The Face (Harry Tyler Book 1) (15 page)

“Surprise, surprise,” Johnny Too sang like some demented Cilla, a banana smile wedged across his face. “The unexpected waits with open thighs…”

He high-fived Harry boisterously. “Knew you’d appreciate my little twist,” he said. “What better cover, eh?”

“Yeah, nice, yeah, great,” Harry said, as enthusiastically as he could. “We’re all in the same hotel I hope?”

“Are you taking the piss?” Johnny replied. “Of fucking course. You like their gear? New outfits courtesy your old pal Johnny Too. Got ’em from the Armani And Navy surplus store.”

“Ouch, John. That fucking pun hurt.”

Baker roared. “Who loves ya, baby?” he bellowed. “Harry, we have got one fuck of a weekend ahead of us.”

Harry smiled and gave Lesley a kiss. He checked in then motioned to Johnny that it was time to visit the gents. Inside, Harry’s mask of agreeability crumbled.

“John, what the fuck is going on?” he moaned. “I thought we were going to do business.”

“Two birds with one stone, H.” Johnny Too shrugged. “I’ve had a blow-up with the missus so I needed to get away to be with Geri, and while you and me can handle the biz the girls can shop till they drop. Geri knows the score, she can blow all the dough as long as she blows me afterwards.”

“Mate, you might have clued me. I could have had two bits of skirt meeting us at the other end.”

Johnny laughed as he sprinkled the urinal. “Well, I never mind sharing,” he grinned. “Chill out, Harry, just enjoy the weekend. It’s gonna be special. We’ll get the work over quick. We’ve got a meet tomorrow morning at ten near the station.”

Harry smiled weakly. Having the two women about might make slipping away for urgent updates tougher, but he’d manage if he had to.

On the plane he sat next to Johnny Too. They chatted about football briefly, both agreed that Charlton Athletic would stay up this time, and then more passionately about neglected rock bands that mattered. Johnny suggested The Ruts, The Skids and the UK Subs; Harry came up with Rose Tattoo and the Drop Kick Murphys. Both rated Cock Sparrer, the Stone Roses and The Business.

“What about The Grams,” asked Geraldine.

“When was they about?” said Johnny Too.

“Oh, recent,” Geri grinned. “You just don’t read the right books.”

She took a copy of the Kevin Sampson novel
Powder
out of her hand luggage. “The best book about the rock business since
Platinum Logic
,” she said.

“That’s fucking cheating,” Harry complained.

“Since when did you know about the rock business?” asked Johnny.

“I was raised on it,” said Geri. “My brother used to roadie for The Blood.”

“Good band,” Johnny and Harry said as one. Johnny added: “I was there at the old Marquee when they chain-sawed a blowup doll stuffed full of butcher’s offal.”

“Sweet,” said Geri sarcastically.

“Here, have you seen this?” piped up Lesley, who was reading the
Sun
. “Police in Texas have arrested a suspect who had £6,000 in cash hidden in his buttocks, it says here, from dealing in marijuana.”

“They sure it weren’t crack?” roared Johnny Too.

“Talk about dirty money,” laughed Geraldine.

“Maybe it’s a new way of laundering,” suggested Johnny.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “But here’s where it gets painful. It was all in fucking quarters.”

Johnny was in hysterics. Then Geraldine noticed an article in her
Daily Mail
about the latest IRA terrorist to be let out of the Maze and claim “compensation”.

“This is mad, John, isn’t it?” she said.

“It’s sick,” Johnny Too scowled. “It really is the old joke, Kill a Brit and win a fucking Metro.”

“It makes you die,” Harry added angrily. “Break a speed limit and you’re Public Enemy Number One. Bomb Canary Wharf and not only will HM Government let you walk, they’ll fucking sub you for your trouble. These politicians are completely out of touch.”

“It’s like these paedophiles,” said Lesley. “The
News Of The World
was right. They should be named and shamed.”

“It’d be different if Tony Blair found one re-housed in Downing Street,” said Geri.

“It doesn’t happen like that, though, does it?” Harry said. “They stick ’em on council estates, let the working class suffer. Same with asylum seekers.”

“Why should the politicians care?” added Geri. “They don’t live in our world. They live in a world where Lord Irvine can spend £1,528 of public money on two heated hand towels.”

Harry smiled. Geraldine was right, of course, but he found her middle-class indignation funny for some reason he couldn’t fathom. Not to mention a turn-on.

