Seven Daze (31 page)

The group beside him had two outlying males. Smaller and uglier than the rest, they may just be the ones. Jim moved slightly towards them, pulled out his mobile and rang Charlotte.

“Hi Charlotte,” he said in his best Home Counties accent.

“Bloody hell,” she said. “Have you been drinking?”

“Crazy day, Charlotte, crazy day. Reuben made a mint today. Absolute mint.”

Her laughing was almost hysterical. He hoped the two guys couldn’t hear it.

“Uh huh, yeah,” he said.

The two were interested in him and his call, though he could tell they thought him the very sort of upper-class twit they normally avoided.

“I hope you’re not making a twat of yourself,” she whispered.

“So then,” he paused, “how are things in Dealsville US of A. Any news for
moi?
”

They were definitely taking interest. If only to watch a twat make a bigger twat of himself.

“Do you really think,” she said, “that I’d deal with someone who sounds like that?”

“Ya, ya.”

“I hope whoever you’ve got your eyes on is worth it. God knows we need some help now.”

“Really? Some space for investment has come up? Oh, let me think ...” Jim nodded at one of the men in front, the one who was most obviously taking it all in. The man turned to his friend, eyebrow raised.

“Keep thinking buddy. What do you fancy for tea tonight?” she said.

“Mmmm. Can’t really say now. Johnny might be up for an investment opportunity. Seems to have his finger in many pies.”

“Steak and Kidney?”

“Ya, ya. Look gotta split, Charlotte. I’ll ask around. Let you know if anyone’s interested.” He snorted, really loudly. “Ha ha, you’ll be paying me commission next.
Ciao,
ciao, ciao
.”

He pressed the red button and ended the call. The two men in front, still smiling to themselves, were definitely interested in his little show. It beat listening to their boss moan about targets and future prospects.

“Alright, lads,” said Jim in the Coventry accent he now rarely used. “Financial advisor.” He pointed at the phone. “Don’t want her knowing I’m a brummie, like.”

“Excellent,” said the most smiley one. The other shook his head.

Jim reeled in the net.

The long game was hard. Jim wasn’t sure if it was him or not. Just gaining friendship, contacts, with no mention of the scam or anything financial was almost killing him inside. His heart wanted to offer them the chance to be rich. The chance was for one day only. They’d have to sign now.

It didn’t work like that.

The hour he’d just spent with Dave and Gary, technical assistants on a trading desk, could have been wasted. He had their numbers stored in his phone and some vague promise of meeting again for a drink one evening.

It seemed a waste of time.

During the hour, he’d spotted two wallets practically begging to be popped from pockets. He’d also pointed out to a young woman that her Blackberry had fallen from her handbag.

It just wasn’t right.

Halfway to the next pub, he checked his phone.

Home now x. How’s it going?

In hindsight, his phone call couldn’t have worked out better. The messiness and betrayal of earlier seemed forgotten. Jim knew forgotten was the wrong word. It’d been pushed under the carpet, stored somewhere mentally ready for the next time he fucked up. Was she really cooking him dinner tonight? He wasn’t sure. He really wasn’t sure.

Not bad, I think x,
he replied.

Two more pubs brought one more contact. The brokers and bankers, now either homeward bound or half drunk, wouldn’t have remembered him the next morning if he’d robbed them. A middle-aged man, Robin, propping up the bar with a seemingly iron liver and an unlimited wedge of money was the only person he talked to. Jim quickly learnt to ask first where they worked. He’d nearly been caught out by pretending to work for the same company and on the same floor as someone. A lesson learnt.

The time quarter to eight, he sent a final message,
Coming back now. Shall I
bring a
takeaway?
Both cheeky and to the point, he’d soon find out not only where he was spending this evening, but also, tonight.

When he got off the tube in south London, her reply arrived.
I’ve cooked. It
wasn’t a
joke x.

See you in a minute
x.

He stopped at the off licence for a few bottles of spirits. Just in case.

The sofa was uncomfortable to sleep on. Given the cost and the sheer amount of leather involved in its manufacture it wasn’t unsurprising. As Jim woke he heard movement from above. Charlotte was getting ready, maybe having a shower. Putting the kettle on, he made her a drink. He still had some making up to do.

