Bitter Sweet (11 page)

Not good. Erjon’s man had turned and was staring at the lifts with his mobile phone halfway to his ear.

Paul had also turned. It was too far to make out his facial expression, but his head was cocked to one side as he stared in our direction. I hoped he was just wondering what a nun and a policewoman, in a figure-hugging uniform, were doing on the fourth floor.

The last thing I saw as the doors slid together was
the back of Erjon’s bald head.

The lift started its descent. I kept my eyes fixed on the console – speed was of the essence. The third floor came and went. I held the tracking phone up, it confirmed that Erjon was no longer two streets away; it had him positioned in or near the Merchant Building. The second floor came up on the console; the lift continued its descent.

I turned my head towards Ivonne. ‘Come and stand beside me.’ We stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the lift’s doors. ‘Erjon is on the fourth floor. I spotted him just as the doors closed. Might mean he’s left someone in the foyer. And, his goon was trying to use his phone. Our cover might be blown.’

‘And,’ Ivonne said, ‘we’ve still nowhere to take the girls.’

The lift began to brake. My stomach sank. ‘God help us, that’s all we need.’

Ivonne crossed herself. ‘I’ll do what I can.’ She held up the cross from around her neck.

‘Smart ass.’

The lift stopped and the doors slid open. My jaw dropped. Of all things; there stood the two doddery old ladies.

Ivonne stepped forward. ‘Sorry ladies, we’re on a mission from God.’

The two old dears blinked.

Ivonne hit the button
, closing the doors and we were on our way.

‘Blues Brothers,’ Ivonne said with a grin. ‘I’ve always wanted to use that line.’

The lift braked before stopping on the ground floor. ‘You go first,’ I said to Ivonne.

The doors slid open. Ivonne stepped out, both hands holding the cross hanging from her neck. A few of the inhabitants, who were in the foyer, glanced at her.

There was no sign of any of Erjon’s men. I hustled the girls out of the lift. Ivonne strode purposefully towards the front doors; the girls following closely in her wake. I brought up the rear.

A quick look at the consoles told me that the other lift was on its way down. It was bound to stop on the first floor for the two old dears. If Erjon was in the lift, they’d get short shrift, but the delay would buy us enough time to get clear of the building.

Ivonne reached the front doors and yanked one of them open.

‘Go left,’ I said
.

There was an off chance of finding a taxi at the corner of the building where the two roads met. How we would all squeeze into a single taxi was another matter.

However, just beyond the junction there was a major bus stop. And no matter how odd we looked – a cop in a tight-fitting uniform, an almost six feet tall nun and three girls all wearing hoodies – I intended to get on the first available bus, no matter where it was headed.

With the peak of my cap tilted well forward, I scanned the pavement and the cars attempting to spot anyone taking an interest in us – not an easy task as Ivonne was drawing a lot of glances. On the other hand the pedes
trians deferred, allowing us unhindered progress.

Sod’s law – the only taxi at the junction was j
ust joining the flow of traffic and, worse still, the pedestrian light changed to red.

That did not deter Ivonne. She raised her left hand,
stopping the traffic to usher the girls on to the road. Following her lead, I also held up a hand and guided the girls across.

On the other side, I turned to look back towards the Merchant Building and caught a glimpse of a man in a leather jacket exit the front door. However, an articulated ASDA lorry then blocked my view.

‘Quickly, Ivonne,’ I shouted, ‘get behind the bus shelter.’

We hurried alo
ng the pavement, still hidden from view by the ASDA lorry and reached the shelter. We hid around the back, protected from view by the bank of timetables and the huddle of people in the shelter.

I peered through a gap between the timetables. A black BMW stopped abruptly at the kerb outside the Merchant Building. The car door swung open. I saw the man in the leather jacket dash across t
o the car, from the distance he looked like Erjon. He leaned on the car’s roof whilst scanning the streets.

Another b
lack BMW – I took a mental note of the plates of both cars – braked to a halt behind the first one and Erjon turned to face it. One of the other yobs from this afternoon got out and rushed over to Erjon.

