Thursday August 14 th 2008
I woke up early but had nothing to do and all day to do it. I borrowed fifty quid from Rachel and decided to do the tourist bit. I waited until the rush hour had gone and picked up a Zone card that would give me travel all day.
I had no plan so I drifted through the centre of London seeing much but taking in little. My head played around the upcoming encounter with Dupree but the event seemed distant and unreal. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I caught up with him, but doing anything was better than this nothing.
I walked up the stairs at Bank tube station and went for a wander around the financial city. You could almost feel the money in the buildings around me but you could also feel the tension. There was change in the wind. A few days ago the French bank BNP Paribas had signalled some serious financial problems and the issues over the summer with the US markets didn’t bode well.
I wound my way up to Holborn and then walked along to Tottenham Court Rd. I cut through Leicester Square and took my time crossing Trafalgar Square before I made for Hyde Park and some green.
I found a bench and watched the lunch time people become the mid afternoon people. I got bored and stiff before deciding to go back to the hotel.
I grabbed a sandwich from a corner store. I wasn’t hungry but I forced myself to eat it. God alone knows what might happen tonight and the last thing I needed was to be low on energy.
I lay on the hotel bed until six thirty and then headed back out. I found a phone box and, at bang on seven, I phoned Giles’s number. It rang half a dozen times and then the answer machine kicked in. I was about to hang up when he picked up and apologised.
‘I was in the toilet. Your French man has an office on Lloyds Avenue in the city. He operates his business under the company name King to Ace Ltd. I don’t know the number on Lloyds Avenue but it isn’t that long a road. I don’t expect to hear from you again.’
Before I could say thanks he hung up on me. I didn’t know Lloyds Avenue but there was a Food and Wine across the road from me and, after a quick transaction, I owned a shiny new A to Z.
The book told me that Lloyds Avenue was not a spit from where I had been earlier in the day. It backed onto Fenchurch St station and was a short walk from the Tower of London.
I went back to the hotel to find that Rachel was out. I scribbled a note and pushed it under the door. I didn’t know whether Dupree would be at his office and I suspected a phone call at this time of night would prove fruitless.
I tried to look up the company in the hotel phone book but there was no entry under King to Ace. I borrowed the reception phone and tried directory enquiries but the people with the answer didn’t have an answer. My best bet was to pay a visit and suss out the lay of the land.
I took the tube across town — still busy with late workers and night shoppers — before exiting at Bank. This afternoon I had turned left at the top of the exit — this time I turned right. The light was fading and the streets were quiet. Office lights were on all around me and the bulk of the city work force had split for the day.
I found Lloyds Avenue. It was short and unobtrusive. Not off the beaten path but certainly near the verge. I walked down the right hand side and scanned the few doors that there were. I completed the trip and repeated the walk, scanning the other side. I came up blank. I started again but this time I walked up to each door regardless of what the wall plaque, or sign outside, read.
About half way down there was a double door entrance. The reception area beyond was small and functional but the building had the feel of quality. The sign outside read ‘Cranchester Aggregates plc’.
At the back of the reception, unmanned, was a list of the divisions and which floor they occupied. Most were a variation on Cranchester — Cranchester Equipment, Cranchester Haulage and so on. Right at the top, the style of sign writing changed.
All the bottom floors were written in simple capital letters — each in the same typeface. The top one differed in two ways. Firstly there was no letters and secondly there was a picture of the King of Hearts and the Ace of Clubs.
I pushed at the door and found it locked. There was a buzzer on the wall but I left it be. I placed my face up against the glass and squinted to get a better view of the sign but at this distance my eyes couldn’t focus. Even so I was sure I had found the office. Now I just had to get in.
I stepped down the stairs and ducked out of sight from the reception. There was a CCTV in the lobby pointing at the door and I didn’t need to advertise my presence anymore than I had to. I waited on the off chance that some one was working late.
I heard footsteps behind me and I ducked down, pretending to tie my shoe laces.
A pair of shapely legs glided by and turned up the stairs. I stood up and walked behind the owner of the legs. She took out a plastic fob and waved it below the buzzer; there was a click and she pushed the door open. I stepped forward and held it open for her. She stopped and looked at me.
‘I’m looking for King to Ace? Is this the right building?’
