Seven Daze (35 page)

“How did you meet?”

Jim laughed. “You won’t believe this.”

Jim realised not only that he’d been talking about Charlotte for half an hour, but also Dave was the one checking his watch for his own benefit. He’d gone into some unstoppable rant about her. Of course he’d left out most of the story, but the meat of it was there.

He paused and shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re lucky,” said Dave. He nodded a few times as if trying to think of something further to say.

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “Probably ought to, er.” He pointed at the door. “One more for the road?”

Dave stood up. “Yeah, my round.”

As he walked to the bar, Jim pulled out his phone. Charlotte’s last message,
Last
meeting
of the day, then home x,
had been an hour ago. He guessed she’d be nearly finished. If London were smaller, they’d probably bump into each other on the tube.

Just about done myself x,
his reply read.

Back with two pints, Dave talked for a while about football before they parted. Another midweek drink arrangement was made, but Jim didn’t feel fully into it. There just wasn’t enough time to befriend someone enough to pull this kind of blag. He thought deep down Charlotte must know it too. He was being put out to pasture for the week. She was keeping him near, but giving him a useless, unfeasible job.

The tube packed, he stood and swayed as it travelled south. There were at least eighty people on the tube. He reckoned most would have a grand they really wouldn’t miss. Eighty big ones. That’s all Charlotte would end up getting for all her work. He shook his head. Maybe they were both missing a trick. The old cream off the top blag. How many millions lived in London? Even ten pence off each person would solve both their money cravings for a long time.

How did you do it though? Ten pence from each person. “Excuse me, mate. I haven’t quite got enough change for the tube. Can you spare ten pence?” He quickly realised you could only get fifty, maybe eighty people an hour at most. No. The ante would have to be higher.

As the tube pulled into the station he thought he’d work on the plan during the week. The week he knew would seem so long while Charlotte was running around doing all the work. A kept man, that’s what he was. She paid the rent. He remembered an old Pet Shop Boys song about that. At least he thought it was about that. What was that song called?

He shrugged his shoulders as he walked past the cinema. Life could be worse. He had some sort of mid-term future with Charlotte and her scams. His own idea in Cornwall, despite needing work, wasn’t bad. A little fill-in job maybe.

Letting himself into the empty apartment, he turned the kettle on and checked out the fridge. Charlotte had eaten too, but he thought a little snack wouldn’t do any harm. Ham salad with those expensive little tomatoes and the curly salad stuff in a bag. Nothing like the salads he’d had before. The ham was actually carved straight from cooked pig instead of the watery, compacted slices of waste cuts he was used to. He’d still cover everything with salad cream though. The habit was too hard to break.

Charlotte wasn’t far behind, though well after he’d finished “cooking” the salad. Appreciative, but tired, she ate hers without salad cream and with few words.

“So it sort of went okay then?” Jim was far from giving up. She seemed too quiet, lost in a world of numbers, profit calculation and planning tomorrow’s meetings.

“As well as it could I suppose. First one’s actually paid. Well, they will tomorrow when the bank opens. Ten thousand pounds.”

Jim whistled. “Something to celebrate?”

“Not really. Need another nought on the end before we start that.”

Though glad she’d said we, he wondered about the apartment she’d chosen to rent. It seemed superfluous. None of the duped bankers had ever seen it or been there. She could have rented a bedsit in north London and been thirty grand better off. He thought maybe she was still learning too, like himself.

“We’ll get there.” She smiled. He thought it was because he’d used the word “we” so quickly and added, “You’ll get there anyway. I’ll probably be lucky to repay what I’ve borrowed.”

She took another bite of salad, or rocket as it was apparently called, then said, “It wasn’t a loan. We’ve been through this.”

Jim thought about pushing this further but didn’t. She didn’t look in the mood. Nowhere near the right mood. He took another mouthful of salad cream and ham then looked at his plate while trying to think of a different subject. Prodding a tomato with his fork, he wondered if there were any other subjects. This scam had become their lives like some all possessing demon. He couldn’t remember the last time something had consumed him as much.

Crunching on the tomato, he remembered. Last week. Ten grand, yeah, that pretty much became an obsession.

