Seven Daze (33 page)

“Sorry.” He turned to her. He reckoned her face was as red as his own. “I had this idea for a scam.”

“I’m not taking my clothes off.” She looked away, towards a boat chugging down the Thames.

“No. It’s nothing to do with this.” He grabbed her arm. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

Her arm felt stiff, cold. As he walked towards the river, he said, “Last week’s exhibition. It gave me an idea.”

“Just keep talking.”

He stopped and leant against the guard rail. The murky river below, he wondered if he would have jumped in it two days ago if Charlotte hadn’t helped. “That famous artist that no one’s ever seen.”

She shook her head.

“Fairly young, I think. One of his pieces was in that exhibition. Looks like graffiti but somehow it’s actually art.”

She nodded. “I know who you mean.”

“Well. I haven’t fully thought this through, but there’s that place in Cornwall. Loads of artists and that live there. Art galleries, you know.” He took a deep breath. If she was planning on dumping him after this scam he’d probably just brought the dumping date forward a few weeks. “We hit the town. It’s far enough away from here. If you stroll into a shop or art gallery constantly on your phone, talking loudly about a certain artist, hopefully you’ll whip up some intrigue.”

He looked at her face; she was taking it in. “Then I appear a day or so later with you dressed like a scruffy urchin with spray paint on my hands. Act a bit eccentric, swear a lot, you know. Before long you’ll have people offering you thousands for a bus ticket I’ve wiped my nose on.”

“A scam?”

He scrunched up his nose. He’d no idea if she’d laugh or even cry. This was probably the peak of ideas scamwise he was going to have. If this was laughed out he might as well give up.

She started to nod. A smile broke through her lips and the flop of hair flipped down. “It’s got legs. Needs tweaking a bit. But yeah. I can see that. It’s St Ives, isn’t it? Little coastal town. I’ve read about it.” She turned and looked over the water. “That’s not bad. Could be pretty quick too. Whoever the mark is, they’re going to want to buy your bus ticket or whatever before anyone else knows you’re around. Lack of time makes people panic; do things they’d otherwise think through.”

He couldn’t help but feel relieved. His stomach was churning again. It wasn’t just the job. It was working together. Being together for longer. He wondered if he ought to think of the job after that quickly too, but realised maybe he didn’t need to. Perhaps if he’d said rob the crown jewels she’d agree. Smiling, he put his arm round her shoulders. “The world won’t know what’s hit it, will it?”

He felt her arm move round his waist ending up on his hip. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I reckon we could do some damage.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Come on. Let’s go to a museum or something.”

Though the dinosaur skeleton was impressive, Jim found himself wondering whether she truly thought the art scam was a good idea or she was just humouring him. He’d find out soon enough. He knew he should just take each moment for what it was. Charlotte herself seemed more interested in the Eskimo pieces. Despite the odd not very funny joke, Jim had been quiet throughout.

After a sandwich in a cafe they meandered home. Jim thought it the lull before the storm. The tempestuous scam Charlotte was pulling was on the horizon, the ship that was Charlotte and him idling towards the eye of it. Some bollocks or other like that anyway.

“You okay?” she said.

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Share.”

“Nah. Nothing really.”

“You’re getting this mean and moody thing off to a tee. Good practise for Cornwall.”

He shrugged his shoulders and took her arm. “You wait until I get my crayons out and really get started.”

Early evening slipped by with alcohol and a just in date vegan cheesecake. A Hollywood action film, which they both hated but couldn’t stop watching, took care of the rest of the evening until sleep beckoned.

Waking to an empty bed, Jim went downstairs. Ten in the morning and with a slight hangover, he still felt tired. The last week was to blame for that. He reckoned it’d take a full week of sleep to catch up.

Charlotte was sitting at the breakfast bar reading a broadsheet.

“Morning,” he tried to say but just a grunt came out.

“Hi.” She smiled but it wasn’t convincing. He looked at the broadsheet. Pictures of city institutions and graphs that headed downwards in red ink. He reckoned he knew what the problem was.

“Bad news day?”

She nodded. “Going to pull it forward. This Friday or next Monday. I’ve got to before it’s too late.”