“Anyway, fuck all that,” said Johnny Too. “Who wants a shot out of Uncle John’s hip flask? It’s Knob Creek sipping whiskey, 100 per cent proof.”

“Me,” said Lesley.

“And me,” Geri shouted greedily.

“Who sang ‘Uncle John’s Band’?” asked Harry.

“Grateful Dead,” answered Johnny Too. “Next question…”

The flight was over as soon as it had begun. As the four strolled towards the airport exit, a young, hippy type tugged Harry’s arm.

“Where’s the Customs, man?” he asked.

“There ain’t any, son. They don’t pull you going in.”

“So we’re in Holland, then?” the kid said.

“Yeah.”

“No Customs?”

“No.”

The scruffy teenager reached down the front of his trousers and into his underpants. He pulled out a spliff and sparked up. “Fucking lovely,” he said, and walked off giggling.

Harry smiled. “Coals to Newcastle,” he said.

“Muppet,” snorted Johnny Too. “Where do we get the sherbet?”

“No, we don’t need a cab, mate,” said Harry. “We’ll walk down that way and get a funny old doubledecker train to Central Station. When we get to the other end it’s a straight walk down through Dam Square. It takes longer by cab.

Amsterdam Central Station was crawling with long-haired beggars. “Fucking hippy shithead,” snarled Johnny Too as he shoved one sad case out of his path. “Go take a bath in the canal. How far’s this fucking hotel, H? Let’s get a cab for fucksake.”

“Hold up, mate,” said Harry. “Just over the road there you’ve got the best herring stand in Holland.”

“What, roll-mops?” moaned Lesley. “I don’t like roll-mops.”

“No, it’s fresh with onion on top,” Harry said. “Trust me, darling, it’s good scoff.”

They had to stop at the herring stand to ensure that the surveillance team were with them.

The Jolly Carlton is next to the Bloemarket, a collection of market stalls selling the most beautiful and fragrant flowers in Holland.

“They’re fabulous,” enthused Lesley.

“If the Dutch know how to do one thing well, it’s growing plants,” said Harry. “And not just the kind that make you happy.”

They checked in and went off to inspect the spacious rooms, which were quite splendid for the price. In the Tyler camp, Lesley bent over to undo her travel case. Harry admired her perfect pins and decided to make the most of the situation. He grabbed her waist and threw her on the bed. They kissed and he slipped his hand up inside her miniskirt. Lesley reached down and grabbed it. “Not today, H, I can’t, the painters are in. I’ll be OK tomorrow”

“I don’t mind getting me red wings.”

“You filthy sod.”

“Well, get me dick out and give it a jostle or something, darling, I’ve had a lob on all the way up here.”

“Well, really, Mr Tyler,” said Lesley in her best
Gone With The Wind
accent. “I do believe you’re a-wooing me.”

She unzipped his flies, released his eager member and fellated him silently – well, she was a good girl and her mum had brought her up never to speak with her mouth full. For his part, Harry envisaged the petite Italian brunette, a Karen Baggoley lookalike, he had fucked not five minutes from this hotel the last time he was in Amsterdam. He came in 90 seconds.

“Cor, you really needed that,” said Lesley after she’d swallowed his semen.

“Yeah, ta, doll.”

She tried to kiss him.

“Fuck off, you dirty cow,” he said, holding her at arm’s length. “I don’t wanna taste me own spunk, do I? Brush yer teeth and let’s go for a beer.”

“Hold up, Harry. I’m going to have a shower and unpack. You go down and have a pint with Johnny.”

“They don’t have pints over here.”

“Well, you know what I mean.”

Harry sat alone at the hotel bar as the bar steward warmed up a large bowl glass for his brandy in a small metal box heater. He was just finishing his second when Lesley and Geraldine finally joined him. The vapour from the fumes had made Harry feel quite high. Maybe he imagined seeing Geri give Lesley an
over-long
squeeze as they parted to sit down.

“Johnny won’t be long, he’s ringing his mum from the room,” smiled Geri as Harry got a round in.

Johnny Too turned up 20 minutes later and gave Harry a covert thumbs up, and ordered more drinks. Johnny put an arm round Harry and said softly, “The girls are going shopping tomorrow. You and me can go and have a beer.”

Then he reached over to a bowl on a nearby table, scooped up a handful of Japanese crackers and crammed them into his mouth.

“We eating, then?” Johnny said loudly. “I’m famished.”

