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A pleasant, cloudless day found them standing outside the cafe next to Sefton Park’s boating lake. It was early and a little chill hung in the air.
Phil the taxi - jeans, walking boots, fashionable mid-grey donkey jacket, grey cropped hair, approached from behind and sat at a table.
Eventually, “Are you going to buy me a coffee or just stand there all day looking clueless?” Nicks spun round. “How long have you been there?”
Phil shrugged. “Mine’s a bog-standard.” He nodded towards Simon. “Who’s your mate?”
Nicks got the drinks in whilst Si outlined their problem and confirmed Phil had the same contact number for Don.
“Can’t say I was overly worried, myself. I’m just a local resource. It’s not unusual for me to hear nothing for weeks.” Phil took his cup and stirred two sugars in then had a sip. “So, what do you think’s going on?”
Nicks shook his head. “I don’t know but whatever it is it’s not good. He wouldn’t lose contact voluntarily, I’m sure of that.”
He glanced at Simon then said, “I understand you might know someone called Baz? He brings and takes things for Si.”
The face opposite him gave nothing away.
Nicks persisted. “Phil, it’s a fair assumption to make because you’ve taken stuff from me before now and you have to be taking it somewhere.”
Phil smiled. “Yeah. I know Baz. If you want to meet him, I’ll have to come with you. He’s a bit, shall we say, cautious. He’ll have fuck all to do with you if you turn up with Simon. Even though he sort of knows him, he doesn’t know him well enough. If we turn up mob-handed he’ll just do the same. He’s comfortable with me.”
Another mouthful of coffee then he unwrapped the little freebie biscuit and stuffed it in his mouth. “I’ll take you, Nicks,” he mumbled as he folded the wrapper carefully and put it in his pocket, offering in explanation: “Got to try and save the planet.” He swallowed hard. “I have to ring him before I turn up though and, honestly, I don’t know if he’ll still be holding anything useful but he might. He’s a collector. Does a bit of selling, yeah, but mainly collecting, so there’s a chance he may have kept something you can use.”
Later, Nicks and Simon strolled along the path bordering the lake. In time, they came across the remains of the old boat house. A couple of steps and a cold square of concrete was all that remained, its only friends a bench and an ornate black council bin. They sat down, Si pulled a small bottle of lemonade from his cargo pants and Nicks lit a cigarette.
“It’s funny sitting here and seeing this, just a slab of concrete. We once locked up a couple of fellas for screwing this place, years ago. It was all boarded up. They’d pulled the plywood back and one of them climbed in to see if there was anything worth nicking. It was empty, had been for years. We turned up and they legged it.” He accepted the lemonade and took a swig.
“We were in plainies, in an unmarked vehicle. They ran through the trees then doubled back. I knew I could cut them off if I took the steps. I’d seen it done in the films, you know, Central Park? New York cop car hurls itself down the steps, no problems, job done.”
He took a drag and blew out the smoke slowly, thoughtfully. “They were only shallow steps and it looked like a doddle but hell’s bells it was bumpy. Everything rattled and scraped. The exhaust started making a right racket but it was too late, I’d committed us.” He fell silent for a few moments.
“Anyway, we caught them. They wouldn’t have it they were burgling the place. Too embarrassed, I suppose; the only two guys in the area who didn’t know there was more worth nicking in deep space than in there. The Jacks had a word with them and pointed out a face-saving alternative so, in the end, they coughed to stealing the plywood shutters.”
He got up and stubbed the cigarette out on the bin then flicked it inside. Squeezing some sanitiser from a small bottle, he walked back rubbing his hands together and took another mouthful from Si’s bottle.
“What happened to the car? Was it as bad as you thought?”
Nicks gave him a soft smile. “Worse. Questions in high places. I was writing myself out of that one for ages.” He recognised the question forming on Simon’s lips. “Swerved to miss a black dog, couldn’t avoid the steps,” he said casually.
They stood up and Simon quietly asked, “Was there a point to all that?”
Nicks glanced at him, sucked in some air then blew it out of the side of his mouth as he took one more look around. “Not really, just police work is never like it is on the telly.”