No Place in the Sun (7 page)

‘Remember me?’ He turned quickly.

‘Amanda! How could I forget?’ It was hard to forget someone who dressed entirely in yellow for God’s sake.

‘It’s been ages; I didn’t know if you’d remember me, you must meet loads of people in your job.’

‘I never forget a face,’ he lied, no point in telling her she stood out a bit. She was really pretty though if you ignored the colour scheme.

‘Same in my job, I remember every face, or their hands, I’m not great on names though. It’s Tom isn’t it.’ She was shouting to make herself heard over the noise.

The girl stirred in the bed, turned over and snuggled in beside him. It was all coming back to him now, the beers, the lines of shots, and the conversation that descended into a suggestive flirty banter that continued all the way back in the taxi. He regretted his stupid behaviour, but at the time it seemed like a great idea, his desperate need to find out if her love of yellow clothing extended to her underwear.

He looked at the frilly yellow knickers hanging on the bedside lamp. This was a mistake; I must have been very drunk, both of us must have been out of it.

He stayed raised up on his elbow, wanting to go back to sleep but reluctant to take his eyes off the gorgeous blonde head on the pillow beside him. She looked beautiful as she slept, at peace with the world. It was true what Kevin had said, the girl was a cracker.

‘Answer the phone, answer the phone, answer the phone.’ The electronic voice started up again. He pulled the mobile towards him and squinted at the display. Why would Kevin be calling him on a Sunday morning? He pressed the green button.

‘Yeah’

‘Where the hell are you boyo?’ Kevin sounded stressed.

‘I’m not sure, with a friend.’ Tom spoke quietly to try not to wake the sleeping girl.

‘I was at your place, you weren’t there, need to see you now. It’s urgent, can’t talk on the phone, can you get back there now? Bit of trouble, need to see you.’

Something in Kevin’s tone brought Tom to wakefulness. ‘Give me half an hour, see you there.’

Amanda was half awake, rubbing her eyes. ‘What time is it?’

‘Nine o’clock, sorry I woke you, have to go, urgent.’

‘Do you have to? Do you not want breakfast?’ She reached out sleepily and tried to pull him back to bed.

Tom disentangled himself reluctantly and rummaged for his clothes. ‘Urgent bit of business, you get some sleep, I’ll call you.’

He found his clothes all over the place, one shoe in the kitchen, another in the living room. A trail of clothes led from the front door to the bed, half of them yellow. God, I must have been really pissed. I wonder what’s up; Kevin is hyper if he’s worried about work this time of a Sunday morning. I thought he would be playing golf.

He let himself out and looked around; the area was unfamiliar. At the end of the street he called a taxi. ‘Corner of Rathgar Road and…’ he walked around the corner and looked up at the other sign, ‘Frankfort Avenue.’

The taxi got him home in fifteen minutes; Sunday morning traffic was light. Kevin was sitting in a black Nissan Micra outside the flat. He got out of the car as soon as the taxi moved off.

‘Inside quick,’ Kevin propelled him to the front door of the apartment building.

‘What’s wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?’ Tom was concerned at Kevin’s demeanour; he had never seen the boss looking like this. The man was red-eyed and unshaven; he looked a mess.

‘We’re in deep shit, they’re on to us.’

‘Who’s on to who? Slow down and tell me what’s wrong.’ Tom put the kettle on and spooned coffee granules into two mugs.

‘Roger Hall, the lad in the test centre, he was arrested last night. Big racket with bent certs. They came looking for me as well but I saw the car outside the flat and I didn’t go in. Willie said they called to him but he sang dumb, told them you and I were away for a few days.’

‘Good man, Willie.’ Tom put the two mugs of coffee on the table. ‘But what’s the story, were you involved in a racket with Roger?’

‘Just the odd one, but that’s enough to do me.’

Tom knew he was lying; he had collected a lot of envelopes from Roger since that first day a few months ago, and he never let Kevin know that he knew what was going on. He had always had a concern about the caper but he had put it out of his mind; the money was rolling in, and it was time enough to worry about it when it happened. Unfortunately, it seemed to be happening now.

‘How does this concern me? I didn’t know what was going on.’

‘Someone at the centre, the fellow that was investigating it, saw you collecting the letter every week. They were looking for you as well as me when they spoke to Willie, but he told them he didn’t know where you lived or what your second name was.’

Tom sat down and pondered this turn of events. No harm done yet, but they were sniffing at his heels, what was the best thing to do? He turned to Kevin, ‘what are you going to do?’

‘I’m heading for Wales, today on the ferry. I’m outa here, boyo.’

‘But the business, all the cars and the yard..?’ Tom was shocked.

‘There is no business, Willie owns the yard and I just rented it from him. The bank and McGuire own anything in the yard, I can walk away anytime. I always kept the business well hollowed out, never any assets and all that. Even the portocabin is rented.’

‘But they’ll follow you, if the cops are involved they can get you back from Wales.’

Kevin laughed, relaxing a little. ‘Get back who?’ I can go back to my own name when I get off the ferry.’

Tom sat down, stunned at what was unfolding. ‘So you were using a false name, you’re not Kevin at all?’

‘I’m Kevin all right, but not Kevin Jones. That was a name I took on when I moved here, had a bit of trouble in Cardiff when I was a young lad, decided to leave it behind me, you know yourself.’

Tom was angry. ‘I don’t know myself, am I the mug here, will I have to take the rap for your dodgy dealings?’

