Conman (16 page)

“Are you going to call him?” Laura asked.

“Shit, sweetheart!” Grayson laughed. “Why the goddamn hell would I wanna do
that
?! Finders keepers is what it is. Ain’t no more complicated than that!”

“
And there we have it, dear boy,
” Christopher whispered in the darkness, eyes wide. A smile slid across his face. “
You can’t say we didn’t give him a chance. I now pronounce our mark guilty and will have great pleasure in administering his sentence.
”

“This isn’t real.”

“Huh? Say what?”

Pete’s voice.

“This train ticket. It’s just a photocopy. And it’s two years old. Look.”

We listened, breath held, as the shop fell quiet.

“Odd,” Julio said. “Let see the case? Was there anything else in there?”

“Nuthin’. Inside’s a li’l frayed here at the edge of the … shit, what’s this?”

“You got something?”

“The bottom here. At the edge. I can get mah finger in this …”

Which is how Grayson, as planned, came to find eleven other forged copies of
Action Comic #4
that Christopher had planted. All identical. Hidden rather clumsily in the suspiciously frayed and patently obvious false bottom of the case.

Grayson, understandably, went rather nuts. And I mean nuts. Even in that cramped kitchen it was loud. Yelling, swearing. “
Forgeries? That bastard selling forgeries? That limey fuckin’ son of a bitch. You wait till I get mah hands on that guy. You just wait!
” Christopher
and I held our breath and gripped the formica while he swore and slammed and swore some more. Julio must have been trying to calm him down at one point because it was suddenly all
get your fuckin’ gloves off’a me buddy!
and
you think ’cause ah’m an old man I won’t slap your mouth?

I, meanwhile, among the crashing and thrashing, was frankly terrified.

Doubly so when Christopher leaned in and said
brace
yourself
.

“
Brace
– ?” I whispered. “
What do you – Jesus!
” I screamed, which I was almost certain I wasn’t meant to.

Fortunately, there was no way Grayson or indeed anyone in the back office could have heard me, such was the deafening,
room-shaking
blast of the alarm.

Outside, over the teeth-loosening din, we could just make out the shop erupting into bedlam – chairs falling over, people yelling, shouting, Laura’s screams. We made out the scuffle of everyone barging into the back office, a click and light suddenly spilt
underneath
the kitchen door. Shouting, arguing. Then a crash. Loud. Like splintering wood. Among this, the shouts continued, the alarm continued, throbbing the kitchen, throbbing the world, fading up and down, tone adjusting in sweeps for what felt like an age before it suddenly stopped with a whimper.

Leaving silence. Breathing.

And then the yelling.

Pete bellowed at Julio. Julio bellowed at Pete and Grayson. Grayson bellowed at Julio and Pete. Laura shouted
everybody
shut-up
!
over and over again.

Pete was blaming Julio for moving off his post and not locking the door. Julio was blaming Pete for making him look after angry Americans when he should have been on his post and locking the door. Grayson was still yelling about coming all the way to London to be swindled, tearing out Christopher’s throat, giving him a horse-whipping, Kansas style (whatever the hell that was).

Then Pete’s yelling dissolved into panic. He began to wail
a million dollars! A million dollars!
Over and over, which made
everybody
else stop for a moment and pay attention.

“A
million
?” Grayson shouted.

“Yes!” Pete yelled. “That’s what the tablecloth … Aww shit.”

“A million …”

“Everybody wants it. Museums, collectors. Jack Nicholson, Nicholas Cage, they’re all bidding – dammit!”

“Jesus Christ,” Julio said.

“Call the police! Don’t just stand there cursing. This is your fucking fault! Check the street! Check the street! And call the fucking police! Awww
Christ
.”

Footsteps. Up and down. Doors slamming. Car horns. Voices.

“Police please … Hello? Yes, there’s been a robbery …”

All the while, Pete wailed. His insurance. Not covered. What’ll he do? What’ll he do?

By the time Julio had got off the phone, having explained all breathlessly to the speaking clock, the talk in the shop had got a little personal.

“Yes!” Pete was yelling. “Yes I
do
happen to think I’m in trouble! I’m sorry but I do!”

