59 Minutes (20 page)

It was a right royal fuck up but at least I could
regroup and find another target.

As it was, the shitstorm was just gathering.

I jogged into the night and heard a car crank up its
engine before it raced ahead of me. The doors flew open and it was goon city. I
turned to escape but I was in no fit state to outrun them. I swung a fist at
the first attacker but he stepped clear with ease and returned the favour to my
head. I went down. A couple of kicks later and I was hauled up by the arms, and
flung into the back of the car. A black cloth was placed over my head and my
wrists were bound with plastic ties.

I tried to talk but a punch in my gut told me to shut
up.

I was pinned between two goons. The doors were slammed
shut and we took off. We didn’t drive far before the car stopped and I was
bundled out, onto the pavement. There was no attempt to remove the cloth or
ties and I heard the doors close before the car moved off.

‘Listen, shit for brains.’

The voice was loud and in my left ear. The accent was
east
London
and the word ‘brains’ was accompanied by a slap to the head.

‘Dupree wants you to know that you are breathing only
because he feels generous. We’re keeping an eye on you. Dupree wants you to
walk a nice straight and narrow path. No freelancing - those days are over.
Understand.’

Another slap to the head.

I nodded.

‘Step out of line again and I’ve instructions to waste
your sorry backside. So get a fucking job, save up for a mortgage and be happy
that you might retire one day. Do I make myself crystal clear?’

Slap number three and four came in.

I nodded.

There was a chink of something falling on the pavement
followed by the sound of fading footsteps. I waited for a few moments before
trying to remove the cloth by rubbing my head on the ground. I felt something
hard and cold against my cheek and I scrambled around until my hands were at
the object. It felt like a
Stanley
knife and I carefully slid the blade out of the
casing and worked it into the ties and cut them. I reached up and pulled off
the cloth.

I was lying in a back street canyon of tenements. I
didn’t recognise the place and stood up alternately rubbing my shoulder and my
face.

I got back to Martin’s sometime after four and
crashed.

The next morning I told him what had gone down and he
called me an arsehole. I thought he was going to throw me out on the street but
instead he told me that a friend of his was looking for some help in one of the
big hotels in town.

‘Take the job and stay clear of trouble.’

‘But the photos, the account - what about Dupree?’

‘It seems to me that going after Dupree is the last
thing you want to do after such a warning. Take the medicine and get your head
down for a while. You can always come back to him later.’

I was in no mood to let it go but with no cash, and
Dupree on my case, I had little choice. If the secret to bringing the Frenchman
down lay in
Mallorca
then I would have to earn the money for the trip the
honest way.

I agreed to the job in the hotel and Martin gave me a
number to phone.

I started the job at the hotel last night and hate it.
I’m a dogsbody whose only function is to clean up everyone else’s crap. I worked
out that I need to stick with this job for four months to get enough cash to go
to
Spain
. I don’t think I can last four days.

Got in a fight with one of the kitchen staff. Only the
intervention of Ronnie the concierge stopped me losing my job.

I’d just been to the hospital to have my cast removed
and was up on the eighth floor cleaning up after a late night drunk who
couldn’t make it to the toilet to relieve himself. He had pissed into one of
the plant pots and it had overflowed onto the tiled floor. Bucket and mop in
hand I was trying to figure how to re pot the plant without touching the sodding
thing when one of the kitchen crew appeared on my shoulder.

‘Chef says get your arse down to the main hall.
Someone has chucked up at the entrance to the kitchen and he wants it cleaned
up.’

I told him to piss off. Pee I can deal with. Vomit is
something else.

‘Chef will be angry.’

Like I cared.

‘Very angry!’

I pushed him away but he came back at me and next thing
we are on the floor, rolling around, trying to knock lumps out of each other. A
guest must have complained and a minute later Ronnie appeared. He grabbed us
both - Ronnie is built like the QE2 - manhandled us into the service elevator
and out of sight before the assistant manager appeared.

I owe Ronnie big time. He told the manager that it was
two guests that had been fighting but they had run off when he appeared.

I hate this job.

Ha, bloody, ha. The little shit that I fought with
pulled an April Fool on me today. He got the head of maintenance to call me in.
Technically the head of maintenance is my boss although I never really see him
- mostly I’m on nights and he does days.

His name is Tam Kettering and he has been in the hotel
business since birth. We’ve been having major problems with the plumbing on the
top floor - six rooms are out of operation and the GM has been on Tam’s neck to
get it fixed.

What I didn’t know was that they had just solved the
problem and Tam was now the GM’s best friend. As such he was in an unusually
good mood when I rolled up.

‘Ah there you are. Look, the plumbing on the top floor
is still a bit dodgy and we’re short of some spares. Terry (his number 2) is up
to his armpits in work. Can you give the suppliers a call and order up this
list? Start at the top and make it clear we need the stuff ASAP.’

He handed me a bit of paper and I was dismissed. I
went into the back office and put the list on the table. They had the gig well
planned and as I finished dialling Tam re-appeared. He told me to be double
quick and I missed the greeting from the person on the other end.

‘Hello this is the Excelsior Hotel here.’ I started.
‘I’ve been told I need to place an order for fourteen seals. It’s urgent.’

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the
line and then the girl asked me to repeat what I had said.