‘Top floor but you are supposed to use the buzzer.’
‘Sorry I didn’t know.’
‘There’s another buzzer on the reception desk. Donald is on night duty. If you press it he’ll come. He might take a while but he will come — the buzzer is linked to his walkie talkie.’
‘Can’t I just go up and see them?’ I said pointing at the sign on the top of the board.
‘No. They have a key for their floor. Without it the lift won’t go up that far.’
‘Thanks.’
She walked to the lifts and I stopped at the reception. I waited while she got in and, as the doors closed, I walked towards the fire stairs at the rear of the lobby. I had no intention of calling Donald.
A quick look at the board confirmed King to Ace were on the seventh floor. I pushed open the door to the stairs and began to climb.
I was certain that the fire exit to the seventh floor would not open from the outside but with a bit of manipulation fire doors can be opened.
Six floors later and I was breathing heavily. I had met no one on the staircase and now a pair of fire doors lay between me and the next flight of stairs. It didn’t look too legal to me. Why place a set of doors on the fire escape? To my left was the exit to the sixth floor. I opened it and looked in.
The whole floor was carpeted in thick wool — not cheap and not very practical. I suspected the sixth floor was the domain of the privileged few that ran Cranchester Aggregates plc.
Beside the lift doors there was a glass panel and glass door. Beyond this was a series of doors running off a corridor. The corridor was dark and there were no lights from the offices. I closed the door and turned my attention to the double doors that blocked my way to the next floor.
The fire doors had no handles and I suspected they had push bars on the other side to allow people out in an emergency. I tried to prise my fingers into the gap between the doors but they were tight to each other and a metal plate, that ran from floor to ceiling, covered the gap between the doors. The locking mechanism that sprang the doors when you pushed the bar was hidden from sight behind the metal plate.
I took out my tool kit and selected a small strip of metal that had a bend at right angles about two inches from the end. I slid the bent part behind the metal plate and ran it down until it met resistance. I left it hanging there and took out another strip of metal — this time with no bend — and inserted it below the bent piece of metal and pushed up until it stopped. Holding the straight piece steady I pulled down sharply on the bent strip and there was a click. I pulled at the door with the bent metal strip and it opened.
Grabbing the door I pocketed the two small jimmies and slipped through the gap, pulling the door behind me.
As expected the stairs continued up and, two flights later, I was faced with a gunmetal grey door. I turned the handle and the door gave. Beyond the door lay the lobby that serviced the solitary lift and beyond this there was another door.
This time the door was a solid wood affair polished to within an inch of its life. The wooden door sat in a large panelled frame and there was no way to tell if there were lights on beyond it.
I crossed the lobby and glanced at the numbers that sat above the lift door. Fortunately the letter G was lit. No one was on the way up.
Surprisingly the wooden door was unlocked and I pushed it open to find a narrow corridor that opened into a small vestibule. To the left of the vestibule sat a desk. Behind it two glass doors dominated the wall.
I entered the corridor and crossed to the desk. Apart from a phone and a computer terminal it was bare and I turned my attention to the doors.
The darkness suggested there was no life and my planned encounter with Dupree was looking like a busted flush. I tried the glass doors and they opened.
The lack of security spoke of confidence or stupidity or…
Light flooded around me and a hand from behind pushed me into the room. I went flying across the floor and fell to the ground. Before I could react someone dropped on me from on high and the wind rushed from my lungs. My arms were pulled behind my back and I was lifted up and pressed against the far wall. Hands searched me and pulled out the small knife I had hidden in my socks. My tool kit was extracted and both were tossed to one side. Next I was thrust sideways and down into a chair.
The attacker stayed behind me the whole time. Once in the chair he reached round my neck with his forearm, pulled back and my throat started to close up. I tried to struggle but the attacker was strong as an ox and held firm. I felt panic set in just before he eased off and I sucked like a good one. He paused for a second and then repeated the treatment.
A door at the other end of the room opened and one of the men from the photo in Inca walked in.
‘The boss will see you shortly.’
With this he turned heel and left. My attacker eased off but kept a firm grip and there was little I could do but wait.
Ten minutes later the door opened again and the photo man appeared again.
‘Bring him.’
The arm around my throat was removed and my left arm was pushed up my back — forcing me to stand up. The attacker frog marched me to the door and through.
