“Look, love, I think maybe I over-reacted last night. I've been thinking. Can we talk about it?”
“Talk away. Where is this going?”
“You know what I think about drugs, and you know what I think about lying bastard husbands.”
“Ah well, if you’re going to start mud slinging again you can just go. I’ve had enough.”
“No, no, no. Sorry, I won’t do that. I have a proposition. Do you want to hear it?”
“OK, but I don’t know how you could possibly have anything to contribute to the situation.”
Tamara continued. “I know about these things, believe me. My brothers in Russia are drug dealers and that’s why I was desperate to get out of there and run away to Spain where Ronnie found me and took me in to his villa and I met you and fell in love with you and married you and never looked back and I still love you and I would never hurt you and I know you would never hurt me and I would do anything to help you you know that and even if it means doing something a little bit dangerous I know you would help me to help you and...”
“Whoa there,” Frank said, “slow down. What are you trying to tell me?”
“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want this stuff around and I want rid of it but I want what it’s worth because I want a mink coat and I want a new BMW sports car 84
“Hey, hold on there, are you telling me you want us to sell this stuff? I wouldn’t know how to. I can’t put an ad for it on eBay or Gumtree or a card in the Post Office window you know. I’m out of my depth here, and anyway, it’s not my stuff and I don’t want anything to do with it. End of story.”
“Leave this to me. I think I can handle it. Do you think Ronnie would let me?”
“I think Ronnie would definitely let you. He's out of his depth too. But how do you know about drug dealing? You surprise me Tamara, you really do.”
“Shut up, listen, and I will tell you. I don't know much about drug dealing but my brothers do. I lived in an apartment on the fourteenth floor of the fifty-sixth concrete block on the road on the outskirts of our city with my brothers and that's all they did.
Some shady people came to the flat day and night – mostly night – and there was always lots of that stuff lying around. I had to get away. I couldn't stand living like that any more. My brothers have a contact in London and it was he who got me out of Russia and into Spain. The London contact handles a lot of deals for them. I'm sure he could handle ours.”
“You obviously want something out of this?”
“You're right, I do. A lot. I want 50% of the sale. Now do we speak to Ronnie?”
“I'll ask him down to the house for coffee.”
Tammy was up early. Sunday was a funny day. It usually started off quiet, and that's when she could get all her baking done, bread, scones, tray-bakes, pies and anything else that took her fancy. There were no commercial customers, but by lunchtime the retired couples in their ten-year-old cars would start to arrive for lunch, to break their run up one side of the River Dee and down the other – a Sunday ritual. By late afternoon the families would arrive after a day out in the forests walking, mountain biking, or fishing, if the wives were sympathetic towards it! There was usually one batch of unruly brats amongst them.
Today, all Tammy could think about was Ronnie. She hadn't had a man in her life for a long time. Not really since Dave Buckingham, the deejay and part owner of Strathdee FM. Dave and Tammy had just hit it off not long after he came to Strathdee twenty years previously, and they spent many happy nights together after he finished his late night show. So happy in fact, that they had a son together, Duncan. Duncan had joined the Forestry Commission on leaving school, and he was doing very well in their in-house training programme to become a Woodland Officer.
Dave also had a daughter called Anna to his wife Katharina twenty years ago in Austria, just before Dave came to Strathdee and after he and Katharina had lost touch with each other for a full 19 years. Duncan and Anna were half brother and sister, something which defeated their instant attraction to each other the day they first met.
Coincidentally, Anna was at Aberdeen University studying forestry.
He's no oil painting, Tammy thought, but then neither am I. They had got on so well, albeit a little awkwardly, on that last night in her trailer home, and there was a 85
tentative offer of a proper date on the cards for sometime this week, but she hadn't heard from him. What can be wrong with the man? It's hardly rocket science – a drink somewhere then home for coffee and..... She suddenly felt quite aroused just from the thought of it. Still a girl at heart, she thought!
Ronnie wasn't thinking about Tammy, or drinks, or coffee, or anything else on offer. He was sitting on Frank and Tamara's well worn couch, and occupied himself by pushing the wads of horse hair stuffing back into it as they tried to burst out every time he moved. God knows what else lives in here, he thought. Tamara brought coffee through to them and put it down on the solid oak table in front of the couch. She never bothered with coasters as the evidence of a hundred previous coffee cups was there for all to see in the form of umpteen brown rings stained into the wood. She outlined her offer of help to Ronnie, and then said, “Let me see the stuff.”
“It's under the caravan. I'll have to go and get it.”
“You go and get it please.”
Ronnie left his coffee and climbed up to the caravan. He brought the package back and put it down onto the oak table, the first time something like this had ever been on it.
“You say it is cocaine?” Tamara asked.
“I guess so. I don't know about these things.”
Tamara peeled back some of the parcel tape and prised open a loose bit of polythene exposing the powder inside. She took a pinch of it between her thumb and forefinger, examined it, sniffed it, and then tasted it. “This is not cocaine. This is heroin.
Finest quality uncut undiluted heroin. Do you know how much this is worth?”
“A lot?” offered Ronnie.
“There is about half a million's worth here,” Tamara exclaimed excitedly.
“Dollars?” asked Ronnie.
“No. Pounds Sterling. There is a fortune here. An absolute fortune.”
“So, where do we go from here?” Ronnie asked.
“Let me contact my brothers. They will be able to handle this easily.”
Always the business man, Ronnie asked her, “And how much will they take for their services?”
“You will never know,” Tamara answered. “They will give you a price and that is after their deductions. You will never know the full price.”
“And you? Can I offer you 5% for your help?”
“PAH!” Tamara spat out.
“OK, let's say 10%. Deal?”
“Mr Marsh, Ronnie, you have a quaint idea of how we Russians do business,” and she uttered a little girly giggle. “My commission is 50%, nothing more, nothing less.
Take it or leave it. I would say you have no choice.”
Ronnie looked very put out at being overruled by a woman. “B... b... b... but...”
“No 'buts' or' ifs'. That's the way it is, take it or leave it.”
Ronnie looked at Frank, but Frank just shrugged his shoulders. His attention 86
turned back to Tamara. “OK, I'll take it. You drive a hard bargain. What do you want with all that money? You're already well set up.”
“That's none of your business.”
87
There was a loud banging on the barricaded door of the fourth flat on the fourteenth floor of the fifty-sixth concrete apartment block on a wide, bleak suburban boulevard in the sprawling outskirts of Moscow. This guy was trying to hammer the door down. Ilya was in the flat finishing off a ready meal in front of the television while lounging on the sofa with his boots up on the armchair opposite. He put his tray to one side and went to the door, shouting “Who is it?”
“It is Vasily Varennikov,” the voice behind the door said.
“What do you want?”
“I need more stuff, now, open the door.”
Vasily heard the dead bolts clattering open and keys turning in the locks, and a self-satisfied smile spread across his pale purple lips, creasing his haggard, unshaven sallow cheeks with deep furrows. There was silence for another thirty seconds, then Ilya opened the door with such force that the resulting draft almost sucked the decrepit individual into the flat. Quick as a flash, Ilya counteracted the motion with a large gleaming knife up against Vasily's left ear. Ilya shouted directly in his face, “You better listen close, scumbag, 'cos you ain't gonna have any listening devices left after I've done with you. You got my money?”
“Wh... wh... what money?” cried the shaking Vasily, as Ilya grabbed his collar with his other hand and lifted him clean off the ground.
“You know damned well what money. The money for the last two supplies, you piece of shit,” and he pressed the knife against his ear until it hurt.
“I've got your money, here,” and he fumbled in his pocket to remove a dirty creased wad of notes.
“It better all be there,” Ilya growled, “or you and your ear won't be going home together. Got it?”
“Y... y... yes, I got it,” the unfortunate Vasily answered, still shaking like a leaf.
“Stay there,” Ilya commanded as he scooped up the money and took it over to a coffee table which only had three legs, the fourth one having been replaced by a piece of rough wood from a pallet nailed onto it. He counted the money out, then went back to the door.
“Lucky for you it is all there, you stinking worthless piece of pond life.” He liked to treat his customers with the respect they deserved. “Now go and crawl back under whatever stone you came from. You're getting up my nose and lowering the tone of the neighbourhood, you little shit-face.”
“But I need more stuff.”
“You got the money to pay?”
“Well, yes, but not right now. I get you it when I come back, I promise you. My word is good.”
“Your word is useless to me. I'd rather deal with the empty trash cans outside.
They're of more use than you, you pathetic little smelly piece of garbage.”
88
“Ilya, Ilya, I beg you, man. Please, PLEASE, I need it NOW.”
In a swooping blur, Ilya brought the knife back up to Vasily's ear with lightning speed and he spoke two inches away from the threatened appendage, “OK, I am going to let you have your stuff today, because today I am feeling generous to the poor downtrodden members of our society like you.” Like a magician, he produced a package wrapped up in cling film with his other hand and punched it into Vasily's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Vasily bent double, gasping for breath while scrambling to get hold of the package and stuff it in his shabby coat pocket.
“Thank you,” he gasped, “thank you. You are a good man.”
Ilya took Vasily's face in his hand and squeezed it tight, contorting his mouth with the pressure and turning aside to avoid his foul breath. “Just you remember that, you little cockroach, and bring me the money next week. If you don't, the price will triple and I will hunt you down and have your kidneys for breakfast. Got it?”
“Got it,” Vasily answered, and Ilya thrust his face away from the door while slamming it shut. Ilya returned to his seat, and his meal which was now cold.
Then there was a knock at the door again, this time three short knocks, three long knocks, and three short knocks – the international Morse Code SOS signal. He knew it was his brother Andrei. That was their code. All of the bolts and locks undone again, and Andrei walked in, saying, “I just saw your friend outside. He been here?”
“Yeah, but he's no friend of mine, just another steady punter. But I've got him in my pocket. He'd rob a transplant store of all its kidneys if I asked him to.” Ilya had a fascination with kidneys, and loved to construct surreal scenes involving them. Just then his mobile phone rang.
“Hello. Who's this?” He never gave away who he was.
“Ilya, is that you?” said a female voice.
“It might be, it might not. Who's asking?”
“Tamara.”
“Tamara? TAMARA? REALLY? Hey, babe, is it really you?”
“Yes Ilya, it's me. How are you both? Are you still in business?”
“What business is that then?”
“You know, the commodity business.”
“Hah! You were always a laugh Tamara! Yes we are. Very much so. Business is good and growing. Where are you?”
“Never mind that just now, I want to keep this call short. Can you take some gear I have here?”
“What gear and where is 'here'?”
“Heroin. A lot. Finest uncut undiluted quality. Need to unload it quick. No questions. I'm in the UK. You still got your London contact?”
“Yes, Mr X is still very active. You want me to contact him? I've got your number up on the phone.”
“Yes please Ilya, as soon as possible. How will this work?”
“He will contact you. He will give you a preliminary offer for the goods subject to satisfactory inspection. He will come in person to meet you at a secluded pre-arranged 89
rendezvous, inspect the goods and hand over the money to you if all is well. It will be clean money, trust me. That is why we use him. Transaction complete, very smooth, very professional.”
Andrei butted in, “Let me speak to her,” and Ilya passed him the phone.
“Hey sis, great to hear from you. How are you baby? Hey, I heard you got married. You happy?”
“Hello Andrei. Yes, I am married to a lovely guy and we are very happy thank you.”
“Is he a good guy? Must be if he gets loads of stuff. You want us to come over and teach him a few tricks?”
“No, Andrei, that won't be necessary. The stuff isn't his. It's a long story. You leave him alone.”
“I was just saying to Ilya we need a vacation. Hey, maybe we come over to you for a little visit? That'd be cool, eh? Easy to travel abroad from here now.”
“Andrei, I'd love to see you both, but not now. I will do something about it soon, I promise.”
“Yeah, good girl! You were always my little babe.”
“If you say so. Now, please put Ilya back on. Bye.”
“Hi babe, better go now. I've got an international call to make to London. Can't spend all day chatting to you! Bye babe. You'll get a call from Mr X.”
“Bye Ilya. Great to talk to you both. Take care.”
There was a loud hammering on the door. Ilya shouted, “Who's there?”
“It's me,” a little plaintive voice said.”
A grin spread from ear to ear on Ilya's face. He seemed to delight in unbolting the door and opening it to a weedy-looking character of indeterminate age. The visitor was just about to speak, but as soon as his mouth opened Ilya gave him a severe and well-aimed kick right in the groin. “YOU DEFAULTED,” he shouted down at him as he bent double.
The visitor gasped between laboured breaths, “I've got your money here.”
“You're two weeks late, you cretin. You seem to have forgotten how we do business here, so this is a little free lesson for you. Consider yourself lucky I don't charge you for it. I seem to have missed your kidneys – better luck next time, eh?”
And life went on in Russia.
90
Ronnie felt a combination of relieved, controlled, stitched up, happy, frustrated and no longer in control. A woman... no, a Russian woman no less, had taken control of his life. He had one avenue of control still left open. He decided to walk down to Tammy's. When he reached the village and was walking along the Main Street, a little boy who was with his mother looked up at him, pointed and shouted, “Look Mummy, it's helicopter man!” Caught off guard, Ronnie smiled, ruffled the little boy's hair and walked on. Is nothing sacred in this bloody village, he thought. When he reached the truck stop, his heart sank when he went in. Sitting at a window seat were Carla and Paul, looking the soul of dejection. They looked up at him and beckoned him over.
Paul was first to speak. “We want to see you about our money. We think it is taking too long to get it and we want it now. We can't live like this. We're broke. We have nothing. You promised us. We think you are being unfair after all we've done trusting you like we did.”
Before Ronnie could answer, Carla joined in. “You are ripping us off. That's what it looks like now. I think you are making up excuses to string us along. We've done everything you asked. Everything. And now we've reached the end of our patience.
Where is our money?”
Ronnie couldn't resist. “At the bottom of the North Sea.”
There was total silence, then Carla started to laugh nervously. “What? You're joking, of course.”
“I wish I was, love. I'm not, unfortunately. It went down with that helicopter. You must have heard about it. That's all everyone can talk about here.”
“What was it doing on the helicopter,” Paul asked.
“The oil company executive Ritchie Allman was going to clean it up through his company and then pay it into my Jamaican account, after his commission. Now he has died in the crash.”
“This is just ridiculous,” said Carla in exasperation. “What can we do now? You owe us.”
Ronnie kept looking over towards the counter to see if he could catch sight of Tammy. That's all he was here for as far as he was concerned. He had no time for these couple of moaners. They didn't know the half of what he was going through for them. He decided to lay his cards on the table to shut them up. “There's good news and there's bad news,” he said. “What do you want first?”
“The bad news,” replied Paul.
“You've already had it. It gets better from now on. I have managed to salvage something out of all this, but I'm not at liberty to give you details. Let's just say you will be coming into a considerable sum of money. Probably more than you've ever thought you would ever own, apart from that fifty million of course. I am bending over backwards to salvage something out of all this specially for you both, you know I am, so please let me get on with it and don't make life difficult.”
91
Carla and Paul looked at each other, then Carla said, “OK Ronnie, perhaps we're being a bit hasty. We're sorry. We do appreciate everything you're doing for us. We won't hassle you any more.”
“Thank you,” said Ronnie, “and I appreciate that. Now, can we get on with our Sunday please?”
“Would you like to join us?” Carla asked.
“Er, no thanks. I have to see someone,” and he got up and walked over to the counter.
Tammy's face lit up like Blackpool Illuminations. “Hello there,” she said in her sexiest voice.
A little flustered, Ronnie replied, “Hi. How are you?”
“All the better for seeing you,” she responded saucily.
“Me too,” Ronnie said, surprising himself with his comment.
“In that case, come through here,” and she beckoned him through to the kitchen.
As soon as the kitchen door closed cutting them off from the restaurant, she put her arms around him. He didn't resist, and did likewise pulling them both close together.
Their lips were on an inevitable collision course, but instead of a motorway pile-up, they came together in a very slow, sensual, sexual way which said more than a thousand words ever could.
“Mmm... you taste good,” Ronnie ventured. “And smell good too.”
“You're not too bad yourself,” Tammy replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“I just can't put my finger on it, that taste, that smell – lovely.”
“It's woman, Ronnie. All woman!”
“I guess you're right. It is, and you are.”
At that point, somebody shouted through, “Shop! Is anybody serving here?”
Tammy put Ronnie down and went through the door to the counter. “Yes love,” she asked, “what can I get you?”
Ronnie slipped back out of the kitchen and sat at a vacant table close to the counter. After serving the customer, Tammy came over to him and sat down opposite him. “Now, what about this date?” she asked.
“I thought you'd never ask,” said Ronnie cheekily.
“Me ask? You're the man. You're supposed to do all the hunting. I'm an old-fashioned girl about things like that.”
“Could have fooled me,” replied Ronnie, at which she swiped him over the head with the wet dish cloth she always carried to wipe tables.
After spending much longer than he had intended to at Tammy's Truck Stop, Ronnie wandered back to Mains of Clarty as the sun was going down, satisfied in the thought that on Tuesday night he would have the lovely Tammy all to himself. Now his problem was figuring out where you take a girl for a date in Strathdee!
Back in the caravan, he sat with Carla and Paul until bedtime, and things seemed to be much more settled between them all. He still didn't trust them enough to tell them 92
about the drugs deal, so he had to bank on them trusting him enough to come up with the money. There are some things they didn't need to know. That's it from now on, he thought, everything on a 'need to know' basis.
93
They turned on the battered little transistor radio with a missing knob for the volume, and Dave Buckingham's voice came over the air as he was just starting his late evening show. Ironically, he was sitting in the Portakabin which was used for Strathdee FM's studio just a stone's throw away from the caravan and within shouting distance, but as his voice entered the microphone, it travelled down the cable, through the Behringer mixer, from the amplifier into the microwave transmitter where it exited in watts as RF
power to the microwave dish on the roof where it burst out as a radio signal on an extremely high frequency directed with pinpoint accuracy at the microwave receiving dish mounted a little way up on the massive transmitter mast on top of the adjoining hill.
From there, it travelled down the cable into the transmitter building where it entered the racked equipment including the Optimod sound processor and the actual FM transmitter itself, where it received the shock of its life when it was grabbed by the scruff of the neck, converted into radio frequency power, amplified and shoved unceremoniously up the huge lattice transmitter mast with five hundred watts of pure RF power to fly out of the array of yagi antennae strategically positioned as close to the top of the mast as Frank could get them, covering the entire county and city of Aberdeen, and sometimes beyond.
Dave was part owner of the radio station along with Frank. It had been given to Frank by Ronnie as part of an acquisition he didn't want. All he wanted was the plant contractor's business which he took off the unfortunate owner's hands twenty years previously when the poor chap was going through a particularly messy divorce. Enter Ronnie Marsh, sweep up the debris, all to his own advantage. Sorted!
When Dave had found his long-lost girlfriend Katharina last year and brought her to Strathdee along with his nineteen year-old daughter who he didn't even know he had, Frank gifted him half of the station on the announcement of their intended marriage.
As an added bonus, he also gave them both the derelict wood-man's cottage next to the caravan which he fully renovated at his own expense. He looked on Dave as the son he never had, and now with Katharina and her daughter Anna, the family he never had.
