To Kill a Grey Man (4 page)

“Well, how much do you know about the restaurant business?”

“Nothing,” said Surge and gave one of his rare smiles.
 
He felt he was warming to the boy.
 
“Come and look at the main kitchen.”
 

They walked behind the bar to a
large,
spotlessly clean room which housed a white porcelain industrialized sink for
washing glasses underneath a big window with views of the car park and that was
it.

“Where
is your cooker, fridge and work surfaces
?”
exclaimed Steve.

“All gone,” said Surge.

“Oh,” said Steve “That kind of scuppers the plan.”

“What have you got?” said Surge.

“Well, some knives and an apron.”

“What about finance?
 
Surely
you have some money to set up your kitchen.
 
How about crockery, cutlery, pots and pans?”

“Ah well, yeah.
 
You see I
thought that you would like the plan so much you might want to advance me some
money on account I had the ideas and we were partners.”

Surge stood looking at this earnest, young man just starting out in
life, sharing his dream, somehow it touched him.
 
“What is happening to me?” he thought.
 
All his life he had been a loner, a man who
walked his own path.
 
Was it
Pru
?
 
Did she open
his heart and let these emotions surface?
 
He was changing and it worried him.

Finally making a decision, Surge took Steve back to the alcove and
got a piece of A4 paper and a pen and said “Write down what you need and I will
go and buy it.”

Steve’s face lit up and his smile filled the room.
 
“We have deal?”

“We have a deal,” said Surge.
 
“I will get my solicitor to draw up some
papers.
 
I just hope you can cook!”
 
Steve smiled and shook Surge’s hand.

They spent the next couple of hours going over details as the pub
filled up and Gary continually interrupted moaning about his workload.

As Steve got up to leave, Surge asked him when he got his degree.

Steve smiled, “Yesterday.
 
Me
and my mum and dad picked it up from Brighton Uni.”
 
With that he waved and left the pub.

It took two weeks to get the kitchen ‘right’ and they had a couple
of lunchtime trial runs to ensure everything worked.
 
Steve was an excellent cook and manager, both
disciplined in his planning and execution.
 
He got on with Surge like a house on fire.

Steve’s friend Jonny, an I.T. geek, had put together a website and
the grand opening evening was planned.
 
The
place was packed.
 
Jonny acted as waiter
and Surge moved between the bar and working as Steve’s assistant, doing
whatever was necessary, pouring pints, peeling potatoes and vegetables, washing
up and even cooking.
 
They ran out of
food way before they did customers.

At 11.00 pm they closed up and started to clean the pub, all of them
very tired.
 
Steve was overjoyed and
Surge realized he had never been happier.
 
He had spent a lifetime in high adventure breaking men on missions
throughout the globe but this was the most satisfying thing he had ever done.

.
  
.
  
.
  
.
  
.
  
.

Surge’s mind came back to today.
 
He changed into his running gear.
 
It was still dark and the air was cold and crisp.
 
He made sure his running shoes were tied and
went through his warm up routine including yoga stretching, touching his nose
to his knees while keeping his legs straight.
 
For such a large, older man it looked strange that
he could be so flexible.
 
He then set off
through the town in an easy stride, the sun was just coming up and a red glow
covered the roof tops.
 
The air was clean
and there was a definite taste of spring.

He ran past the old dilapidated Citroen garage and up through the High
Street, passing the new ugly block of flats where the three scumbag drug
dealers were living.
 
Music was blaring
out from the flat disturbing the surroundings.
 
Surge thought it must be hell for the other tenants and he wondered if
he should get involved but for the first time in his life he decided he did not
want the trouble.
 
Life was good and the
last thing he needed was to get involved in any aggravation.
 
He’d let the police sort it out.
 
From the top of the hill he could see the
beautiful South Downs and he ran on into the country.

Chapter 7

The Adversary

John Sea was in a meeting at his golf club which was his main base
of operations.
 
The room with the huge
glass divider was closed and no diners were allowed in to the main lunchtime
area.
 
