Two Faced (Harry Tyler Book 2) (15 page)

‘I can’t st-stop pissing these days,’ he said. ‘F-f-five times I was up in the night. And even when I go it’s all stop-start. I think I’ve finished, then I do me zip up and have to go again. I was back and forth to the urinal three or four times before I’d finished. Prostrate problems, see.’

‘Blimey, Frank, do you know what that means?’ said Harry. ‘You piss exactly like you speak.’

‘You’re a wicked swine, Harry,’ said George.

‘These London boys make me laugh.’ Frank smiled. ‘Now, George, me and H-H-Harry, we can being those diamonds back. Does that South African st-st-still need someone?’

‘I don’t know,’ George replied.

Harry waited for him to say something else but he didn’t. He just sat there looking dumb.

‘So how would you get hold of him, mate?’ Harry asked impatiently.

‘When I see him or ring him.’

‘What’s his name and number?’

George reached into the pocket of his stained checked jacket and pulled out a handful of dirty Kleenex tissues. ‘Not in there,’ he mumbled. The next pocket contained more tissues, a button and a Ladbrokes pen, which rolled off the table onto the floor. ‘Where the fuck is it?’ he asked under his breath. Finally he checked his inside pocket and produced a small, tatty black diary. George fumbled through the pages. ‘Here ’tis.’ He handed it to Harry.

‘Fuck me, George, were you ever a doctor? I can’t read this.’

‘Bottom of the page, look.’

‘What’s his name?’

George pointed at the book.

‘Where?’

‘That’s it. Van – like, you know, van, like a van.’

‘Like a Dutch name, van?’

George shrugged. ‘Suppose so. Hey, if you’re sailing over, I’ll come with you.’

‘Nah, don’t think so,’ said Harry, writing down the number. ‘We’d get done smuggling booze into France if we took you.’

‘What do you think, son?’ asked Frank

‘We’ll talk about it on the way back. Come on, drink up.’

Harry threw six pound coins on the table. ‘Keep the change, luv,’ he said.

Harry got Frank to drop him off in Chichester, promising to contact him later. He went straight into a phone box and rang the mobile. It went straight to answerphone, a female voice. The dozy twat had probably written the number down wrong, but Harry left his name and mobile number anyway. As he walked toward Chichester police station, his mobile rang.

‘Yeah?’

‘You rang my number, I believe.’ It was a man with a South African accent.

‘Is that Van?’

‘That’s right. Who are you?’

‘I’m a mate of George and Frank.’

‘George?’

‘Yeah, drunken Jock out of Southsea.’

‘Oh, George, yes, George. What do you want?’

‘I’m skint, we’ve got a boat and he said you might have an earner for us.’

Van paused. ‘What else did our friend tell you?’

‘Nothing. Just that it might be worth our while making contact.’

‘Where is your boat?’

‘Chichester marina.’

‘It’s a trip across the water.’

‘That much we gathered.’

‘You want to meet and talk?’

‘When are you over?’

‘Over where?’

‘England.’

‘I’m in England.’

‘Sorry, pal, George said you were in France.’

‘No, what needs collecting is in France.’

‘Where are you?’

‘At this moment, outside McDonald’s in Portsmouth.’

‘Want me to jump on a train? I’ll be about an hour.’

‘Call me when you get here.’

Harry ran back to the call box and rang DI Taylor to bring him up to speed.

Taylor seemed delighted. ‘Where are you meeting him?’

‘I’ve got to ring him when I get to Portsmouth railway station, said I’d be an hour.’

‘Slow it up a bit and we’ll get a photographer there with a bag camera so he won’t show out. What do you think, Harry?’

‘Nil out of ten two hours ago, three out of ten at the moment.’

Ninety minutes later, Harry reached Portsmouth station and put a call in.

‘Get to Gun Wharf Quays,’ Van instructed. ‘Everyone knows it. There’s a Ted Baker shop. I’ll be outside in a camouflage jacket.’

‘OK, but move about in case I can’t find you.’

‘Funny guy. Don’t be long.’

Harry rang Taylor to update him.

‘No problem,’ said the DI. ‘I’ve cobbled together a small surveillance team at Portsmouth nick. I’m briefing them on the hoof.’

Harry became concerned. ‘Guv’nor, tell them not to show out,’ he said. ‘Tell them not to come in close. And don’t get jumpy if they lose us. Better to lose us than blow the op.’