“How are your plans for tomorrow?” He knew she’d reply with busy, but it wasn’t really a question.

She shook her head. “Rammed. Seeing four people. Two at lunch, two after work. Have to make some calls too.” She looked up. The piece of hair flopped down. “Should calm down by Wednesday. Then, it’s just a case of waiting for the money and running.”

He wanted to ask run where, but knew he couldn’t. Some of the money would end up in Switzerland and she’d have to go there, swap it into gold then reopen the other account. He knew he’d be staying here, probably camping in Devon the way things were going.

“Just hope it’s worth it.” She pushed the plate aside having barely touched his carefully arranged salad. He didn’t feel too hungry himself. He supposed all scammers must feel this way. The lull before the storm.

“Want me to run you a bath?” he said, trying hard not to grin.

She shook her head. “I’m not that tired. I think I can manage to turn two taps on.”

He stood and picked her plate up. “I’ll wash up then. Give me something to do.”

He spent the evening fiddling with the laptop while Charlotte took and received what seemed like hundreds of calls. Despite finding what appeared to be a convict-reuniting website, his heart wasn’t really into it. The thought from earlier kept pounding back into his head. A few million Londoners, fifty pence each, problem sorted. How though? He wondered if every entrepreneur came across the same problem. Probably marketing or something would do it. Fake charity? No, that wasn’t fair. They’d have to willingly give it without any expectation of it doing some good to anyone but himself.

Bed came all too early and with it came sleep for Charlotte. Jim found himself lying awake and going over and over the same thing. Redistribution of wealth in a way Robin Hood wouldn’t have agreed with. Was it possible? Maybe a hundred thousand at a tenner each?

By three o’clock, sleep came. The alarm woke him at six, dog-tired and groggy from the previous days drink. Charlotte seemed well rested. Eager, determined and with a purpose, she made toast and coffee as Jim slumped at the breakfast bar.

“Didn’t you sleep well?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not really. Something going round and round.”

She poured a coffee and sat opposite. “Care to share?”

“Kind of a plan, but it’s half-hearted. Possibly half-arsed.”

She smiled. The first one of the day. He was expecting her lump of hair to fall down but it’d just been cemented with half a bottle of hairspray. “Go on then.”

“It’s going to sound stupid, but ...”

Her eyes seemed to gloss over halfway through as he told his modern day inverse Robin Hood idea. Maybe it was stupid, infantile even. She nodded in the right places, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

“Sorry,” he said, “here I am babbling on about a hare-brained job and you’ve got a hectic day.”

She shook her head. “Not at all. There’s just so much going on upstairs it’s hard to concentrate.”

He left it at that and made another coffee. The time nearly eight, he knew she’d be leaving soon, but it was the thought that counted. Half a caffeine boost was always welcome especially in a rush.

 A goodbye kiss and she’d gone. Jim cleaned up the breakfast bits, played his Clash CD then got dressed.

Emerging onto the street at eleven, he looked both ways. This week was going to drag. He was little more than a spare part, but he knew there must be some way he could pull his weight. He’d pester his contacts again later, but they’d probably come to nothing. Maybe a few grand if he was lucky. No, this was Charlotte’s big one, not his. He needed his own blag. Sitting around all day moping or cleaning wasn’t cutting it. He had to physically do something; get some money in.

On the tube he sighed. Another hour spent underground going back and forth to the city’s heartland. The ten pence idea was stupid in hindsight; he couldn’t believe he’d told Charlotte about it. That was stupid. She’d probably change the locks while he was out. Deep down he knew she wouldn’t. Okay, she was the boss, more than in charge of both this scam and everything, but he knew she needed him too. This world was scary alone. They both knew that. Finding someone alike was a one in a million chance.

The city pubs and restaurants were only just opening as he hit the square mile. Checking his phone, he retrieved a message.

Can
we meet later,
about threeish? x

Okay x,
he replied as he ordered a tea.

He wondered for a minute what she wanted to meet for. Probably a gap between meetings. Maybe they’d have a bite to eat.

