Seven Daze (29 page)

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, “you could help me. When you’re not doing card tricks that is.” He wasn’t sure if he fully liked the drunk Charlotte or Teresa, or whatever her real name was.

“How?”

“Get me some marks?” She stopped and looked at the empty bottle. “Don’t know. I haven’t thought that through, have I? Have you made any contacts in the bars?”

“None that wouldn’t have me arrested on sight.”

She smiled. “Burnt all your bridges for a wallet full of cash.”

“If I’d have known you were pulling tricks, I’d have played the last week differently.” He felt himself sobering the more she talked. Maybe he needed more whisky. Maybe that was the answer. It hadn’t solved anything this past week, but maybe it would tonight.

“
Touche
.”

“That reminds me.” He downed his whisky. “Where did you learn to speak French? You were flawless with that waiter the other day.”

“A year in Provence. Well, four months in Paris. We hit there between Bristol and Plymouth. I did quite well in French at school, when I bothered to go to school that is. I quite liked it over there. Different pace of life, different attitude. I took a GCSE inside too.”

Jim nodded as she poured him another whisky. He was still miles behind her; his bottle just under three quarters full. “Had me fooled.”

She screwed up her nose while pouring herself some whisky. “You don’t need to know much to get by in a restaurant,” she laughed. “When I told that waiter you didn’t eat meat I got the words mixed up.”

“I won’t ask what you actually said.”

She sighed. Jim wondered whether a yawn would follow, but it didn’t. He liked the idea of working for her, or with her. They could have a lot of fun. Sure, there were a few people he’d have to avoid, but the supply of greedy fools wasn’t low. He knew with the right suit and look, he could bring in some cash.

“What you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, “that I’d really like to work for you.”

“More with me than for me. Saying that, I’d be able to boss you around wouldn’t I?”

“I’d take you to a tribunal if you did.”

“Cheeky sod.” She looked for a cushion, but none were to hand.

Her head fell towards his. Though still four feet apart, Jim was convinced they were inching towards each other. Those few kisses over the days seemed miles away now. Like two different people. He supposed they were.

“It really is a different kind of game to the one you’ve been playing.” She rolled her head around and seemed to move another fraction of an inch closer. Though her make-up was starting to wither, he still couldn’t believe how attractive she was. He wasn’t sober, that was a fact. But if she looked this good when he was drunk, and only half as good sober, he was onto a winner.

“I’ve got all the right skill sets for any sort of blag you know.”

“Skill set?” She shook her head. “You sound just like a banker.”

“Is that an insult? That tribunal’s getting nearer.”

She leaned forward and sipped from her glass. When she sat back she was another inch nearer. Jim knew at this rate, within an hour, they’d be side by side.

He turned slightly. “I’ll tell you what. Someone I do know. Raif. If anyone deserves more pain, he does.”

“Raif? Oh, him. That’s cruel. Haven’t you done enough?”

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t be able to do it though. He’s bound to remember me. You, though, you could get away with it.”

“Too risky.”

Jim leaned towards her. However this night was going to end, he was determined he wouldn’t leave before getting the money. Whether he was on the sofa or in her bed, that was the only question. He thought the odds were favouring the latter; after all they were mutually inching towards each other. They were actually taking it in terms. If they had spent an hour planning it he doubted they’d get it this subtly.

“I suppose. Plenty more fish in the sea.” He stopped and thought.

She briefly held his arm with her right hand. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

When the clock struck one he was so close he could almost feel her. He was reluctant to make a move. The evening, though starting off poor, had become perfect. It didn’t need ruining by clumsiness. Charlotte seemed to have gone through and out the other side of being drunk. The past half hour had seen her reflective, almost philosophical about life. She had dreams too, similar to Jim’s in many ways, though they contained less farm animals and more yachts.

The plan for the next few weeks was clear though would no doubt be refined tomorrow when sober. Jim would hit the bars and cafes of the city’s heart, and smooth talk his way into the hearts of anyone affluent and greedy. Charlotte would continue to play the role of the deal breaker. Jim himself would be an investor singing her praises throughout and maybe even referring to the last deal that had made money. She couldn’t overstress the importance of being subtle. This was a long game not a short wallet-stealing grab. You had to win their confidence first. Jim told her he was the perfect man - the phrase confidence trickster was invented with him in mind.