Erjon gestur
ed in our general direction, before jumping into the first BMW. It took off with a squeal of rubber, crossed into the outside lane, blocking another car which was forced to brake. The BMW then executed a U-turn, accompanied by the sound of a hooting horn as it narrowly avoided colliding with a car on the opposing carriageway. The BMW’s tyres spun, briefly, before the Anti Slip Regulator cut in as the driver floored it. That car had some horsepower under the bonnet. I couldn’t tell from the distance but it might have been an M3 – a high performance version of BMW’s 3-Series car – a car which an ex-boy friend had  dreamed of owning.

The yob from the other BMW stood on the pavement, oblivious to the traffic chaos being caused by his ca
r on the double-yellow lines, as he scanned the pavements and the road ahead.

10

A bus came into view, its indicator blinking. I read the destination sign above the cab – it was northbound to Elmer Street, I didn’t care, the main thing was to keep moving.

‘Here we go,’ I said, as the bus started to brake. ‘I’ll go first.’

Would I have to buy tickets? Did a police officer in uniform have the right to travel free of charge? I didn’t know, but buying tickets fo
r five people would be a hassle and, above all, it would slow us down.

Just as the bus started to block the view of the BMW’s occupants, I came around the corner of the shelter. The bus braked to a halt, the door opened and I walked straight on to the bus.

I nodded to the driver – a woman – and stood to one side, shepherding the girls and Ivonne into the bus.

‘Protective custody,’ I said, to the driver. She opened her mouth, closed it and then shrugged.

Obviously she didn’t know any better than I did. I didn’t hang about to allow for any further chat.

Ivonne had wisely taken a seat along with the girls on the kerbside of the bus, close to the door. I sat down behind them and as I did so looked out through the windows on the off side.

Damn, the guy who’d been standing beside the BMW scanning the street started to walk, hesitantly towards the bus, his head tilted at an angle as he attempted to identify the passengers on the bus.

‘Stay absolutely still,’ I whispered, whilst keeping my head down and out of the guy’s line of sight. ‘Ivonne, for God’s sake don’t turn your head.’ The contrast of the white coif to the black veil would be easily distinguishable. Now the habit and the uniform were functioning to our disadvantage – they’d have to go.

The guy continued to walk tentatively towards the bus. The last passenger paid. Hell’s teeth, what’s with all the old doddery ladies? The driver looked up into her rearview mirror, checked that everyone was holding on to something secure, or were seated, and waited for the old dear to sit down.

I wanted to jump up and manhandle the old lady into a seat. Instead, I willed her to go faster. Finally, she came alongside Ivonne, gripped the rail on the back of a seat and eased herself down.

I felt the bus jerk as the driver engaged drive and the repeater of the indictor started.

I put my right hand up to my cap and peeked through my fingers – the yob from the BMW stood on the other side of the road, staring into the bus.

The bus jolted forwards, the driver turned the wheel. The man moved to his right, exactly parallel to where we were sitting. The angles altered. Ivonne turned to her left, attempting to hide the black and white contrast of the habit. I kept my hand up, hoping to blur the silhouette of my cap.

‘Ivonne,’ I whispered, ‘say a prayer.’

The yob kept pace with the bus as we entered the flow of traffic. The pavement ran out. The man stopped and frowned.

A van swerved in front of the bus. The
bus driver braked, hard. The woman sitting opposite me, caught unawares by the sudden movement, slid forward on her seat.

Between my splayed fingers I could see the yob staring into the bus, right at me. I saw his frown of concentration change to one of aha-I’ve-got-you. He spun around, waving at the driver of the BMW. It accelerated forwards. The yob yanked the door open, on the run, and jumped in.

The bus lurched forwards. I turned and watched as the driver of the BMW, aggressively, tried to gain the outside lane in an attempt to catch up with the bus. 

Trapped again, this time in a moving vehicle. I closed my eyes for a moment and squashed down the urge to frantically seek an immediate escape route.

‘The prayers didn’t work,’ Ivonne said.

‘No, they did not.’ 