Everything in the garden was rosy until now, when Ronnie Marsh had burst his way into their idyllic lives with his own version of mayhem. They were treading on thin ice entering this unknown underground world of drug barons and dealers – something they would never have chosen to do under normal circumstances. But nothing was normal where Ronnie Marsh was concerned.
“And there we had Fleetwood Mac with Sara. Love that track. Now don't forget, for all your plant hire and small tool needs, come to Benson's Plant Hire at Mains of Clarty. We've got the lot, from the latest giant Komatsu excavators and bulldozers, earth movers, road planers and tarmac layers, to any small power tool or hand tool you can imagine, all at very reasonable rates. Contact us for our long term discounts, or bulk hire benefits now, at Benson’s Plant Hire, Mains of Clarty, Strathdee. Telephone Strathdee 450700. Up next, it's the Steve Miller Band – Fly Like an Eagle, on Strathdee FM.”
94
Dave closed the microphone fader as he turned to Fiona Campbell who had been presenting the previous three hours. “Great show as usual, Fi,” he complimented her, and received her usual beautiful dimpled smile. Fiona used to do the nine to twelve spot but had requested a change to early evening as she kept falling asleep at her work as a dental receptionist in the village dental practice. Dave now did the late spot instead, and quite often they did a prolonged changeover with lots of banter which the listeners loved. Just as he was about to have a bit of innocent fun with Fiona, his beautiful Austrian wife Katharina came in the studio door.
“Hello love,” Dave chirped as she bent over to kiss him. “Coming to join me?”
“Yes, if I may.”
Katharina had been in the habit of joining him on his late night show when they both worked on Frank's offshore radio station Mermaid Radio twenty years ago, and the listeners loved the way they bounced off each other on air. Now, history was repeating itself and the listeners of Aberdeenshire loved it. Dave slipped his headphones off as Kat started to speak to him. “What's happening with Frank and Ronnie and these French kids?” she asked.
“I don't know, love, he hasn't told me anything. All I know is that there was some kind of trouble with the authorities at Ronnie's villa in Spain and he's come here until it dies down. The French couple are friends of his.”
“It's all very strange, if you ask me. I tried to speak to the girl, but she can't speak German and I'm sure she pretended that she couldn't speak English. There's something going on that they're not telling us. I'm sure of it.”
“Well never mind, my love, it's none of our business, so come here to your man and keep him happy for the next two hours. Do you remember how to do that?”
“Mmm... I think so!”
Fiona blushed and said, “I'll leave you two love birds to it,” and left the studio.
Kat sat on Dave's lap with her arm round his neck, and soon they were back in the offshore radio days getting up to no good in between the records. “Don't leave on our part,” Katharina said, “stay a while and have some fun.”
“My boyfriend David is waiting outside for me.”
“Go and tell him to come in. Let's have a party!”
Fiona went out to David White's car and waved him in. David was no stranger to the studio as he was the late morning deejay. As he came in, Katharina gave him a big kiss and said, “Come on in, my favourite morning deejay,” and David went a deep shade of red.
“Fiona defended her man with, “Hands off – he's all mine!”
Fly Like an Eagle was just ending and Dave opened the microphone fader. “And that's still one of my favourite tracks. Superb! It's Strathdee FM with Dave Buckingham on this fine Sunday evening, and I've been joined by two lovely ladies, and to even things up, another lovely guy,” and amid the chuckles, he continued, “so, lets have a party!”
And he started the next track, Poco, and 'Call it Love'.
Katharina reached over to her shopping bag she had brought in with her and extracted a bottle of red wine from it. She asked Fiona to get four plastic cups down from a shelf, and she poured a generous helping of wine in each of them. She raised her cup 95
The other three replied with, “Cheers,” and they unsuccessfully clinked cups.
“Doesn't work with plastic,” Dave laughed.
“But the wine tastes just as good,” confirmed Katharina.
They sat listening to the song and enjoying the wine, and Fiona said, “Hey, that's a cool track. I've never heard it before. Where did you find that?”
“Em, it's been around for nineteen years. It was a top forty single from their album Legacy. You don't know what you missed not being around then. Great time!”
“OK, granddad,” Fiona mocked, and at that moment Frank and Tamara walked in to the studio.
“Hey, I hear there's a party going on,” said Frank.
“I hope so,” added Tamara, 'cos I've brought some magic juice,” and she withdrew a bottle of vodka from a bag.
Dave took off his headphones and turned around, “Hey, I'm not sure this is allowed under the terms of our licence. Ofcom would take a dim view of it.”
Tamara was first to reply, “Well, I won't tell them if you won't. Now let's party!”
As the Poco track finished, Dave went straight into the next track, 'Boston Tea Party' by The Sensational Alex Harvey Band. They all started singing along, changing the lyrics to 'Are you going to the party? Are you going to the Boston Wine Party?'
Katharina was draped over Dave's knee, Tamara had her arms around Frank's neck, David was in a corner with Fiona, and the wine and vodka was flowing. And then Ronnie walked in.
“Hi folks. I hear on the radio there's a party going on here. Can I gatecrash?”
Tamara looked down her nose at him. “No, this is a private party. Go away.”
“Frank whispered in her ear, “Give him a break, love. He's going through a hard time.”
“Yes, but it's his hard time, not ours.”
“Darling, darling, love, have you forgotten about your sports car, your mink coat and your horse?”
“Yes, my love, you're right. I forgot. I will be nicer to him,” and she went over to Ronnie and said, “I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I've had a rough day and I just need to unwind. Where are your friends? Go and get them.” Then she poured him a vodka.
Ronnie nipped up to the caravan and got Carla and Paul, then they all returned to the studio. By now, it was time for the next record and Dave put his fingers to his lips as he opened the mike.
“The Sensational Alex Harvey Band and Boston Wine Party..... oops! Sorry. Make that Boston Tea Party. No, of course we're not drinking here. Nobody is under the affluence of incohol... yet! Time to move on quickly. Here's one from Grand Funk Railroad, We're an American Band, on Strathdee FM.”
This was a real rocker and it got them all dancing around the studio. Katharina was dancing around with the wine bottle, topping up everyone's cups, and Tamara was also dancing around topping up cups with vodka. Red wine mixed with vodka – lethal!
Next up was another rocker – David Lee Roth and 'Just Like Paradise'. Fiona made her excuses and said they were going to have to leave. David had only half a glass 96
of wine so he knew he'd be OK to drive. They said goodbye, the rest of them had another top up, and the party continued.
Alcohol loosens tongues, tongues make words, and before he knew it, Ronnie was detailing all of his troubles in Spain to everyone. Dave was so engrossed he went straight into the next record, the Tom Robinson Band and 'War Baby'.
“Wow! That's amazing,” he said to Ronnie. “It's kind of like a James Bond movie, helicopters and all. Exciting and amazing.”
“That's the kind of excitement I can do without, believe me.”
They were all silent for a while taking it all in, then Dave played the next track which was Heart, and 'Who Will You Run To?'
Ronnie was feeling flushed from the alcohol and buoyant from all the attention his story gave him, and he blurted out, “And on top of everything else a drug deal gone wrong but a good one coming up.”
Frank and Tamara glowered at him with a look of daggers. Frank grabbed him by the collar and said, “Out. NOW!” And he propelled him out the door, his feet not touching the ground. Then he came back in and broke the silence, addressing the dropped jaws with, “He's drunk. He always does this, making up fantasies when he's had a few.
Ignore him. Was that mike closed?”
Dave said, “Yes.”
“Good,” said Frank, “you never heard any of that. Now, let's wind things up.”
The party spirit had evaporated, so they all drifted out of the door to the house, caravan, and bed.
97
The following day dragged by for Tammy and she thought it was never going to end. She had one awkward customer after another – the soup's cold; the coffee's cold; this knife is dirty; this table's sticky; the music's too loud; the music's too quiet; I didn't order this; where is the dessert I ordered?; it's too warm in here; it's too cold in here. The whole repertoire was trotted out throughout the day. Also she may not have been on top of the job, because all she could think of was her date with Ronnie the following night. That kind of thing can easily distract a girl. Finally the day was over. She heaved a sigh of relief, locked up and flopped into bed.
The big day dawned. Date day. But she still had a whole day's work to get through. However, she applied herself with renewed vigour. Nothing was going to go wrong or put her off her stride today.
At precisely 10:43, old Mrs McPherson and her friend Mrs Grant came into the cafe. It never failed to amaze Tammy how they managed to arrive at the precise time every Tuesday, right to the exact minute. Tammy greeted them and showed them to their usual table. “Tea and fruit scones for two, ladies?” she asked. She knew off by heart what they always had, but she always asked.
“Yes dear,” said Mrs McPherson. “I'm eighty-nine years old you know,” she added.
“Yes, I know. You told me three months ago when it was your birthday, and every week since.”
“Oh, did I dear? I forget sometimes you know. Can we have tea and fruit scones for two please dear?”
“Yes ladies, coming right up.”
She prepared their order and brought it over to them. They were discussing something when she reached their table, and she caught part of the conversation. It intrigued her, so she pretended to wipe the two adjoining tables so she could eavesdrop.
“They say he's involved with these awful drug barons you know. It's a terrible thing, and in a wee place like this too.”
Tammy wondered who the unfortunate local was that had fallen victim to the local gossips.
Mrs McPherson continued. “And he's got one of those heliocopter things. He keeps it at the gliding club they say.”
Then Mrs Grant took over. “Yes dear, I've heard he meets Russian boats in the firth and brings terrible drugs into Pennan, then his henchmen take them to the dealers.”
“Oh, that's terrible dear! But why else would anyone want one of these heliocopters here?
98
That all makes sense. He'll not get away with it for long. He'll be caught soon, you mark my words. They say he's staying at that Benson's Plant Hire place, and you know Molly, that Benson man's wifie is a Russian.”
“Oh Bella, that's awful! I'll bet you she's involved in it too. Or probably, spying. I can feel it in my water. Terrible people, Bella. Terrible people. But don't say anything to anyone. After all, we're not common village gossips. Now, have you finished the doily you were crocheting?”
“Oh yes dear, and I've started another one. It should be finished in time for the church fair.”
Tammy's heart sank. This was terrible. There could only be one person they were talking about – her date tonight. She felt down for the rest of the day and wondered what she was going to do. I'll need to tell him, she thought. It can't be right. These women are evil.
It was a fine evening. Tammy had handed over the reins to her daughter Mona and she retired to her trailer to get ready for the first date she'd had in..... it was so long ago she couldn't remember. She dressed smart, sexy, but not over the top, and she was sparing with the make-up. She still had a natural beauty without it. A little bit of her favourite perfume here and there... job done!
Ronnie arrived at the truck stop five minutes early. He had booked Mike's Taxis in plenty of time as he already knew their reputation for working to a clock and calendar totally unrelated to reality. He told the taxi to wait as he entered the truck stop. Tammy greeted him with a peck on the cheek, saying, “My oh my, a taxi eh? I don't often get to ride in taxis. Where are we going?”
“Um, the Station Hotel for a drink. There's nowhere else around here, except a super truck stop I know of. The manageress is a real peach!”
“Oh, you big tease! Let's get going.”
It only took five minutes to reach the hotel, and they went in the front door.
Ronnie peered into the back bar as that seemed to be where all the action was. It was full of men in a wide variety of work clothes ranging from lumberjacks to farmers to mechanics to Archie Murdoch. There he was as usual propping up the end of the bar where the till was located so he could always be close to the barmaid. Two guys were playing pool, another two were playing darts, someone was fiddling with the jukebox, and a retired shepherd and his dog were sitting right in front of the open log fire, nursing a pint of beer.
Ronnie turned to Tammy and said, “Let's go into the lounge bar.”
It was totally empty, and they even had to switch the lights on. They chose a seat beside a radiator in the rather bleak room, and Ronnie ordered their drinks through a hatch leading to the bar. After he brought them to the table and sat down, they looked at each other awkwardly and sat in silence, then Tammy said, “What do you want to talk 99
“You.”
“Me? There's not much to say about me. I'm just me. What you see is what you get. I'd rather talk about you.”
“Pretty much the same. Not much to say about me either.”
“Oh, I think there is.”
“How come?”
“You're an international man of mystery. You've got a helicopter, a house in a foreign country, and from what I hear, you're involved in stuff.”
Alarm bells started ringing in Ronnie's head. How could she know that? He only mentioned it half joking on Sunday night when he was drunk. Who had been talking?
“What stuff?”
“Don't take this the wrong way. I'm only saying what I heard this morning. Two of my customers were talking about you and I heard them say you were involved in drugs. Is that true?”
“That's preposterous! Of course not. Where on earth did they get that idea from?
And who on earth were they?”
“Well, I must admit, they were two elderly ladies, regulars, one is eighty-five and the other is eighty-nine. And they are renowned as village gossips.”
“There you are then. Who do you want to believe, the village gossips or the horse's mouth itself? I know which one I'd choose.”
“Yes, you're right. But you've got to admit you have caused quite a stir coming here with your flying machine and the mystery that surrounds you. We're not used to that sort of thing. People add arms and legs to the rumours.”
“And rumours are all it is. I admit I'm in a bit of bother with the authorities in Spain and I'm under investigation. It's all to do with taxes and the non payment of them.
We disagree as to how much I owe them, and I'm not backing down. I'm here until it all blows over, if it ever does.”
“You mean you will be going back?”
“I don't know yet. I like it here, and I like the people. I like one of the people in particular. In fact, I like one of the people in particular very much. Very much indeed.”
“I wonder who that could be,” and Tammy put on a quizzical look.
“Well, keep on wondering and you might eventually figure it out. Would you like a meal? I didn't book, but they don't seem to be busy.”
“Yes, lovely. It's such a treat for me to be waited on and cooked for.”
Ronnie checked with the barmaid and they were directed through to a cold, deserted dining room. The barmaid turned on a big halogen heater, and soon they were enjoying Maisie Mullen's superb home cooking and each other's company.
Tammy thought better of pursuing the drugs rumour any further. She just didn't want anything to jeopardise an all too rare occurrence – a dinner date with a man.
Nobody's perfect, she thought. But that was an awful big 'nobody's perfect' to ignore.
Ronnie thought he had got away with it, so he started on his chat up techniques.
“Have you worked out yet who that person is?”
100
“The one that I like very much of course!”
“I'm working on it.”
“Well, let me help you out a bit,” and he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
She slipped off her reading glasses which she also needed for eating, let them hang by the cord round her neck, and then leaned towards Ronnie, giving him a passionate kiss on the lips.
“Got it right first time,” said Ronnie, smiling warmly, and their legs touched under the table. “Where do you want to go after this?”
“Oh, let me think. We could go clubbing in the city, or we could go on a pub crawl in the city, or we could go for a riverside walk in the dark, or... we could go back to my place for coffee.”
Ronnie was quick to answer, “I like the sound of the last one best.”
“So do I.”
After settling up for the meal, Ronnie phoned the taxi number and immediately the driver called through the dining room door. “Wow, that was quick,” said Ronnie.
“I was sitting waiting outside,” Mike the taxi owner said. “It's quiet tonight, no other jobs.”
In the back of the taxi, Tammy let Ronnie put his arm around her, and Ronnie let Tammy put her hand on his thigh. It awakened feelings in him, and when they arrived at the truck stop coffee was the last thing he was thinking of. Once through the door of Tammy's trailer, he took her fully in his arms and pulled her close to him.
“Uh uh, wait till I take these off. Don't want them broken,” and she removed the glasses from around her neck. “I hate having to wear these things, but I'm so bad now that I can't see anything closer than the TV without them. I even need them for the TV
now as well. Old age doesn't come easy!
“So you can't see me then?” Ronnie asked.
“No, not clearly.”
“Well, maybe that's a blessing in disguise!”
She gave him a slap on the bottom and pulled him close, “Come here, you.”
“I'm here.”
“Come closer,” and she started to unbutton her blouse.
“How close?”
“This close,” she said huskily, displaying her beautiful breasts straining to get out of their harness while she discarded the blouse onto the floor.
Ronnie came as close as he could. He could smell that wonderful 'Tammy' smell and feel the warmth of her voluptuous body. She guided his hand up to her bra strap.
“May I?” he whispered.
“Oh yes. You may. You definitely may.”
He touched the bra fastener with both hands and in an instant had figured out how to undo it. Success! He peeled the bra from her shoulders and flung it onto the sofa. Then he held his hands out palms apart and said, “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”
Tammy felt a warm glow go right through her, and the stimulation resulted in 101
those beautiful breasts protruding their nipples outwards. She felt circumstances starting to overtake her, and she started to undo Ronnie's belt. While she was busy with this, Ronnie gently caressed her nipples, taking care not to squash them. This started to drive Tammy crazy, and she ripped his belt off and wrenched his zip down. She felt what was bursting to get out of his pants and took it in her hand, rubbing it in a rhythm. Ronnie was the first to speak. “Oh my God, you are some woman!”
“It takes some man to know one,” Tammy replied breathlessly. “Kiss me.”
Ronnie took her fully in his arms and kissed her passionately. She responded, exciting him even further. Their tongues explored each other as they frantically turned this way and that, left and right, as if they couldn't get enough of each other.
They definitely couldn't get enough of each other, and they stumbled through to the bedroom while still kissing to get more of each other. Clothes were ripped off randomly and discarded in a trail on the floor along the way in between kisses and fondles until all that was left were birthday suits. They collapsed onto the bed and before they knew it, two had become one.
Their relief was enormous as they came together. This was right. This was how it was meant to be. No words were needed; actions were enough. They stayed like that for an eternity, neither wanting it to end. The ultimate feeling engulfed them both together, and they both laughed in unadulterated ecstasy, flopping back with huge sighs onto their backs.
“Oh, that was really something,” Tammy laughed.
“That was something else,” Ronnie added.
“I'm SO glad I can still do it.” said Tammy gleefully.
“So am I, but it takes a very special lady to do that for me.”
“I love being a special lady!”
“And I love my special lady!” Oops! Ronnie didn't mean to say the 'L' word. Ah, what the heck!
“Really? You do?”
“I certainly do tonight. Let's see if it continues, eh?”
“OK, you're on. We're so good together.”
“We certainly are, and you are just wonderful. My kind of woman in every way.
Beautiful, sexy, funny, cuddly..... help! I'm running out of words!”
They lay in silence for five minutes, fondling each other, then Tammy said,
“Would you like that coffee now?”
“You know what I'd really like?”
“What?”
“A nice cup of tea!”
“Me too. And freshly baked scones?”
“Ooh yes! Especially with raspberry jam if you've got it.”
“OK, you lie there my darling and I'll get it ready.”
Ronnie lay there on his back thinking, how can I keep on hiding the truth from this wonderful woman? But I've got to.
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After their tea and scones, Tammy and Ronnie sat and talked for an hour, fell asleep on the sofa, then after another hour they both went to bed and slept sound until dawn, like an old married couple. Nice, Ronnie thought. I hope this lasts, thought Tammy.
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6 am. Tamara's phone rang. And rang. And rang.
“What the.....” she yawned, turning over in bed. She reached out half asleep and thumped the alarm clock. When that didn't stop it, she groped for the phone, missed it, and knocked it onto the floor.
