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Down a little side street just off Lark Lane, the shutters opened and Phil drove swiftly in.
Closed, once more, he and Nicks clambered out and walked directly through the open far end into the little garden where Baz stood smoking a rollie.
Early forties, three days stubble, jeans looking like they’d been through a divorce, a battered jumper which could have been the wayward father of a string vest, and a set of trainers who knew him well; all finished off with wavy fair hair shielding his collar and a stance which held the suggestion of an impending question. The most remarkable thing about him, however, was his penetrating ice-blue eyes. He and Nicks exchanged handshakes and wary nods.
“C’mon, let’s go indoors, away from any nosey parkers.” He turned, shoulders raised with both hands beckoning as if he was stacking an invisible shelf. Nicks scanned the area. Blank wall alongside, overgrown trees at the end, it looked pretty un-overlooked; if it wasn’t then he didn’t have a clue where ‘they’ would be watching from.
Inside, the large detached house was like a scene from ‘American Pickers’, the difference being the paths that neatly cut their way, like passageways in a maze, through piles and stacks of what looked, at first glance, to be junk.
Baz stopped and took an ornate but dust encrusted lamp from an overcrowded table. “I know what you’re thinking, it’s junk, but you’d be wrong. This, when I clean it up, is an easy ton. The table alone, I could get three hundred for. Anyway, the stuff you’re after is on the top floor.”
Initially, upstairs, Nicks doubted whether what he sought could possibly be there but Baz determinedly pulled items out of the way, carving a trail to the far wall.
Eventually, a large, padlocked wooden box revealed itself, two lumpy sacks snuggling either side.
Face beaming, Baz rubbed his chin. “What exactly are you after?”
He spent the next fifteen minutes rummaging through the box and bags, occasionally waving something at Nicks, who would either shake his head and make another suggestion or nod and check the item out. Initially wondering what state they would be in, Nicks was pleased to find each wrapped in lint-free cloth and fully operational.
“Temperature controlled this room.” Baz grinned and scratched his cheek several times then said, “Will you be able to use something a bit more exotic? You used it a while ago, earlier on this year, and I’ve still got plenty of ammo for it.” He lifted the MP5K then placed it on a nearby mound before delving into the box again. “And there’s this! I’ve had it a while, now. I never got round to giving it back and no one has bothered to ask for it.”
It was an AA-12 combat shotgun, short version; fully automatic, trigger finger selection. “I’ve got a couple of box magazines and a thirty-two round drum plus ammo. Very robust these, stainless steel, you could probably stir concrete with it and it’d still fire.” He hesitated, then as if he’d been accused of equipment misuse, said, “Not that I’ve had a play with it or nothin’. Saw a vid on Youtube once though.”
He hunched his shoulders and shifted from one foot to the other before bending down and happily whipping out something from one of the sacks. “Gas mask, anyone?” he said with a grin.
It was good to know he had something to fall back on but, at the moment, all Nicks needed was a personal protection weapon. He opted for the Glock 26 Gen 4, easily concealed, and four fully charged mags. For Anca, his only option was the Beretta 21A; he grabbed a box of rounds. She could conceal it in her bag or pockets but he’d need to make a few adaptations to some of his clothes; nothing he couldn’t handle and he’d plenty of time on his hands.
Phil and Baz had moved to the other end of the room and were in deep conversation, occasional glances thrown in Nicks’ direction. Phil walked back to him while Baz made then lit another rollie.
“This stuff about having no contact has spooked him. He’s off to his place in Portugal for a few weeks. He knows you’ve nowhere to store this stuff so he’s happy to leave me the keys and I can access the place when we need to.” Nicks nodded his appreciation to Baz who winked his acknowledgement then added, “There’s a range in the cellar, you know.” Catching the glint of disbelief in Nicks’ eyes, he couldn’t suppress a wide smile. “Oh, yeah, soundproofed an’ all. No fucking about here, mate.”
As they left, Nicks asked him, “Is this a villa you’ve got in Portugal?”
“You looking for a cheap rental? Skinflint,” he grinned then shook his head. “No, it’s a cottage, in the hills; some chickens and two goats. Hard to find and I’ve got lovely neighbours, with shotguns. They’re very protective, if you know what I mean?” He gave Nicks a knowledgeable nod and a wink.