For the rest of Friday they did the tourist thing: beer, more beer, the red light district for a snigger, the sex museum, a meal, and a live sex show, followed by a smokey session in the Bulldog Cafe which sells the finest puff in Europe. Johnny Too loved the cafe’s logo, a snarling cartoon bulldog’s head in a circle, and bought four XL sweatshirts there and then. From here they strolled slowly along the canals, looking at the stars, and on down past the “skinny bridge”, the couples splitting apart to kiss and cuddle “just like normal people”, Johnny observed the next day.

Harry and Lesley fell into bed at 2.57 am according to the clock in the room. When he awoke at 8 am he could remember fondling her breasts but nothing more. Dressing quickly, Harry left Lesley a note and wandered down for breakfast. A hung-over Johnny Too wasn’t long behind.

“Bad head, mate?” smiled Harry.

“That fucking dope was too heavy.”

“That explains it. I knew it couldn’t be the beer, the brandy or the red wine. You having breakfast?”

“Fuck no, just coffee. Black and sweet.”

Harry poured him a cup and said, “What’s happening, then?”

“We’ve got a meet at one o’clock outside the front of the sea museum. I’ve got the address.”

“It’s OK, I know it. I’ll steer the girls in the right direction for the shops. The Hooftstraat area should do ’em.”

“I’ve bunged them a few hundred each to get something nice to wear.”

“Cheers, Johnny.”

“When I meet this bird, just hang around and keep dog-eye for me. She’s gonna give me some times and places. I’ve got to go somewhere on me Tod first to pick up a hold-all. Just keep an eye on me with that till I hand it over to her.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“It’s just running expenses. The rest is sorted. I’ll meet you back here at eleven.”

“Cool, I’ll go up and have a shave and whatever.”

“Yeah, and give her a whatever for me, too.” Johnny Too threw back the coffee. “I’ve already told Geri I’ll see her here with Les at about seven tonight.”

“Fine.”

Baker got up and said, “Laters, then.” He left the hotel. Harry couldn’t help but notice the villain didn’t seem half as cocky here as he did in South London. He watched an elegantly dressed woman leave the hotel behind Baker. She was smart but not showy, not the sort of woman you’d notice in a crowd. He was confident she was surveillance, but who knew? Harry finished eating, left a few guilders tip and went back to his room. As he got there, Geri was coming out.

“Morning, Harry,’ she said with a huge grin. “Just checking what time we’re going shopping.” As she drew level with him she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Has Johnny gone out?”

Harry felt her right breast nestle against his arm. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m meeting him here later. You want me to show you two where to go shopping?”

“No, that’s OK. Us girls have got a nose for shops. Don’t worry about us. We won’t be back until our little purses are vacuums.”

“That’s what I was worried about.”

Geri laughed and slinked away, letting her right hand brush his leg. Harry swore she wasn’t like this with anyone else. Was it another Baker test? He let himself in.

“Is that you, Geri?” Lesley called from the shower.

“Nah, me. She’s gone back to her room.” Lesley stepped out dripping wet. She wrapped a towel around her hair but wasn’t in any hurry to cover up her magnificent body.

“I thought you’d gone out with Johnny.”

“No, I’m meeting him later, hon,” said Harry letting his eyes feast on her nakedness.

“Well we better make up for lost time then.”

As they made love the thought of Lesley and Geri at it instead played around Harry’s mind. Could they be having a little thing going on? He’d have paid good money to watch if they did…

The girls left within the hour. Harry bought a
Daily Mail
at reception. It was 11.20 am, so he strolled round to the bar and had a small beer. He glanced through the paper. There was never much in it on a Saturday; he only bought it in the week for Keith Waterhouse. Bored, he glanced around the bar. There was a smartly dressed woman of about fifty standing at the far left end chatting away to the bar steward in Dutch, or was it German? The barman laughed politely and Harry looked away. There was a young couple sitting to one side, holding hands, who failed to hold his interest. Once again Harry had failed to spot the surveillance team.

Moments later, Johnny Too appeared carrying a black Head hold-all in his left hand. The gangster looked strangely unsettled.

“Get us a beer, H,” he ordered.

“You OK?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Johnny Baker sat down, wedging the hold-all firmly between his ankles.

Harry nodded at the bag. “Any trouble?” he asked.

“Nah, mate. Once I’m out of this, the engine’s oiled.”

“Looks heavy.”

“Well freighted, know what I mean?”