' And that was that. Easier than ordering a three-piece suite *om Harrods.

We turned back and walked out through the main entrance and threaded our way in and out of the Circus traffic. At the bottom of the steps to the bank I shook Read by the hand and said I looked forward to doing business with him. As he and McKinley returned to the Granada I 113 went up the steps, through the double glass doors and back into the reception area. The girl's face fell as I gave her a cheery smile, put my palms down on the teak-veneered desk and asked her if, by any chance, Mr Kolacowosky had left a forwarding address?

Read got back to McKinley two days later, on the Wednesday. Yes, the deal was on, the cocaine would be brought over from Ireland in ten days' time on a fishing boat which would be anchored in the Firth of Lorn, a few miles off Minard Point on the west coast of Scotland. The delivery would be taken the rest of the way in a dinghy which would cut into Loch Feochan (McKinley pronounced it 'Lock Fuckin') and land a couple of miles from a small village called Cleigh.

The drop would be at night and there was a complicated series of signal light sequences so that both sides could recognize each other, but McKinley and I wouldn't have to learn them because Read would be with us to make sure the handover went smoothly and to make equally certain that he got his cut. We arranged to meet at a hotel in Oban, about five miles from Loch Feochan, on the Saturday evening two hours before the drop.

Later that evening, with McKinley back in his hotel room, I made two telephone calls, one to Dinah telling him where and when I'd need him, the other to Iwanek for almost thirty minutes during which time his fee doubled. Yes he had the gun, yes he understood exactly what I wanted him to do, yes he would be in Oban to meet me, yes he was sure it would all go smoothly and yes he wanted his fee in cash. Always be careful of yes-men, my father had told me. Yes, dad, I remember.

*

The blue velvet curtains billowed gently into the room and through the open window I could hear the neighbourhood thrush telling me what a glorious evening it was, and how the one thing he really wanted in all the world was a lady thrush and how he'd be prepared to fight and die for her because he was the bravest and strongest bird around. Maybe I was taking a liberty with the Iyrics but you couldn't fault the tune.

'She sounds happy,' said Sammy as she moved onto her front, red hair falling over her face and spreading across the mascara-marked pillow.

'He,' I said as I stroked the back of her neck. 'The males always have the sweetest songs.'

She lay by my side, face turned towards mine. With one arm above her pillow and the other underneath it, she looked as if she was embracing it the way she'd held me minutes before. I rolled on top of her, legs either side of hers, and kissed her cheek.

'Don't they just,' she laughed, pressing herself against me and then Iying still, her breathing quiet and even. I'd been meeting Sammy three or four times a week, usually in the afternoons, usually to check on how she was getting on with Laing and usually ending up in bed under the painting of the storm-tossed sea.

'It's time you had a holiday,' I told her.

'By the “you” I take it you mean me and not us,' she giggled.

'And Laing. Somewhere abroad, somewhere sunny, somewhere French.'

'How about Paris?' The one eye I could see glinted with mischief.

'How very astute of you. The tickets are in my jacket pocket - you'll be flying out a week on Friday from Heathrow, and you're booked into a four-star hotel in the centre of Paris.'

'Who says Father Christmas always wears a red suit and a 115 white beard?' she asked and then, don't ask me how she did it, I was flipped three feet across the bed and found myself lying flat on my back. Then she was on top of me and kissing me through a tangle of hair. I lifted her head and smiled.

'Will he go with you?' I said.

'Do zebras have stripey legs? Of course he will, and he'll have the time of his life. He'll have to make the usual excuses to his wife but he's used to that. And so is she. He'll get such a kick out of the fact that I'm paying, too. I take it I'm only getting a weekend, Santa?'

'Friday night and Saturday night, flying British Airways at half four and coming back late Sunday evening. What you do while you're over there is your own business. If you get my drift.'

Her eyes flashed fire but her lips smiled as she grabbed my wrists, held them above my head and kissed me full on the mouth, gripping me tightly with her legs. 'Come with me,' she said. 'Forget Laing and Kyle.'

'Next time. I promise. And then it'll be pleasure, not business.' And I meant it.

'Business can be a pleasure,' she said, then kissed me again, hard enough to bruise my lips. 'Tell me what to do.'

And I told her about carparks, a Rolls-Royce with a personalised number plate and an American Express card, and then I made love to her again. Or she made love to me. Whatever.

Dinah fingered the studs in his ear as we waited for Laing and Sammy to arrive at the short term carpark at Heathrow Airport. It was a bright, sunny afternoon and we were both in shirtsleeves sitting in the front seats of a black Transit van with 'Kleen Karparts' stencilled in white on the sides. We were tucked away in the far corner on the ground floor giving us a clear view of all the vehicles entering and leaving carpark IA. Two spaces along was the Granada and I had the parking ticket for it in my chest shirt pocket.

Even with both windows wide open we were sweating, but that was probably nervousness and anxiety because we'd been parked for almost an hour. Twice Dinah had asked to go to the toilet. 'No can do,' I'd told him, 'they could be here any moment,' and now he was sulking.

