Conman (15 page)

“Shouldn’t someone call the police?” Laura suggested.

The shop fell quiet again. What was she
doing
here?

“I call now,” Julio said, impatience in his voice. “Let them sort out.” Louder.

Shit.

I scuttled quickly back into the tiny toilet. Locking the door, I sat down, knees bouncing. Heart thudding in the dark, I tried to focus, tried to concentrate. Shuffling. Footsteps in the office. Voices were mumbling in the shop.

Grayson. More mumbling.

Laura. The scuff of a chair.

The door jingling. Traffic. The door closing.

A long silence.

I listened to my heart beat for a moment, blinking hard.

Still nothing.

Then the soft trill of a mobile phone.
Rumpty-tumpty-tumpty-tum.
Christopher’s low voice.

“
Neil!
” Pete yelled. “Get
out
here.”

Slowly, I edged out of the dark cubicle, through the office, blinking like a rabbit into the white glare of the strip lights. Christopher was on his mobile. Julio – cap off, tie unclipped, hair miraculously back to its ruffled state – stood, arms folded, on the left of a sheepish-looking Laura. Pete flanked her right.

“Hey there,” she said with a small apologetic smile.

“Enough from you,” Julio growled.

Incongruously for a Monday morning, Laura was back in evening wear. Hair up, long pale neck exposed, soft shoulders peeping from her short black cocktail dress, stockinged legs in red velvet heels. Some of her swagger, however, was noticeably absent.

Christopher clicked his phone closed, causing everyone to turn his way.

“Henry’s got him. He’s jinked west onto Regent Street and is heading south. Probably back to the hotel to calm down. Henry will call again when he’s settled.”

Pete and Julio relaxed a little, rolling their shoulders.

“Which brings us to you, miss,” Christopher said pointedly, all eyes falling dubiously upon Laura. “You mind telling us quel le
fuck
you are doing here? This some twist is it? Neil?” and he looked at me. “Getting your girlfriend involved? You trying to get clever on us? Hn?”

“Wait,” I protested. “I didn’t –”

“A wrong note.
One
wrong note, that’s all it takes,” Christopher said. He tugged his handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the fleshy putty and dripping scarlet corn syrup from his forehead, examining the stained cotton once or twice. “Our mark picks up the
tiniest
sensation, the most minute
ruffle
that things are not absolutely perfect, he’ll walk. No explanations, no goodbyes. Bang. Back on the plane. And we’re half a million down.”

“He had nothing to do with this,” Laura said. Her voice cracked a little. “I just stopped by. I wanted … I just wanted to see what you guys were like.”

“What we
like
?” Julio snarled. He looked at Christopher contemptuously. “We should walk. There no way he went for it. I got a pony say he’s take his money and he’s back at the airport. Or he calling the cops. Smelling fish. We bloody walk.”

“Pete?” Christopher asked.

Pete looked at me, breathing deep. He turned to Christopher.

“I don’t know. He appeared pretty impressed with the pants.”

“He bloody walk, I fuck tell you. He out of here.”

“And on the plus side,” Pete added, “he did seem to like the broad.”

“This whole thing is fuck,” Julio said. “I out of this, I out of this,” and he shook his head, pushing off towards the office.

“Julio, wait –”

“I was just curious,” Laura went on, looking about the group. “Neil said you guys were professionals. Thought it’d be a kick, y’know?”

“
Julio?!
” Christopher hollered again.

“Your
kick
has probably just cost us five hundred thousand pounds, little lady,” Pete said, “which I myself am in no mood to just to write off.”

“Look,” I said, voice wobbling a little like a schoolboy’s. “Christopher, look –”

“I’m thinking,” he said, bottom lip protruding like the prow of a tiny ship. “His fancy did appear taken, that’s true …”

The shop fell silent.

“If Grayson walks now,” Pete said, lighting a cigarette with the snap of a Zippo, “he’d miss his opportunity for a date.”

“
Date
– ?” Laura yelped.

“Hmn, indeedy,” Christopher said slowly, his great mind rolling it over. “Julio?” he called again.

Julio appeared in the office doorway, security guard uniform off, back in combats and boots and a heavy coat, purple Reebok bag on his shoulder, thunder across his face.

“I go out of here,” he said.

“You stay where you are,” Christopher said. He checked his watch, hmmmm-ing to himself again, at which point, on cue, his mobile began to rumpty-tump. He flipped it open, raising a finger for Julio to wait.

“Henry? What’s the position? … Uh-huh, right …”

We all glanced about each other.

“Fine. And no calls, no cabs? … Good. Stay where you are and wait for my word.”

Christopher snapped his phone closed.

“Grayson’s back at the hotel. Ordered lunch from the front desk and gone straight to his room. No cabs. No airports. Seems pissed off but not going anywhere. The plan holds.”

“Then you fuck crazy,” Julio said.

“You,” Christopher said, pointing a finger at Laura. “You will do exactly as we tell you over the next seventy-two hours, you understand me?”