A slim, good looking man in his
late forties, he wore his usual attire of brown patent leather loafers with
tassels, cream trousers, a cream Pringle jumper and a beige polo shirt blending
in perfectly with the golfers that belonged to his club.
 
Outwardly always pleasant there was something
about the eyes that showed his toughness.
 
In front of him was Keith Poole, a powerful hugely muscled man in
his mid-thirties.
 
Keith had done it all,
ex-military, ex-bouncer, ex-security, in fact anything violent.
 
He stood six foot, seven inches tall and
weighed in at over 300lbs, all of it muscle.
 
He was a keep fit fanatic, training for hours day after day and was now
John Sea’s enforcer, the man that John sent out to get all those nasty little
problems sorted, from talking to a club owner that was not paying enough to
teaching a gang leader who was boss.
 
Keith
was the man and he loved the job.

They had just started to go through the list of issues that John
wanted Keith to fix when unusually John Sea’s phone rang.
 
It was his private phone and only a very few select
people knew the number.
 
John looked at
the screen and it said ‘
unknown
’ but he
decided to answer.

“Hello,” said a cultured voice and John instantly recognized it as his
old boss, Sir Thomas Robertson, C.

“How did you get this number?” asked John.

There was a sound of exasperation and finally Sir Thomas said, “Don’t
be thick John.
 
How do you think?
 
I have been keeping my eye on you for some
time.”

John Sea had been born in Manchester where his father had been a
successful villain.
 
He had put John
through the best of schools, educating him to take over the business when he
got older but it had not worked out.
 
A
rival gang had killed his father and taken on the bulk of the business.
 
John had barely escaped with his life.

Due to this background, the special skills he had grown up with and
a completely amoral approach to the world, he had been recognized by MI6 at
university and recruited.
 
He had risen quickly
through the ranks and fifteen years ago had headed up the department running
all sorts of black ops.
 
Unfortunately he
had been caught with his hand in the till and kicked out.

The fact was John had planned it that way.
 
He had obtained what he wanted and now needed
to leave quickly preferably with MI6 washing their hands of him.
 
Months earlier he had managed to infiltrate the
The Firm at the ground level and got all the information he needed on the
crooked side of Manchester, which gang operated where, who ran extortion,
pimping, illegal gambling, the works.
 
Once
he was kicked out of MI6 he meticulously put his plan into operation and with a
small team devastated the gangs in Manchester setting himself up as the new
boss.

Always careful, once he got established he bought a level of
understanding with the local law enforcement and often did dirty jobs for The
Firm and occasionally MI5 and MI6.
 
This
had led to a nice status quo existing, a millionaires lifestyle and a certain
level of freedom.

To get a call now from C was very disconcerting.

“I would like to meet with you,” said C.

“Actually I am very busy at the moment,” said John Sea.

“No.
 
You don’t understand,” said
C.
 
“This is not a request.”

“Look,” replied John Sea.
 
“I
don’t know what you want and I don’t really care but whatever it is I am busy.
 
Now I am happy to scratch your back every now
and again but there are limits.”

“Right,” shouted C.
 
“You listen
to me you little fuck.
 
I can have every
one of your dirty sordid operations stopped.
 
Every little gang, or hooker or pimp, broken.
 
I can have your trousers dropped and your
arse fucked over Hammersmith Bridge if I feel like it!
 
Do you get my message?”

John Sea’s voice dropped.
 
“What
do you want?”

“Well,” said C in a more reasonable tone.
 
“That’s better.
 
I was going to take a ride up to you but now
feel you can come to me.
 
On the Thames
on the Embankment in London near Big Ben is a boat called the
Tattershall
Castle which is a pub.
 
I will meet you there in four hours from now.
 
We can have a walk and a chat.
 
Since we are three hundred miles apart I
suggest you get a move on.”
 
With that,
the phone clicked off.

John dropped the phone.
 
“Bring
round the Bentley.
 
We are going to
London.”

Chapter 8

The Boy

Jonathan had come home from university for the summer.
 
A tall, good looking boy dressed in jeans and
an AC/DC T-shirt.
 
