London Vauxhall
2-30 p.m.
April 18th
The Priory Arms in Vauxhall on Landsdowne Way seemed innocuous enough to Charley Cobb. He’d made himself presentable, ditched the pseudo police look and walked miles around the M25 and finally when he got far enough into London he’d taken a taxi to Vauxhall. It had been no mean feat. Most of the day was gone and he needed to make contact. Only the buyer could offer safety of that he was sure. It would go badly if he wasn’t the first there, but he might be able to get a ticket out as a consolation prize, either that or do for the competition. He was getting desperate.
The contact, Peter Brook, was sitting at a window table. Brook was a solidly built, stocky man in his early thirties. He had light brown hair, side parted in a neat college boy style. He was wearing a brown pin stripe suit, Next, Machine washable. The cut was good on Next off the peg suits, he could get trousers to fit, jackets a bit bigger on the chest and body, with shorter sleeves for his muscular stocky arms. He wore black framed spectacles for reading. He took them off and displayed light hazel eyes which took on a hard pebble like quality when he saw Cobb approach the pub through the window looking over the small front of house ‘beer garden’. He watched him walk past, then return and enter.
Cobb had no idea how they would make contact. He was tired and dusty. He didn’t have to push his way to the bar, the pub wasn’t busy yet.
Brook had been there every day for the last two. He’d sat at the window table, spending money on drinks, to keep the landlord happy, buying lunch there and for his cover reading a racing post and pretending to make bets on a cell phone. He’d got know every face and knew the faces of the five men he was expecting, but knowing that even disguised he’d know anyone who wasn’t a regular.
Cobb, pint in hand, turned to face the room. Brook looked him directly in the eyes. He knew Cobb. He’d been surprised at how good the sketch in the papers had been. He nodded, putting a knowing look in his eyes. Cobb made his way over.
“I’m supposed to meet an employer here today.”
“That’d be me. You’re Cobb right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Brook, you’ve been busy.”
“Am I first here?”
“Yes. You still want the job?”
“Yes, but I need to get out of sight.”
“I’ll arrange it. I get you to a hotel tonight and drop the details of the job in tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“My car’s around the corner. Let’s go.”
“You lead.” Cobb relieved nearly lost his edge of survival.
Brook rose and they got to the door. Cobb put his hand into the shoulder bag, gripped his pistol and pushed the bag against the Brook’s back.
“It’s for sure that after it’s passed through the bag it’ll have enough energy to rip a path into you and lodge itself somewhere nasty and as this is a Russian made PSS no-one is going to hear a thing when if I pull the trigger. Walk steadily and don’t move too far ahead of me.”
“Okay Cobb. Take it easy. I’m to take you to Claridge’s Hotel set you up in a good suite, order food and get you ready for the job.”
“What is the job?”
“I don’t know. I’m just a link in the chain.”
They got to a plush and polished black Honda Accord S type saloon. The contact blipped it and unlocked the doors. Cobb looked around and let the contact get in the driver’s side. He put the black bag on the back seat and got in after it. The contact looked at his face in the mirror.
“Okay no tricks. The round doesn’t have to pass through the bag now, know what I mean?” Cobb said quietly.
“Sure enough. Look Cobb just relax a little. Even if you don’t trust me I’m all you’ve got. Without us and the job you’ll have a hell of a time getting out of the country or going home for that matter.”
Cobb lowered the PSS pistol’s barrel which had been pointing at the back of the Brook’s seat. He didn’t put it away.
The black Honda Accord purred quietly way from the bright blue fronted pub and headed into central London.