The light in the room was dim and the atmosphere carried a faint scent of something sweet. The decor was lavish and some familiar objects littered the space. I spotted the globe that Giles had been on about and I wondered how it had got here. There was a painting on the wall of a man in full military parade uniform standing in front of a set of iron gates that guarded a large stately house in the distance.
To my left there was a long sleek marble table and at the end was a man sitting in a high-backed leather chair. The chair was turned away from me and I could hear the sounds of fingers on keys. The glow of a computer screen leaked from around the chair.
The attacker walked me to the other end of the marble table and sat me in the only other chair in the room.
‘It’s ok you can leave,’ said the voice from behind the leather chair.
The men left — my mouth opening wide as the chair turned and the voice and the face came together.
‘Martin?’
He smiled and pushed back in the chair.
‘What the hell are you doing here? Where is Dupree?’ I said.
He smiled again.
My head went into carnival mode as I tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Martin just kept grinning. Like the cat that got the cream AND the fish from the fish tank AND the bird that had always got away.
‘What…’
I trailed off.
Martin sat forward.
‘Drink?’ he said.
I didn’t respond but he still got up and pressed at a panel in the wall. A door popped open revealing a well stocked drinks cabinet. He poured two large measures of Ardbeg 18 year old into two odd shaped glasses.
He handed me one glass.
‘The Glencairn Glass’ he said, pointing to the glass in my hand. ‘Odd that no-one ever thought to design a glass for whisky over the centuries. Brandy has its balloon, wine a goblet, sherry a sherry glass, champagne a flute but whisky never has had a glass designed to bring out the best in the liquid.
A small company in Scotland hit on the idea and created the glass in your hand. A small base to keep your hand away from the whisky — that stops you heating it up, it’s made of crystal so you can hold it up in to the light and see the colour of the liquid and it has a tapered mouth to focus the aroma. Clever really — a bit odd looking but a smart piece of thinking.’
He returned to his seat and began sipping at the whisky.
I was still speechless.
‘Not like you to be so quiet,’ he said.
‘Martin what the fuck is going on? Is this not Dupree’s office?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘So where is he?’
That stupid grin reappeared.
‘Bloody stop that and tell me what’s going on?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know. Where is Dupree?’
‘Have you ever seen Dupree?’
‘Of course I have. Now where is he?’
‘Have you ever talked to him?’
‘Not as such.’
‘Do you know much about him?’
‘What is this? Twenty questions? Where is he?’
‘Dead.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Dead.’
‘When?’
‘Fourteen years ago — give or take.’
‘That’s nonsense.’
‘Cross my heart.’
The bastard couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be dead for two good reasons.
Firstly he had been running the show since I was put in prison and secondly no bastard that I wanted that much dies on me before I could kill him. Christ, he had been keeping me in check since I got out. He had…
I looked at Martin and things became a little clearer.
‘There never was a man called Carl Dupree,’ I said.
The smile was back.
‘Go on,’ he said
I shuffled uneasily.
‘There was never a Carl Dupree? Is that right?’
‘Not quite, but you are on the right track.’
‘You?’
A smile.
‘You.’ I said again. ‘There is no Dupree and you are sitting here. You are sitting in Dupree’s seat.’
‘Keep going.’
‘No Dupree. Then it was you…’
‘Keep going.’
The bastard was going to split his cheeks if he grinned any harder.
‘It was you all along?’
‘Well done. Give the man a cigar.’
The floor seemed to slip and I had to grab the table to stop falling to the floor. Martin was behind it. Behind it all. I felt sick — deep down sick.
I stared at the table trying to get my thoughts in order.
‘Why?’ I stammered.
His smile widened. I didn’t think it was possible, but he found a few more millimetres of curl in his lips.
‘You figure it.’
I had a feeling that the last thing I wanted to do was figure it all out. I tried to unscramble my head and what emerged was not a sweet place in anyone’s language.
‘You ran the whole show?’ I said. ‘You did it all?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Shite!’
‘You think so?’
‘Martin I’m not into this game. Just fucking tell me what is going on?’
‘Simple really.’ He took another slug of whisky. ‘Revenge really.’
‘Revenge — for what?’
This time he laughed hard. Very hard.