“Ah came five thousand miles to buy a comic book for mah museum, only to have some con artist try and swindle me with a fake! Ah think my problems are a little more –”

“I don’t give a shit about your problems! So you spent two hundred quid on a bag of photocopies! I just had a three grand display case ripped off the wall and someone’s walked off with a million dollars’ worth of priceless pop-culture pants. My insurance only covers me for three hundred thousand US dollars! Where the fuck am I going to get the other
seven hundred grand
!”

“The police are on way,” Julio said. “They want everyone stay here.”

“Here?” we heard Laura pipe up. “I’m not staying here. This has nothing to do with me. I’ve gotta get back to work.”

“Gimme the contact for this Christopher fellah. Conman thinks he can pull one over on me does he? Ah’ll show him, the
sonofabitch
.”

“You’re waiting here, Bob?” Laura said. “For the police? Er, aren’t they going to ask you what you’re doing here? Where you got the case?”

“Case … ?”

“The comics, idiot,” Pete said. “Forged or not
Bob
, that case is stolen goods buddy.”

“Hmn. Maybe … maybe you’re right. Sweetheart, maybe ah’ll come with you. Drop you off at yur l’il café there …”

“No you wait,” Julio protested. “I have tell the police –”

“C’mon honey, let me grab yur bags here,” and there was a rustle as Grayson hauled up the shopping.

“Wait!” Pete said loudly. “
Conman
?” The shop fell into a sick, queasy quiet. “That’s what you called him. This seller, this Christopher bloke.
Conman
. Right? Who just
happened
to tell you to meet him here yesterday?”

In the dark kitchen, Christopher and I looked up, hearts hammering. We listened.

“I don’t like yur tone, fellah. Now you juss back off …”

“Made sure we
all
got his attention right, with his
convenient
mugging story? Right?”

“Just wait for police –”

“Giving
you
the opportunity to come back here today with your prize. Throw a tantrum? Trip the alarm? Keep us all busy out the back there?”

“Bob, Bob don’t listen to him.”

“Now you just wait one second buddy …”

“
Bob!
”

“Ah’m comin’ sweetheart. This young fellah is lookin’ for to learn his-self some manners.”

“You’re going nowhere. You’re going to talk to –”

“Getcha hands off-a me, fellah. I didn’ have nothin’ to do with no robbery. Ah wanna talk to this Christopher guy as much as you do, believe me.”

“Hey you aren’t leaving, you come back here …”

The front door jangled roughly. Traffic. A cold breeze slid beneath the door, dancing about the kitchen, prickling my
forearms
.

“Get yur hands off me, boy. Miss, less go, c’mon, less go.”

“Hey.
Hey!
” Pete hollered.

The door jangled again, closing firmly with a slam.

Christopher and I stood motionless. An age passed in the dark, inky silence.

“All clear!” Pete called.

Armpits soaking, face drenched, heart going a mile a minute, I squeezed out and followed a giddy Christopher into the shop.

God it was a state. Racks pulled over, glass cracked. Everyone saying okay? Okay? All right? Okay? I began tidying up, gathering pictures and postcards from the filthy floor as the team debriefed, when suddenly there was a knock on the fire escape.

We all stopped as Julio hurried through to the back office and swung the door open.

The visitor struggled in, through the office and into the shop.

“G’day fellahs,” he said, a heavy, stolen display-box in his arms and a big Aussie grin on his face.

That night. Tuesday night.

I couldn’t sleep.

I lay under the duvet in the chill, still blue light of the bedroom, blinking at the radio-alarm clock. It blinked back at me. 01:35. I rolled onto my back gently and eased myself up a bit, the aging mattress groaning, head hard against the greasy board. Sitting up for a while, listening to the dark creaks and clanks of the aging central heating, I got up silently and joined the cat in the kitchen. I put some milk on to boil as quietly as I could.

I took a silent tiptoe down the landing, beneath the silent black and white stares of Brandon Routh and George Reeves to the nursery, easing the door open and moving quietly in, teeth tight, shoulders hunched.

The
Where the Wild Things Are
curtains glowed with the orange streetlight gas, light spilling between them onto the cot where, lying on her podgy tummy, Lana lay. I crept in, pushing the door to and moved over to the washing-piled chair.

I sat. Lana lay still among the dead-eyed soft toys, shallow baby breath clicking and sucking, tiny wrinkled fingers curled, face lit by the soft green plastic glow of her caterpillar night-light.