‘We are on our own. No divine intervention.’

I looked up to where the wall and the ceiling of the bus met and squinted at the bus route. ‘Ivonne, do you use public transport?’

‘Not since I’ve got a car.’

‘Which means you used to?’

‘That’s right,’ Ivonne said, ‘but the trains.’

‘Shit that
doesn’t help.’ I pushed back a strand of hair which had fallen out from underneath the cap. ‘Either we sit on this bus all night, and hope that the BMW runs out of petrol—’

‘Not a chance; there are two BM’s out there.’

‘We can stay on the bus till it returns to its depot, or switch buses and keep going all night.’

‘Duh,’ Ivonne said, ‘at some stage they’ll try and board the bus.’

‘And the shit will hit the fan.’

‘Damn right it will.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘That means we need off this bus.’ I looked at Ivonne, a vague idea forming. ‘You said you used to use the trains?’

‘I did.’

‘Then take a look at that map up there,’ I said pointing at the wall of the bus, ‘and tell me if there’s a place where the buses and the trains connect. Or is there a place where only buses are allowed access?’

Ivonne studied the map.

If there was a place where cars could not follow, we might be able to disembark, unobserved. Okay, it would have to be a mighty fast exit, and we’d have to lose our pursuers in a crowd. The idea took another twist: the bus driver had deferred to the police uniform entering the bus. The uniform symbolised authority and the driver had not wanted to question that authority. Could I pull the same trick again? Except this time much more blatantly? It was worth a shot. In fact, with the BMW tailing the bus,
anything
was worth a shot.

‘Crew Street s
tation,’ Ivonne said. ‘It’s an old station, some of the buses go into a semi-circular area to turn, it’s right inside the station next to the ticket kiosks and the shops.’

‘And at this time of the evening would it be busy?’   

‘It’s a mainline station, I’d say so.’

I looked up at the bus route. ‘We’ll have to change buses.’

‘Twice,’ Ivonne said. ‘At Dean Street and Queensway.’

‘Shit, how are we going to do that? The moment we step off this bus they’re going to close in.’

Ivonne winked at me. ‘I thought you did Taekwondo?’

‘I do. I might have a chance against two thugs. But, if Erjon and his crony in the other BM
W turn up, no. And, you’ve seen Erjon in action. He’s no-holds-barred, and, he is fast.’

Ivonne pressed her lips together.
             

‘And,’ I continued, ‘as you said earlier, they’re not going to follow this bus all night. At some stage, at some bus stop, they’re going to board this bus.’

‘That will be nasty.’

‘You bet. Erjon will go straight for me or you, hard enough to snap bones or break skulls. Anyway, he wants our apartments, so if we’re in hospital we’re out of the picture. The rest of his crew will make a grab for the girls.’

I glanced at Maria, Yana and Olga. Erjon had spent a good deal of cash getting them into the country. What had they suffered? It was a ghoulish question, one which I didn’t really want to answer. However, they were for Erjon his property, and their earning potential was the real reason he wanted them back. Forced to work round the clock. Five hundred pounds a day, seven days a week. That times three, made for serious cash riding on this bus.

It was time to try out my idea of getting safely off the bus. The fake police uniform had worked once with the driver. I had to make it work again.

I stood up and told Ivonne what I was going to do. I summoned all the confidence I could muster. It would be vital to convincingly a
ct the part of a police officer as this time the power of the uniform might not be enough on its own. I took a deep breath and approached the bus driver. She was wearing a name badge attached to her uniform.

‘Zora,’ I said. ‘I need your assistance.’

Zora checked her wing mirrors before looking at me. Oh, oh, the uniform and the voice of command should have generated an immediate response.

‘Look, lady,’ Zora said, ‘I just drive this bus. That’s the job.’ She breathed deeply. ‘If it’s urgent get your fellow officers to contact my controller, okay?’

I gave it one more try; ‘my colleagues,
male
colleagues have put me in a tight spot.’

Zora again checked her mirrors and then looked right into my eyes with a hard glint. ‘Sure and my sister is Oprah Winfrey.’