‘You don’t know. You really don’t know.’
‘I have no idea what the fuck is going on. Revenge over who? Me?’
‘Who else?’
‘For what?’
‘What do you think?’
I let go of the table and tried to get on board the train.
‘For what I did in Glasgow with Read?’
‘Well done.’
‘What, twenty fucking years ago? You’ve done all this for something that happened two decades ago?’
‘Of course. Why else?’
‘For grassing you up to Read?’
‘A hole in one my son.’
‘But I brought you down to London. You did bloody well out of London.’
‘So did you. Did you think I was just going to let you roll me over and do nothing? When you grassed me up, you shat on my life from a height you can’t believe. I was completely shafted. I had to leave Glasgow. Leave everything I had behind. Every bloody thing. You had no idea how well I was doing. Our breaking and entering was just the start. I was on the verge of a hell of a deal and you dropped Read on me. He was a serious heavyweight and you set him on me like a dog on a bone’
‘Jesus Martin. I stopped you robbing the bastard’s house. Think what would have happened if I hadn’t.’
‘Bollocks. You turned turtle to save your own neck. You knew you were dead meat once he found out you had been in his house. I’m not fucking stupid. If I’d seen his name on the list from Rachel I would never have gone near it.’
He had stood up and his face was starting to match the deep red glow of the room.
‘You have no clue as to what I had to promise to get back. It was easy for Rachel — she just waited a while and went back. But when I tried to go back it seems that I wasn’t so easily forgiven and three of his morons took great pleasure in putting me into the Southern General for two weeks.’
‘I’d been in London working my way up the ladder when I heard the wind was blowing a new way so I made a call to Read and promised him the earth if I could move back. With the sniff of a London gang coming north I reckoned whatever debt I owed Read would be buried with him when things changed — and I was right. When you rolled up at the front door again I saw my chance.’
‘But you were my number two in Glasgow. I called you down to London and you came.’
‘Like a lapdog. I might have hated your guts but the money was bloody good. When you said to go south, I knew I could swing it to my advantage. It was easy. You were losing it. You were starting to believe in your own hype — all that Riko crap. People were laughing at you behind your back. It was the easiest thing on the planet to convince everyone that you were becoming a liability. Once you took over the whole gaff you went off the deep end and people started to talk seriously about moving you on. The old man might have been a bastard but he was fair. You were acting like a tit.’
‘So who was Dupree?’
‘An out of work actor who owed me thirty grand and had a drug habit to support. Good wasn’t he? Me and Spencer simply sat in the background and pulled the strings.’
My head was getting sore with this.
‘Spencer as well? Shit. So why didn’t you just off me and have done with it?’
He began to pace the room.
‘I wasn’t going to let you off that easy. No fucking way. I wanted to see you suffer. I so wanted to see you suffer. And I also wanted what you had. So when you pulled me down to London after topping the old man, Spencer and I went into overdrive. We set you up like a turkey at Christmas. You played along like a gem. You went nuts over the Dupree stuff. You became obsessed. We couldn’t have dreamed you’d be so stupid. All we had to do was dump anything that had our name on it and then hand over everything else to the police.’
‘You told me that you had no choice in the witness box.’
‘I didn’t. I needed to do it to make sure you went down. By then you were so hated that I thought someone might take you out. Prison saved you. I had a few guys on the inside watch your back for the first few years.’
‘Look after me? I took a kicking every second day at the start.’
‘And you would have been on the morgue slab after a week if my guys hadn’t stepped in.’
‘Fourteen years Martin. Fourteen fucking years.’
‘Not long enough. If it was down to me you would have rotted in there.’
‘What happened with Spencer?’
‘Got greedy so I sent him home. He really did die in a car crash near Oban.’
I tried to stay in front of it all, but my head was boiling up a stormer of a headache.
‘What the hell was all that Stevie, the key and Spain stuff. What in the fuck was all that about?’
He sat back down again and took a sip of whisky.
‘I couldn’t resist. You made it so easy. When I knew you were getting out I sent in Rachel with the letter. I thought you were getting out sooner than you did but I got it wrong. It didn’t matter — you were like a rat down a drainpipe once you started on the trail. I laid down the breadcrumbs and like a bird you followed along.’