“Sheet!” she exclaimed.
“What?” moaned Frank. “What's going on?”
“It's the phone. Who is it at this God-forsaken hour?”
“Well, I suggest you answer it and find out.”
She leaned over almost falling out of the bed, and retrieved the phone from the floor. There was no caller's number shown, so she pressed 'answer' and said “Hello.”
“Hello. Who am I speaking to please?” the phone said.
Tamara thought she didn't need this kind of thing at this kind of hour. “Who is asking,” she snapped.
“I asked first,” the mystery caller said. “Tell me your name.”
She decided it was easier to give in. “This is Tamara speaking. Now, who are you?”
“This is Mr X. I think you are expecting to hear from me?”
She was immediately wide awake and sat up straight in the bed. Frank also pulled himself up, now fully awake.
“Ah yes, Mr X. I am expecting you, but why so early?”
“This is not early for me. This is late. I conduct my business through the night.
Now, are you ready to talk? I don't have a lot of time.”
“Yes, yes, please do. Are you prepared to help us?”
“Us? Who is 'us'? I am dealing with one person and one person only – you. You have been referred to me by your brother and he says you are OK to deal with. I do not deal with anyone else. Understood?”
“Yes, I understand. But I am not the owner of the...” and then he spoke over her.
“I do not wish to know any more information. You have the goods and I have the money. It's as simple as that. Now, I don't want to prolong this conversation so you will listen, OK?”
“OK.”
“Your brother has given me the details and quantity. I have a figure for you subject to the goods being as described when I see them. The figure is four hundred thousand pounds sterling. That is a final offer and there is no negotiation. Do you accept?”
By now, Frank was up close to her with his ear against the phone. She looked at him and he nodded.
“Yes, I accept.”
“Good. Now here's what we do. I will drive up to Aberdeen this weekend. The transaction will take place on Saturday at midnight at a secluded spot of your choice. You 104
will give me the exact location before we end this call as there will be no further communications. You will be alone, and you will have the goods with you. I will have the cash with me in clean notes. I will be in a black BMW 7 Series and you will park next to me and bring the goods to my car. I will take the goods into the car for inspection and you will return to your car and wait. Once I have confirmed that they are as described, I will phone you. You will then come over to my car and I will pass you the money through the open window. You will immediately return to your car and drive off. I will leave after you. Do you understand all that?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“No good. Do you understand? YES OR NO.”
Frank nodded vigorously, “Yes, yes I do,” Tamara confirmed.
“Good. Now what car will you be driving, and what is its registration number and colour?”
“It's a Range Rover Vogue, gunmetal metallic, and the number is BEN 80N.
There are two black screws on the '8' to make it look like an 'S'. What is your registration?”
“I don't give that information out. It's a black BMW 7 Series with tinted windows, and just to be sure it's me, there will be a Mickey Mouse rubber ball with ears on the top of the radio aerial. Now, is that all clear?”
“Yes. Perfectly. Thank you for all your trouble. I'll look forward to Saturday.”
“OK. Good. Now, please give me the exact location for the transfer, then go into your call register on your phone and delete this call.”
“OK, I will do. Thank you. Just a minute, I have it written down here..... yes, here we are. It is in Kirkhill Forest on the A96, a few miles out of Aberdeen. The postcode is AB21 OTU and the grid reference is NJ 854 114. Follow the A96 Inverness road out past the airport and when you see the sign for Kirkhill Forest, turn right into the forest road.
After the road curves round to the left you will see the car park. I will be in there.”
“Good. Now, you will not let me down because, as they say, we know where you live. Goodbye.” And he disconnected the call before she could respond.
“Frank, I'm scared. I don't want to do this. I hate drugs and anything to do with them. They screw up people's lives. I don't want that money, and I don't think you do either. It's dirty money. I had to get away from all that in Russia.”
“But what about your BMW sports car? Your mink? Your horse?”
“I don't want them Frank. I've got my Volvo. All I want is you and what we've got. I wish Ronnie had never come here. He is bad news. Frank, what am I going to do?”
And she started to cry.
“Look love, I think I have the answer.”
“Really?”
“We are going to hand the whole thing over to Ronnie. He can go and do the transfer, not you. Then we will tell him to leave. This is our house, not his. And he can take his French friends with him.”
“But what about when Mr X phones? He won't like it.”
105
“He won't have a choice. He either deals with Ronnie or not at all.”
“But he will already have travelled from London to Aberdeen. He might get nasty with us springing something like that on him at the last minute. He said he knows where I live.”
“I don't think so. He doesn't know where you live. He's going to get his goods and Ronnie's going to get his money – all of his money. There's Ronnie's incentive right away.”
“OK, we'll get him down to the house for breakfast and tell him now.”
They both got up and got dressed. Frank went out into the crisp fresh morning air and walked up to the caravan. It was morning's like these that made living in Strathdee all worthwhile. And it was people like Ronnie who didn't. Ronnie opened his eyes, blinked, yawned, then turned over to go back to sleep. The knocking on the caravan door changed his plans. A second knock, and he shouted, “OK, OK, I'm coming.” He opened the door in his jockey shorts, scratching his fat belly.
“Oh, it's you. What's the urgency? Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes,” Frank answered. “I'm well aware of the time. Get your clothes on and come with me now. You're invited to breakfast.”
“Eh? Have you gone mad? What's going on?”
“Just get dressed. I'll wait.”
Frank sat on the old fallen tree beside the caravan and waited. The dawn chorus was well under way, and the wood pigeons were cooing in the trees. There was that incredible smell of green freshness in the air, a smell that only seemed to appear between dawn and eight o'clock, then the mundane smells of daytime would take over, like car and tractor exhausts, pungent farmyard smells and the wood smoke from cottage chimneys.
Ronnie came out, jolting Frank out of his daydream, and they both walked down to the house in silence. They went through to the large farmhouse kitchen and Frank sat down at the table, leaving Ronnie to choose his own seat.
“What's all this about, Frank mate?”
“We got a phone call this morning at six.”
“Uh huh?”
“It was Mr X, the drug dealer from London. He wants to do the transaction on Saturday night at midnight.”
“Oh that's great Frank. Thanks for setting this up Tamara, I owe you. You see me after you've gone and done the transfer and you'll get your share.”
“No Ronnie. She won't. She wants out. She won't be going anywhere, you will.”
“Me? On my own? Oh no, I'm not doing that unless you come with me Frank, like last time.”
“That's not going to happen Ronnie. We're both out as from now. You're on your own.”
“You bastard Frank. After all I've done for you. You shitty bastard. You can't do this. You won't get a penny.”
“I don't want a penny Ronnie. Neither does Tamara. We don't want anything to do 106
with your dirty drugs. They're poison. You're poison. You're a bum bringing all this to our little community here. We don't want it. We don't want you. We'd like you to leave after you've transacted your dirty business. Go back to your luxury villa and face the music.
After all, you'll have the money to pay people off or bribe them which is probably more like it. Get your deed done on Saturday then clear off.”
“OK, so that's how it is, is it? Well, can I ask you one last small favour?”
“You can try.”
“Can I use your car on Saturday night?”
“Nope. No way.”
“Tamara's Volvo?”
“No. None of our cars are getting involved in this. You can hire one from the garage.”
“You're a hard man, Frank. And you, Tamara, I thought you liked the finer things in life. You disappoint me.”
“No Ronnie, you you disappoint me. I know you got me into the UK, and I know I wouldn't have met Frank without you and I'm grateful, but this is a whole different ball game. This is a serious crime. We could be banged up for a long time if this went wrong, and also I don't want young folks' ruined lives on my conscience. And finally I don't want luxuries bought with dirty money. End of story.”
Ronnie knew when he was beaten, so he sat in silence while Tamara filled him in with the details for Saturday night, and then he wandered back up to the caravan with his tail between his legs.
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The alarm went off in the penthouse apartment in Belgravia, London. Mr X
opened one eye and looked over to the window where the sun was trying to burst in through the vertical blinds. He looked at the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet, reached out and picked it up, then switched the alarm off. Putting it back, he eased himself out of bed.
It looked like a gorgeous day and he was going to Scotland. Well into Scotland, all the way to Aberdeen. He slipped into his dressing gown, turned the automatic coffee machine on, threw a slice of bread into the toaster and went out of the French windows onto the balcony. It was going to be a long drive so he was going to do it in two days with an overnight stop halfway. A flight would have been so much better, but not with the cargo he was going to transport.
After his simple breakfast he dressed, then entered the combination into his safe, opened it and removed the rather large sum of cash which was in an A3 jiffy bag. He put it into his executive briefcase and spun the combination locks. After a quick splash of water on his face, teeth cleaned, and grabbing a rucksack containing his toiletries and a change of underwear, he left the flat and entered the plush carpeted elevator to go down to the underground car park.
Out of the elevator and there she was, his pride and joy, a one-year-old BMW 750
in gleaming black with dark privacy glass. He opened the remote central locking with the key fob and there was a bleep with flashing indicator lights welcoming him. He always loved this moment when he fired up the big V8 engine and felt the power under his feet.
He eased the big beast out of the parking bay and up the ramp to the exit. A quick press on his remote control and the exterior door raised up letting the sunshine in and the beast free. He was on his way!
In Strathdee, Ronnie was on his way to the local garage, on foot. He walked into the shop and Marlene the sales girl was sitting at the console filing her nails.
“Pump number?” she asked without looking up.
“I didn't take fuel,” Ronnie answered, confused.
“Oops! Silly me... tee-hee!” Marlene chuckled. “What can I do for you love?”
“I'd like to hire a car.”
“No can do.”
“What? You do car hire, don't you?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Well?”
“Well, sir, they're all booked.”
“How many do you have?”
“Three. Well four actually, but the clutch is gone on the Fiesta out the back. It 108
“God almighty! Is there anywhere else?”
“No. Not unless you go into the city or the airport. Sorry,” and she continued with her important filing job. Well, they did say 'filing' was part of the job when she applied for it!
Dejectedly, Ronnie slunk out of the garage and wandered aimlessly along the Main Street to the village. Then he had an idea. A man on a mission, he made a beeline for Tammy's Truck Stop. As he entered, her face lit up with a welcoming smile. “Take a seat. Want a coffee?”
“Yes please. And can I have a word?”
“I'll join you in a minute.”
Ronnie sat down and watched Tammy serve a customer. He was really smitten.
He felt rotten about what he was going to do, but needs must.
Tammy brought two coffees over to his table and sat down opposite him. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure. You want another date?”
“I'd love to, but that's not why I'm here. I've got a big favour to ask you.”
“Yes love, anything. Ask away.”
“Can I borrow your car tomorrow night?”
“Ooh... where are you going to take me?”
“Umm... that's er... not the idea. I've got an urgent message to do and Frank's using his car.”
“Hey, I could come with you and we could go on somewhere.”
“Err... no, that wouldn't be possible.”
“You're not wanting my car to go and see another woman are you?” and she looked deadly serious.
“No, no, no, nothing like that. Don't be silly. It's business. After this, I'll be able to buy a car. Maybe even a new one for you.”
“Well, my little Fiat Punto is getting on. She's fourteen years old now and showing her age. She doesn't lock, the exhaust's blowing, the heater doesn't work, there's a growl coming from a front wheel and she leaks like a sieve. Wear your wellie boots!
Oh, and don't wind down the driver's window or it falls off the runners and goes inside the door and you can't get it back up. You still want to borrow it?”
“I really need to if that's all right.”
“Well, of course you can if you're going to buy me a new one!”
Mr X was well on his way. His big BMW 750 was eating up the miles on the A1
northwards. He was aiming to reach Edinburgh for his overnight stop, and he had booked into a Travelodge at Dreghorn on the Edinburgh City By-pass. This particular Travelodge had a Little Chef restaurant adjacent to it, so that was his evening meal sorted.
He had stopped in a lay-by on a single carriageway section of the A1 in Northumberland to refresh himself with a cup of coffee and a muffin from a tea bar at the roadside, and then to relieve himself with a pee in the hedge behind the tea bar. Job done, he was on his way again, the big V8 engine growling as it fed its awesome power 109
through the smooth automatic gearbox to the fat rear tyres. He was always very careful to abide by the law, and never ever broke the speed limit or defied any of the Highway Code rules. Always the perfect law abiding citizen!
As he reached the last leg of his journey from Dunbar in East Lothian, the view was spectacular with the sun starting to go down over the landscape of Edinburgh and the Pentland Hills. The smooth dual carriageway road was quiet and the driving was good.
The big car just purred along like a contented cat. He smiled as he thought about the huge profit he was going to make from this deal. He might even afford a Lear Jet! Life was good.
Back in Strathdee, Frank had been away for the whole day pricing several jobs.
Ronnie wanted to keep out of Tamara's way so he kicked his heels around the village all day keeping a low profile. By evening, he decided to head to Tammy's Truck Stop for a meal and then see what else was on offer.
Being a Friday, there was live entertainment on, and as he approached the cafe he saw a band unloading their gear from an old rusty Transit van. He slipped in as one of them held the door open, and Tammy's in-built radar was working with its usual efficiency as she spotted him. She waved him over to the one-person table next to the counter which she always used for her break cup of coffee, or to struggle with her accounts. As he sat down, she asked, “Meal?”
“Yes, please.”
“Menu?”
“No thanks. Just give me a big fry-up – the works!”
“Coming up.”
The place was buzzing. This was a really good business, Ronnie thought, pity she was forced to sell out to Frank. Then while he was waiting for his food, his mind worked overtime as to how he could maybe buy it back from Frank with the drug money and set both him and Tammy up for life. He could do a lot worse.
In no time, he was presented with a full Scottish all-day breakfast on the table, including toast and tea. “Enjoy,” Tammy said with her dimpled smile. “I'll join you later for a drink if I get a chance, and then maybe coffee in my trailer? Yes? Yes, yes, yes?”
she taunted, tickling him under his chin.
All Ronnie could do was reply with a big cheesy grin, and then tuck in to his huge plateful.
The big road sign on the A1 said Edinburgh City Bypass at the next exit. Mr X
put on his left indicator and slowed down as he took the slip road down to a roundabout.
He kept to the left, and when it was clear, roared off down the bypass. After negotiating the infamous Sheriffhall Roundabout after a few miles, he was on his last stretch to his overnight stay. The views were spectacular on this stretch of the road with the Pentland Hills rising up to his immediate left, a patchwork of different shades of green, purple and 110
beige, with what looked like an artificial ski slope complete with ski lift at the start of the hills.
Nice place for a holiday, he thought. One day. But this was no holiday. This was business. Serious business. Then he spotted the sign for services, showing a picture of a petrol pump, a bed, knife and fork and toilets. He took the slip road off the bypass up to a junction and turned right. The road crossed over the bypass up to a roundabout. On his left was a large Shell petrol station, and the Travelodge could be seen nestling behind it on a slightly higher level. He drove up to it and parked in an end bay, always paranoid about where he left his pride and joy in car parks. Sometimes he would choose a space well away from the other cars with about twenty empty spaces surrounding it. When he came back, invariably there would be another car parked about a foot from his and he would have to squeeze through the narrow gap to get in his door. What was all that about? It always infuriated him.
He grabbed his ruck sack, went into the boot for the briefcase containing the money, and wandered into the reception area of the Travelodge. The girl behind the desk greeted him with a smile. “Yes sir?”
“I have a reservation for tonight.”
“Name please?”
“Mr Smith. John Smith.”
“Thank you Mr Smith. You are in room seventeen, on the left just along the corridor through the door. I see you have already paid online so everything is settled.
Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” and he proceeded to his room. Leaving his rucksack there, he went back out and walked over to the Little Chef. Inside it was deserted except for one family in a corner seat. He made sure the briefcase was secure between his legs, and when the waitress came over, he ordered a cheese omelette.
Ronnie had finished his meal and was now onto a pint of beer and a whisky chaser. The music was good, the atmosphere terrific, and his hostess flitting about attending to her customers and every now and then giving his ear a little tickle when she passed just made the evening.
Before long, it was closing time at eleven o'clock and the band packed up.
Tammy told Ronnie to leave it when he offered to help clear the tables. “I'll do all that in the morning. We've got better things to do,” and she locked up and led him to the trailer out the back.
Once inside, she teased him with, “Coffee, tea or me?”
“Umm... difficult decision, but I'll have the coffee please,” and just as she was about to swipe him over the head he added, “and you for afters!”
“You say all the right things – eventually!”
It was another successful intimate evening and Ronnie stayed the night.
111
Travelodges are comfortable, cheap, anonymous and convenient, especially for people in Mr X's line of business. He had a good night's sleep. He always had a good night's sleep. He had no conscience regarding his chosen profession, and all he was ever focused on was the huge profit and the fine living it brought him. The human psyche is strange when it comes down to adaptability. High expectations and then achievement of them creates a platform which leaves only one direction to go – upwards. Mr X was well on his way up. He was good at covering his tracks and making sure that he could never be linked to any of his activities.
He finished up in his room, left the Travelodge and wandered over to the Little Chef for breakfast. He settled for the Olympic Breakfast which was good value, especially as he didn't know when he was going to eat again. Two cups of coffee later he was ready to go.
He fired up the big BMW, settled himself in, and pulled out of the car park straight into the Shell petrol station for a full tank of fuel. This was a thirsty beast, but money was no object for Mr X. He treated it to the dearer Super Unleaded as it performed a whole lot better on it, or so it felt.
Out onto the A720 Edinburgh City Bypass and follow the signs for the Forth Road Bridge. The traffic was quiet as it was Saturday morning – no rush hour.
Before long, the two towers of the bridge came into view and he suddenly remembered the tolls. He fumbled about in his trouser pocket for change and found a pound coin and a fifty pence piece. That should cover it, he thought. As he approached the bridge there were no queues, nobody stopping, and..... no toll booths. It just so happened that the tolls were abolished in February that year, and the booths had been removed. Amazing! He thought, and he let the big car find its own speed within the limit on the bridge. This was a spectacular crossing in the morning sun, and he had to keep looking to his right to see the world famous rail bridge which he had only ever seen in pictures.
Once over the road bridge, it was a straight run up the M90 motorway to Perth, then the good, fast A90 dual carriageway along the shores of the River Tay to Dundee.
Finally, the A90 continued from Dundee straight up the east coast to his destination, Aberdeen.
He decided to do this part of the journey in one go, and then check out the rendezvous location well in advance of the meeting time. Everything about Mr X was meticulous. His car was always immaculate inside and out. He was always superbly dressed. He didn't smoke, he didn't drink, and he NEVER indulged in any of the merchandise he peddled. His body was a temple. And soon he would be meeting Tamara, or so he thought.
Ronnie had taken Tammy's little car that morning and filled it up with petrol at the local garage in plenty of time for his trip that night. As it looked like it hadn't been washed for years and there was no way of telling what colour it was, he decided to take it to the yard and give it a shampoo. There certainly was a growling noise coming from the 112
nearside front wheel which got louder when he turned right. Definitely a wheel bearing, he thought. Also, the clutch was right at the end of its travel and was well on its way out.
Ronnie hoped this piece of junk would get him to Aberdeen. It would be touch and go.