‘I understand.’

From Van’s voice, Harry had conjured a picture of a tall, bald hardman in his fifties. He was wrong in almost every department. Van was slim, about five-foot-four, with a mop of wavy brown hair. Only the age was about right. They shook hands and sat on a bench.

‘So, what’s it about?’ asked Harry. ‘How much is in it?’

‘A friend of mine is in France,’ Van answered slowly. ‘He goes there once or twice a month. He has a package for me, some diamonds, and I need to bring them over.’

‘So why doesn’t he bring them?’

‘It would be very uncomfortable for him. He committed a misdemeanour here some years ago and it would not be prudent for him to come. I cannot go home to Cape Town for various political reasons so France is the nearest possible place.’

‘How much is in it for us?’

‘A total of five thousand pounds.’

Harry whistled, Van continued: ‘One thousand pounds when you leave and four on your return.’

‘How soon can we do this?’

‘How soon can you sail?’

Harry hesitated. Now he needed f-f-flipping Frank. ‘I’ll talk to my oppo,’ he said. ‘It’s his yacht, a Contessa 32.’

‘But this week?’

‘Next few days. I’ll know tonight. Where in France?’

‘I’ll tell you tonight.’

‘OK. But – well, I’m not trying to do meself out of some dough because that’ll come in proper handy right now, but why can’t you just go over on the ferry yourself, collect them and tape ’em to your body?’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’

‘Why?’

Van clammed up.

‘This stinks, mate,’ Harry said, accusingly. ‘Something’s not right. You’d better put all your cards on the table.’

‘Do you want the job or not?’

‘Yes, but not if you’re setting us up for something. Where in France are we going, for a starter?’

‘St Malo.’

‘To collect a package of diamonds?’

Van stared at him blankly.

‘It’s not diamonds, is it,’ said Harry.

‘It doesn’t matter what it is. It’s a valuable package.’

‘It fucking matters to me and Frank, pal. Now, give it to me straight, is it drugs?’

‘Yes, drugs. Marijuana.’

‘And when were we going to be told this?’

‘When you got there.’

‘How much?’

‘To begin with, twenty kilos.’

‘Don’t take me for a prick. I puff meself. You’re not giving us five large to bring in just twenty K.’

‘There’s something else with it.’

Harry feigned anger. ‘What? Fucking level with me now or I walk.’

‘A kilo of something else.’

‘What?’

‘Powder.’

‘Coke?’

Van paused. ‘Yes, cocaine. And if this is successful, more trips, more money.’

‘Why by boat, why not in a motor or a lorry?’

‘Quite simply, my friend, because I do not have anyone who owns a lorry.’

‘My cousin does,’ Harry said, thinking on his feet. ‘He delivers furniture to France and Spain all the time, y’know, moving people’s household goods out there when they retire and settle abroad. He brings back all sorts. That’s gotta be the easier way.’

‘How can I trust him?’

‘’Cos I’ll go with him.’

‘How can I trust you?’

‘’Cos I need the dough.’

‘You fuck with me or these people and you will have a big problem.’

‘Well, you come with us or you go with him then.’

‘Harry, Harry, that is why I’m paying you, so I don’t take the risk. My risk is the people at this end who I sell to.’

‘OK, look, I know my cousin is going to Spain or France on Thursday. Do you want me to sort out a meet? I’ll go with and if it’s a result this time then every time he goes over he can collect for you. He’s been doing the run for about five years now, so he’s known to the Customs as a straight guy.’

‘What about your partner with the yacht?’

‘Fuck him. I’d rather go Napoleon Solo. I’ll tell him what you were offering was double bollocks, that it was all a joke that misfired ’cos George was lagging.’

‘I need thinking time.’

‘I’ll go see him anyway. It can’t hurt to have a meet, can it?’

‘Call me tomorrow at three pm. I’ll discuss it with someone.’

‘Sweet.’

They shook and Harry left. He had an uneasy feeling about this job and called Taylor for an urgent scrum down at Chichester nick.

‘I’m not one hundred per cent about this, boss,’ he said. ‘I’ve not done this kind of trade before and I can’t quite pin Van the man down. He may just be desperate, or there may be more to it.’

‘So what’s your gut feeling?’