Jim leant against the granite worktop and poured a coffee. “What can I do?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Probably not much now. Get in contact with everyone you’ve met. You never know. They might be really greedy.”

“Or stupid?” said Jim. He knew this was bad. Probably just damage limitation now. Whether she’d be able to repay what she’d borrowed was the question. It was a question he wasn’t going to ask. Four grand of that had been to bail him out. If all this news had come out a week earlier he wondered if she would have done it.

“I think most will cough up. A few might struggle to move money around short notice. Hopefully, it’ll be enough.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. Tense; stiff. It wasn’t the time to offer a massage either.

“We’ll do the best we can. I know it.” He wasn’t even convincing himself let alone her. “Is there anything I can do? Dress up as an Arab?”

She smiled. “I don’t think that would work. You might ...” She looked into the distance. Jim thought a plan was brewing. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to bring you along to a few meetings. Some wouldn’t like it though.”

“Breakfast?” he asked.

“Yeah, go on. I’ve got a feeling today’s going to drag.”

The phone calls lasted forever. One after another she rang them arranging meetings for the next few days. Watching it, Jim was amazed how cool she was, but also what an excellent liar she was. In another world or life it might have bothered him. In this one, it added to her charm.

He rang his own short list of four contacts. All bar one couldn’t remember him let alone want to meet him. The one who did, James, was overkeen too. Still, it was only money he was after. They arranged to meet for an afternoon drink in Covent Garden. Jim had suggested there as he sort of knew his way round.

He sent an email to his final contact. Jim didn’t think it would come to anything. He’d be like the other non-desperate ones who’d forgotten.

Charlotte was still making calls so he opened a Facebook account and tried to look up old friends and lags. As most were inside, he didn’t get very far. Looking at the clock, eleven, he knew today was going to drag for him as well as Charlotte. He didn’t feel comfortable sitting round. It just felt and looked like he was doing nothing. Of course, he was doing nothing, but he needed something constructive.

“I’m going to pop out,” he said. “See if I can’t find anyone or anything to fleece.”

She smiled. Between calls, she was making another pot of coffee. That’s all today had become for her: coffee and calls.

Saying goodbye, he left and made for the tube.

Halfway to the station he realised this was their first time apart, work excepted, since that night three days ago. It’d flown by, no doubt about it. Time took a different concept when she was around. Part of him thought a few hours apart would do them good. After all, they weren’t joined at the hip. Another part of him missed her already.

He broke from his normal route and headed west at the cinema. He knew where his legs were taking him. He wasn’t sure why, but he guessed the thieving scrote buried deep down was doing its own talking.

Outside the block of apartments he looked at the windows. He still didn’t even know which flat it was. Pressing the buzzer that hadn’t answered four days ago he waited.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice.

“Is, er, Geoffrey in?”

“Ur, no. Who is this?”

Jim looked at the electronic keypad. A small recessed camera aimed at his face. Of course, Geoffrey would probably still be in hospital. The woman in the flat was probably a girlfriend or his ex wife. No doubt, as she was alone, she’d be reluctant to admit he wasn’t there.

“I’m a friend. Is he still in hospital?”

“Yes he is.” The voice firm but hiding something.

“Okay, I’ll see him there. Visiting’s afternoon and evenings, isn’t it?”

The voice buzzed off without an answer.

Jim headed for the tube. Another example of London’s friendliness ringing in his ears. What was this place about? The tube network was busy again. Hundreds more cricket fans with bags and England shirts headed for The Oval. Staring at the tube map for the fiftieth time in a week, he wondered if the test match had been last week whether he could have pulled some scam from it. Late evening in a pub near the ground, there would be all sorts of drunken fans. A day on the piss for people not used to it might have got him more than a wallet or two.

At Covent Garden, he walked around a few shops. The amount of money some of them charged was exorbitant. He realised that last week he’d been walking round in a daze. He’d missed most of the sights and feel of the place.