When he drove into the farmyard, Frank came out of the house and laughed,
“Hey, look at you. You're really coming up in the world!”
“Shut up. At least she was good enough to lend me it, which is more than you did.”
“Ah yes, but does she know what it's getting used for? Eh?”
“No, and she better never find out, do you hear?”
“OK, OK, I'm only joking. I'll leave you to it.”
Ronnie got a bucket and filled it with water and a splash of car shampoo from the barn. As he started to wash the car, a chunk of the front wing around the rusted wheel arch came away in his hand. He went to put it back into place, and it broke off completely.
Change of plan. Just a quick run over now with the sponge, and a rinse off with the hose. It wasn't long before he noticed a torrent of water flowing down the inside of the driver's door window like the Niagara Falls. He stopped hosing immediately and opened the door. The driver's velour seat was soaking wet, and there was also a waterfall coming down from behind the dashboard onto the floor. The heater air inlets were leaking.
“Oh no,” he shouted, “she's right, it leaks. Badly!” The washing operation came to a sudden end.
113
Eleven o'clock. Pitch black. Total silence except for the occasional hoot of an owl. Zero hour was approaching, fast. Ronnie went out to the little car and climbed in.
He immediately turned his nose up at the damp, dank musty smell inside it. He felt his bum gradually getting sodden from the saturated driver's seat, the cold moisture relentlessly creeping through his trousers.
“Oh no,” he groaned,” that's all I need.” He looked behind to the rear seat and caught sight of a Co-op plastic carrier bag on the floor. Quickly grabbing it, he eased his bottom off the seat and slid the bag under it for some protection. “Right, time to go,” he said to himself, and turned the ignition key.
Click, click.
Again.
Click, click.
“Shit,” he shouted out loud, and jumped out of the car. He struggled to find the bonnet release catch under the dashboard, and after a few pulls the catch broke off in his hand. After a bit of jiggling about holding the broken mounting in one hand and pulling the cable with the other, the bonnet eventually popped open. A quick look under the bonnet revealed a loose battery terminal. With no tools to hand, and no time to get any, Ronnie picked up a brick from a pile at the side of the yard and hammered the terminal with it until it was tight. He slammed the bonnet shut and threw the brick into the car in case he needed it again. Another turn of the key and...
Vroom! Success.
He now had forty-five minutes to get to Kirkhill Forest so he screamed the little car out of the farmyard, scattering stones and gravel as he left. On to the main road, he got it up to fifty miles per hour with a struggle, the wheel bearing howling, the steering pulling to the left and the driver's window constantly dropping down and having to be wound up again. Also there was only one headlight working on main beam. I'll be lucky if I get there, he thought. And even luckier if I get back.
Mr X was cruising up North Anderson Drive in Aberdeen in supreme comfort and luxury. He had checked out Kirkhill Forest late afternoon when it was full of families with children and dogs, so now he knew exactly where he was going. He had gone back to the city and killed the time in a little cafe on the Esplanade, and then just sat in the car until about half past eleven.
Ronnie was now three miles away from Kirkhill Forest and he was almost suffocating with the fumes which were coming into the car from the leaking exhaust.
Forgetting about Tammy's warning, he tried to get the driver's window to open and now it wouldn't budge, even though it had been constantly dropping down before. Also he noticed that the oil pressure warning light kept coming on when the engine revs dropped 114
below two thousand - not a good sign.
The big BMW took the right turn off the A96 into Kirkhill Forest, and Mr X
cruised at slightly more than walking pace up the forest road to the public car park. He entered the empty car park, did a full circuit of it, and parked close to the exit ready for a quick getaway. He turned the engine off and sat in silence. All that could be heard was the tick, tick, ticking sound of hot metal cooling down. He was ready for action.
Ronnie reached the forest entrance and drove up the forest road slowly, the orange oil pressure warning light brightly illuminating the inside of the car. He had much more important things to worry about now.
Mr X saw the trees light up with the headlights of an approaching vehicle. He was ready for the Range Rover. What he saw wasn't a Range Rover. It was some small crappy family piece of junk with one headlamp. He watched as it circled the car park and came over to where he was parked. This is all I need, he thought, some kids in their clapped-out banger. He was beginning to get somewhat anxious when the car's engine stopped and the driver's door opened. He saw a middle-aged man step out and look over to him.
His hand was on the ignition key ready to fire up the BMW and roar off when the man raised an arm and waved at him. Now becoming curious, he waited to see what would happen.
“Are you Mr X?” Ronnie shouted.
Mr X lowered his electric window a few inches and listened.
“Hello,” Ronnie shouted again, “are you Mr X?”
Mr X shouted back through the small gap in his window, “Who the hell are you?”
“I'm Ronnie Marsh. I have a delivery for you in the car.”
“I don't know you. I am waiting for a woman.”
“Ah, you mean Tamara. She couldn't come, so I'm here instead. I've got the goods, and I hope you've got the money.”
“What are you saying? You want me to give you money? I don't deal with a piece of shit like you. The deal is with a woman. I made the deal with her. She should be here.”
“Well she can't come. It's unavoidable. Look, I've got the merchandise here in the car. I'll bring it over to you and you can inspect it. It's all as described. OK?”
“I'm NOT happy with this. This wasn't the deal. She has reneged on the deal. The terms have changed. Go back to her and tell her to be here herself tomorrow night at midnight. That's it, now clear off,” and he started up the big V8 engine and turned the powerful halogen headlights on.
They blinded Ronnie who was standing in front of the car. He panicked and raised his arms up shouting, “No, no, please listen to me. It's all OK. I can do the same deal now. Please. Don't go. Tamara doesn't want to come. She's scared. The goods are mine anyway, so you're dealing with the owner. Please.”
Mr X turned the engine off, but left the headlights on so he could watch Ronnie.
“Bring it here,” he shouted.
Ronnie went to the Fiat and couldn't get the driver's door to open so he went round to the passenger's door, opened it and reached behind for the case from the back 115
seat. Then he carried it slowly to the BMW, shaking. Mr X lowered his window right down and said, “Bring it here. Put it through the window,” and as Ronnie did so, he took hold of the case and guided it through. Then he said, “Now you stand there and don't move while I check this.”
Ronnie stood for what seemed like an eternity and watched Mr X move about inside the car, checking the quantity and quality of the goods. Suddenly, without warning, the car window went down with a whine. Ronnie went to approach the car.
“STOP! Don't move! You stay right there!”
“Is it all OK?” Ronnie asked.
“The merchandise is OK, but the deal isn't. She has changed the terms of the transfer and I don't like that. That's not how I do business. So now I am changing my terms. The original deal is off. I'm taking the goods, but the payment is reduced. Here...”
and he threw a bundle of notes out of the window onto the ground. When they hit the ground they started to flutter about.
“That should cover your petrol,” Mr X shouted with a snarl, and he started up the big BMW and roared off, throwing gravel up into Ronnie's face and blowing the notes around. Stunned by this turn of events, Ronnie was dazed for a moment, and then he started to gather up the notes shouting, “Hey, come back,” to no avail. Mr X was well down the forest exit road by now. Ronnie hastily stuffed the notes into his jacket pocket and jumped into the Fiat. After three or four attempts, he got it started and screamed it out of the car park with the clutch slipping in pursuit of Mr X.
When he got out onto the main road it was deserted, except for a set of tail lights about half a mile towards the city. That's him, he thought, the thieving bastard! He floored the accelerator as he crunched up through the gears and tried to catch up with the BMW. He took the next roundabout almost on two wheels, the worn wheel bearing being stressed to the limit and now making serious growling noises. By now, the oil warning light was staying on all the time and there was a loud knocking noise coming from the engine. As he reached the next roundabout the little car started to lose power and it let out an excruciating noise from the engine like raw metal grinding against raw metal, then the engine seized up. Ronnie was quick enough to slip the clutch, and he enabled it to coast into the Shell petrol station immediately after the roundabout. He let it drift to the kerbside opposite the pumps and tried to get out, but the driver's door wouldn't open.
Cursing the poor little car, he climbed over the passenger's seat, tramping on a teddy bear which had fallen from the dashboard onto the floor with the jolt when the engine seized, and he struggled out amid a mass of arms and legs all over the place.
The guy at the payment window had been watching all of this and was ready for Ronnie when he approached. “Having a bit of bother?” he asked when Ronnie was within earshot.
“Yeah, the damned thing's seized up. No oil pressure. The engine won't even turn over now. Can I leave it here while I phone a friend?”
“Nope. You can't leave it here. You'll need to push it out onto the road.”
“Aw come on, there's no parking allowed on the road. It's just a little car and I'll get it removed tomorrow. Promise.”
“OK then. Put it over there, in the bay next to my Toyota pick-up and lock it up. I 116
can't come out and help you 'cos I'm not allowed to leave the shop at night.”
“OK, thanks. You're a pal,” and Ronnie returned to the car. Still unable to get the driver's door open, he gave it a kick and it opened. He struggled to push the car across the forecourt while steering it with the door open. Puffing and panting, he couldn't move it any further when a police car pulled onto the forecourt. The officers got out and walked over to him and his heart stopped.
“Need a hand, mate?” the first officer asked cheerily.
“If you don't mind. The engine's seized up.”
They all pushed the sorry little Fiat over to the vacant staff parking bay and then the officer said, “If you're leaving that here overnight remember to lock it up or it wont be here in the morning.”
Ronnie laughed, “Well, it doesn't lock, officer, and I really think it will be here in the morning. It's going nowhere, and I think you could say it's dead.”
“You need a lift into town?”
“No thanks. I'm going the other way. Someone will come for me once I phone them.”
“OK, good luck!”
Ronnie walked off the forecourt onto the pavement and dialled Frank's number.
He was bound to be still up. He would want to know how he got on. Surely. Definitely.
Ring ring, ring ring, ring ring, ring ring, ring ring, ring ring..... one minute later..... ring ring, “Hello?”
“Frank, where the hell were you?”
“In bed mate. You bloody well woke me and Tamara up. What's the big idea?”
“Aw mate, I'm sorry. I thought you'd still be up to hear how I got on. Truth is, I'm in a bit of a jam. Can you come and pick me up?”
“Now, why am I not surprised? You attract disaster like a magnet Ronnie. What the hell's happened? Where are you?”
“I'll tell you what happened when you get here. I'm at the Shell petrol station at Bucksburn, just down from Kirkhill Forest. The car's a goner mate.”
“You've not smashed Tammy's little car, have you?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. The car's broken down. They're letting me leave it at the garage till tomorrow. How long will you be?”
“Well, by the time I get up and get dressed, say forty minutes?”
“OK mate. I'll see you then. And Frank, I really appreciate it.”
“Yes, yes, yes. I've heard it all before. Stay where you are. Bye.”
Ronnie walked back onto the forecourt and up to the payment hatch. “Any chance I can come in to wait for my lift?” he asked.
“Sorry pal, the door's locked at night. I'm not allowed to let anybody in.”
“Well, how about a coffee then? Can you do that?”
“Yep. Two forty-five please.”
Ronnie paid the man, got his coffee, and went over to sit in the car to wait for his 117
118
“Don't tell me, that was Ronnie?” Tamara asked, yawning.
“OK, I won't tell you.”
“I want that man out of our lives. I mean it. He's poison and he taints everything he touches. You will tell him to go. I don't want him around, do you hear me? He'll destroy everything we've worked for. Pick him up, bring him back, then tell him he's out of here tomorrow. And what's he done to poor Tammy's car? Huh? You know she can't afford to get it fixed. He's poison, POISON!”
“Yes dear. I know dear. I will dear. But right now I've got to go and get him. I won't be long dear.”
“Make sure you're not.”
Frank drove onto the forecourt of Shell Propeller Service Station at half past one.
Ronnie was almost asleep in Tammy's car, but he sat up with a start when he saw the Range Rover pull up next to him. He wearily climbed over the passenger's seat to get out as the driver's door wouldn't open once again.
“Aw mate, how glad am I to see you?”
“What the hell happened?”
“Oh, let's go and I'll tell you on the way.”
He waved to the guy in the pay hatch as they pulled out onto the road. Once they were underway, Ronnie told Frank the whole story.
“And I counted the money. The thieving bastard left me with five grand and made off. And it's not as if I can go to the police about it and report him. Also I've knackered Tammy's car trying to chase him, but to be honest, it was a heap to start with so it didn't take much to finish it off.”
“Wow! You are definitely going to be out of favour with the lovely Tammy. I wouldn't like to be in your shoes, bad boy!”
“I know, I know. I'm going to take her to the village garage tomorrow and buy her a new car. I promised her.”
“Well, that'll probably get you off the hook. But what about the other two, Carla and Paul?”
“Oh, they're getting nothing. Zero. Zilch. After what they've put me through they can whistle for it. They're young, fit, and got their whole lives ahead of them. In fact, I've got a little plan hatching in my head for them.”
Frank gasped, “Oh no, spare us, please. No more hair-brained schemes.”
“It's a great plan. Nothing can go wrong.”
“Don't tell me any more, mate. I've got something to tell you though.”
“Oh yes?”
“Tamara wants you out. Out of the caravan, out of our lives. Gone. For good.”
119
“What? After all I've done for you both! You've got a short memory, both of you.
If it wasn't for me, you both wouldn't be where you are today. You've got a lovely wife, she's got a lovely... well, a husband, and you both have a lucrative business and a radio station to play with. God almighty man, what else do you want?”
“Just a peaceful life, mate. And you've got my nightclub in Holland now, so it's tit for tat. OK?”
“OK. Point taken and digested,” and they were silent for the rest of the way home.
Sunday dawned with a beautiful morning – sunshine, birdsong, and a very glum, dejected Ronnie. He put off the inevitable until ten thirty, then made his way down to Tammy's Truck Stop. The cafe had its usual welcoming appearance, nestling in the pine trees. Tentatively, he opened the door and sidled in silently. He closed the door without a sound, and jumped when a shrill voice cried out, “Hi love. Want a breakfast?”
“Em... yes, that would be lovely.”
“Good. The Sunday papers are there, help yourself while I get it ready and then I'll join you.”
Ronnie started to look at one paper, and then another, but he couldn't get interested in any of the superficial celebrity news on the front pages. Who do they think they are, subjecting us all to this guff, he thought. They ought to get a life! This is real life.
After twenty minutes, Tammy brought Ronnie's breakfast to the table, along with a bacon roll and coffee for herself. She gave him a little kiss and sat down opposite him.
“Have you put the car round the back?” she asked.
“Em... round the back?”
“Yes, beside the trailer.”
“Er... well... not exactly.”
“Aw, you've gone and left it up at the farm, haven't you, you naughty boy!”
“Um... something like that.”
“What do you mean 'something like that'? It's either there or it isn't. Isn't it?”
“It isn't.”
“It isn't? Then where the hell is it?”
“It's in Aberdeen.”
“Aberdeen? ABERDEEN? What's it doing there?”
“Not a lot. It, um... broke down.”
“Broke down? Is it in a garage for repair?”
“Well, it's in a garage, yes, but not for repair. It's lying in Shell Propeller service station at Bucksburn. It's kind of... um... fatal. The engine seized up.”
“Oh no, my poor little car. What have you done? How did you do that? I need that car. I'll never afford to get it repaired or buy another one,” and she started to cry.
Ronnie felt terrible. He got up, came round to her seat and put his arm around her.
“There, there, love. Don't worry. I actually think the car was ready to give up the ghost very soon anyway, it was just a matter of time. Remember I said I'd buy you 120
another one? Well that still stands. Let's go along to the garage today and see what you'd like. Can you get away?”
“You'd do that for me?”
“I'd do anything for you, my love.”
She turned her head up to his and they kissed. “You are the best,” she smiled. “I'll get Mona to take over for a couple of hours and we can go. Let me phone Alan Rennie at the garage now to make sure he'll be there.”
Tammy went up to the counter and grabbed the phone. She spoke for about ten minutes, and there seemed to be an awful lot of nonsense spoken before she even got around to the matter in hand. Then she came over to Ronnie's table.
“He's there now. I'll give Mona a shout and we can go now. Is that OK?”
“Yes, that's fine.”
They left the truck stop and walked arm-in-arm along the main road through the village to the garage at the other end. It took about forty-five minutes by the time Tammy stopped and greeted just about every person they met. After they passed, tongues started wagging about who this new man in her life was, and everyone seemed to know it was the 'helicopter man'.
They reached the garage and Tammy started to look at the four cars which were on the forecourt for sale. They were all priced at between four and five thousand pounds.
Ronnie gulped. He didn't intend blowing all of his five grand on a car for Tammy. While she was drooling over a Ford Focus at five pounds short of five grand, Ronnie pulled Alan aside. “A word in your ear, mate.”
“Yes?”
“Have you anything a bit cheaper? I'm buying her this and I can't stretch to this.”
“I've got a little six-year-old Fiesta round the back. It was one of our hire cars and we're selling it off now. It's only done ninety-six thousand miles and I'm putting a new clutch in it tomorrow. Would that do?”
“Sounds good. Price?”
“You can have it for two nine nine five. New clutch and a year's MOT.”
“Will you take her old Fiat as a trade in?”
“What? That old heap? You must be joking!”
“No, I'm not. It's lying in the Shell garage at Bucksburn with a seized engine. If you can pick it up today and give her fifty quid, we'll take the Fiesta. Deal?”
“OK. Since it's for Tammy, I'll do it,” and they shook hands.”
“Tammy, Tammy love, over here,” Ronnie shouted. I've just bought you a car.”
She came running over and her eyes lit up when she saw the little Fiesta. “Ooh, that's nice. And I love the sky blue colour.”
“OK,” said Alan, “I'll pick up your old car today. The wife's wanting to go into town to buy yet another pair of shoes, so we'll kill two birds with one stone. Don't bother with a deposit – your word's good enough. It'll be ready Wednesday afternoon. See you then?”
“That's great,” said Ronnie, and he handed Alan the keys to the old Fiat. Tammy was skipping along the pavement when they left the garage, “I've got a new car, I've got a 121
Ronnie looked serious. She looked up at him, “What's tripping your face?”
“You won't be singing when I tell you what I've got to tell you.”
“Oh no, what's wrong now?”
“I'm leaving.”
“Leaving? Since when?”
“Since Frank told me Tamara wants me out by tomorrow. I've nowhere to go. I can't go back to Spain yet, so I'll need to look about town for a grotty little flat somewhere. I don't have a choice.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Tammy said, “Yes you have.”
“Pardon?”
“You can stay with me. I'd love you to.” And she added, “And I'd love you.”
“Really? That would be fantastic. Just fantastic! You don't know how much that means to me.”
“It means a lot to me too. Will you? Say yes, please.”
“OK, yes, I will. Thank you.”
“Yippee!” Tammy shrieked. She jumped up, put her arms around his neck and kissed him until he was gasping for breath.
They both walked on air all the way back to the truck stop, and Ronnie spent the rest of the day there.
122
Carla and Paul returned from yet another walk around the area. They had climbed up to the top of the hill behind the caravan where the transmitter mast was located. They also explored Lover's Leap, a wide chasm across a deep ravine where the river raged wild below. In olden times, it was where clan chiefs tested the resolve of prospective suitors for their daughters. If you couldn't make it across Lover's Leap and fell into the gorge below, getting torn to shreds on the way down and eventually drowning in the raging torrent, then you weren't a suitable match for their daughter. It wasn't used for such purposes now, and was just a tourist attraction.