‘If he goes with it, I feed in a lorry-driver UC, pull out, and when it goes down I’m the grass and no one realised I was Old Bill. It just seems too easy, too good to be true. Perhaps I’m wrong, perhaps I’m over-cautious … anyway, anticipating your thoughts on this I’ve been on the dog and got a lorry and driver jacked up. It’s just a question of you filling in the paperwork and getting your big squad on board for surveillance, arrests and intell.’

‘Nice work,’ said David Taylor. This was going to be a good ’un. He could feel it in his water. Harry was just glad to be passing the buck to someone else. The whole job stank.

Back at the hotel, Harry rang Dawn again. No reply. It was too late to bother trying her at the office. He listened to a Moon Ska Europe compilation and tried her again. Nix. Where was she? By 10pm he had drifted off to sleep fully clothed on the bed. Four hours later, awoken by the gentle chime of church bells, he rang Dawn’s number repeatedly. She might give him a mouthful but he had to make sure she was OK. On the third time of calling, Dawn picked up the handset but didn’t answer.

‘Dawny, is that you? It’s Harry.’

She burst out crying.

‘What’s up,’ he asked. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Oh, Harry,’ she sobbed. ‘Where are you?’

‘Out of town. I tried to call yesterday. What’s wrong?’

‘Big problems. Bernard rang last night, I told him that four men had been here looking for him.’

‘What four men?’

‘They said they were his brothers. I think they were, they all looked a bit like him. Oh, Harry, they were horrible. They threatened me, and, and’ – she started to sob again – ‘they’d been watching the house, they knew you weren’t here, they’d seen you leave.’

‘What do they want?’

‘Him, they want Bernard.’

‘You OK, love?’

‘Yes. No. No, I’m not! Bernard said he’d ring Nicky, the nasty one. He left me a mobile number …’

‘Calm down, babe. Take it easy.’

‘He rang about twenty minutes ago.’

‘Who?’

‘Bernard. He sounded like he was shitting himself. He said he was in deep shit and that he didn’t know what to do.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Just that he’d have to do something drastic or they were going to get him.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know!’ Dawn sounded hysterical.

‘Woah, OK. How come he rang you out of the blue?’

‘He knew all of the brothers were out now so he is expecting them to come for him. But Harry, he told me to watch out for myself.’

‘He fucking said what? Why’s that then? Give me his number, I’ll give him a bell.’

‘No, no, no. Don’t get involved, Harry. He said to watch out ’cos his brothers were bad men.’

‘Do you want me to come home now?’

‘No, it’s all right. I rang my dad, he’s going to ring the local police and talk to his friend, get him to keep an eye out.’

‘Look, darling, if there is shit you ring this fella and tell him to get hold of me. You got a pen?’

‘No, hold on. There’s never one when you need one. Here y’are, yeah. Go on.’

Harry gave her the contact number for DI Taylor. ‘I’ll let him know that if you ring he’s got to get hold of me. I’ll clue him up.’

‘I’m sorry, Harry. You must think I’ve become a real stupid tart.’

‘Don’t say that. You know I don’t think that. I’ll try and bell you in the next couple of days, OK?’

‘Sure, Harry. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be stupid. You use that number if you need to.’

‘I will.’

‘Good.’

‘And Harry?’

‘What?’

‘I love you.’

‘Love you too, hon.’

If Harry Tyler was worried about Dawn or concerned about Kara and his children when he woke up, then he was hiding it well. His hand went down to clasp his morning glory and he flicked on the TV for inspiration. Ri:se again! At least Kate Lawler’s legs were good for something. He cleaned himself up on a hand towel then showered, shaved and dressed for work. The sooner he was out of this peculiar job the better.

Mickey the lorry-driver – really a UC from North London called Michael Bailey but known as Roland because he looked like an albino clone of the Fine Young Cannibal – turned up at 10am. They were about the same age but had never met. Harry briefed him on the scam and they spent the morning running through the cover story. Mick had arrived in a beat-up van that was full of empty packing cases. There were a couple of boiler suits in the back and an empty diesel drum that gave the van the smell of a working vehicle used to run to and from a lorry. Story straight, they made their way to Arundel, parking in an NCP that nestled under the ancient castle above.

Harry rang Van at 1.30pm. ‘Hello, mate, it’s Harry. I’m with my cousin and he can pick that furniture up for you in the next couple of days if you like, but he wants his running money up front.’

‘Where are you?’ asked the South African.

‘Arundel. He’s got a fitter looking over the lorry, little problem with a brake but it’s sorted.’