Oh shit, the balloon had burst.

‘I’m serious, I need your help.’

‘You’re no police officer,’ her eyes flicked up to the mirror, ‘and she’s no sister.’

I breathed out, long and slow. ‘You’re absolutely correct.’

That got a nod of recognition.

‘The truth is,’ I said, ‘those three girls in the hoodies, sitting with my friend, have been trafficked.’

Zora squinted.

‘And do you see that black BMW back there.’

Zora glanced at her side mirror.

‘The
one with the private number plate?’

‘I see it.’

‘In that car are the nasties who did the trafficking, and they’re just itching to get those girls back.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘We can’t stay on this bus. Sooner or later they’re going to storm the bus. We’ve a chance if we can get them to Crew Street Station.’

‘I got you.’

‘But we’ve got to change twice.’

‘At Dean Street and Queensway.’

‘And that means getting off the bus and maybe having to wait for the connecting one.’

‘What about the police?’ Zora chuckled. ‘That uniform of yours and your figure, ought to make them come running.’

‘This,’ I said, fingering the jacket, ‘was spur of the moment. However, the police are a no-go.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Those girls won’t go near them. And, we know there is a bent cop involved.’

Zora flicked on the indicator. ‘This is the first stop. You watch the BMW. If they try to board, I’ll close the door.’

‘Thank you.’

I anxiously watched the BMW as it came to a halt right behind the bus. The thugs stayed put. Two passengers got off the bus and one boarded. The door closed.

Zora indicated to rejoin the traffic as did the BMW.

‘Okay, lady,’ Zora said. ‘I believe you about the BMW. It’s stuck to the exhaust pipe.’

‘The rest is also true. You want to speak to one of the girls?’

Zora blinked and shook her head. ‘You’ve got
a problem. But, I don’t know what you expect me to do.’

‘I need to get from one bus straight on to the other.’

‘Well now, that’s not going to be easy.’

I glanced at the door of
the bus my idea from earlier, resting upon the cooperation of Zora. I leaned forward and explained my plan to Zora.

As I finished explaining, she nodded her head slowly up and down and said; ‘
Might just work.’

‘Can you contact your controller?’

‘That old fart!’ Zora laughed. ‘He wouldn’t get off his fat arse to help no one. A regular pen-pusher and a real stickler for rules.’

I stared out through the windscreen of the bus, trying to ignore my feeling of disappointment. Telling the truth had gained Zora’s cooperation, and she had admitted that the plan might work. But what now? I couldn’t see how we were going to swing matters without the help of someone in control of the bus routes.

‘Lady,’ Zora said. ‘Get my phone. It’s in the jacket over there.’ She tilted her head towards a jacket hanging on a peg beyond her right shoulder. ‘I can’t drive and telephone at the same time. That would cost me my job.’

I leaned over and retrieved the phone.

‘Dial Liz,’ Zora said. ‘Once you’re connected put thing on loudspeaker.’

Within seconds I found Liz’s number and dialled.

I held the phone close to Zora’s ear. The connection was made and Zora explained the situation and what needed to be done. Liz said she’d get right on to it. I closed the phone.

‘Liz,’ Zora said, ‘is one of those people who knows everyone. She also drives a bus. If anyone can organise this manoeuvre, she can.’

Another stop came up. Zora halted, her hand hovering over the button to close the door, whilst I watched the BMW.

The passenger got on. Zora closed the door and flicked on the indicator. As we rejoined the flow of traffic, Zora’s phone rang. I answered it and then held it to Zora’s ear.

Before Liz ended the call, I motioned to Zora and whispered; ‘Can I speak to Liz?’

‘Go ahead.’

I introduced myself, thanked her and asked if she could, from now on, contact me on my phone, explaining that direct contact might be necessary in case something went wrong. We swopped telephone numbers.

Zora then explained that the bus we were to catch at Dean Street was making a detour, two stops further up the line from our current position.

I wanted to give Zora a big hug, but restricted myself by giving her shoulder a squeeze.