‘The code, the safety deposit boxes. What about Mallorca Security?’
‘Mallorca Security is part owned by me and Ryder. It was easy to set it all up. Maria was in on it from the outset.’
‘You’re wrong. If she was then why did she hit the alarm and save me from your goons?’
‘Stupid cow panicked. It was meant to end there and then. I’d had enough fun and wanted you back home. I thought the whole photo and code thing a laugh but enough was enough, and people were beginning to look at me in the same way they looked at you when you obsessed on Dupree. At least I recognised the signs of obsession. It was more than you did with Dupree. By the way you did well getting out of Mallorca. How did you do it?’
I ignored him.
‘Charlie Wiggs?’
‘Charlie owes me big time. I’ve kept him on as my accountant since our days. He’s into me for an arm and a leg and it wasn’t hard for me to get him to play along. ‘
‘Charlie’s friend in Mallorca?’
‘Ryder’s son or rather his stepson. How else do you think he would have got a copy of the blueprints so easily?’
‘So why let me get this close to you?’
‘I had no choice. You slipped my guys in Spain. You did it again at my house. I was in London trying to sort out the mess in Mallorca at the time. I still thought you were on the island. When you didn’t turn up on the return flight I figured you must have got home somehow so I sent some muscle to my house with orders to pick you up if you were there. You did well. Very well. But I knew you wanted to front up to Dupree. So I waited for you to reappear and reappear you did. I had lost you right up until you phoned Giles.’
‘He is in it as well?’
My voice rose a shade.
‘Of course. Once you skipped on us at Rachel’s house I figured you would come after Dupree so I put the word out to all the old gang that there was cash in it for anyone that let me know where you were. When Giles phoned I set up our little meeting. You know that all you had to do was press the downstairs buzzer. The cloak and dagger stuff was a little OTT.’
I had a million other questions.
‘So everything — prison, the warnings, Mallorca — the whole fucking lot was for your amusement?’
His grin was back big style.
‘Absolutely. And tonight is the money shot. I needed to see your face when you realised who had been behind it all. This is my special moment.’
A silence blew into the room and he downed the last of the whisky in his glass. His grin vanished and I could see his eyes glaze over.
‘But somehow it’s all a bit hollow. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this. I thought I would feel vindicated but I don’t. I feel, well sort of empty.’
His grin had been replaced with a small grimace and a weary look crossed his face.
‘This feels all wrong.’
Damn right it felt wrong. I stood up fast and was half way across the table when the door burst open and I was grabbed mid air before being thrown to the floor.
‘All wrong,’ he said. ‘All wrong.’
He walked up to me as the attacker picked me up and slammed me back into the chair.
‘Did Giles tell you his stupid Sainsbury’s story. The one to do with the Chelsea/Millwall game? Did he?’
I said nothing and the attacker wrapped his arm around my throat.
‘He’s told me it on more than one occasion. I always thought it a bit of a crap tale. I mean what is it supposed to mean, but you know what? I think I might know what that face looking out the window was thinking. I think that face belonged to someone that knew exactly what was going on but chose to stay in the safety of the hostel. He wasn’t a little innocent. That face had been, seen, done and bought the t-shirt and knew he was in the right place that night. Well you’re in the wrong place. I’m sorry old friend that it has to end like this. I need to get on with life and that’s not going to happen with you around.’
I tried to say something but the attacker flipped me from the chair and suddenly my mouth was full of carpet. Martin bent down.
‘If you wanted Dupree this badly then you’ll want me with sugar on. I can’t have that. So I’ll say my goodbyes.’
The bastard kissed the tips of his fingers, reached down and patted me on the head. I looked up and saw the smile leave his face.
‘So different. It should have all been so different.’
I struggled to get up but my attacker and the man from the Spanish photo were good for the game and I was pinned to the floor. The first fist caught me behind the ear — the knuckleduster slicing open my skull. Snap, crackle and pop and the second fist mashed my nose to mince.
Just the beginning. I tried to curl into a ball. Just the beginning.
The door to the room closed as the bastard left and it was time for more pain. The attacker reached between my legs and grabbed at my balls. The squeeze was so hard it felt like one of them burst. A thumb searched for my left eye socket and a forefinger for my right — fluid spurted and darkness fell.
Then they got serious.