Laura’s eyes flicked over to me quickly, then back to Christopher.

“Take Grayson’s card, call his hotel and make yourself available for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Laura said, eyebrows aloft, chin burying into her neck. “Ha, I don’t think so mate. I’ve seen everything I came to see and now I’m off. You like him so much? You take him to –”

CRACK!
– Christopher slapped her a stinging swipe across the cheek, flat palmed and loud.

Laura spun, hand to her face, white with shock.

I stumbled, knees loose, diving at Christopher spastically but Pete shoved his broad body between us, chest out, chin up, forcing me backwards.

Blinking, breathing deep, Laura stood, regaining her cool, flicking hair from her face. Christopher pointed the business end of his mobile phone at her.

 “This is
your
doing, honey. You sashayed in here with a wiggle in your walk and a giggle in your talk. It’s ten minutes past too damned late to start backing out now. You have half a million pounds you want to donate to the Save the Trickster Fund?”

Laura just blinked back at him, shaken.

“Thought not. Then, young mademoiselle, I regret you’re involved right up to your pretty little earlobes. You will be
available for dinner,
” Christopher reiterated, bristling, like wind over a cornfield. I got the impression that enough was beginning to be enough. “You are thrilled to be asked, you’ve never seen a place like it, he’s such a gentleman, etcetera etcetera. Pearls, furs, the lot. Laugh at his jokes, pick fluff off his collar, get him to impress you. But don’t fuck him.”

“!” Laura said, eyes wide, jaw dropping.

“You think that’s wise?” Pete said, stroking his chin. “We gotta keep him sweet …”

“No,” Christopher said. “He gets her on the king-size wearing her ankles as earrings on the first date, he’s got less of a reason to stick around.” He turned to Laura, who had shifted her weight onto one hip and hoisted one eyebrow up within the flickering fluorescents attempting to assert herself a little. “Let him know it’s on the menu –”

“
Believe
,” Laura corrected, voice shaky. “You mean let him
believe
it’s on the menu.”

“Potato, potah-to,” Christopher said. “Keep him keen. Think you can manage that?”

Laura looked at Christopher. Then around the room.

Julio slid his bag from his shoulder and dropped it to the floor with a thud.

“Okay, it’s ten past eleven. Henry will call Grayson this
afternoon
. Four o’clock. He agrees to the meet, we’re back here tomorrow for scene two. Julio?”

“This is mistake,” Julio said.

“Julio, you’re checking the case and getting it to our man at the Windmill. Pete?”

“Installing the alarm,” Pete nodded.

“That’s it,” Christopher said smartly. “Let’s go munchkins. Choppity chop.”

Pete stuck around wiring the alarm dutifully while Christopher addressed another in a long line of jiffy bags, changed ninety-five pounds into fivers and he and Julio set off to prove once again there
was
such a thing as a free lunch. I made Laura a nervous coffee, managing to shake most of the granules onto the kitchen floor.

I took her drink over to the counter and placed it down on the back of an envelope.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Forget it,” she said.

“These … these are serious men. This is a serious business. I …”

Laura lifted her coffee, the envelope tacking to the bottom of the mug. She peeled it off and handed it to me. It was the letter to my father, still unfinished. I balanced it atop the final demands in my in-tray.

“He was out of order,” I said, looking at her. “That was …” My hands were still a little shaky. I swallowed hard. “But it shows … well, believe me, they’re not going to have their money taken away from them just because you want to play Jessica Rabbit.”

Laura laughed at this, which was a relief in some ways, if not rather irritating in a dozen others. She jabbed a thumb at a yellowing poster of Humphrey Bogart Blu-tacked to one damp wall, pistol in his hand, hat over his eyes.

“That’s who you remind me of,” she said. “
Don’t get involved shweetheart, dis is a man’s racket, y’hear? You don’t wanna get yourself bruised, toots.
”

“This is serious,” I said. “It may be a bit of fun for you but if … ? I don’t like the idea of you alone with this American.” “I can handle –”

“
Handle y’self
, I know I know. You … you’ve got some sass, that much is true.”

Laura raised a finely plucked eyebrow.

“But a hip-wiggle when you go to the powder room is fine for a Saturday night up west. It isn’t going to save you if this man smells a rat. I …” I looked at her. “I don’t want you involved.”

“Awww. That’s sweet.”

“I mean it. You stumbled into this and that’s my fault. I should
get you out of this. We don’t know anything about this Grayson guy.”

“Apart from he’s a comic book geek. And a very wealthy one at that.” Laura slipped off the edge of the counter and handed me her coffee mug. “Hell, I’ve done a lot worse.”

“Christ, this isn’t a
date
.”

“Well until I can find myself a wealthy comic book geek of my own,” and she was suddenly snaking her hand around my ear, pulling me forwards a little, “he’ll have to do.”

She leaned in quickly, closing her eyes, at which point the world was suddenly wrenched in half by a head thudding shriek. I slipped off the desk, coffee splashing, Laura backing away hands flying to her ears.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelled, the words thick and muddy through the blurring wail.