“We're being ripped off,” said Paul as they stumbled down the stony hill track.
“I think you're right,” agreed Carla. “Let's speak to him tonight. Give it to him straight. Plain speaking.”
After his eventful day, Ronnie returned to the caravan for a relaxing evening. As he opened the door, he was met with the stony stares of Paul and Carla.
“How goes it guys? Been anywhere interesting today? What? What's wrong?”
“We want a word with you,” said Carla.
“Oh, I'm tired. Can't it wait till tomorrow?”
“No it can't. We think you're ripping us off and we don't like it. We trusted you with our money and...”
“I beg your pardon – with WHOSE money?”
Carla was taken aback. “Well, with the money we found, and now you say it's gone but you had another deal on the go which we would get something from.”
“That's true. Very true, but that deal has gone belly-up. I've been ripped off myself. We've all been ripped off and nothing can be done about it.”
Paul sprung up and made a lunge at Ronnie's throat, “You... you...,” but he couldn't find a strong enough word. Then Carla jumped up and grabbed him, calming him down.
“That's not going to help, Paul. We all need to talk.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Ronnie, “we all need to talk. I was going to leave this until tomorrow, but I guess now is as good a time as ever to speak to you about it.”
“You've got some money for us?” Carla asked.
“Well, no, not exactly. But I do have a proposition for you. You will like this. In fact, I think you will love this.”
“We're listening. This had better be good.”
“It is good. How would you like a free holiday in Spain, all expenses paid?”
Carla and Paul looked at each other, then Carla turned to Ronnie. “A free holiday in Spain? When?”
123
“Well, not for a month or two. But it's better then 'cos it's not so hot.”
“OK, what's the catch? There's got to be a catch if you're involved.”
“No, no catch. Nothing like that. This is a once in a lifetime experience. You're lucky – you're both in the right place at the right time. I'll give you all the details tomorrow because it involves another two people as well. It wouldn't be fair to tell you first. Now, I'm off to bed for an early night. I'm moving out tomorrow.”
After he had gone, Carla poured two glasses of wine and they stepped outside into the still night air to contemplate what they just heard. They sat down on the old fallen tree and Carla said, “What do you think of that?”
“I don't know what to think,” answered Paul. “There's got to be a catch if Ronnie is involved. Everything he touches is dodgy. I think we need to watch ourselves.”
“But a free holiday... in Spain... all expenses paid? It sounds too good to be true.”
“That's because it probably is too good to be true.”
Ronnie slept soundly that night. Things were looking up. He had found a new home with the woman he was sure he loved, if only he knew what love actually was. He had never been short of beautiful women around him, either at his Spanish villa, the casino, or just on the beach. He seemed to exude this aura of wealth, even though most of it came from ill gotten gains, and that's what attracted the ladies of a certain type. He only regarded them as playthings, and arm candy to be seen with. But now, here he was with a homely, couthie, country Aberdeen lass who wouldn't win a Miss World contest, but who brought out strong feelings in him which he had never ever experienced before.
Surely this must be love? Also, he was the type of bloke who always had to have some sort of scheme on the go, whether it be legal, illegal, or bordering somewhere in between the two. It was usually the latter, with ventures into the second one, but this scheme he was hatching now was completely legal. Well... once he had completed all the required paperwork.
As he slept, he had a dream. What a dream! Was this really a dream? Wow! In the dream he strangely recognised that it actually was a dream, and he was worrying in the dream that he would have forgotten all about it when he woke up. He went to write it down, but as he was sleeping, he couldn't. Then he started thrashing about in the bed and tried to figure out a way of reminding himself when he woke up about the dream. Hell, this was turning into a nightmare! His arm flew over the bedside cabinet, swiped the alarm clock onto the floor and tipped the glass of water over which soaked his sleeve and splashed onto his face waking him up.
“Wah!” he shouted, then was silent in case he woke up the others. “I remember, I REMEMBER!”
He leapt out of bed, found a pen from his jacket pocket and wrote down the idea from the dream on the border of a newspaper. He sat there panting, his heart racing.
“Phew!” he uttered, and slid back into bed. This time he slept until nine o'clock.
124
Monday morning usually brings those Monday morning blues. Not with Ronnie it didn't. This was going to be one of the best Mondays in his life. He was moving in with the woman he loved, he was going to give a lovely young couple the holiday of a lifetime, and he was ready to start the most ambitious project of his life, thanks to a dream. Nothing could go wrong!
When he got up, the caravan was empty. He saw Carla and Paul sitting outside with their breakfast coffee in the early morning sun. He poured some cereal, filled a cup from the still hot coffee pot and went outside to join them.
Quick as a flash, Paul stood up and asked him, “What about this holiday? Are you going to tell us more?”
“And good morning to you too,” said Ronnie sarcastically. “As I already told you, there are others involved, so you will all hear together. Meet me at the farmhouse at one o'clock. I'm going to ask Frank to arrange lunch for us.”
After he finished his cereal and coffee, he wandered over to the wood-man's cottage where Dave Buckingham and Katharina lived. He knocked on the door and waited. Katharina answered, “Oh, hello.”
“Hello Katharina. Is your husband in?”
“No. He's just popped out down the village for an errand. Can I give him a message when he gets back?”
“Yes, but this involves you too. Could you both meet me down at the farmhouse for lunch at one o'clock? I have a very interesting proposition for you.”
“This sounds very intriguing. Yes, I'll tell him, and we'll be there.”
“Thank you.”
Ronnie's next port of call was to Frank and Tamara at the farmhouse.
“Oh, just the very person I really wanted to see... not!” said Frank.
“Can I come in?” asked Ronnie sheepishly.
“Yes. As long as you've left your hair-brained schemes behind.”
“Aw, don't be like that. Actually I've got a big favour to ask you. It's a pleasant favour – nothing untoward, I assure you.”
“Go on,” prompted Frank. “Let's hear it.”
“Well, it does involve you a little bit, but you'll like it. Can you put on a lunch for five guests today at one?”
“And the catch is?...”
Ronnie was quick to reply, “No, no catch. I would like to invite Carla, Paul, Dave, Katharina, and of course, myself. I have an interesting proposition to put to them.”
“Oh, here we go! It's the 'Ronnie Marsh school of coercing people into doing what you want'. Right?”
“No, not at all. They will be pleasantly surprised, and you will be pleasantly 125
“OK. Go on then. I'm a sucker, but I'll get Tamara to make some sandwiches.”
“And you will both join us as well.”
“I should hope so.”
“Thanks a lot, mate. I owe you one. See you later.”
Once lunch was over and his plans were revealed, he would pack up his scant belongings and proceed to Tammy's to divulge the second big scheme of the day. What a Monday! This was going to be his big day.
The village church clock struck one on its old cracked bell. The pips on the radio in Tamara's kitchen signalled one o'clock as she brought an assortment of sandwiches through to the cluttered lounge. On the battered coffee table she had to clear away several excavator parts manuals, a laptop, three half empty cups of cold coffee and a smelly old pipe left by Archie at seven o'clock that morning.
Outside, everyone arrived at the front door together. Ronnie tapped on the door at the same time Frank was opening it. “Expecting someone?” Ronnie asked cheerfully.
“Very funny! Come in.”
Frank ushered them into the lounge, “Take a seat folks. Sandwiches are there –
help yourselves. There's a choice of tea or coffee.”
Carla and Paul chose to sit on the only sofa which didn't have the stuffing bursting out of it. There was a loud 'boing', and they seemed to be swallowed up by it.
Dave and Katharina knew not to sit there from past experience. They chose the one with the horse hair stuffing bursting out of it. They could always brush it off their clothes afterwards.
Carla and Paul struggled to right themselves and Frank threw them two cushions.
“Here, you might need these.”
They took the cushions and sat on them, which almost brought them up to the level of everyone else.
“Now, what's this all about?” Frank asked, thinking that someone ought to take control.
Ronnie took over. “I'll tell you now. All will be revealed. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity. You're all very lucky. It's just a case of being in the right place at the right time, simple as that.”
“Get on with it,” Frank prompted, annoyed.
“Yes, yes, I'm coming to it,” Ronnie continued. “What I'm offering these fine people here is the holiday of a lifetime, free, no charge, all expenses paid. You can't get better than that, can you?”
“We're listening,” a few voices answered.
“Yes, um... well... it's like this. You may all know that I own a luxury villa in Spain, in the beautiful province of Girona?”
“Carry on.”
“Well, due to current unavoidable circumstances, I am unable to return to it. In 126
fact, it's looking like I'm never going to be able to return to it again due to certain disagreements I'm having with the authorities there.
“Now, at the aforesaid villa, I have a number of possessions I would dearly love to retrieve and bring back here before I sell it. It is going to be sold very soon, before the bailiff, or el administrador as they call themselves, can slap a writ on the property. Things move very slowly there – it's always tomorrow. We have plenty of time to beat them to it.”
Frank got up and spoke. “I think we've heard enough, folks. This is another one of his cons. I can smell it a mile away.”
Then Ronnie stood up and raised his hands, “No, no, please hear me out. It's not what you think. There's nothing illegal involved. It's simple retrieval of my property.”
Frank slowly sat down. “OK, carry on.”
“All I want to get back are three cars, a Ferrari, a Porsche and a Jaguar. Also certain personal possessions from the house. You will all drive over there, have a fabulous holiday at the villa, enjoy the magnificent pool, lounge in the sun on the deck, totally unwind and chill out, and then drive the three cars back here.”
“How will we get over there?” Paul asked.
“Well, I'm hoping my dear friend and colleague, who I have helped out many times when he's needed me, will lend me his Range Rover for you to take. Frank?” And he looked straight at him with a smile.
“No. Absolutely not. No way. I knew there would be a catch. You've got a brass neck, you have. You're a chancer, Ronnie Marsh. Always have been.”
“Aw Frank, come on. We go back a long way. If it wasn't for me you wouldn't be where you are today. Have a heart!”
“But my Range Rover?”
“I hate to pull rank, my friend, but if I'm not mistaken the Range Rover is part of the business? The very business that I have a stake in?”
Frank knew when he was beaten. “Yes. Technically it is. But what am I to do for transport when it's away?”
“You have your wife's Volvo, don't you?”
Tamara looked daggers at him. Ronnie headed her off with, “And Tamara, my dear, can I jog your memory as to who gave you luxurious hospitality at my villa when you were an illegal immigrant from Russia, and also who introduced you to your future husband and arranged your wedding and your entry into the UK? Do you remember all that?”
Tamara knew when she was beaten. “Yes Ronnie. I remember, and I'm grateful.”
“Good. Now let's see you show some gratitude please.”
Dave Buckingham broke his silence and spoke up. “How are we going to get these cars into the UK? You can't just drive foreign cars straight into the country.”
Ronnie turned to him, “Yes you can. The cars will all be booked on the ferry from Santander to Portsmouth. It's just like Spanish tourists coming to the UK. Only difference is that after they are here I will pay all the fees, convert the headlamps and anything else that needs done, and re-register them with British plates. Easy-peasy. And you will load them up with all the possessions from the house that I list.”
127
Everyone was speechless. They weren't expecting this. “Oh, and another thing,”
Ronnie continued, “there were four horses there. My neighbour has kindly taken them and I think I'll just let him have them, so don't get involved with them when you're there.
I'll also be instructing my friendly bank manager in Madrid to initiate the sale of the villa, so there may be some action on that score while you're there. Nothing to worry about. Now, isn't that all a wonderful adventure holiday?”
“I have to admit I'm with you,” Dave said.
“Me too,” said Katharina, “we need a good vacation.”
“Carla? Paul?” Ronnie asked.
“You know the troubles we've just had on the continent. We wouldn't feel safe over there,” Paul replied.
“Nonsense. That was all in France. This is Spain – you'll be safe as houses.
Nothing can go wrong.”
“Can we think about it and let you know tomorrow?” Carla asked.
“Yes, no problem. But I'll need an answer tomorrow or I'll find someone else. I need to make the bookings.”
Paul looked at Carla and shrugged his shoulders. Carla looked back at him quizzically. Paul nodded his head almost imperceptibly. Then Carla said, “OK, we're in.”
“That's great,” said Ronnie, and he gave Carla a little squeeze. “I'll start making the arrangements tomorrow. I've got a lot on today.”
With not much more to say, they finished their lunch and drifted off to their own activities. Ronnie had a particular activity of his own in mind. It involved moving in with his new love, and implementing a project which came to him in a dream. He walked back up to the caravan with Paul and Carla, and then packed his scant belongings into his rucksack. With a spring in his step, he set off for Tammy's Truck Stop.
He was getting quite used to the half hour walk to there by now. He could do it in twenty minutes if he hurried, but not today. He was savouring this, his last walk there, and he took his time. He smiled and bid 'good afternoon' to everyone he met on the way.
Most of them seemed to know who he was by now, and they greeted him with a friendly smile in return.
When he reached the truck stop, he hesitated in the car park and took it all in. My new home, he thought. Yes! There was a huge empty logging truck with a trailer in the car park and an electric company Land Rover. As he went in the door, there was that wonderful smell of home baking again. He was going to love smelling that every day.
“Ronneeeee...” squealed Tammy when she turned round from the coffee machine.
“Hello, love.”
“Oh, it's just lovely to see you. Lovely, lovely, lovely! Come in, come in. Sit down. Coffee? Did I say it's lovely to see you?”
“Um... yes, I think you did. Lovely to see you too. And it's going to be even lovelier to see you every day from now on.”
“Aw, that's just lovely! Gimme your rucksack and I'll sling it behind here just now. I'll serve these guys their lunch and then join you for coffee.”
128
Ronnie sat at Tammy's regular table where she always took her break. He was glancing through a copy of The Sun which was lying there, and he caught the conversation between the logging truck driver and the two Hydro Board guys.
“Got one more run to do then that's it for the day,” the truck driver said.
“Lucky you,” replied one of the Hydro Board guys. We're bloody snookered.
Don't know when we're going to get finished. We've been told to stand by here and await further instructions.”
“Whassup? You on a big job?”
“Naw, it's a straight forward routine inspection – piece of piss! We were to meet the chopper down the road but Ken here got a call to say the manufacturers have grounded it until a check can be done on its gearbox. What a cock-up! The deadline for this inspection is today at nine PM. After that, we're into penalties. The gaffer's trying to hire another chopper but no luck so far.”
At that precise moment Ken's phone rang.
“Hi Phil. Any luck?... No?... Shit!... Well that's it, we're screwed. Can't be helped I guess, but we should have contingency plans in effect for these things... yeah... I know... this is going set us back with the schedule but what can we do?... OK... I'll hang on a bit longer. Good luck Phil. Bye.”
Ronnie's ears pricked up as soon as he heard the words 'chopper', 'screwed', contingency plans', and 'good luck'. He was going to be their good luck. He got up and casually strolled over to their table. “Hi guys.”
They weren't particularly interested in some nosey bystander starting a casual conversation, so he was met with a “Huh?”
“I couldn't help overhearing you're having problems getting a chopper.”
They both looked up at him like he was poking his nose in where it wasn't wanted, and they didn't have the time for it. “Uh-huh? And you're going to tell us you've got one parked outside?” And the hilarity of that thought started them both laughing.
Ronnie joined in, and when the frivolity subsided he said, “As a matter of fact, yes, I have!”
They were absolutely stunned into silence. Ken, who seemed to be in charge said,
“You are joking, of course.”
“Nope. Deadly serious. It's not actually just outside, but it's just down the road at the gliding club. Any use to you?”
Ken stood up. “If that's true, you just might be our life saver. Is it free today?”
“It's available today guys, but it ain't free! What are you paying?”
Ken's mate Rob spoke for the first time, “Ah, we've got a comedian as well as a life saver!”
“Shut it Rob. This guy could get us out of our jam. Can you fly power lines? Two hundred and fifty kilovolts?”
“I flew to a couple of oil rigs last week and that was tricky.”
“Well, that's good. This job's a lot easier than that – you don't have to land on them! All you've got to do is stay just above them the full length from Braemar right down to the Dee while we monitor them with the kit, do a visual and take some photographs. Can you do that?”
129
“Piece of cake,” Ronnie answered. He wasn't sure, but hell – who dares wins!
“Right, you're on. I'll just phone my boss.”
Ronnie went up to the counter and said to Tammy, “I've got to go, love, got a job on. Going to do a power line inspection with these guys, so it should take all afternoon.”
“Well, this looks like the start of an interesting life for me,” she said. “You take care now.”
“I will. I've got something really special to come back to,” and he gave her a big kiss.
“I'm a thing now, am I? Get out of here!”
As they walked out to the Land Rover, Ken was still speaking on the phone to his boss and it all seemed go. They drove off to the gliding club to start work.
130
“I don't like it. I don't like it at all,” Paul said to Carla as they sat in the caravan.
“We've already had a stitch-up and this just looks like another one. I don't trust that guy at all.”
“But, my darling, this could be good for us. Hey – this could be our honeymoon, before the wedding! And we'll have the other two with us. They seem to know a thing or two about life, and they seem keen to go.”
“Hmm... maybe you're right. We're not doing much here, so it would pass a couple of weeks at no cost to us. But I'll tell you, when we get back we're going to get our lives together and decide whether we're going back to France or staying here.”
“I want to stay here. I like it here and I'm terrified to go back. These people will hunt us down. Contact the boatyard and get them to sell your boat, then maybe we can buy a car.”
“OK, I'll do that. Any other requests while you're at it?”
“Well, you have been neglecting me lately.”
“Hmm... we can't have that, can we?”
“No, or I will have to complain to the authorities.”
“Which authority is that then?”
“The Ministry of Love,” she said, and jumped on top of him, smothering him with kisses.”
“Aaaaagh!”, Paul shouted, “Get off! No, don't get off! Come here,” and he wrapped his arms around her. “You are a wicked woman. My mother warned me about women like you!”
“And my mother warned me about men like you, so we're quits!”
“Come here and I'll give you quits. In fact, I'll give you more than quits.”
“Oh yeah? What's that then?”
“Love bumps. I'll give you love bumps,” and the two of them started off on a thirty minute love bump episode.
“I don't like it. I don't like it at all,” Tamara said to Frank as she fussed about the kitchen while he did some paperwork at the table. “How can you possibly trust that guy with Dave and Katharina, and your car?”
“True – I'll miss the car for a couple of weeks, but I trust Dave completely with it, and Dave and Katharina can look after themselves. They've proved it often enough. They deserve a little break.”
“Well maybe you are right. You usually always are. It gets infuriating sometimes!
And it's only for a couple of weeks.”
131
Dave and Katharina were sitting in their cosy little wood-man's cottage. Frank had given them it as a wedding present, and had paid for its full renovation from a derelict state. Katharina danced around the kitchen singing, “We're going on our holidays, we're going on our holidays, yippee!”
“Yes, it certainly seems like it, doesn't it? He seems a decent sort of chap that Ronnie, doesn't he? I've heard he's got a few dubious deals under his belt, but hey –
Frank seems to get on OK with him. And he's taken over Frank's Mermaid Club in Holland so that can't be bad. Remember when we were there?”