‘Seals. Fourteen. It says here you’ll know what type
but we need them quickly.’

Too late I heard laugher from the corridor - a lot of
laughter.

‘Sorry sir but I’m not sure I can help. You do realise
you are through to Edinburgh Zoo.’

I slammed down the phone and outside the door sounded
like the audience at the funniest show on earth. I stormed out. There were at
least eight in the corridor including the little shit.

Seals. Zoo. Ha, bloody, ha.

I’ve been off sick for two days and thought I’d try
dictating my thoughts for the first time in a while. I still hate the job but I
got a bit of a promotion and no longer clean vomit and piss.

Me and the kitchen lad are still at war but he is well
wary after I caught him outside a week ago and introduced his nuts to my right
foot.

If I keep going at this rate I’ll have enough cash to
get to
Mallorca
by late July. The new job helps. I sometimes get
front of desk and that means tips.

My guts are killing me right now. I tend to eat in the
kitchen if I can and I swiped some meat from the fridge for a sandwich mid
shift. If I have food poisoning I reckon I could send a bill to the hotel for the
agony I have just saved them if a guest had eaten the stuff.

Martin is like a ghost at the moment. I do nights he
does days. I’m gone before he is in at night and he is away before I’m back. I do
weekends. He doesn’t. I’ve seen him twice in the last few weeks and things are
getting strained. I’m paying no rent and he knows I’m earning - but I can’t
afford to give him a penny. All I do is work, eat, shit, sleep and save.

End of recording for today. I need to go to the
toilet. The meat is on its way back again.

Back in my scratcher. This time I’m down with the flu.
Martin is sick of me big time. This is the first day I can sit up. It hit me
hard and I’m an invalid. I went on line this morning to check flights but I’m
next to useless on the bloody thing. The prices seem to be climbing by the day
- the cost of fuel has gone bananas.

Martin mentioned the ‘r’ word this morning and I
pretended I needed to throw up. I’m not sure how much longer I can freeload.

I invited the computer geek over on pain of death and
he came. I asked him to do the internet thing and he came up with a package on
a car, a hotel and a flight that I might just be able to afford.

He sealed the deal and I used my newly acquired debit
card to pay ten percent now and the balance is due six weeks before I fly. I’ll
need to pull out my finger and get in the overtime if I’m to meet the bill.
There is an opportunity to move to the day shift and also pull some stints
behind the bar at night.

Once I’m out of this bed I’m going 24/7 to put money
in the coffers and then I can get on with my real life.

I paid the balance of the trip today and I’m dead on my
feet. I’ve never worked so hard. I haven’t had a day off in over a month and
I’ve been pulling double shifts six days out of seven. I’ve lost count of the
times I’ve fallen asleep in the bar cellar or in the storage room behind the
kitchen.

I’ve had endless stand up rows with Martin. He seems
intent in making my life a misery. It all came to a head two days ago when he
finally kicked me out. 

I’ve blagged some space on Ronnie the concierge’s
floor for a week, but his missus is far from happy. I can think of a hundred
people that either owe me a favour or I could strong arm but, if Dupree’s goons
are out there, they might get the wrong impression and think I was going back
into business.

I’ll have to work out alternative accommodation soon.

Sometimes you just need to wait and a good thing comes
along. Ronnie’s missus threw me out - I was two days past our agreed time and
she caught me raiding the fridge for a can of lager. I had just put in an
eighteen hour shift and felt entitled. She didn’t see my end of the argument
and my bag and coat left the third floor window of the flat. I had to sprint
down the stairs before my stuff became road kill.

I wandered up to the hostel but they blanked me. I had
a job and they knew it. I grabbed a bus to Martin’s and was surprised that he
let me in.

I had to pay up front rent but it’s a quarter what I
would pay outside. I’ve to leave his booze alone and keep the house pristine. I
would also have agreed to blow off his dad if he had asked.

Martin is running hot and cold and I can’t figure him
from Adam at the moment.

The countdown to the trip is on but I need to get my
head in gear. I need to plan my time in
Mallorca
. I have one week on the island and then I’m home.

I also need to call Charlie Wiggs.

Charlie has arranged for me to meet his friend in
Mallorca
. I get
the impression that the friend is a bit on the shady side and this is good
news. I may need some help and an honest, upright citizen could be a dead
weight.

I have the addresses of the two relevant Mallorca
Security shops and my hotel is only a few streets from the shop in Inca. I’ve
bought a map of the island and street maps for Inca and
Palma
. I’ve
also entered the world of mobile communication with a ‘Pay As you Go’.

My tool kit will need to be split up and put in my
hold luggage. Anyone knowing what to look for could put two and two together,
but I’m counting on the hold bag getting through with no checks. It’s a risk I
need to take. Breaking and entering is definitely on the cards and I’ve no
guarantee I could put together a tool kit in the week that I’m in
Spain
.

I’ll give notice that I am quitting the job next week.
Hopefully they will let me work four weeks and then it’s off to Espanya.

Something strange happened last night.

Earlier in the day I had bought a cheap, but sturdy
suitcase from TJ Hughes in town and picked up a few travel essentials along
with some additional clothing. I packed the clothes with the tool kit and
toiletries into the new case to make sure it all fitted. I needn’t have worried
- I could have fitted it in twice over.