The only thing out of
place was a red scar on his cheek where a few months ago a bullet from his father’s
gun had creased it on its way to killing a bad guy.

He walked into the 1930’s detached house in the heart of London’s suburbia
and embraced his dad.
 
Collins watched
his son bring in his bags and made two cups of tea which they drank in the kitchen.

To Jonathan the house seemed sad without his mum and his dad
appeared a little older and more distant.
 
They talked about university for a while then
Collins asked Jonathan what his plans were.

“Well, I want to earn a little money and have a quiet summer before
going back for my final year.
 
Can I
still work at the shop?”

“Sure.
 
But I have taken on a
manager who is doing a great job and you would need to work for her.
 
Is that okay?”

“No problem,” said Jonathan, happy to just be in the old place.

The next morning Collins drove Jonathan to the shop and introduced
him to Olivia.
 
“This is my son.
 
He will be working for you a couple of days a
week.
 
He was bought up here so you to
should get along great.”
 
He smiled at
both of them and left them to it.

Jonathan looked at the young girl sitting behind the till where his
mother had sat for so many years.
 
It was
a strange feeling to see her there.
 
To
her left was a little boy playing at the bottom of the stairs just in front of
the safety gate.

“This is little Ben,” she said.
 
“And Baby Tom is upstairs in the cot asleep.”

Jonathan smiled at Ben who ignored him, as toddlers do, and continued
to play with his Lego.

Jonathan turned back to Olivia.
 
In her way he could see she was pretty, not beautiful but nice looking.
 
Slim with long hair pushed back into a pony
tail he gave her one of his best winning smiles.
 
It irritated the life out of her.
 
She stared right through him.
 
All she saw was a good looking, privileged
college boy who had been spoon fed all his life and who thought the world was
his oyster.
 
She decided that she hated
him on sight.

At that moment the bread van pulled up outside and the driver came
in for instructions.
 
Jonathan reached
for his delivery sheet and pulled a pen from his pocket.

“What are you doing?” hissed Olivia.

“Signing for the bread,” Jonathan replied.

“Well, you don’t sign for anything here.
 
Right?” said Olivia.
 
“I am the manager, not you and it is my
responsibility to account for everything that comes in or goes out of this shop!”

“Okay, okay,” said Jonathan and handed her the slip of paper.
 
“What do you want me to do?”

“First, find a broom and sweep the shop.
 
Then get a bin bag and pick up all the
rubbish blowing around the front of the shop.
 
Then get a bucket and a shammy leather and wash the windows.
 
After that you can report back to me.
 
Is that okay with you, college boy?”

Jonathan stood for a second as his temper flared.
 
“This is what she wants,” he thought to
himself.
 
“A big row, then she can
complain to dad and I am out of her hair.”
 
So instead he smiled. “So what,” he thought to
himself.
 
“This is only pin money.
 
If she wants her empire let her have it.”

Then much to her chagrin he turned, picked up the broom and quietly
began to sweep up.

At 10.00 am Jonathan asked Eli if he wanted a cup of tea and started
up the stairs.
 
Olivia flew off her stall.
 
“Where do you think you are going?” she
shouted.

“Up to make some tea,” said Jonathan.
 
“Do you want some?”

“Look,” she said slowly.
 
“Upstairs
is my home.
 
It is where my private and
personal stuff is.
 
The only people who
go up there are those I say can go up there and you can’t!
 
So get on with your jobs and when I think you
can have a break, Eli will make the tea.
 
Do you understand?”

Jonathan thought she was now going too far and was being bloody ridiculous.
 
He vowed to talk to his dad.
 
This was his shop.
 
She was just the bloody manager.

Later that night, when he told his dad all about it, he was surprisingly
uninterested.

“Look son.
 
She is doing a
great job.
 
You are just back for the summer.
 
You don’t even have to work there.
 
I will give you the same money and you can
stay at home.
 
What do you say?”

“That’s not necessary.
 
No
worries Dad.
 
I will find a way to get on
with her.”

So over the next few days Jonathan kept his mouth shut at the shop and
Olivia bossed him around far more than she did Eli and far more than she needed
to.
 