“Yeah. I'll never forget that place. I'd love to go back.”
“We will, one day. I promise. Now, where's this special meal the cook was supposed to be preparing?”
“Hah! You're only after me for my cooking. Have you forgotten I have other qualities too?”
“No, of course not. Forget the cooking – let's explore these other qualities!”
Tammy had cleared up after the lunch mob and was now sitting having a break with a well-earned cup of coffee. Just typical! She thought she had Ronnie for the day to help him settle in to his new abode and now he had taken off in his flying machine. As she sat and contemplated, the afternoon tea mob started to come in, old ladies by the handful. No rest for the wicked, she thought, and started to serve them. She planned to cook him a really good meal for when he got back. He would be hungry. And she would be hungry for him.
The views from the helicopter were fantastic. Balmoral Castle and Braemar from the air, surrounded by pine forests. The power lines were difficult to see against the terrain at first, but once Ronnie tuned in his brain to the thin silvery shreds sparkling in the sun, he could follow them. Ken advised Ronnie against any heroics. “Just keep this nice respectable distance from them, and we'll be OK. I'll give you the word if I want us to hover.”
By six o'clock they were finished, with nothing remarkable to report. They returned to the gliding club and landed. Ronnie tied the chopper down and locked it up, then they all climbed aboard the Land Rover for the short ride back to the truck stop.
“Do you do this sort of thing a lot?” Ken asked.
“I've been flying choppers for years, but this is my first power line flight, and last week was my first oil rig landing. Normally I just flew around my home area in Spain.”
“Spain, eh? Lovely! When are you going back?”
“Well, I'm not really. I'm staying here.”
“Hmm... interesting,” said Ken. “Would you be willing to do this again?”
“Sure, no problem. I'm at your service.”
“Hey, that's fantastic! Right, we'll put you on our books. Do you have a card?”
“Not yet. I've only been here a few weeks. But you can get me at the truck stop.
132
I'll be staying there from now on.”
“Excellent. That's great. Here's my card. Just submit your account to the address on it and your payment will come through at the end of the month, no problem. They're very efficient with that.”
They pulled up at the truck stop and Ronnie got out.
“Well, thanks for that Ronnie, you've saved the day. We'll be in touch.”
“Cheers guys, it's been a pleasure helping you out.”
Ronnie went into the truck stop and immediately caught Tammy's eye. She had been watching that front door for the past two hours. She left the counter, came over to him and gave him a kiss. “Welcome home, love.”
“Thanks. You know, it really feels like I've come home.”
“You have come home. Now, I've got something lined up for us. Mona is taking over here and we're going back to the trailer for a 'moving in dinner'. She'll bring it out to us. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great. And I'm starving.”
“I thought you'd be. Let's go.”
They walked out the kitchen back door straight to the trailer and Tammy said, “I hope you're not expecting me to carry you over the threshold!”
“I hope you're not expecting ME to carry YOU over the threshold!”
Tammy took his hand, “OK, no carrying of anyone over the threshold. Let's just walk in hand-in-hand.”
“Yes, let's just walk in hand-in-hand and sit down. I've got something to tell you.”
“Oh no, you're not going to go off again, are you? A flat in Aberdeen? Worse still, back to Spain? Say you're not. Please.”
“No, no, no. Nothing like that. I'm here to stay love. You're my main reason for that, don't forget it. But I've got big plans I want to tell you about.”
“I'm listening.”
“I had a dream last night.”
“Was I in it?”
“No. Hear me out. I dreamt I had a helicopter charter business and it was booming. Everyone wanted my services, and then the most uncanny thing happened. I walked in here today and got the chance of that line inspection job. It was fate, I'm sure of it.”
All Tammy could say was, “Wow!”
“So, my love, you have just witnessed the birth of North Eastern Helicopters, my new charter business. We do tours, courier work, oil rig deliveries, remote drops, emergency services assistance, oh – and power line inspections. How about that then...
tarrraaa!” and he made a grand gesture.
“Double wow! I'm gob-smacked! That is fantastic. Ooh, I'm excited!
“OK, but it's important to keep on an even keel, especially when you're flying a chopper! I've got it all worked out. It might take a while to build up, but we're off and running. I need to get flyers printed, if you pardon the pun! Then a bit of advertising. But the good thing is that I've got a very good steady income from my nightclub in Holland, the Mermaid Club. Also I'm selling my luxury villa in Spain, and I've arranged for the 133
other guys to bring my three cars back here from Spain. You'll like them.”
“Tammy's jaw kept dropping and dropping until it almost hit the floor. “Now wait a minute mister. You were jobless, homeless, dejected, nothing going for you and I felt so sorry for you, and now you tell me you've got two businesses, three cars and a luxury Spanish villa. That's a lot to take in. What are the cars? Probably Seats or something like that?”
“Well, actually there's a Ferrari, a Jaguar and a Porsche. Are you mad at me?”
“Mad at you? MAD AT YOU? I'm positively mad about you. Even more so now.
This is absolutely unbelievable! You are just... just... oh come here...” and she grabbed him and pulled him down onto the sofa. The rest is self-explanatory!
134
Meanwhile, Carla and Paul were enjoying their first night of having the caravan to themselves. No more Ronnie messing up the kitchen, leaving a mess everywhere, and best of all, no more deep snoring like a leaky steam engine next door.
“You know, we should stay up all night and enjoy the silence,” said Paul.
“I agree about staying up all night, but not to enjoy the silence!”
“Oh, very funny. Let's see if you find this funny,” and Paul grabbed Carla by the waist, then moved his hands up to tickle her under her arms.”
“Yeeeeek!” she screamed, “STOP IT!” She started to tickle him in his most vulnerable place, and with a yelp they both collapsed onto the bed in laughter. The rest is self-explanatory!
Tamara was sitting up in bed with a book about the Russian Revolution. Frank thought she was mad reading all that heavy stuff, but she loved anything about her homeland and felt it still gave her a link to her heritage. She also loved Scotland and Strathdee which was now her home. It was a radical change from the concrete jungle she grew up in, with dubious goings-on in multi-storey blocks of flats where your continued existence was constantly bombarded by visitations from dubious characters constantly high on some substance and always looking for more. Strathdee was her idea of heaven, and she never understood why a lot of people always moaned about one thing or another, and failing that, the weather. They need a holiday in the suburbs of Moscow, she thought, that would sort them out!
Frank came into the bedroom and got ready for bed. “Still reading that giant of a book?”
“Well, there's nothing better to do because my darling English husband prefers to play with his old friends, and his beautiful, abandoned sexy Russian wife has to occupy herself another way by reading the history of her beautiful homeland which she may very well return to if the aforesaid English husband continues to ignore her and prefers to spend time with men making the beautiful Russian wife think that he may be turning and becoming a man's man if he knows what she means, and if he is he can pack his bags now and go set up home with his boyfriend.” She smiled, but it was a wicked smile which perforated Frank's heart to the core.
“Let me tell you something,” Frank answered, “the day your darling English husband prefers men to his beautiful Russian wife there will be blue snow in hell! Need I say more?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Prove it!”
The rest is self-explanatory!
135
It was two fifteen in the morning at the bleak, spartan concrete apartment in the outskirts of Moscow. Some Russian MTV-type channel was playing on the TV in the corner of the living room, and a half-empty bottle of vodka was sitting on the scratched coffee table with an artificial leg. Beside it sat an empty glass. Ilya had a bad day.
Someone had let him down with a sale, and someone had ripped him off with a purchase.
He was in a bad mood. No, a vile mood. The kind of mood that can tip a volatile Russian like Ilya right off the Richter Scale. He wanted to speak to someone. He wanted to speak to his sister, Tamara. He dialled her number.
Frank and Tamara were in the middle of enjoying some Anglo-Russian relations of their own when Tamara's phone rang.
“Leave it,” said Frank. “It'll be a wrong number at this time in the morning.
Come on, snuggle up. Let your English knight in shining armour show you how we do things around here.”
“No, no, no. I have to answer it. It might be important, you never know.”
“Well, make it quick then, and come back to bed.”
Tamara got up and went over to the dressing table. She picked up her phone and saw the Russian number on it – her brother's number.
“Hello, Ilya?”
“Tamara, Tamara, my beautiful beautiful sister. How are you, my wonderful kotyonok? Are you all right?”
“Ilya, is something wrong? Why are you phoning at this time in the morning?”
“I don't bother with time, my myshka, I just want to speak to my darling sister.
How are you?”
“I'm fine, Ilya, just fine. How are you?”
“Oh, I've had a crap day today. So many assholes around here, and all ready to rip you off. I am ready to KILL someone, I tell you, I do NOT take their bad attitudes any longer. I am a business man and they are all dipshits. Now, tell me, how did your deal go with my London contact? You should be in the money now and all settled, yes?”
“Well, no Ilya. Not quite. In fact, not at all,” and then Tamara immediately bit her lip and a cold shiver ran up her spine as she immediately regretted saying it. Frank glowered at her and made frantic signs to her to shut up.
Ilya was shouting down the phone to her, “Tamara, are you there? Tamara, what went wrong. Did the deal not go through? It was all arranged. Tell me. TELL ME!”
“OK, Ilya, calm down, it's all right, we got something for the goods.”
“Something? What does that mean? Something? How much? Tell me.”
“I chickened out, Ilya, I was too scared to go to the meet. Someone else went in my place and Mr X went ballistic as he said I had broken the deal. He took the stuff and threw five thousand pounds at my friend and drove off. But it's OK Ilya, I don't want any more. I'm just glad to be rid of it.”
“Five thousand pounds? That's chicken shit Tamara, you were ripped off. The little thieving bastard! Dickhead! Asshole! I will kill him. KILL HIM!”
“Ilya, it's OK, don't worry, I'm happy with what we got.”
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Ilya was out of control by now. “Asshole! English thieving bastard! I am going to get him. I am going to come over there and kill him. But first I get your money from him. Then I pull his finger nails out one by one. Then I make toast out of what is left of his fingers. Then I plug his dick into the wall socket. And then, my darling sister, I cut his throat and watch his bloody thieving blood gurgle out onto his expensive carpet. And I do all this for you, my kotik. All for you. And then I come to visit you and give you your money and you give me a good holiday, yes? Good plan?”
Tamara was shaking. “No, there is no need, Ilya, it's all fine. No need for all that.”
“There is every need, my sweetness, EVERY need. It is a matter of honour.
Nobody, but NOBODY rips off Ilya or his family and gets away with it, you hear?
Nobody. This has got to be sorted, and I will sort it my way. Tomorrow I will visit the travel agency and book a flight to London. I will pay a surprise visit to Mr Thieving X
and then I will hire a car and drive up to visit my beautiful sister who I love to pieces and give her the money she is owed and that is final, you hear? Final!”
“I guess I can't change your mind. Ilya?”
“No. No way. The decision is made. That bastard will die. He deserves it, so I always give people what they deserve. I am a good, fair business man. Everybody knows that. Goodbye, sis, and see you soon.”
“Goodbye, Ilya.”
137
Ilya slammed the phone down. The broken coffee table shuddered, threatening to collapse as its artificial leg struggled to stay in place. He was mad, the whites of his eyes glowing with luminosity as his temper increased rapidly to boiling point. Then, after lighting up a cigarette, pouring himself a large measure of vodka and flopping back on the dirty sofa, he remembered he was going to see his beloved sister and he calmed down.
He spent the next three days getting organised for his trip. He booked an Aeroflot flight from Moscow to Heathrow and packed some of his designer clothes to give a good first impression to his sister's husband and friends. Although Ilya could be the ultimate terror on his home ground, he could also be quite a charmer when the occasion required it. He made up a schedule for his brother to run the 'business' in his absence, with some dire warnings attached should things go wrong. If that happened, it wouldn't be worth Andrei being there on his return. Andrei relished the thought of the power he would have over the 'clients' and he had a good teacher. He made sure that the two guns, various knives and pepper sprays were situated in their correct locations around the flat. Ilya had already packed a very small pepper spray in his luggage. He had a job planned for it. It was a risk, but it should be OK packed in his suitcase beside deodorant and other toiletries. He knew that at Sheremetyevo International Airport they weren't too hot on the baggage. They were more interested in intimidating you at Passport Control.
He had a very important job to do before he even considered visiting his sister, and the outcome of this job should make his visit even more worthwhile. If it all went to plan, it would make it very, very worthwhile. In fact, he felt like this was going to be the coup of the century. And the most important piece of preparation? An address he had filed away. An address in Belgravia, London. Mr X's address. But he previously knew him as Jason Beresford when he got talking to him in a Moscow hotel bar where he worked years ago. Ilya had a very nice little sideline operating in the bar with some of the regulars, and after a few drinks loosened his tongue, Jason had let slip that he was in the same line of business and offered any help needed. Addresses and phone numbers were exchanged and a friendship formed. A friendship that Ilya would never have compromised, so in his eyes Jason had crossed the line you should never even approach.
His life was on a countdown.
His flight was uneventful and touched down at Heathrow at 12:15 pm. No problems with baggage or Passport Control, so he made straight for the taxi rank.
Heathrow to Belgravia was only fifteen miles and would take only about thirty minutes traffic permitting. Ilya settled back in the Ford Mondeo and looked out at the scenery feeling very pleased with himself. He was in Belgravia by 2:30 and was dropped off near Wilton Crescent. He was mightily impressed by the very fine Regency terraces, and soon found the address he was after. It was a high-class modern apartment building well out of his league. It had an entry phone system which he thought would be inadvisable to use.
138
He watched from across the road for about twenty minutes and then his chance happened.
A delivery van double parked and the driver consulted the names on the door plate. Ilya ran across to him and shouted, “Looking for me?”
The driver turned around and said, “Are you Jason Beresford?”
“No, not me,” Ilya replied. “But I'm going in anyway.” How lucky was that?
The door lock released after the driver had announced through the intercom that he had a delivery for Jason Beresford and they both went in together. Once in the elevator, the driver pressed the button for the top floor and Ilya pressed the button for the second top floor. He got out there and waived the driver off with a smile. He stood there on the landing until he heard the elevator pass on its way back down. Then he sprinted up the staircase to the top floor, and there it was, Jason Beresford's door. He banged on the door and Jason's voice shouted, “Who is it?”
“Delivery driver again. I forgot, there's another package.”
At that point, Jason Beresford made the biggest mistake of his life. One he would regret for the very short span of what life he had left. He opened his door. Ilya sprang forward into him, at the same time spraying his face with the pepper spray. While Jason stumbled backwards, Ilya dived in and closed the door. Jason was blinded and choking for breath. He tried to lash out blindly at his attacker but Ilya grabbed one of his wrists, then the other, and very quickly and expertly pulled a plastic cable tie over the two of them behind his back. He pulled it together tightly until Jason cried out in pain.
“Now then my friend, nice of you to invite me in to your humble abode. Let us go through to your beautiful lounge and sit on your beautiful cream leather sofa.”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, I think you know very well who I am.”
“It's Ilya, isn't it? What do you want?”
“Oh, I think you know what I want. Just you sit here while I go into your kitchen for a nice knife. We might be needing it.”
Ilya went into the immaculate designer kitchen and selected a big carving knife from the knife block. He went back into the lounge and sat down opposite Jason.
“Jason, my friend, I hope you have no prior arrangements for tonight because I have made plans for you. You are going to open your safe and give me the money you swindled from my sister. In fact, you will give me all of the money in your safe as a bonus for all the difficulties, inconvenience and hardship you have put me through.
Agreed?”
“OK, OK, I'll give you it all. Just take it and go.”
“Oh now, now, Mr Beresford. That would just be much too easy. I like a challenge and you are a challenge. You WILL give me the money – you got that right.
But you left out the most interesting part. We are going for a little sightseeing trip. You have a car?”
“Emm... err... yes. It's in the basement garage.”
“Excellent! We take the money in your car and you show me your wonderful White Cliffs of Dover which I have heard so much about. There is even a song about them, isn't there? A beautiful song. I want to see those bluebirds. Now, open the safe please.”
139
“Oh, I'm sorry. How remiss of me.”
Ilya wrenched Jason up from the sofa with one hand, brandishing the carving knife in the other. He sliced through the cable tie whilst taking a sliver of flesh off Jason's wrist with the same movement. Jason let out a cry in pain.
“OPEN IT”, Ilya yelled at him with the knife pressing into his ear. Jason took a set of keys from his pocket, swivelled a picture from the wall to reveal the safe, and opened it with shaking hands. He removed a fat envelope.
“This is the rest of your sister's money.”
“And the rest.”
Jason pulled another envelope from the safe. “This is all I have.”
Ilya had a quick look inside both envelopes. He was experienced enough to guess how much was there.
“That'll do nicely. Now we go. Get your car keys, give them to me, then put your hands in front of you. Jason did this in silence and Ilya pulled another cable tie from his pocket. He quickly secured Jason's wrists together and said, “Let's go.”
They entered the elevator and Ilya pressed the button marked 'Garage'. They went straight to the bottom with no stops and no sign of anyone.
“Which car is it?”
“The black BMW”
“Oh lovely. That will do very nicely indeed. Now, sit in the passenger seat. I'm driving.”
Ilya then took another two cable ties from his pocket, joined them together and looped them through the door armrest then through the one on Jason's wrist. With them all pulled tight he was immobile.
“Sit back and enjoy the drive. It should be getting dark by the time we get to the White Cliffs. It's a pity we won't see them too well. I'll just have to make sure that at least you do. I am generous that way as you will find out.”
It took so long to get clear of the London traffic and the notorious M25 that Ilya had a rethink. He pulled the big car into a hotel car park and had another look at the road atlas.
“What are you doing?” asked Jason.
“I am going to be extremely generous to you, my friend. No, don't get any ideas, I am not booking you into a hotel, ha ha ha! You think Ilya has gone mad? Eh? No no no!
But again, I am not going to throw you off the white cliffs of Dover. It's going to take too long to get there and I am not really a murderer. This is your lucky day! I see a place near here called Gravesend. I think that is very fitting if we are talking about your grave, my friend. We will find a nice secluded spot in Gravesend where I can comfortably accommodate you and you will not be found. Let us proceed to Gravesend. Oh, such a lovely name!”
The big car roared off and it didn't take long until they reached Gravesend. Ilya just loved coastal areas, especially industrial coastal areas. Especially deserted industrial coastal areas. He followed his nose and his instinct until the surroundings became more 140
and more unsavoury, derelict, decrepit and... perfect! He eventually ended up in Gordon Promenade East, a real misnomer if ever there was one. Not a promenade as such, but a narrow alleyway between old corrugated iron sheds and warehouses which looked like they had never been used in years, with weeds growing profusely from the blocked drains, cracks in the concrete road surface and the buildings themselves. The graffiti artists had also been having a field day (or more likely night) all over the walls and doors. Ilya thought he couldn't have found a more perfect place, and he felt peculiarly at home. This was his comfort zone!
He drove along the alley with the big car's door mirrors almost touching the iron buildings on each side. He spotted a door with a gap in it and stopped. He got out the car and said, “Don't move. Ah, you can't, ha ha!”
