Paint. The art of scam. (40 page)

Seymour lay on
the bed feeling smug, hands behind his head, watching a naked Polly walking
over to the bathroom. It was just like the good old days. This was the first
day for what seemed like months that they had done lunch. It wasn’t planned:
but that had made it even more wonderful. Even though they had resolved the
complex tension of the previous weeks, there had still been a learned behaviour
going on. They woke, as usual: Polly curled up in the foetal position, facing
away from him and Seymour laying on his back staring at the ceiling, wondering
what to say. Then, suddenly, Polly rolled over and said.

‘Seymour. Let’s
do lunch.’

Doing lunch,
involved a full day of unadulterated indulgence. Sex, drugs, alcohol, food and
warm, cuddling sleep, all day: no holes barred, phone unplugged. The flat was a
complete mess with numerous plates and cutlery, glasses, ashtrays and trails of
hastily removed clothing everywhere. At last, things were getting back to
normal. They had talked all day in warm mumblings, muffled by pillows, quilts
and hair. Not about anything of importance; certainly not more regurgitating of
the recent past, just loving quips and floating dream talk.

Polly looked at
the bathroom mirror: her body still buzzing from the glorious orgasm she had
simultaneously had with Seymour’s. It had been a moment of sheer ecstasy, that
took her by complete surprise. The way they had looked at each other at that
moment, was made of pure, beautiful chemistry. It was as if the power of their
love had overwhelmed anything that could challenge it. As Polly looked at
herself, she pledged to never jeopardise what she had with Seymour, ever again.
The future was, for once, looking like perfection, which not so long ago would
have been a cue for destruction. But now she had been given a gift and she was
going to treasure it. Then, without notice, the last three croissant, she had
been craving and gobbled down, pumped up her gullet, fuelled by acid bile, and
vomited out of her mouth into the sink. This had happened a lot lately. She had
chosen to ignore it: put it down to stress. Just as she had chosen to ignore
the fact that her period was unusually late. Again she looked at herself in the
mirror. Those eyes seemed softer somehow, less suspicious: more compassionate.
She snatched a few sheets of toilet paper from the roll and wiped the sperm
that had dribbled onto her inner thigh and sniffed at it. It smelt of safety,
of home. It had been a while she had been able to do that. She cupped her
breasts in her hands and looked at them in the mirror. They felt and looked
different.

Polly reached
into the laundry basket and pulled out a cardboard box containing a pregnancy
testing kit she’d hidden. Why she’d hidden it, was something she never
considered. She’d already filled the small phial with urine, first thing that
morning and read the instructions, but for some reason had left it that; as if
it was pointless or more the like, not possible. But now she needed to confirm
her suspicions.

After much
procrastinating on the logistics of clearing up, Seymour reluctantly got out of
bed and slipped on one of Polly’s dressing gowns. Polly had to go out for a
couple of hours to see somebody about some chairs. A few days ago that would
have seemed
suspicious
, but then, everything had seemed
suspicious. He plugged the phone back in, as Polly had asked, went over to the
table and began to tackle the resultant chaos of lunch, when the phone rang.

‘Hello....Oh hi
Harry, how’s things’.... Simon? Haven’t heard from him for days......Oh really?
Not like him to miss a barbeque. Try phoning Jason, he’ll know where he
is....Oh really? Well maybe they closed the gallery for the day, wouldn’t be
the first time....Nah I wouldn’t worry Harry, he’s probably got sidetracked or
something...... Yes I’ll let you know if I hear from him..... Polly? Oh she’s
great thanks, You want a word?...Ok....Yup...I’ll speak to you soon OK? And
don’t worry.’

‘Who was that?’
said Polly, emerging from the bathroom, towelling her hair.

‘Oh it was just
Harry looking for Simon. Apparently he didn’t turn up for some barbeque today.
He can’t get hold of him.’

Polly laughed.
‘It’s more newsworthy if you
can
get
hold of him these days.’