Looking refreshed she came down the stairs. “Morning.”

“Hello.” He pointed at the steaming mug of coffee.

“Ta.”

Jim thought the good news from last night was only two people had pulled out. Another had reduced his stake, but overall the fallout was less than Charlotte had expected. Jim had suggested they celebrate with the bottles he’d bought, but Charlotte didn’t feel like celebrating. They had a lot of work to do. Also today was Friday, the last day of the week. She’d said there’d be plenty of time for drinking at the weekend.

“Sleep well?” she asked.

“Fine.” He grimaced slightly and felt the small of his back. Her smiling face showed his lack of subtlety was appreciated.

“Look, I was thinking last night,” she started.

Jim felt his face drop. This was it. Her next words would be, “You’re really nice and that, but ...”

“Don’t look so worried. I just thought, it seems silly you paying for that hotel. I mean, it’s chucking money away.”

He felt his face move back up. Though not as bad as it seemed a minute ago, this could still go either way.

“There’s a spare room back there. She nodded towards the downstairs toilet and so-called laundry room opposite it. You could keep your stuff there and, you know.”

Jim did know. He really did. He winced and felt the base of his spine again, while trying to stop smiling.

“And you’re gonna have to be more subtle if you’re going to drag any money in.”

He nodded. The point taken.

Last night hadn’t gone so badly. They’d sat together, watched a documentary on Al Capone and even kissed a few times. The next stage never came. It was as if neither of them wanted to rush the way they’d obviously rushed the night before. He still couldn’t believe, when looking at her, that he even came close to her radar, let alone fitted it.

“Thanks.” He sipped his tea. Either it had got hot, or his face was reddening. Hers was too. “What’s today’s plan then, boss.”

She sat at the breakfast bar and twisted her cup round. “I’ve a few meetings; doubt anything will come of them, but you gotta try. Bars are always busiest Friday night. I reckon we’ll get a few contacts if we work at it.”

Jim nodded. He still didn’t fully understand how this worked. People were going to pay thousands of pounds of cash, or straight into Charlotte’s bank account which would be transferred to Switzerland. It got confusing then. Apparently, she’d withdraw it, buy gold bars then store them in a different Swiss bank. With no passport and still wanted for his release violations, Jim knew the last stage was beyond him. Whether she’d return to England after, he didn’t know.

“I’ll sort out the hotel room then hit the pubs lunchtime,” he said.

She nodded, her cheeks full of colour. “I’m free between two and four if you fancy a spot of lunch.”

Jim smiled. “That’d be nice. Like old times.”

Her piece of hair flopped down over her eyes. “I’m paying so you can eat meat too.”

He laughed and took a large swig of tea. “I’d better get ready, you know.” He pointed towards the bathroom.

“Want another cuppa?”

“Please.”

He was surprised when she gave him her spare key. He shouldn’t have been surprised. How else could he move his stuff in? There was no fuss or embarrassment just the simple handover of a small piece of shaped metal.

Back at the hotel, he felt a stranger. He’d barely been there to sample their wonderful food or service the past few days. Settling his bill and carrying his suitcase out, he half expected a Range Rover to offer him a lift. He’d been warned off the East End, but not the city. He kind of knew they were keeping an eye on him; anyone would. He just hoped they didn’t involve Charlotte. If they did, it was going to get messy.

Back at the apartment, he realised the spare room cum laundry had a guest bed. Just a single, unmade, foldable bed, but it was a bed. He wondered what her idea of the sleeping plan was. Remembering back, she hadn’t actually invited him to sleep there just leave his stuff. She could hardly expect him to sleep there amongst the mountain of her underwear and skirts. Could she? If so, why all the red faces earlier?

He made a cup of tea and put the stereo on. He found nothing he really liked amongst the Enya, Jazz and Tracey Chapman ones. Getting The Clash CD he’d bought, he blasted out “I Fought The Law” and settled on the couch. He still couldn’t believe this. Realistically, he should be dead. Charlotte had saved his life. No two ways about it.

