Bad Sons (Booker & Cash Book 1) (15 page)

He accepted this, or gave that impression. ‘If you do inherit the building what would be your plans for it?’

And with that he crossed a line. ‘Mr Flashman, I don’t know if it will become mine and until that is made clear I won’t be considering anything further than giving both of them a decent burial and fulfilling their business obligations.’

He breathed out heavily. ‘I understand. I apologise for my directness and my timing. What I want to say is, if, when the legal side of things is completed, the property is to be sold, I would appreciate first refusal. And I am prepared to pay handsomely for that privilege – in excess of its value on the open market.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to develop the yard at the rear of the property and in order to do that I need better access. The right of way across the car park that goes with the building would do it.’

At least he hadn’t lied to me. He hadn’t told me to mind my own business. If nothing else, Mr Flashman appeared to be refreshingly direct, even if he was, at times, an insensitive and unscrupulous bastard. I wouldn’t say I found him a man to warm to, but I appreciated his honesty. It deserved the same.

‘I appreciate your frankness. All I can say is that
if
the property should come to me and
if
I decide I don’t want the burden of it I will contact you. How’s that?’

He allowed himself a small satisfied smile. ‘That’ll have to do then. Thank you.’ He took another sip of his drink. ‘Your uncle and I were not on speaking terms. Did you know that?’

I indicated I did.

‘Do you know why?’

‘He said you gazumped him over the purchase of the land we’re talking about.’

‘Did he tell you why?’

‘He never indicated there was a why.’

‘Your uncle gazumped me first.’

‘Over what?’

‘Not what, who?’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘Your uncle took your aunt away from me. What do you think of that?’

I was stunned by the news. And although Flashman looked to enjoy my surprise, I sensed something resembling regret in him for the way things had turned out.

‘I had no idea.’

‘So I see.’

He drained his beer, set the glass down and stood up. ‘Please, don’t take too much notice of my son. I’m afraid that even though it pains me to say it, he can be an arsehole sometimes. I wouldn’t like to think anything that boy might be tempted to do or say might affect any potential business we might have.’

I nodded understanding and thanked him for the drink.

He left.

Now I was comfortable I decided to have another. Pam served me. She asked whether there was any news from the police regarding my relatives because she had to. She was a little cool with it. Maybe she didn’t like where her logic of seeing Flashman senior and me together took her. Maybe she was still annoyed with me for fighting in her bar. That was her problem. I didn’t have to explain myself to anyone.

*

It was quite a bit later when I finally, and a little unsteadily, navigated my way around the back of the shop in the darkness. I was belching beer and pie and mash fumes. I didn’t hear them. I didn’t see them. But it certainly wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

I woke up lying in the gravel and my own blood and vomit in a shower of thin rain with the injuries to prove I’d been given a message.

They hadn’t uttered a sound I could have heard and identified them from. The element of surprise had been used well. I hadn’t even managed to get an arm up to fend off a blow, let alone throw a punch in return. There had been at least two of them. About all I remember of it was that one hit me across the shoulders with something dense and hard and another followed this up quickly with a blow to my face. Then it was stars and gravel and from the feel of my ribs undoubtedly a good kicking. Not very sporting. Not particularly brave, but quite effective.

***

22

I was cold and wet. I had blood and stones in my mouth. A deep breath made me flinch with a shooting pain. I felt there was a good chance I might be sick again. I couldn’t move. I lay a little while longer marshalling my reserves and some fortitude, breathing in the dirt, and sparing a thought for who could have attacked me.

Naturally, my mind came quickly to Pike. I’d embarrassed him and I should have expected he would not leave it at that. But I also would have expected him to have let me know it was him. That would have been half of his pleasure, half of his satisfaction.
‘This is for the other night, Booker.’

I braced myself for more pain and bad news. Gingerly I eased myself up on to all fours. Nothing seemed to be broken. My ribcage refused to expand beyond what was necessary for a short breath without causing me discomfort and I wondered if there might be something more serious there to worry about. I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth. Nothing missing, but I was cut. I collapsed into a sitting position, my back against the wall. It was still raining.

My phone rang. With difficulty and discomfort, I fished it out of my pocket and answered without looking at the screen. I didn’t care who it was. They might be able to help me. I thought I needed help. There were a lot of stairs to climb.

‘Mr Booker? You don’t sound very good.’ It was Detective Cash.

‘To be honest, Detective, I’ve been better.’

‘Are you drunk?’ She had a tone.

‘I feel quite sober, actually. But I might need a hand to climb the stairs.’

‘Explain.’

I did.

‘I can be there in twenty minutes. Will you be all right, or should I call an ambulance?’ She was calm and professional.

‘Please, don’t call an ambulance.’

She hung up.

I suddenly cursed myself for letting her become involved in my evening. I didn’t want her pity and I didn’t want her to see me like I was. I tried to stand. That didn’t work as well as I’d hoped and after a couple of feeble attempts I slid back down the brickwork, resigned to the wait.

It was a quick twenty minutes. I must have sounded bad on the phone. I heard her vehicle bouncing and splashing across the car park at a speed that would have tested her shock absorbers to their limits. She braked hard – skidding a couple of feet in the loose stuff – got out quickly and hurried across to where her torch beam had picked me out. I put up an arm to shield my eyes and the action hurt me. It made me groan.

‘Bloody hell.’

‘Mind if I don’t get up?’

‘Anything broken?’

‘Don’t think so. Ribs are sore.’