‘Yeh. Fancy a
cuppa before you go.’

‘Haven’t really
got time. Leave all this mess. I’ll clean up when I get back.’

‘Yeh right.’
Seymour turned around and looked at Polly as she slipped on one of the ‘60’s
loud red floral dresses she’d found at the shop. It fitted her perfectly: a
little too short for Seymour’s liking.

‘Wow, you look
pretty good...... for your age.’

‘Fuck you,’ said
Polly, as she peered into a mirror, quickly painted her lips with deep red
lipstick and blew a kiss to herself. ‘So, I’ll see you soon then, should be
back in a couple of hours. I’ll call you if I’m going to be longer.’

‘Ok, make sure
you do, I’m doing stir fry tonight and you know what happens if the rice goes
soggy.’

‘I know, all hell
breaks loose. Seymour?’

‘Yep.’

‘I think I’m
pregnant.’

Seymour, carrying
a pile of plates from the table, froze in mid step and looked across at her.
She was smiling a smile that sent a shiver down his spine. ‘Gosh.’

‘Yes. Gosh.’

Seymour took the
plates back to the table and walked slowly toward her, their eyes locked on
each other. Seymour put his arms around her and held her tight; kissing her
with loving pecks. ‘You mean like a baby and stuff.’

‘Yes. That sort
of thing.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ok. Well then.
Better get our asses into gear.’

Pay Day.

Johnny drove up
and down the road outside Polly's apartment twice before parking close by. It
was getting dark. Dusk, the light that can trick you.

He waited just a
few minutes and then bingo! Polly appeared coming out of the apartment block,
alone and started walking in his direction. As she approached, Johnny reached
across, unlocked the passenger door, got out and walked around to the passenger
side onto the pavement, opened the passenger door just as Polly reached him and
blocked her path.

‘Get in the
fucking car or I'll kill you here and now.’ said Johnny, standing in front of
Polly, his gun clearly visible only to her.

‘Who are you?’
mumbled Polly.

‘I said get in
the fucking car Polly.’ Johnny grabbed her arm and with one yank, threw her
into the passenger seat. ‘Now you try anything and I mean anything, Seymour
gets it too.’ Johnny calmly buckled her seat belt, adjusted the Dagenham dagger
to sit between her breasts, pushed down the door lock knob, unscrewed it, put
it in his pocket and slammed the door shut.

Polly shook as
she watched Johnny walk around the front of the car. She stared dead ahead, her
mind racing. Johnny got in, started the motor and pulled away slowly and
calmly.

‘Ok Polly, now I
want you to listen.’ said Johnny as he crashed his way through the gears. ‘Don't
say a fucking word until I say so, I fucking hate being interrupted. Now you
and me are going for a drive to where you have the money and you are going to
give it to me, understand?’

‘But..’

‘I thought I told
you not to fucking talk!’ Johnny turned his head to look at her for a second. ‘A
yes can be done with a nod of your pretty little head Polly! The boys said you
were a looker. You're fucking lucky you got out of that barn when you did, they
would have fucked your eyes out. I wouldn't have touched you of course, I'm a
gentleman see, besides, I fucking hate soggy seconds.’

Polly froze at
the thought as the car zigzagged around a maze of back streets, lined with
abandoned workshops, half collapsed sheds and warehouses.

‘See that thing
on your seat belt Polly? That's a Dagenham Dagger, fucking brilliant! See, if I
pull this switch here.’ Johnny proudly pointed between his legs, ‘your heart
would be sliced clean in half by a four inch tungsten blade. Just like fucking
James Bond innit Polly?’

Polly looked down
at the Dagenham Dagger, then at Johnny.

The car stopped
in front of a large rusty corrugated iron door. Johnny reached into his shirt
pocket, pulled out a remote control and zapped it at the door. The door slowly
opened upwards exposing a large dark workshop space. Johnny drove in, switched
off the motor and turned on the dim car interior light as the creaking door
shut behind them.