Eventually the game got stale as Jonathan
put up with whatever she asked him to do and the shop started to function
properly, each person knowing their specific job and whilst there was always an
atmosphere, it all settled down.

Little Tom slept in the mornings and Olivia nursed him in the
afternoon and at breaks.
 
Little Ben had
the run of the shop and spent a lot of time with Jonathan.
 
Children seem to instinctively know who has a
gentle soul and soon they were good friends.
 
At 3.00 pm on the days he worked, Jonathan would tell Ben a short story
and Olivia would take him upstairs for a nap.

Jonathan also got on great with Eli who he had known all his life
and they happily chatted away as they worked.
 
Only Jonathan and Olivia did not talk.
 
The animosity appeared mutual and neither made any effort to break the
tension.

The little shop was in the middle of a rough housing estate and all
sorts came in.
 
Olivia had grown up there
and knew the more difficult customers and handled the rowdier ones.
 
She was one of them and was not messed around.
 
Occasionally boys would come in and try to
chat
her up but she gave them short shrift.

On around the third week of Jonathan joining, he was stacking
shelves and as usual Little Ben was helping, or hindering depending how you
looked at it, when in came a couple of tough looking teenagers with a dog, half
bulldog, half bull mastiff, a powerful and mean looking thing with an old piece
of string wrapped around its neck as a lead which the smaller of the two teenagers
kept tugging.

Olivia knew them both and they chatted easily.
 
Little Ben wandered away from Jonathan and
went to see the dog who reacted nastily snapping and biting.
 
Little Ben, shocked, stood still and
started to cry.
 
The noise infuriated the
dog who lunged and the lead broke.
 
The
dog pounced towards Little Ben but not before Jonathan had dived full length
smashing the dog in the side and knocking him down.
 
The dog went crazy biting Jonathan in
a frenzy
as they rolled round the floor, knocking tins and
boxes from the bottom shelves.
 
Blood was
pouring from Jonathan’s arm and chest.
 
Olivia
grabbed a heavy cast iron pot from the display, rushed over and with all her
might slammed it down on the dog’s head who keeled over stunned.
 
She put her fingers in the dog’s mouth and prized
his jaw open which was clamped on Jonathan’s arm.
 
She then dragged the dog to the door, opened
it and kicked it onto the pavement.
 
She picked
up the pot again and advanced on the two teenagers, “Fuck off.
 
And don’t ever come here again.”

They moved around her outstretched arms and ran out the door.
 
They grabbed their dog,
who
by now had partially recovered and ran off laughing.

Jonathan sat up a bit dazed.
 
He checked himself over.
 
A few
bites but none too deep.
 
The blood flow
looked spectacular but he knew no real damage had been done. Little Ben ran to
him and threw his arms around his neck crying in shock.
 
Jonathan managed to pick him up and handed
him to Olivia.
 
Their eyes met.
 
“You had better come with me,” she said, walking
towards the stairs.

“What?
 
Up into your private
and personal sanctum?” said Jonathan sarcastically.
 
“I don’t think so.”

“Look, I have some bandages and antiseptic cream up there.
 
I cannot have you in the shop dripping blood.
 
Can I?”

“Okay,” said Jonathan and meekly followed her up into the kitchen.
 
Eli meanwhile started to tidy up.

They sat at the round kitchen table in silence as Olivia found the
antiseptic cream and plasters.
 
She took
a wet sponge and cleaned the bite wounds from his arm and chest, dried them on
a towel and then added the cream and plasters.
 
In all Jonathan had been lucky, the force of the dive must have winded
the dog and no bite was deep.

Olivia kept on trying to say something and Jonathan did not make it
easy.
 
Finally she thanked him for saving
Ben.

“No problem” he replied, flashing
her his
best
winning smile.
 
This time it only
irritated her a bit.

Life after that became easier.
 
Olivia was still the boss but she did not give Jonathan such a hard time
and he found himself looking forward to his days in the shop.
 
It was different but familiar and he felt his
mother would approve of what was going on.