I would stop lying to Jane soon. One more day. Money in the bank, solicitors off my back, everything back to normal. I planned on telling her, you see. When it was all over I mean. When all was well. After Lana’s first birthday maybe.

Or second.

Definitely by her thirtieth birthd
ayyeaahhrghh!

Streaky yowled, scrabbling out of the room and I dashed through into the lounge where the white phone was
bringgging
shrilly, my teeth gritted in an attempt to stop Jane waking up. Like that ever works.

I snatched it up.

“Hello?” I whispered, heart thundering in the darkness. I tiptoed to the lounge door, sliding it closed. “Hello?”

There was a clatter and a chatter on the other end. A party?

“
Neil? Neil it’s me.
”

“Laura? Are you all right? Christ, it’s nearly two o’clock, where – ?”

“
I’m at some restaurant. Some club or something, I don’t know. It’s off Park Lane somewhere.
”

“With Grayson?”

“
He’s scaring me. I mean it Neil, he’s really scaring me. I don’t think this is a good idea. He’s shouting. Slamming his plate, throwing things. They’ve asked him to calm down like three times. He’s drunk, swearing. I think whoever decided he was a good victim made a big mistake.
”

“You still with him?”

“
I said I was powdering my nose. He’ll track Christopher down, have him killed. Saying he knows people, won’t be made a fool of. Who the hell does that shopkeeper think he is, accusing him of being a crook. Ranting, rambling on. I don’t like it.
”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s bluff, it’s all
bluff
. He’s a
nobody
, he doesn’t know
anybody
. Christopher was saying he –”

“
I want you to get me out of here.
”

“What?”

“
Come and get me. I don’t like it. I want to go home, I don’t want to be involved anymore. It’s dangerous.
”

“Look, Laura. Look, I can’t come and –”

“
Please. I don’t know what he’s going to do. Please Neil.
”

“Can’t you tell him … I dunno, tell him you don’t feel well? That you want to go home?”

“
I tried that. He won’t listen. You’ve got to get me –
”

“Neil?”

Jane called out softly from the bedroom. Shit.

“Neil?” The squeak and rustle. She was getting up. Shitty fuck arse.

“I’ve got to go, Laura. Hang in there.”

“
I don’t know if I can keep this up. He’s threatening to –
”

“Try … just try and keep him happy,” I hissed.

Jane was coming down the hall. Lana was crying.

“Jesus Christ!” she yelled. “
Neil!
?”

“Oh God. I’ve got to go. Just … just do what you can. Come round in the morning. No. Shit, Henry’s taking me to Bloomsbury. Lunchtime. Come round lunchtime. But be careful, okay?”

“
Neil!
?” Jane shouted again.

I hung up and hurried back into the kitchen. Or rather, where I thought I’d left the kitchen. It now seemed to resemble a Dresden dairy after particularly heavy shelling. Steam and stench and hissing and dripping and burnt milk all over the hob.

“Jesus Christ, you want to burn the house down?” Jane scowled, bleary eyed, Lana on her hip bawling. She began to roll off great florets of kitchen towel.

“I-I, sorry, I … the phone …”

“Get the mop. Jesus, look it’s everywhere. Who was calling?”

“Hn?”

“On the phone, who was it?”

“Oh uhmm, I dunno. They thought we were a cab firm. Couldn’t work out what they were saying.”

“Look it’s all burnt in …”

“Sorry. Give me the towel, I’ll do it.” I hurried sleepily to the sink and began to skoosh the cold tap.

“Leave it now. Just leave it.” Lana was tearful and irritable, Jane jigging and shushing her absently. “Forget about it now. I’ll worry about it tomorrow. Did you pick up that cleaner for the
bathroom
floor?”

“Shit, sorry. It’s on my list.”

“We’ve got Jack and Catherine coming over Thursday don’t forget.”

“I know, I know. It’ll be fine.”

I dumped an armful of soggy paper into the swing top bin while Jane tramped off to the toilet, trying to placate Lana with a bit of
ooze-a-silly-daddy-den.
I threw the burnt pan into the sink,
adding a squirt of Fairy and another skoosh of water to let it soak.

I went back to bed, mind reeling with thoughts of Laura and Grayson.

Knows people. Won’t be made a fool of.