As the first lot of city workers came for their lunchtime drink, he took a deep breath and looked around. Couple of blokes together. Similarly, a couple of women a few paces behind. He realised they weren’t together, but noticed the difference in what they did. The blokes headed straight for the bar, no messing. Drink came first. The women, however, found a seat, took off their jackets then ummed and arrred before one of them went for drinks.

Sat on his barstool, both groups either side of him, he smiled politely at the woman. A curt smile back. Functional but no other message. That was her intention and she succeeded.

Turning to the blokes, they were trying hard to sink their bottles in one. As Jim had noticed the past few weeks, bottles made for seriously slow drinking. Not like a pint where you could just tip it down, bottles had to be sunk between gulps and breaths. He nodded at the nearest bloke and got a nod back. Again, nothing more. None of these were up for friend making or opening themselves to being ripped off. Just a quiet drink, that’s all they wanted.

Jim sighed and looked at his phone. He wondered whether he should ring James or Dave from yesterday. No, that stank of overkeeness. They had to come to him. He’d laid down the bait, but were the rats biting?

The bar soon filled. Monday seemed to have that effect in the city. Most were bored of it after four hours. After a couple of false starts with single drinkers, Jim moved onto bottles of lager offering the bloke on the seat next to him one.

“Cheers, mate,” he said, taking a sip.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” said Jim. “You could spend all weekend on the sauce, but after three hours at work on a Monday it feels like you’ve been sober a month.”

He smiled and nodded. “Charles, Charles Harker.” He stuck out a hand. Jim shook it not failing to notice the little finger twiddle Charles did. He’d no idea if it was masonic, but it seemed in the right area.

“Jim, Jim Trott,” he replied. It was Charlotte’s idea to use a false surname. She’d got the name Trott from a comedy series, but couldn’t remember which one.

“What you in, Jim?”

“The shit mainly.” He laughed and shook his head. “Brokerage. Small firm, we don’t launch rockets or anything.”

Charles nodded. “I’m over the road.” He pointed in the direction of the huge bank dominating the skyline. “Wish I was in a small company sometimes. You’re not even a number in a big place like that. No chance of ever meeting the boss or impressing anyone.”

Jim nodded. “It can have its advantages. There’s no chance of getting on the wrong side of the boss if you never see him.”

“Tough morning, eh?” He finished his drink and nodded at the barman for two more.

“You don’t want to hear my problems,” said Jim.

“Go on, problem shared and that.”

Jim sighed. “Well, bit of a misunderstanding with his daughter. Long story, short version is, next round of redundancies, I’m top of the list.”

“Business and pleasure. Don’t mix, do they?”

Jim wondered if this Charles was only going to speak in
clichés
. “Yeah, learnt the hard way. Just need to ...” He paused then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Go on, what?”

“Not much really. Just got to try and make myself indispensable in a week. I’ve got a plan, but it’s not very good.”

Charles checked his watch. “Love to hear it, old chap, but was only supposed to be nipping out for a sandwich.” He pulled a card from his pocket and shoved it in Jim’s hand. “Give us a call after work, about sixish. Go for a proper drink if you like.”

Jim nodded. “Okay. I’ll give you a bell. Enjoy your afternoon.”

Charles shook his head and smiled as he left. Jim folded the card into his pocket. Maybe this week wouldn’t be wasted after all.

A different bar then lunchtime was over. The clientele had been quiet and not interested in his attempts to make friends. Jim thought through the plan for Charles and this evening. He’d claim to be a good friend of Charlotte and would put through similar trades in the hope of keeping his job. Hopefully, pound signs would flash in the bloke’s eyes and he’d want in too.

Buying a coffee, he walked to the river and looked across. The time just after two. He had an hour before meeting Charlotte. He knew that hour would drag in the now nearly deserted streets. He sighed, thinking back to this time last week. What was he doing then? Selling Raif’s stuff to Terence or maybe hitting the pawn shop with the raver’s electrical goods.

He thought back to Raif. The bloke had paid enough, but was there some other way Jim could rifle a bit more from him? No, he doubted he could. He’d be on the lookout in his newly acquired wardrobe for thieving scallys. Yesterday had been a close call, but would he really have recognised him? Jim thought not.