Half an hour early to meet James, he bought an expensive bottle of lager and sat outside a pub. All coffee tables and fenced-off bar areas the whole place was trying too hard for a European cafe culture. Add that to binge drinkers, serial fighters and an already overstretched police force and the result was chaos. He thought in hindsight he should have spent most of last weekend working nights. The amount of wallets that wouldn’t be missed until the morning was tempting.

James arrived ten minutes early. Jim barely recognised him in his weekend clothes: smart jeans, t-shirt and light coat. Nodding at each other briefly, James asked if he wanted a drink before heading to the bar.

Jim had no idea how to play this. Just come straight out with it or wait and see how things went. Sending a message to Charlotte,
He’s here, speak later x,
he then put his phone on vibrate and waited.

James was overkeen. No two ways about it. Brought up near Carlisle, he’d ended up working for a stock brokers after university. Jim reckoned hundreds must find themselves in similar positions. Without old school friends or being in the right gang, London sounded a lonely life.

“Same with me,” said Jim. “Come from a comprehensive in Coventry. Half the people at work seem to know each other from school or whatever. Don’t bother me though. It’s all about money, isn’t it? Work for five years and make enough to retire.”

He watched James nod though he seemed distracted by the table next door. Jim wasn’t surprised why. Two young women drinking expensive wine and wearing expensive short skirts. Suntanned faces, though obviously via a spray gun, pristine hair and Gucci shades. Jim reckoned they must spend hours each day on their appearance. Wags or wannabe wags, he wondered just how much money they had and where it came from. Perfect for a scam.

“Has benefits living here, doesn’t it?” said James.

Jim nodded and tried not to smile too hard. He supposed his mark thought of him as single like himself. Why else would he be out alone meeting some stranger on a Sunday afternoon? Maybe that would help if this idea somehow worked in three days.

“Did you go out last night?” Jim eventually said. Small talk was difficult especially when you had so much to hide and the person you’re hiding it from is distracted by two blondes.

“Nah. Rarely do on a Saturday. What about you?”

He finally looked back. Jim held his gaze for a few seconds. “Me neither. Early night, couple of tinnies. I mainly go out Friday after work.” He watched James nod. That seemed to be the single thing to do. “Like a couple of fifty-year-olds, aren’t we?” Jim smiled at his drinking companion but he’d gone back to staring at the fake women with fake tans and God knows what fake else.

“Do you go back home much?”

Jim shook his head. “About six months since the last visit. You?”

“Once a month.”

Jim knew this awkwardness could only end one way. Serious amounts of alcohol. Being a Sunday afternoon though, it’d get messy by five if they really went for it. He leaned forward and whispered, “How about we sink a few quick shorts then try our luck?” He nodded his head backwards leaving, he hoped, little doubt at what luck was to be tried out.

James’ smile said he agreed. Standing he said, “I’ll get them in. Vodka okay?”

Jim nodded thinking back to that famous saying, “when in Rome” and all that.

The double vodka had barely touched the sides so Jim bought two trebles. Sitting down he couldn’t believe the dent it had made in his pocket. It was like money meant nothing in this part of London. The two girls were finishing off their wine, their spirits now higher with giggles replacing their previous chit chatter. Jim didn’t relish the thought of trying to chat them up. He reckoned when you’ve got fillet steak at home you don’t play around with suntanned mutton.

“Down the hatch,” said James, his face now reddened and full of smiles.

“So then, who’s going to start, me or thee?” said Jim.

James downed the triple in one then gasped. “Jeez. I’ll launch the attack. You play the wing man. Wish me luck squadron leader, I’m going in.”

Jim hid his face behind his glass and quaffed the contents.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he heard James say. “I wonder if you would like to join my friend and I for a drink?”

Jim didn’t know what was worse, the initial deathly silence or the looks they gave them. The looks could kill
cliché
only went so far. Maybe another
cliché
existed for this sort of event. Something about looks ripping your heart out, feeding it to a pack of angry wolves then transplanting one of the wolves’ hearts in its place. Then, getting a bigger wolf or a bear, to rip it out again and again.

James was trying his best, but as his wing man Jim could only smile at the bronze-skinned football wife wannabes and laugh at his jokes. Less than a minute of making a fool of himself was all the lad could handle. Walking to a different pub, Jim slapped him on the back.