“That was just corny,” she said.

She was right. Problem was, he was drunk and getting more hammered by the minute.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t need to apologise. I was just saying, it was corny.”

“Maybe. I’m not much into egos and that, but I surprised myself this week how good I was.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute. You had me fooled, remember?”

“And you me. The perfect partnership, eh?” He smiled, but knew it must look like a drunken leer.

“Not sure about partnership, but yeah, we’ll work well together.”

He yawned. An involuntary action. The combination of alcohol and lack of sleep, but it was the last thing he wanted to do. She looked at her watch. Damn, he’d done it now. In a second she’d yawn too and say, “Well, it’s been a great night and all that, but ...”

“Am I keeping you up?”

“Sorry.” He knew he had to stop apologising but couldn’t. “Haven’t slept well lately. Feels different now though, like a weight’s been lifted.”

Her hand moved towards his. He placed his hands gingerly on his thighs unsure where else to put them. Grabbing his left hand, she squeezed it. He turned towards her, licked his lips and moved his face nearer. Squeezing his hand tighter, she moved herself.

Minutes seemed to count down until their lips met. He gasped a breath before starting what he knew would end the night one way or another.

Coming out of the hotel bathroom, Jim turned the kettle on. With everything that could have happened last night sleeping in his own bed was the last thing he’d suspected. Sometimes he was glad he didn’t bet. Rolling his head round he looked out of the window. Though dull and fuzzy, his head didn’t have the hangover it should have. The whisky had flowed like a river. He’d been drinking all week, but the combination of chilli, Charlotte and a possible increase in his longevity had made alcohol more potent. How the hell did he end back here at the hotel though? He couldn’t remember that.

“Mine’s a coffee,” said Charlotte.

Turning round, Jim saw she’d woken. Her bouffant-like hair was tipped at right angles to her head. The make-up smeared around her eyes and lips made her look ten years older.

“Morning. Did I wake you?”

She yawned. “Do you know where my clothes are?”

“Half of them in the bathroom, the other half down there.” He pointed to the floor.

She scratched a hand through her hair. “Why did we come here?”

“Don’t ask me.” He looked round the room half expecting to see a traffic cone or a pile of wallets. Two half-eaten kebabs in the bin gave the only clue to the venue change. “Apparently we ate kebabs?”

“No wonder I feel like shit.” She paused. “Urm, any chance you could, er, get my clothes?”

“God, yeah. Sorry.” He felt himself blush. Though why either of them should be embarrassed was beyond him. It was obvious by the location of both their clothes they’d seen it all before, and possibly more. He knew deep inside that much had happened last night. Three years in prison gave a strong yearning. You knew when that yearning has been fulfilled.

Picking up the pile near the window he deposited it on the bed. Then grabbing the bathroom pile he did the same. The two piles of clothes seemed to be conflicting, the order of removal impossible. Returning to the bathroom, he said, “I’ll, er, brush my teeth or whatever.”

He locked the door and sat on the toilet with the lid down. He remembered the gun behind him in the cistern. He hoped he hadn’t told her about that. Who knows what he’d said. He could remember much about last night, but it just seemed to go blank. They’d been sat on the sofa, next to each other. Kissed. Then, nothing.

He thought again of the gun. She’d be in the bedroom now quickly throwing clothes on then running out the door. Desperate to get away.

“You can come out now.” She knocked on the door.

Okay, he was wrong. Was the loan still on though? That was the question.

“I’ll finish that coffee.” He walked towards the low-powered travel kettle and willed it to hurry up.

“Is it really only seven?” she said. “Seems much later.” She pointed to the window and the sounds of traffic tearing by.

“Yeah, it’s a great alarm clock.” He poured two coffee sachets into a cup and plonked a teabag on a string in the other.

“Just, er.” She pointed at the bathroom.

“Yeah, sorry.”

She smiled as she closed the door.

Please don’t look in the toilet cistern was his only thought as the kettle started to warm.