‘I’m calling an ambulance.’

‘Please, don’t.’

She ignored me. Made the call and then fetched a blanket and an umbrella from her car.

She explained herself. ‘It’s not your decision. If I don’t get you appropriate medical attention and you die I’ll be in trouble for it.’

‘With your conscience?’ I managed.

‘No. With my boss.’

‘You could have just helped me upstairs.’

‘And what if a broken rib had punctured one of your lungs? Or your concussion became something worse? You need medical attention and I’m not a doctor. You see who it was?’

‘No. And they didn’t say anything either.’

‘This got something to do with your black eye?’

‘I don’t know. Honestly.’ I was feeling light-headed.

Sometimes the ambulance on the night shift would park up in the lay-by outside The Ocean waiting for the next call. There’s a chip shop opposite. The speed with which they got to me suggested they were there then. Five minutes tops.

I was examined briefly, asked a couple of easy questions by a man who smelt of salt and vinegar, laid out on a trolley bed that could have been the one that took my aunt away, covered, strapped down and lifted in to the back of the ambulance. Another ten minutes. I was given something for the pain, bounced out of the car park and driven away. I didn’t see Detective Cash again or get a chance to thank her.

*

I suffered the fuss and bother of further examination at the hospital. I was cleaned up, stitched and glued, prodded and poked and dosed with painkillers. I was X-rayed and then wheeled into a busy ward to spend the rest of the night under observation for my concussion.

My injuries were not life-threatening – cuts and bruises and some heavy bruising around my ribs. If I’d not been living alone they might have sent me home.

*

All things considered I slept quite well. I managed at least two hours before the ward came to life. They made noises about turfing me out after I’d been seen by the doctor. While I was awaiting this pleasure a phone was wheeled over to me on a trolley. I said hello.

‘Morning, Mr Booker. How are you today?’ It was Detective Cash.

‘Are you at work already?’

‘No. I’ve got some time off.’

I didn’t think much about how lame that sounded. ‘Blimey, you must be bored. They’re discharging me after a quick MoT. Nothing too serious.’

‘Good. Need a lift home?’

‘You offering?’

‘Clearly.’

‘Thank you, then. I can’t see how I’m going to get back otherwise. You sure?’

‘I never offer something if I’m not sure. If you give me permission, and you still keep a key under the pot, I can even pick you up some clothes on the way through if you like.’

‘Detective, I don’t know what to say.’

‘Yes or no and a time would be a start.’

*

She arrived mid-morning. I’d been given the all clear and some pills for the pain in my side and was just waiting, taking up space.

Detective Cash was wearing tight jeans, a tight top, comfy shoes, a little make-up and a fragrance that got a hook in me. I saw her speaking to one of the nurses before she approached me. I was not looking my best.

She handed over a clean T-shirt and jeans and my fleece top. I was glad she hadn’t gone rooting around for boxers. Or maybe she had and didn’t like what she found, so pretended she hadn’t.

I thanked her, asked for some privacy, got my curtains drawn and then dressed myself as slowly as I could ever remember doing. Bruised ribs will do that to you.

I found her flicking though a wrinkled magazine outside the ward.

‘Did you go back to sleep?’

‘Funny. Good job you didn’t bring socks. That could have put another hour on it.’

We walked slowly out of the building and across to where she’d parked her car. She came around and opened the passenger door for me. I think she was trying to be funny.

When we were both strapped in, I had something to say: ‘Before we leave, I want to thank you, both for last night and for this.’

She smiled at me then. It could have been the first time she’d smiled at me. It felt like the first time I’d ever been smiled at. And she wasn’t really trying.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Now tell me why you’re doing it?’

She had both her hands on the steering wheel and was staring straight ahead through the windscreen. She had a good profile. She wasn’t beautiful in any classical sense but she was well put together and she knew how to make the best of what she had. She had good skin, small ears, a slightly turned up nose and clear eyes. She was thinking and it suited her.

‘I’m not entirely sure, if I’m honest. Can we leave it at that for now?’

I said we could and she drove me home.

***

23

It turned out Detective Cash didn’t have any plans for her day off. So she came in. I politely declined her offer of assistance up the stairs. I was battered and bruised, not ninety.

I said I needed a shower to feel human again. She said that given how long it had taken me to put on a T-shirt and trousers in the morning she’d find something for us to eat. I told her there was money on the worktop and to go to the baker’s and buy a couple of meat-filled baguettes. I said they did proper coffee too and if she could find a couple of clean mugs they’d fill them.

The painkillers helped. A lot. I was already a little more flexible. About as flexible as something made from hardwood. Stripping off in the bathroom, I could see the full extent of the bruising to my body. If it hadn’t been me it might have been pretty – purples, blues and deep greens. My face wasn’t looking its best either. I still needed a shave but couldn’t be bothered.

As I let the water revitalise and cleanse me I thought a bit about the pair who’d attacked me. And I thought I’d pay them both back when I found out who they were. I could play dirty too.

When I came back into the kitchen, clean, refreshed and feeling better, she hadn’t washed up my plates or tidied up the work surfaces a bit. That was a little disappointing. I found her downstairs. She’d made herself comfortable in the shop and was eating something out of a paper bag with one hand and reading a battered paperback from the other. A steaming mug of coffee sat on the little table next to her. With the book, she pointed over to where she’d left mine. I thanked her, again, and with a grimace lowered myself down opposite her into one of the leather sofas. She put the book to one side.