He approached the door, and although it had a padlock and hasp on it, he found he could force the door until the gap was just wide enough to squeeze through. A quick look inside confirmed that it was partly flooded with stinking putrid water containing the bodies of several dead rats. The warehouse was empty except for some piles of rusty scaffolding tubes scattered at random around the floor. He noticed over on the far wall a water pipe with a tap attached which was dribbling and contributing to the flood. Perfect, he thought.
A quick look out the door to see nobody was around, then he went back to the car.
He wrenched open the passenger door which effectively pulled Jason out of the car as he was cable tied to it. “Out!” he shouted. “Oh, I see you are already out, ha ha!”
He took a pen knife from his pocket and slashed the cable tie, letting Jason crash to the ground. “Get up. We're going to your new abode.”
Ilya dragged Jason to the warehouse door, pulled it apart to open the gap, then told Jason to get in. He had some difficulty squeezing through the gap so Ilya gave him a hefty push with his boot to force him through. Ilya followed and saw that he had sprawled his full length into the foul smelling water. “Get up, you dirty pig. I am not soiling my hands on you. Get up and come with me.”
They walked over to the water tap at the far wall and they stopped. “Here is your new residence, my friend. Not quite up to the standard of your Belgravia home, but I'm sure you will soon get used to it. I am being very generous to you as I have supplied you with fresh drinking water. At least you will be hoping it is.”
He sat Jason down on the ground in front of the tap, then took a bundle of heavy-duty cable ties from his pocket. He put three more of them around his wrists, then looped another three through them and round the water pipe which was screwed to the wall. He then took another three cable ties and fastened Jason's left ankle to the water pipe.
“You know they call these 'zip ties' in the USA. They have obviously found that they can use them for a lot more uses than tying cables. Good people, the Americans! I am going now, my friend, Enjoy your stay!”
“You won't get away with this. I'll get out of here. Someone will find me. I'll give the police the car number. You will be hunted down.”
“I don't think so. I think nobody comes here. And you won't risk the police finding your car. It will be infested with drugs when they do. The sniffer dogs will have a great time. You will be locked up as the dirty swindling drug dealer that you are. Me? I 141
am just an innocent Russian tourist. Goodbye, my friend, and thank you for the car.
You've saved me having to rent one,” and he squeezed out of the door, got into the BMW
and roared off.
142
Back at Strathdee everything was going along just swimmingly. Ronnie had moved in with his sweetheart Tammy, and he felt very happy at having sold his idea of a free holiday in Spain to the others. He was going to get his cars back and all his personal stuff back from the house so he could carry on business as usual. No, he thought, not business as usual. That's 'old business'. That's done with now. I've got a new life, a new business, a new lady, made new friends and re-kindled an old one. This is the new Ronnie.
Carla and Paul were still very uneasy about their position and were almost resigned to the fact that they might never see their money again. They had agreed to the trip to Spain as iT might be a way of getting something back, even if it is just a holiday.
But they were very, very wary of Ronnie Marsh. But they were enjoying having the caravan to themselves.
Dave and Katharina were a lot more worldly-wise having been through a lot of adventures and experiences themselves. They were really looking forward to this trip as they really hadn't had a proper holiday since they got married. But they also didn't know Ronnie as well as the others, and all they could see was a congenial successful businessman with fingers in may pies.
4:30 am. Everything in the garden was rosy, everyone was asleep, the dawn chorus was just about to begin, then...
...a sinister black BMW 7 Series with tinted windows slid into the yard at Mains of Clarty very slowly and silently. Nobody got out. The driver touched the recline button on the driver's seat and lowered it right back. He then fell asleep in the sumptuous quality leather. Ilya had had a long drive – 535 miles non stop except for a comfort break.
7:00 am. Tamara came downstairs and started breakfast. Bacon, eggs, sausages and Stornoway black pudding started to fill the kitchen with fine aromas. She glanced out of the window and caught sight of something not normally there glinting in the morning sun. Black, sleek and shiny... a strange car. A strange feeling went through her. Strange cars, Frank, and Ronnie all usually spelled one thing – trouble. She dropped the fish slice she was using with a clatter into the frying pan and shot up the stairs two at a time shouting, “Frank, Frank, come here, quick.”
All the little hairs on the back of Frank's neck stood on end and a cold shiver went down his spine. Was this some of the Dutch thugs finally tracking him down? Black BMWs are always bad news to Frank. He gingerly came down the stairs and tentatively slid the dirty white net kitchen curtain aside to see out. A sigh of relief came over him when he saw that the car had a UK registration number. It certainly wasn't Dutch gangsters.
“This has got to have some connection with Ronnie. I don't know anyone with a 143
luxury car like that. It's got 'Ronnie Marsh' written all over it. And it's just like the thing –
he's not here.”
At that moment Tamara's phone rang. “It's my brother!” she shouted excitedly.
“Hello, Ilya, hello.”
Silence.
“Ilya, hello, is that you? Are you OK? Where are you?”
“Look out of your window.” The BMW's headlights started to flash. Tamara saw this and rushed to the door. She opened it and rushed outside. The BMW door opened and Ilya stepped out. They both rushed up to each other and embraced, showering each other with hugs, kisses and squeals of delight interspersed with Russian terms of brother/sister endearment.
“Oh, I can't believe it, you're here. You're really here. Is it really you? Where have you come from? I mean, where were you? Is this your car? Why does it have UK plates?
Have you hired it? Are you really here?”
“Tamara, Tamara, so many questions, and the only answer you need is yes, it is me. Really.”
“Come in. Come on in to the house. I'm just making breakfast. You want breakfast? Come and meet Frank.”
They walked arm-in-arm across the yard to the kitchen door and were immediately hit with the smell.
“Oh wow sis, you can still cook a mean breakfast.”
“The breakfasts here are phenomenal. Wait till you taste this. When did you arrive? Whose car is that?”
“I got here at 4:30. I slept in the car for three hours as I had a long drive from Gravesend. I've borrowed the car from an associate.”
“Is this the associate who had the money? Mr X?”
“Tamara, I will say this only once. I will only tell you what you need to know.
The rest is not relevant. I have your money. It is in the car boot.”
Then Frank came to the door, “Come on in lad. I'm Frank, your brother-in-law.
Sit down and have a full Scottish breakfast. Have you brought plenty of vodka and caviar?”
Ilya looked at Frank quizzically, then at Tamara, and Tamara just shrugged her shoulders.
Ronnie was just waking up. This was the week he would start to get his cars back, his personal effects back, his Spanish villa sold, and a new life. He felt untouchable...
until Tammy touched him in a sensitive place. He had been exceptionally busy on the phone and had covered every eventuality he could think of. The cars were lying in the car port, probably with flat batteries, but there was a battery charger in the garage with a boost facility which would start a car after ten minutes. The electric security gates were still secured according to his neighbour, and he had also fitted a heavy duty chain and padlock to them when he had removed the horses. Ah yes, the horses. Unfortunately he was going to have to say goodbye to them as it was much too complicated to try to keep 144
them. He laughed out loud when he considered an option of sending Frank over to ride one back with the rest in tow! His neighbour could keep them. It was the least he could do for all the help he'd given him.
“What are you laughing at?” asked Tammy, giving him a push.
“Oh nothing. Just a silly thought I had.”
“OK, well, get yourself out of your pit 'cos I'm going to make the breakfast.”
This was an easy message to understand as Tammy's breakfasts were to die for.
I'm just having a lazy old day today, he thought.
Paul struggled out of bed in the caravan. He didn't have far to go to put the coffee on. “We must find somewhere else to stay,” he muttered to himself, thinking Carla was still asleep.
“We will, darling, once we get this holiday over and tackle Ronnie about our money.”
“Ah, you're awake. But our money is gone. It's at the bottom of the North Sea.”
“Yes, OUR money is gone, but obviously Ronnie has a lot more money what with three expensive cars, a helicopter, horses and a Spanish villa. Remember, he's also got a night club in Holland. He owes us.”
“Yes, you're right. Let's get this holiday done and enjoy it. At least we'll get something out of him. Hey – do you think we could go on from Spain back to France and back home? With one of the cars? It's a thought.”
“It's a dangerous thought in more ways than one. No, my love, definitely not. Do you want to live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder?”
“OK, point made and taken.”
Dave and Katharina had already been up for a while. Dave was the practical one.
He already had this trip all sussed out. Bookings had been made where they needed to be made. The Range Rover had been thoroughly serviced in their own workshop, fully valeted, and fuel cards issued to all. Everyone had been equipped with their own maps, phrase books and money. This was going to be the holiday of a lifetime. Nothing could go wrong!
Then there was Ilya.
145
Jason Beresford was in a bad way. A very bad way indeed. A whole day had gone past, and despite his shouting and screaming, nobody appeared. There was nobody there to hear him. This was a long forgotten dump of an area where even the local council had given up. They had previously over the years tried to contact the property owners to buy the semi-derelict units, clear the site, then sell on to a property developer for an inflated price, but the owners had long since dropped off the radar, died, or were purposely keeping a very low profile. In other words, an impossible task. The next move would be to impose a compulsory purchase order on the properties, but this involved jumping through numerous hoops, and the stability and longevity of councillors fell well short of this task, resulting in many having to start all over again. None of this was of any help to Jason.
He had managed to sleep for no longer than five or ten minutes at a time, half kneeling, with his wrists and ankle red raw through to the flesh from the friction of the cable ties. To add insult to injury, he had wet himself several times and the urine soaking into his clothes and running down was making the welts sting beyond belief. He had managed to drink water from the stand pipe which had kept him going, but also had the other obvious undesired effect. He was almost ready to give up and let himself slip away into unconsciousness when... an engine... an old engine... an old clattery diesel engine was heard approaching from the other end of the lane. It got louder and louder, and eventually stopped outside the unit with a rattle and a shake. It sounded like the driver was having some trouble opening his door, and after getting out, was having even more trouble shutting it with five or six attempts. On the sixth attempt, the driver's window fell down inside the door. Jason gathered all the strength he could and tried to shout with a feeble squeak.
Hearing what sounded like a rat or some other unidentifiable animal, the driver gingerly opened the padlock on the door. It took a bit of effort to actually get the door to move on its rusty hinges, but as he forced it back and gradually let the daylight ease its way into the unit, he couldn't believe what was before his eyes. He rushed over to Jason, took in the situation, then rushed out to his Sherpa van for a knife. Back inside, he slashed the cable ties and Jason collapsed onto the floor in a pool of everything.
“What the...?” said Norman the driver.
“Phone... have you got a phone?” squeaked Jason.
“Yeah, but... what?.. why?..”
“Just gimme the phone... NOW!”
“OK, OK, but I can phone the police for you.”
With great effort, Jason growled, “No. No police. Gimme the phone... please?”
Norman handed over his phone while turning up his nose at the stench.
Jason immediately keyed in a number from memory. A gruff voice answered,
“Yeah.”
“Got a job for you. NOW!”
146
“Russian. Aberdeenshire, probably a village called Strathdee. Got my car, you know the BMW. Take him out, usual fee. I'll transfer it on completion.”
“OK. Leaving now.”
Norman took back his phone with his fingertips at arms length. “Can I take you somewhere? Hospital? Toilets? The sea for a clean up?”
Jason gave him his address and Norman said he could take him near to there as he was dropping off some scaffolding nearby, but only if he sat in the back of the van once he had loaded up the tubes. Norman locked up the unit, helped Jason into the van with his industrial work gloves on, and off they went.
147
Just another normal morning in Strathdee. Sunrise, crisp clean air, birds singing, Archie in the yard moaning like hell to Stan the plant fitter about the dangerous state of the track on a well-worn excavator which should have been scrapped long ago, and which he was responsible for loading onto a trailer and transporting to a job waiting for it.
“Oi, Stan, c'mere and tak' a look at this. The track's hingin' aff. Ah'm nae loadin'
this wi' the state o' that.”
Stan looked up wearily at Archie. “Ah've been at that a' night, had nae sleep, nae dinner, and nae drink, and a' because o' you.”
“Because of me? ME? Dinna gie me that! Ah've got tae answer tae Frank, so THAT'S who you should be takin' it up wi'. No' me. Ye've got a nerve, that's a' Ah can say.”
“Look, it's no' gonnae jump the track, onybody with hauf a brain can see that, and if you cannae, you shouldnae be in the job ye're in. Load it straight on wi' nae turns and ye'll be OK.”
“That's nae the point. If that jumps the track then it jumps the loader and ends up on its side on the grund – a write-off – end of machine – end of Archie's job. Ah'm nae loadin' it until ye get that track tensioned up, and the sooner the better. Ah'm off for my breakfast. Tell me when it's ready.”
“Oh, tell me when it's ready, tell me when it's ready! The wee bairn's throwin' his toys oot o' the pram! Awa' an' choke on yer breakfast! Ye could at least gi'e me a hand and we'd get it done quicker. But wait a meenit, ye're no a plant fitter. Ye're no' even a plant operator. Jist a part-time lorry driver who chances his airm wi' expensive construction machinery.”
Archie ignored him and just walked away. It wasn't like Stan to be like this. It must be lack of sleep.
The Spanish “safari” team had left the previous night, and so far there had been no news. No news is good news, thought Frank. He entered the kitchen to the welcoming smell of a full Scottish cooked breakfast. He never got tired of the experience. They heard the old staircase creak as someone descended. It was Ilya, in his boxers. He went straight to the front door, opened it and stepped outside, breathing in the pure, clean, fresh Aberdeenshire air. This is the life, he thought. My sis is lucky. I could easily give up the hardships of home and live here. It's just as well Tamara couldn't read thoughts. She loved her brother, but this was something she definitely would not relish.
Ilya did a few stretches and limbered up for a minute before going back in to the kitchen.
A white Ford Transit van drove into the village and stopped in the bus lay-by. It 148
was about five years old, had Glasgow registration plates, and was totally anonymous.
Just another white van man. It also had a mattress and bedding in the back. It had just driven up from Glasgow in the early hours. The driver and owner was a certain Malcolm McMullen, or 'Big Malky' as he was known to his friends, and enemies. His profession was an 'Extermination Technician'. No, not insects or vermin, but vermin of the human kind. A hit man. He was there on a mission with a job to do as ordered by a good customer of his, Mr Jason Beresford.
He was looking for a black BMW 7 Series with the registration number JAS 10N.
Shouldn't be too difficult to find in a small place like this. First of all he drove off and turned into the business park. A quick drive around and out again revealed no black BMWs. He then thought about the service station. They would know every car here surely. He filled up the van with diesel and went in to pay. Just as he was leaving, he turned and asked the counter assistant, “By the way, I'm looking for a friend who has just arrived here. Have you seen anyone with a fairly new black BMW 7 Series car?”
The girl said, “No, not really. But a car like that would likely be visiting Frank and Carla at Mains of Clarty farm. Just go through the village and you'll see the road up to it signposted.”
“Wow! Thanks darlin'. That sounds about right!”
And off he drove in the direction as indicated. Through the village which was just waking up, and there was the dirt track on the left with the weathered sign reading 'Mains of Clarty'. He kept going for a few hundred yards and parked in a lay-by which appeared beside the river with a picnic table and a litter bin. Nobody would think twice about a white van parked there, so he locked it up and walked back to the track.
He started to walk up the track and then realised he was very conspicuous, so he stepped over a ditch into the undergrowth and forest of silver birch trees. He made his way under cover of the trees and bushes, following the track but keeping a decent distance from it out of sight of anyone who should appear. He was having a hard time battling with many bramble bushes and hidden tree stumps, but as he rounded the next bend in the track, he spotted several buildings and vehicles parked outside them. This was the farmhouse, the barn and outbuildings, and... a black BMW 7 Series. The icing on the cake was the number – JAS 10N. “Bingo!” he muttered to himself under his breath.
“Gotcha!” He was so close he could also smell the delicious breakfast being cooked.
That would be enough for today, so he gingerly picked his way back down again through the brush, watching all the time for any sign of movement. He turned the van around and drove back to the service station. He went in and bought a pork pie, crisps, an apple pie and a big bottle of Irn Bru. He also explained to them that he was here to do some bird watching and could they recommend anywhere he could park his van for a few nights to sleep in as he was on a tight budget. They said he was welcome to park in the yard behind the garage for a few nights. The extra security would be welcome. He drove round, parked up, started his meal and formulated a plan. A meal in the van, a few hours kip on the mattress in the back, then back to the lay-by at the foot of the track up to the farm. A stake-out, I think they call it, he thought. Never been on one of them! This would be his parking spot until the job was done. The Russian had to put a foot wrong sometime. He would be number five on his scoreboard. He was good at his job.
149
Back at the farmhouse, breakfast finished, Frank asked Tamara what she would like to do today.
“Just chill out, my darling. I want to spend time with Ilya as I haven't seen him for a long time. I think we will just relax and perhaps go for a walk to show him around.
The money should be safe in the safe,” and she chuckled at her little joke. “We cannot bank it, too risky. I will soon find a use for it... gradually!”
After a morning of chatting and catching up, they had lunch and decided to take a walk down to the village. Ignoring Archie who was still arguing with Stan and now appeared to be helping (or hindering) him, down the track to the main road they went.
Frank spotted a white van parked in the picnic spot lay-by and thought nothing of it.
Could be a walker, a cyclist, or perhaps a fisherman in the river. Nothing unusual about any of these. What was unusual was that unknown to them, there was a killer sitting in the van watching their every move.
Malky couldn't believe his luck. He watched their body language, and from the hand waving and pointing out of the scenery by Frank and Tamara to the other person, he definitely must be the Russian. Damn it, he even looked Russian! He couldn't follow them in the van – much too obvious, so he decided to follow them on foot, keeping a safe distance. Once they reached the village it was easy, blending in with other people who were milling around. He followed them along to what looked like a cafe or restaurant with some trucks parked in front. Hidden behind a bus shelter, he saw Frank point out various points, then they went up and read the menu which was in a glass case beside the entrance. Frank looked at his watch and they had a further discussion. Then they turned around and walked out of the car park, but not before Malky quickly ducked right down behind the bus shelter. He stayed there until they were almost out of sight, then followed them.
It looked like they were returning home, but on the way they went into the general store and emerged with some sweets, ice creams, and magazines. Malky pretended to be a tourist as this was the closest he had been to them. After they were a good distance ahead, he resumed his task and followed them right back to the farm track.
He was in view of the target all this time, and could have easily taken him out, but it was too risky and was not the way he operates. Another day, another dollar. He drove back to the garage, bought a hot toastie, a sticky fudge bun and a coffee, then he retired to the van. Time for a good night's sleep. Tomorrow someone was going to die.
150
Hamish McInnes was the gamekeeper on Lord Strathdee's estate, a position he had more or less been in since leaving school, when the previous gamekeeper had taught him everything he knew before retiring. He was single, his own man, and didn't have a lot of time for 'modern' women, unless they were good in the kitchen, could tend a beast or two, chickens, and had good child-bearing hips. His main hobby was writing poetry while out on the hills.