‘Now hang on a minute, you were doing very nicely for the last year, more money than you ever made in your life. Did you think it was all kosher? You were in on the clocking every week, yourself and mad Myles, well able to take the fucking money. Don’t lecture me about dodgy dealing.’

‘Ok, ok, but you were the one making the really big bucks, I know what you were making on the caper, twenty grand a day sometimes. I must have been thick. What am I going to do?’

Kevin pulled a roll of notes from his pocket. ‘How much do I owe you for last week, roughly?’

Tom went through the sales he had made since Monday, adding the commissions in his head. ‘About two grand, give or take, including the finance commissions.’

Kevin counted off bills from the roll. ‘Here’s the two and another five, get yourself out of here for a couple of months, lie low for a while and it will blow over. They’ll just figure you as an employee; they’ll lose interest after a while. Don’t ever mention what I said about me having another name, ok?’

Tom was still in shock at the turn of events, and his head was throbbing from the effects of last night. ‘What do you mean, where would I go?’

‘I don’t know, go off to Spain for a couple of months, take a holiday, lie in the sun and meet a few nice chicks, just keep out of here for a while.’

Tom pondered the situation, it sounded attractive in one way. He hadn’t had a holiday in the year he had worked for Kevin, and the flat was rented, he could be out of there today, leave his stuff with Walter. Suddenly the day looked brighter.

‘Ok, I’ll do it, get a flight to somewhere in Spain and chill out for a while. The weather is miserable here now anyway, a change of scene will do me good.’

‘Good man. I’m heading away on the next ferry, don’t tell anyone you saw me, tell them you are off this week if you are stopped by anyone.’

He held out his hand, and he seemed genuinely regretful.

‘Good luck, Tom, you’re the best I ever saw, bloody great salesman, pure natural. I’m sorry it’s all gone pear-shaped, but good luck to you whatever you do.’

Tom felt no animosity towards Kevin; at least he had paid him and not done a runner on him like old Milton. In fact he would miss the mad bastard and the excitement of working in the yard. ‘Mind yourself, you daft Taffy bugger, and stay ahead of the posse.’

Tom slept late after a restless night; in the morning he went to a travel agency in the city and bought a ticket to Malaga. He caught a bus back to the yard and got off at the stop at the corner and then walked back to see if Willie was about. The gate was locked and he peered through the fence to see if there was any sign of life around by the shed.

He hadn’t noticed the dark blue car parked by the kerb, and he jumped when the man got out and spoke to him.

‘Tom, is your name Tom, do you work here?’

He knew immediately that the man was a cop; he had that cleancut look about him. He shook his head.

‘No, I was wondering if they were open, I want to buy a car.’

‘No, they seem to be closed today. You don’t work here then?’

‘No, of course not.’ Tom’s legs were shaking. ‘I need a new car, just thought I’d see what they had.’

The policeman looked him up and down, and then got back in his car. Tom could see that he wasn’t fully convinced, and he just wanted to get out of there before the cop radioed someone for a description. He skipped quickly across the street between the moving cars and flagged down a taxi going back into town. A couple of blocks away he got out and crossed the street and caught another taxi going in the opposite direction, not relaxing until he was back in Walter’s house.

He spent the afternoon watching television and declined Walter’s offer of a trip to the Willows for a pint.

‘No thanks, I think I’ll stay in tonight if you don’t mind.’

‘Keeping the head down?’

‘I just don’t want to risk being seen. You never know.’

It was great to have such good friends at a time like this. Walter was a good mate, somebody who was there for you when you were in trouble, no questions asked. He had been very good, had given up his golf to help him pack his stuff into boxes and move it to his garage.

‘It’ll be fine there, son, no hurry about moving it, get back when you can. We never use the garage anyway, don’t worry about it.’

Walter’s wife Pamela was very kind too, making up a bed for him in the spare room, and taking a morning off to drive him to the airport.

‘Imagine, Kevin being a crook, who would have thought? Look after yourself, young Tom, and keep in touch. Ring when you get there and let us know you arrived ok.’

‘Cabin crew, ten minutes to landing.’

Tom woke from his nap, his head against the window. The Airbus was side slipping, dropping over the Sierra Nevada and heading out to sea to make a turn and face the runway at Malaga airport. It flew low over the Mediterranean and crossed the beach, skimming the vegetable plots and the highway and bumping lightly on to the tarmac. The engines roared in reverse thrust and it slowed and turned off quickly on to the taxiway.

They were all on their feet before the plane had even stopped, grabbing at bags in overhead bins and switching on mobile phones, anxious to be on their way and to get the most of their week on the beach. Tom let the tide of people pass by and got slowly to his feet, strolling down the steps to the blast of heat from the still strong afternoon sun.

The bus to the terminal was packed with holidaymakers, excited about being in Spain, and remarking on the heat. The runway shimmered and the sun glared back from the white façade of the airport buildings. He was first out of the bus and through passport control; the policeman took a cursory look at his passport and waved him on. Tom felt relieved that he had not scanned the document; you never knew who might be looking for you. He put the thought out of his head, he hadn’t really done anything wrong, not really, it would be Kevin they were looking for and not him. They would really only have wanted to question him about Kevin’s whereabouts. Willie didn’t know anything about him either, not that Willie would talk anyway. No, there was nothing to worry about, just relax and enjoy a few weeks in the sun.

The car hire agent that Walter had recommended was waiting at the barrier with Tom’s name in big letters on a sheet of paper.