‘Right then
Polly, here we are at last.’ said Johnny, turning in the driver's seat to face
her, smiling. ‘Great to meet you at last. Now without further ado, tell me
where the money is and we can get all this sorted out and go home.’

‘What are you
going to do to me?’ whispered Polly, her voice breaking up.

Johnny sat back
in his seat, sighed, then launched his right arm across, grabbing her by the
throat, his face to within an inch of hers.

‘I thought I
fucking told you not to interrupt me!’ snarled Johnny.

Polly was
fighting for breath,; trying to pull his arm from her throat. Johnny slowly
released his grip and kissed her on the cheek.

‘I fucking hate
small talk Polly. All that, what are you going to do to me? Is what I call
small talk Polly. And fucking selfish too. Now, let's try again from another
angle, like, yes/no questions. Then you haven't got say another fucking word.
How about that?’

Polly nodded
slowly.

‘Ok, now, do you
have the money?

Polly nodded.

‘Are you going to
give it to me?’

Polly nodded.

‘Can you take me
to it now?’

Polly nodded.

‘Is it far away?’

Polly shook her
head.

Johnny smiled. ‘See
Polly, now we're getting somewhere, innit fucking amazing how words can make
things so complicated. Is it here, in London Polly?’

Polly shook her
head.

‘Right, now it's
time for you to talk Polly, otherwise I'll have to go through every fucking
town in England. So. Where the fuck is the fucking, money?’ Each of his words
word punched at Polly's ears as they bounced around the tinny car interior.

‘Hassocks. In
some woods, I hid it there.’

Johnny slumped
back in his seat and chuckled to himself.

‘Oh Jesus fucking
Christ Polly, can you believe it? Fucking brilliant! Hassocks, you fucking hid
the money in Hassocks, right where you nicked it from. Fucking perfect!’

Johnny suddenly
stopped chuckling and stared at Polly coldly. ‘Is this something to do with
Dave Bramley?’

‘Who?’

‘You fucking know
Dave Bramley?’

Polly shook her
head emphatically.

‘If you fuck me
around Polly, I promise you, I will kill you.’

‘And if I don't
fuck you around?’ said Polly matching his stare.

Johnny thought
for a moment, hamming it up. ‘Now let me see, um. I know! I'll let you go.’

Polly looked at
him, scanning his face. ‘You will let me go? Why?’

‘Good point
Polly. Fuck it. I'll kill you then.’

‘Then do it now.’
said Polly coldly.

‘Ok.’

Johnny reached
down between his legs. Polly tensed up, waiting. Praying that it would be
quick.

‘Hang on a
minute! This is fucking nuts!’ said Johnny, shaking his head. ‘Then we both
lose. You'll be dead and I won't have the fucking money, which is, when you
think about it, the whole point of you and me sitting here. I'll tell you what.
You take me to get the money, right, and then, I'll let you go. But not until
after I've fucked you. How about that?’

‘You bastard.’
whispered Polly, defeated.

‘Well is it a
deal?’

Polly looked down
at her legs and closed her eyes. ‘I have no choice.’

‘Yeh, that's
right Polly, clever eh? I'll tell you something Polly, I thought what you did
was fucking brilliant! That took guts and I like that in a woman. I just wish
you hadn't done it to me that's all. Made me feel a right twat. You know what I
mean Polly?’

Polly nodded. ‘Sorry.’

Johnny laughed
loudly. ‘Fucking great! Sorry. Fucking brilliant! Oh dear, oh dear, you really
are special Polly. I couldn't kill you, it'd be a fucking tragic loss to
mankind.’

Johnny composed
himself, clicked the remote over his shoulder and started the engine. The huge
door behind them rumbled into action, slowly opening.

‘Let's fucking
go!’ said Johnny winking at Polly, as he flicked off the interior light.

The Party.

‘Well I'm a
lonesome cowboy being blue,

Is it OK if I cry
in front of you?’