The estate had been having some trouble from poachers over the last few weeks, and today Hamish was going to do something about it. He had come across some illegal gin traps that had been set by the poachers, and this was totally abhorrent to him. He could sometimes turn a blind eye to one or two of the local poachers who would take the odd pheasant or salmon for their own good. The most regular one was Holy Willie, or William McCorkindale to give him his Sunday name. And with particular reference to a Sunday, he was the Session Clerk at Strathdee Parish Church, and well respected in the community. But this other team with the traps were a different kettle of fish. More organised, and more than likely up from Glasgow, with connections to some of the dubious restaurants there.
Hamish surveyed the scene – three traps spaced out, one with a big hare, another with a rabbit, and the third with a young fawn, all dead and awaiting their captors. Three other traps headed off at right angles and were still empty. He knew this was the day that the poachers would check the traps, and he was determined to nab them today. Not single handed though. He had requested the assistance of PC Ian Fraser, just to keep things legal and above board. He was meeting him in a nearby barn at 3 pm.
The phone in the farmhouse was ringing and ringing off the hook. Frank was outside in the yard trying to placate Stan who was still under fire from Archie for a second day, and who still hadn't been home. Frank's mobile was ringing too, or to be more precise was playing his favourite Abba track as his ringtone, 'Money, Money, Money”. Tamara was shouting out of the window wrapped in a towel for him to get the phone as she had just come out of the shower. On top of all this, Archie was moaning at him for landing him with 'crap machinery' as he put it, while Stan fired in with his accusations of taking advantage of his good humour and willingness to always assist with making silk purses out of many sows' ears. Frank held his hand up and answered his phone.
“Hello. Frank here.”
“Oh, thank God. I've been ringing for ages.” It was Dave calling from Spain.
“Are you calling the house phone too?”
“Yes. Katharina is. We had to get hold of you somehow, and Ronnie's phone is switched off.”
151
Typical of Ronnie, Frank thought. “What's up? You've only just got there.”
“Yeah, we got here OK, but so has half the Spanish police force.”
“What? What do you mean half?”
“Well, three cars actually. A police car and two unmarked cars. We drove up to Ronnie's house and looked at the gate. As well as being locked, there's a big chain and padlock around it. I was looking at the lock when a policeman came out of the car and started walking towards us. I just got back into the Range Rover and drove off. One of the unmarked cars followed us, and it's parked outside our hotel this morning. What do we do?”
“Just stay where you are. I'll try to raise Ronnie and get him to call you.”
Frank was planning to take them all to Tammy's Truck Stop for lunch, so it could wait till then. Meantime he had to round up Carla and Ilya. Luckily the radio station was virtually running itself in their absence with the volunteers who were willing to work for nothing. People are strange when radio's involved, thought Frank.
PC Ian Fraser had just finished a big cooked full Scottish breakfast in the living room of the police station which was also the the home of himself and his lovely wife Marion. He knew what his plans were for the day, and as an added precaution he had removed his own shotgun from the gun cabinet, gave it a quick clean, and placed it on the breakfast table before putting it on the gun rack in the Land Rover. This was contrary to the regulations, but the sergeant turned a blind eye if the circumstances warranted it.
Anyway, he was in Aberdeen and would never know. Ian rose from the table, brushed his uniform down as he always liked to look presentable, grabbed the gun and went out to the police Land Rover after kissing his wife goodbye.
Hamish McInnes had been out on the hills since 6 am. He had already done a day's work by noon. He was lounging back on a grassy knoll surrounded by gorse bushes, except for a gap where he had a clear view of the single track road up to the barn.
His sharp ears heard the sound of a diesel engine in the distance, gradually approaching.
He poured a final cup from his flask of tea, finished his cheese sandwich, and put his binoculars up to his eagle eyes. There was PC Ian Fraser in the Land Rover coming up the road. He drove round the back of the barn and put in in a ramshackle lean-to out of sight.
Frank had finally gathered everybody together. “There's only two of you, and you'd think it was a herd of sheep! Come on, let's go.”
They all went out to Carla's car, and Ilya said “Wait. We use mine. I take you in comfort.”
At his suggestion, they boarded the BMW and drove off down the track.
Malky was sitting in the driver's seat of his van parked in the picnic spot lay-by, 152
watching a fly fisherman casting over the River Dee. Very relaxing, he thought. Just then, catching him off guard, a meal was served up to him on a plate right before his very eyes.
The BMW with the target driving it came out of the road end and onto the main road right in front of him. Wow! Without any hesitation, Malky fired up the engine and pulled out after it, keeping his distance so as not to be spotted. He couldn't believe his luck.
Today is the day!
Ilya pulled the BMW into the truck stop car park, hesitated for a moment, then continued on to a beech hedge where he tucked it behind out of sight. Can't be too careful, he thought. He'd learned that the hard way in his rough and tumble life.
“Why are you parking round here?” asked Tamara.
“This is a very valuable car. I don't want it to come to any harm.”
“This is Strathdee Ilya. Nobody harms cars here.”
“Maybe so, but it's the outsiders I worry about.” Never a truer word!
Malky saw them pull into the truck stop but still kept his distance, crawling along at ten miles per hour in second gear. He timed it exactly so that as he was pulling into the car park, he saw them going into the restaurant through the front door. Still crawling along with the gravel crunching under his tyres, he looked around but could see no sign of the BMW. This worried him as he was sure it was the target he saw going into the truck stop with his two companions. However, he continued with his plan and parked his van behind two big forestry trucks, one of them fully loaded and the other one empty. He had a view of the restaurant door through the tree racks of the empty truck. He got out, went round to the back of the van and opened the rear doors. Then he got a screwdriver and unscrewed part of the plywood panelling. Bending it outwards, he stretched inside the cavity and felt around for a bundle of cloth. A feeling of satisfaction swept over him as he removed the bundle, had a quick look around, and carefully opened it up on the van's rear floor. There, in full view, was his beautiful Glock 9mm gun. He picked it up lovingly and gave it a kiss. He always did this before an operation as a matter of luck.
Not many people survive a 9mm, he thought. At least none that I know.
Tammy came over to the door to greet Frank, Tamara and Ilya as they came in.
“And who is this handsome specimen you have brought with you?” she asked, looking at Frank.
“This is Tamara's brother,” he replied. “He's over from Moscow to visit his sister.”
“Oh, lovely,” she said, putting on a fake shy demeanour. “As long as he realises that I'm well and truly spoken for,” she said behind the back of her hand in a very loud whisper so everyone could hear. “Let me show you to a table.”
Ronnie then appeared from behind the counter and introductions were made.
Frank immediately told Ronnie about the phone call from Spain and urged him to call Dave right away this minute. Ronnie made his apologies and said he would make the call outside.
When Malky saw the front door open, he was immediately on his guard. His 153
pulse started racing and the little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Assignments like this always had this effect on him and he sometimes wondered if this was why he chose it as a profession. The sport of the chase, then the thrill of the kill. Adrenalin flowing freely, giving him that euphoric feeling that he never tired of, and had to get more of again and again. If I could bottle that stuff I'd be a millionaire, he thought. But wait... this wasn't the target. This was someone he'd never seen before. And even if it was the target, he could do nothing in this situation. Too open, no clear getaway, much too risky. There had to be a plan, and unbeknown to him, fate was already formulating a plan. A better plan than he could ever come up with himself.
Ronnie got through to Dave on the first attempt. “What's all this, me old mucker?
Don't tell me you've screwed up already.”
Dave replied nervously, “No, no. I've done nothing. We can't get near the villa as there seems to be police there round the clock. They seem to be using it as some sort of base and going off to call-outs from there, then returning. I can't do anything. Anyway, the gates are double locked with a chain and padlock.”
Ronnie was getting impatient. “Now listen up. Don't be a wimp. You have every right to be there. You are acting on behalf of the owner, me, and you have right of entry and right of removal of anything personal on the premises, especially the cars. Go to the neighbour up the hill, he has the keys for the padlock. If you are approached, show the police the letter of consent I gave you. He's also got a jump pack he'll give you in case the cars' batteries are flat. Get them out of there right away, take them back to your hotel, get some sleep, then get them back here pronto. They're already booked onto the ferry as you know, but I've brought the dates forward in case this happened, so just get on with it.
It's not a bleedin' holiday you're on!”
“But Ronnie, you said we'd have a holiday in the villa, swimming pool and all.
This isn't fair.”
“That was the original plan, but circumstances have changed. The villa has now been sold as of today, so technically you would be trespassing. Do you want to end up in a police cell there? Just do as I say and nothing can go wrong. Oh, and remember, life isn't fair.”
Funny, thought Dave, it was 'sold' to us as a free holiday.
Ronnie went back in to the truck stop and sat down at the table. The others had already been served, and a cheese and tomato omelette was waiting for him at his place.
Tammy knew what he would like. Frank had introduced Ilya to him as an international businessman, and immediately Ronnie recognised a fellow entrepreneur, or so he thought. Just not quite in the same league... or business! After chatting for quite a while over their meal, Ilya made his excuses and said he had to phone his brother Andrei back home to see how he was coping with the business in his absence. He also wanted a smoke, so he stepped outside.
In an instant, Malky's radar went into overload. “That's him!” he muttered under his breath. Gun in hand, finger on trigger, he watched intently every move. Ilya fiddled 154
with his phone, like he was having trouble getting a signal as he kept holding it up in the air. Malky's mind was racing. He even had a direct line of sight from behind the forestry truck. No, too risky. Wait. As he watched, Ilya took out a packet of cigarettes and removed one from the pack with his lips. Putting the pack back in his pocket, he took out a lighter from his other jeans pocket and proceeded to try to light the cigarette. One, two three attempts, no luck. The lighter wasn't playing ball. He shook it hard and tried again.
No luck. He stepped down into the car park cursing in Russian. Malky seized the moment and stepping out, made his presence known.
“Having trouble?” he shouted over to Ilya. “Want a light?”
Completely taken aback, Ilya looked over to see where the voice had come from, and he started to approach Malky. “Yes, if you would be so good.”
“Come over to the shelter of the van. Too windy out here.”
Ilya did as requested. Bad move! Malky was already ushering him round to the open rear doors, and with the wave of an arm, indicated for him to sit on the edge of the van floor. At the same time he removed a pack of cigarettes from his own pocket saying,
“Mind if I join you?”
He removed one, put it between his lips, then produced the lighter, offering Ilya a light first. But the lighter never reached his cigarette. On its way towards him, the offer of a light quickly turned into a mammoth punch with the force of a wrecking ball, immediately followed up by a hefty push into the van, leaving Ilya spreadeagled across the floor and totally bewildered. At the speed of light, Malky slammed the doors shut, locked them, and dived into the driver's seat immediately starting the engine.
“Gotcha!” he said to himself. “Just like landing a big fish. Now we go for a wee run in the country. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere with nobody about for miles around. You, my friend, are going to meet your maker.”
155
Malky had previously noticed a rough single track road turning off from the main road just outside the other end of the village. He had already filed this away as a possible route to an assassination site, and now it was going to be put to use for this very purpose.
When he approached the junction, he swung the van into the narrow road and proceeded to drive higher and higher as the road climbed through the gorse and heather, with the van clattering as it trundled over a cattle grid. Ilya was still out for the count and lying on the van floor in the back.
Higher and higher the road climbed, through some beautiful scenery. Malky didn't notice the scenery. He was already planning how he was going to execute the operation,
'execute' being the definitive word. He was looking around for a suitable spot to park the van, preferably with somewhere out of view where he could perform the deathly deed.
He spotted the old barn, the very barn where PC Ian Fraser had met Hamish McInnes.
They were now a little bit further away over the brow of a grassy mound, overlooking the poachers' traps but hidden from view. Malky parked in a wider part of the road where a grassy track led up to the barn. Getting out, he walked round to the back of the van and opened the doors. Ilya was starting to come round but was still groggy. He turned to Malky and blurted out in Russian, “Bastard! You dirty bastard! What the hell are you doing? I'll kill you. Are you watching, I'll kill you.”
“Sorry pal, I don't know what the hell you're saying. And I don't need to know.
And you don't need to know what or why I'm going to do what I'm going to do to you.
You just do what you're told and it'll all be over with before you can say Jack Robinson, whoever he was!” And before Ilya could raise himself up and face Malky, he was staring down the barrel of a Glock 9mm. This changed his attitude and he started to shake with fear, the first time ever for him.
“Get out pal. We're going for a little walk,” shouted Malky, and Ilya slid down from the van floor. “Get your hands behind your back and keep them clasped together.”
Malky would have ideally liked to tie his hands, but everything happened too fast for him to do that.
They walked over to the barn with Malky following Ilya, the gun trained on his head. Malky then told Ilya to lie down on the ground while he took a look inside the barn. There were some piles of logs, some peat stacks, plastic bags containing fertiliser or something unidentifiable, and half a dozen pallets scattered about. Malky turned to Ilya and said, “This is your lucky day pal, you're going to live a little longer. Too much coming and going in there to leave a body. Let's go for a little walk to somewhere you can provide a nice meal for the wildlife once you've expired.”
Absolutely terrified by now, Ilya lead the way across the grassy slope towards a rougher area with heather and gorse bushes. The very area where the traps were laid out.
While all this was going on, Ian and Hamish had heard the vehicle approaching and were sure they were finally going to see the poachers and catch them unaware. They 156
were out of sight of the barn, but they heard the distant voices and knew some people were approaching. They readied themselves to surprise them as they approached their traps, Hamish with his gun at the ready and Ian with his by his side. You could have knocked them down with a feather when they saw a man in a tee shirt and jeans leading another man in camouflage with a gun pointed at the first man's head.
“Get down!” Ian whispered to Hamish. “This isn't them. I don't know what this is, but let's be careful.”
Ilya and Malky kept coming, nearer and nearer, and as they approached the traps Malky spotted the snared animals. “Hey, it's our lucky day pal. Maybe I won't need to kill you. We'll just let the trap do it for us. There are three empty ones there. One of them's got your name on it. This is a stroke of luck! With it snapped shut on your leg, you can just peacefully bleed to death. It'll be painless... eventually. Let me just check that they're set right,” and he walked over towards them.
Right at that point, Ian and Hamish sprung up from their cover and shouted,
“Drop the gun! Drop it! Now!”
Completely taken aback by this, Malky fired randomly at them both, missing, but shattering Hamish's vacuum flask. He stumbled on a rabbit hole, lost his balance, and stepped right into the nearest gin trap. There was a loud 'clang', and an even louder yell.
An earth-shattering yell that could probably be heard at the other side of the hill. His gun spiralled into the air as he let go of it in shock. Ian snatched up the fallen Glock while Hamish dived over to the trap and tried to release it. It was so rusty and stiff that he couldn't move it, and every time he tried it resulted in even more yells from Malky, louder and louder. While he was trapped, Ian put the handcuffs on him while Ilya just stood transfixed, unable to believe his astounding luck. Someone up there loves me, he thought. Hamish eventually got the trap prised apart with the help of an old piece of fence post. Malky's leg was a complete mess, ripped right through to the bone and losing blood fast. Ilya's instinct kicked in and he ran over to them taking his tee shirt off at the same time, He rolled the shirt into a rope, wrapped it around Malky's leg above the knee and tied it as tight as he could. He then looked around for a substantial piece of tree branch, broke it off and snapped it over his knee into a manageable length. He inserted it beneath the knot in the tee shirt and twisted it until it pulled the makeshift tourniquet even tighter, stopping all blood flow to the leg.
“You just might have saved his life,” Ian said to Ilya. “Good work. But he was trying to kill you.”
“He was a bad man. Very bad. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I cannot watch someone dying.”
“I will need a statement from you later at the police station. OK?”
“Yes, no problem.”
“OK, now let's get everyone back to the village. I will radio for an ambulance to meet us there. It's the quickest way. I'll also get the garage to uplift the van.”
And off they went, two of them supporting Malky between them. The animals, traps and poachers would have to wait till another day.
157
“Where's Ilya?” Tamara asked, looking around the restaurant.
“He went out to make a phone call darling,” replied Frank.
“Yes, I know that, but he's been gone for over an hour. Go and take a look, my love.”
Frank got up from the table and went out the door. No sign of Ilya anywhere. He walked out to the main road and looked both ways. No sign there either, in fact no sign of anyone. Then he thought he might have driven off, so he checked the secluded spot behind the beech hedge where he had parked the car, and there it was, still there.
Something's not right, he thought. People just don't disappear.
He went back in the truck stop and back to the table. “Something's wrong,” he said, worryingly. “There's no sign of him anywhere. I think we should go out and look along the village.”
“Don't worry,” assured Tamara, “He's a big boy, and he certainly can look after himself. Don't underestimate him. He'll be back soon. Let's have another coffee. I've already tried to phone him but I can't get a signal.
At the other end of the village, Ilya and Hamish were sat in the police station with Ian, giving their statements after seeing the ambulance off with Malky to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. He was stable and the blood loss minimised, but still in a serious way. The paperwork done, and a coffee enjoyed courtesy of Marion, Ian suggested he gave Ilya a lift back to the truck stop, and Hamish up to his home. Hamish said he'd take a lift to the truck stop, but he'd walk the two miles up to where he'd left his Land Rover, then drive home after he finished off the day's work.
“One more thing though,” he asked Ian.
“Yes?”
“How do I claim for a new vacuum flask?”
Ian smiled, “Leave it with me, I'll sort it!” And off they went.
Back at the truck stop, Ilya walked in the front door. At first they didn't recognise him as he was wearing a different tee shirt – an AC/DC one supplied by Ian.
“What... where have... what's this?” blurted out Tamara. Where have you been?”
“Don't ask. Just get me some food and strong coffee and I'll tell you.”
He gave them a full account of what had happened over the last hour or so, but left out the details of why it happened. From his version of the story, he was just an innocent tourist who was kidnapped at gunpoint, driven into the hills and threatened with death. “Honestly, I don't have any problems like that in Russia, then I come to sleepy Strathdee in bonnie Scotland and nearly get killed. Next you'll be telling me the Loch Ness Monster is real and eats people!”
They all laughed, then after a pause, collectively nodded their heads and said 158
Changing the subject, Frank said, “So now do you want to plan out the rest of your stay?”
“No, thank you,” Ilya said. “I think I really must be getting back home. Lots to do, people to see, deals to make, nothing stands still for a busy man like me. I also have some loose ends to tie up in London, like returning the car to the guy who very kindly lent me it. I'll have a final night with you and leave tomorrow morning.”
“Well thank you for all you have done for your sister,” Tamara said. “I am forever in your debt. If you want to come back for a much longer holiday, just call us, or even if you want to...” and at that point Frank kicked her under the table. “...just talk to somebody.” She quickly changed it from offering him to come and stay permanently!
“That's great,” said Ilya, “And thank you all so much for your wonderful hospitality. I will take you up on that.”
Frank, Tamara and Ilya said their goodbyes and headed off home. Ronnie went over to the counter, gave Tammy a kiss, and sat down with her for a minute. “I'm glad everything is working out OK. Dave and the rest of them will soon be home with my cars and the villa is sold,” (but that's another story!), “and the helicopter business is booming with the power lines contract and the proposed blood transportation contract. I think we will also offer tourist flights over the Highlands, perhaps to do some aerial Loch Ness Monster spotting.” (And that's definitely another story!)
“Yes, everything in the garden is rosy. Let's have an early night!”
159
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