And if she wanted separate bedrooms, that was fine by him.

For a day or two.

Lunchtime brought another contact. A monotonous-voiced trader from Northumberland. He’d latched on to Jim a but quick for his liking. He was after fools with money not friendless losers. He took his number anyway. “You never know” had become his new phrase for the week.

Charlotte looked flustered over lunch. Her phone barely stopped ringing through the soup and main course. It had been her idea to eat three courses. “It’ll soak up the drink you have later,” she’d said.

Jim had agreed and laid off the wine choosing coke instead. In the pause before the main course, she said, “Two weeks on Monday. I can’t risk waiting longer. There are more stats out from the ONS on the Wednesday as I’m sure you know as you’re working there.”

Jim poked his tongue out, but she didn’t smile back.

“I thought this would be it, you know.” She looked philosophical. Jim wanted to stand and walk to her, put his arms round her.

“You mean the last one?”

“Yeah. Exactly what I mean. After costs and the rent on the flat, sorry, ‘apartment’, there’s nowhere near enough to retire on.”

She spoke clearly, yet quietly enough so only he heard. He didn’t know what to say. This was the only job she’d be able to pull in London for years, plastic surgery aside. She’d spoken last night of Switzerland or Monaco. There were some seriously rich people there. But, she’d have to use almost all this money for a future blag. If it went wrong she was back to square one.

Jim didn’t envy her the decision. He knew what he’d do with the money, but it wasn’t his. They hadn’t talked of a share or wage. She’d given him five hundred last night the leftovers of what she’d drawn from the safety deposit box. When that ran out, he’d have to go cap in hand asking for more. He hoped she’d bring the subject up before then.

He shrugged his shoulders. “This is your game, not mine. I couldn’t possibly think of an idea of anything this size.”

“You could.” Her voice was much softer; he could barely hear. “You just need practise. Start at the beginning.”

He smiled. “It would take me months.”

“I didn’t do this overnight, you know. I spent months researching markets making the whole thing believable, yet just secretive enough. Literally months.”

“I can believe it.”

“It’s never too early to think of the next one.”

“It’s putting up money that would worry me.” Though the alcove felt private, he kept checking round. Just in case.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Speculate to accumulate. I bet you’re useless at poker, aren’t you?”

“Not if I cheat I’m not.”

She smiled. Her piece of hair plopped down. He wondered again how she put it with it. Surely it was annoying?

The work conversation ended though Jim had an unasked question, and he thought she did too. He hoped she did. But there was plenty of time for that. No point worrying over what may or may not happen in the future.

They chatted about music, which pub or bar they hated the most and just why was everything so expensive. Jim had fillet steak for the second time in his life. Though nice, it still wasn’t worth the extra money.

Parting, he headed for the same bar as the previous day. Still an hour before knocking off time he thought he’d grab a bar seat. Drinking expensive Mexican bottled lager, he thought again of Charlotte and the unsaid next job.

When this ended, he’d be skint, homeless and still a wanted man. Never a great combination. He had to follow her. He had to work with her again. What use was he though? A bit of cheeky charm and the ability to steal wallets or do card tricks wasn’t going to make him indispensible. He needed a plan. The next job. He needed to come up with something big.

A big scam.

“So then I said to Yolanda,” said Jim, “you might have three letters after your name, but some of us will have four letters before it one day.” They didn’t laugh. Jim thought on reflection it wasn’t funny. It’d seemed funnier in his head. “Lord? The four letters before?”

The two men smiled. Though the joke had sunk home it didn’t make it funny. Jim thought the pair would have been easy when he first saw them, but they were hard work. A skinny, twenty-something from the Wirral, and a balding thirty-year-old from Essex. Both brokers but definitely not broke.

“You’re not are you?” the younger one asked.

“Course not.” Jim took another sip from his bottle. “Do I look like a lord? Worked though, I got her phone number.”

The elder one smiled. Jim had him down as the younger’s boss. Maybe they’d come out for a quiet after-work drink to discuss a raise or bonus. Either way, Jim had hijacked their quiet drink with his badly thought out ranting.