'There they are now,' I said, and nodded towards the entrance where Laing was leaning out of the driver's side of the Corniche for his ticket. He drove up to the first level and Dinah followed as I stepped over the seat into the back of the van and sat down next to a rattling blue metal toolbox. Dinah pulled up next to the parked Rolls and I peered over his shoulder. I was wearing sunglasses and a floppy white hat with 'Arsenal' on the front and Laing had only seen me once but even so there was no point in taking any chances.

Sammy was stunning, hair tied back with a scarlet bow and wearing a beige boiler suit, a brown pullover knotted across her shoulders. Laing took two small suitcases out of the boot of the Rolls, slammed it shut and together they walked to the departure terminal, my stomach going cold as she slipped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder, then I mentally kicked myself because she was 117 only playing a part. She was doing it for me. But that didn't make me feel any better.

'Nice bit of stuff,' said Dinah. 'Lucky bastard.'

'Watch yourself, Dinah,' I said. 'Keep your mind on the job.'

We gave them a full fifteen minutes, then I moved back into the passenger seat to keep watch as Dinah climbed down and stood alongside the driver's window of the Rolls.

I expected subtlety, a skeleton key or a complicated mechanical device that Dinah would wiggle and jiggle until he worked his way past the Corniche's sophisticated central locking system. Dinah was about as subtle as a brass knuckleduster. He took a sheet of sticky-backed plastic and covered the window with it, smoothing out the air bubbles with the back of his hand. From the back pocket of his black leather trousers he took a metal punch, looked right and left, gave me a curt nod and then banged it against the glass which cracked and shattered into a thousand cubes, most of them sticking to the plastic. He rolled it up and handed it to me through the window of the Transit van.

'Oh, nice one, Dinah. If I'd known it was that simple I'd have done it myself,' I said, and dropped it into the back of the van.

'That was the easy part,' he laughed. 'It's the next bit you're paying me for. Keep your eyes peeled.' He lay across the front seat of the Rolls, head under the dashboard, and it was a full ten minutes before the engine burst into life.

'Right, that's us,' he said, wiping his hands on his blue T-shirt. He opened the back door of the Transit and took out a plastic brush and pan, sweeping up the glass cubes on the floor while I sat in the driving seat of the Rolls and ran my eyes over the controls.

'Follow me back to the garage, and for God's sake don't stall it,' he said. We drove out of the multi-storey carpark and I handed over the Granada's ticket to get the Rolls through.

An hour later we were in the Karparts yard where Dinah fitted anew window - getting spares was obviously not a problem for him. He went to work with a couple of Rolls keys and a file and after two hours handed them to me with a flourish.

'Your car, sir,' he said, and grinned. 'When will you be back with it?'

'Sunday morning, early afternoon at the latest. Will you be here?'

'Ready and waiting,' he said. 'Ready for the car and waiting for my money. Take care with those keys, by the way. They're good but they're not perfect so don't force them. Be gentle.'

He paused, then added: 'What are you up to?'

'Best you don't know, Dinah.' I slid into the plush blue leather seat and put the makeshift key in and turned it. The Rolls started first time and I winked at him. 'See you Sunday,' I said.

He walked over to the double gates, and while he was opening them I reached under the passenger seat and groped around until I found a small white envelope. Inside was Laing's American Express card and a note from Sammy, short and to the point. 'Be careful. See you soon. S.'

I drove through the gates waving to Dinah as I passed him, and collected my case from Earl's Court and McKinley from his hotel. Laing had bought the car only six months previously so McKinley hadn't seen it before.

'This yours, boss?' he asked.

'It's borrowed, Get-Up. And if you're very good I'll let you share the driving. Settle back, we've a long way to go.'

The Rolls was a dream to driveand it swallowed up the miles to Glasgow like a ravenous schoolboy. I let McKinley take over the wheel after we passed Birmingham and told him I'd sit in the back and try to get some sleep. I'd left a clipboard and a sheaf of notepaper on the seat, and I placed Laing's American Express card under the bulldog clip and studied it while McKinley sat in the outside lane of the Me, foot down to the floor.

A dab of brake fluid would have removed the biro signature and I could have replaced it with 'R. Laing' in my own handwriting, but I had plenty of time to practise so I thought I might as well do it the hard way. Most people don't examine signatures all that closely anyway, especially overworked receptionists. They just pick on a few obvious features, a tall loop on the '1', the way the 'a' was almost circular and the lower part of the 'g' curved back under the signature in a flamboyant underlining loop. If they match then the signature is OK.

I studied the way Laing signed his name and then I copied it over and over, using up sheet after sheet of paper, and by the time we got to Preston I could do a perfect imitation so long as I had the original in front of me.

It took me until-we'd reached Carlisle and the M6 turned into the A74 before I could sign myself 'R. Laing' without checking.

I took over the driving again after we'd stopped for a break at Gretna Green service station, and I'd dropped the sheets of counterfeit signatures into a rubbish bin after ripping them up into a hundred pieces while McKinley was in the toilet.