“Ralph? It’s Jim.” He could hear the knuckle scraper’s heavy breathing in the background. Those steroids must play havoc with sinuses.

“Yeah.”

“I’m, er, I’ll be ready about two this afternoon.”

“That’s good. We were getting worried.”

“Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.” Jim paused. Charlotte, squeezed beside him in the phone box, made the okay sign with her fingers. He nodded back. “Where shall we meet?”

“We’ll pick you up from your hotel.”

“Okay I’ll be outside at two.”

The phone went dead.

“Okay then? Really?” she asked.

“Yeah, fine. Bit nerve-racking, but he sounded fine.”

“Do you smoke?” said Charlotte.

“Occasionally, why?”

“I thought you did. I’ve got a half smoked pack of fags in my pocket, but I gave up three years ago.”

A titbit of remembrance returned. “We went out for them last night. You smoked most of them, too.”

She shrugged her shoulders and handed them back along with a lighter.

“Do you mind if I have one now?”

She shook her head.

He lit one and exhaled noisily. For all his worry last night that she’d kick him out or ignore him this morning, the reality was the opposite. He’d treated her to breakfast in a cafe then watched her telly while she showered and changed. They seemed to be inseparable. She wasn’t going to be there when he handed over the money though. That was definite.

By the side of the road, next to the rare telephone booth that was both working and accepted cash, they waited while he sucked the fag. She’d dressed down compared to her normal attire. Jeans and a t-shirt. However, he knew the jeans were as expensive as her normal clothes. Her hair still damp, but drying in the wind, made her look even more attractive. He had to constantly kick himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

Crushing the fag under his foot, he said, “Taxi to the East End, Madam?”

“You know how to treat a girl, don’t you?”

The cab slowly worked its way through London, its driver the font of knowledge of every news event and traffic delay. His own driving was beyond reproach. It was always everyone else’s fault.

“You ’eard we’re back in recession now?” he said.

Charlotte sat forward. “The GDP figures? Are they negative?”

“Yes, love. Half a percent fall. Cor blimey, this government, I ask you. I dunno what the world’s coming to ...”

Jim could only look at Charlotte and smile. She wasn’t smiling back. “You sure you don’t work for the ONS?”

He shook his head. Remembering from last night, a recession was bad news for fake takeovers, he tried to take her hand. She shrugged him off.

Stopping the cabby’s rant, she said, “How’s the market reacted?”

“Footsie’s down a few percent last I heard. You into shares then? I tried a few years back. Dot com and all that. Never again. Never again.”

She was silent until they reached the lock-up.

“You sure this is the right place?” asked the cabby.

Apparently he didn’t go south of the river after ten so his near reluctance to go this far east at this time of day wasn’t a huge surprise.

“Yeah,” said Jim. “I’ll just be a minute. It’s a friend’s lock-up. Just keeping an eye on it while he’s away.”

Charlotte smiled at him as he left the cab. Unlocking the garage door, he went inside.

The rolls of cash fitted nicely inside Raif’s old briefcase. Jim thought it made a fitting end to the last of his possessions. The other items left, an iPod he’d forgot to sell and The Clash CD, were tossed in the briefcase too. Back outside, the taxi was still waiting. The driver, though interested in the briefcase, made no comment.

Traffic was heavy leading back to the city. Charlotte, who still seemed bewildered by what Jim could only imagine was the GDP news, directed the cab towards a safety deposit storage centre.

Taking the case inside with her, Jim waited in the cab. The driver’s stock conversations on the weather, traffic and the mayor soon dried up. Before five minutes was up, just the radio filled the cab.

Jim had never been in a safety deposit stronghold, but he imagined the obvious security plus waiting would make this at least fifteen minutes. He could almost see her inside handing over her ID, typing in security codes and eventually being given a key to a box.

When ten minutes had passed, the cab’s fare ticked to thirty-five quid. Charlotte had already handed the cabbie three twenties when explaining the unusual route they were taking. The cabbie wasn’t too bothered; he’d seen it all in funny old London. However, he was now eyeing the meter. They’d promised to pay him handsomely for the waiting and messing round. Jim pulled a twenty from his pocket and passed it through the hatch.