Abruptly, the alarm stopped, leaving the room swaying and throbbing in a high-pitched silence.

“Sorry,” Pete said, appearing in the office doorway with his pliers. “Alarm’s set. Better keep your hands off the pants from now on.”

“I’ll try,” Laura said.

I looked at her. Had she … ? I felt my cheeks beginning their familiar adolescent glow.

“I …” my voice croaked.

“Quite,” Laura said. “And I’d better get off to work. Are you … ?”

“I’d better give Jane a call,” I said quickly, nodding and
fidgeting
.

“Then wish me luck,” she said, flapping the Kansas
business-card
and I watched her wander, heels clicking up the shop, through the door with a jangle, and click off up the cobbled street.

I stared into space for a few minutes and then gave Jane a call to tell her I loved her very very very very much.

“
Kissed
her?”

“Kissed her.”

“Where?”

“Left cheek.”

“Thank you Desmond Morris. I mean
where
?”

“Oh.” Julio flicked through his pocket book irritably. “At Oxo Tower. Before dessert. Then they cab to Garrick Street. A club. Private members. A bar. Dancing.”

“Did Laura behave?”

I felt Christopher, Pete and Julio all not turning to look over at me.

“Grayson all over her some more and she flirt a little back. He mostly talk up his background. Kansas. What he got, what he getting, how much he worth. Trying to impress. Told her he had contacts. That there would be no way he would not get to this auction. He was a major player.”

“And after Garrick Street?”

“Cab back to hotel. He offer her drink in his room, she say
another time maybe.
”

“
Another time
. Good girl,” Christopher nodded. “Hmn, this may yet turn out to be not quite the fiasco we imagined.” Whipping out his telephone, he thumbed down the address book. “And the case is in place, Julio?”

“Drop it off on way here.”

“Test the bottom?”

“Of course.”

Christopher checked the kitchen timer as his mobile dialled out.

It was Tuesday morning. Elvis had the big hand on his
preposterous
collar and the little hand in his right eyebrow and I had my hands round my second take-out latte. Was it wrong of me to be feeling … not friendship. Not friendship at all in fact.

But camaraderie? A sense of teamwork?

While at university, I had thrived on the chumminess. Relied on it, I suppose. Jane, Andrew and I, biffing about together. Leaning on each other. Lending revision notes and kindly ears – depending on what was required obviously. But since then … ? Well shop life can be a lonely business, failing-shop life even more so. It had only been four days since we’d met, but I was getting used to having these guys around. Still didn’t trust them as far as my cardboard Chewbacca could throw them of course.

But for better or worse, camaraderie was what I felt.

Monday had been another painful evening at home. Our weekly classical-music, candles and massage night had been spoilt by my fidgety nerves. Nerves which I successfully managed to transmit, through the magical powers of pummelling and oils, into Jane’s bare spine, causing her to develop a blinding headache and a bad back. Candles out, lights on, music off, Lana was changed grumpily while I clattered crockery in the kitchen and fretted.

As we had dressed for bed, flossing and splashing, Jane had tried to get me to concentrate on the plans for Thursday’s dinner with her old school friends Catherine and Jack.

Thursday
, I’d thought. By then it would all be over. God, it couldn’t come quick enough.

Jane, noting my distance, then tried to get me involved in some stress-relieving sex instead; however, it turned out that Thursday wasn’t the only thing that couldn’t come quick enough so there was some rolling off and reaching for books, leaving me staring at the damp on the ceiling and worrying.

“Henry, it’s me,” Christopher said, getting up for a bit of a pace among the postcards and posters. “We’re set here. You ready to make the call? Where’s our mark … ? She’s with him? Now?”

Christopher threw a look at me, which I gave a baffled twist before batting back.

“No. No time, we’ll have to play it with her in tow. Dammit. Look, make the call. I’ll hold on. And remember, you’re a
fifteen-year-old
rapscallion with a stolen attaché case under your arm, quick cash on your mind and heroin up your nose. Go.”

The shop fell quiet, save the usual soft burble of the midmorning radio news. Everyone stared at the floor, waiting, waiting. Everyone but Christopher, naturally, who, popping the phone under his chin, began to flap with a pouch of tobacco, tumpty-tumming idly before being jerked back onto the line.

“Well … ? Splendiful, good man. He heading off now? … Well a hackney carriage from South Molton to Windmill Street should bring him to our door in fifteen minutes. Stay with him,” and he snapped the phone closed. “Marvellous.”

“Shit,” Julio added.

“No, no Julio, chin up now,” Christopher jollied. “He’s taken the bait as we knew he would. The young lady’s attendance might in fact work to our advantage. If Grayson –”

“No, I mean
shit
.”

We all looked at him but he didn’t look back. He was staring over Christopher’s shoulder. At the front door.

It rattled hard.

“Heh? Heh? Ne?” Cheng hollered, peering through cupped hands, breath fogging the wire glass. “You ohp?”

“Christ,” I said, pushing past, hurrying up the shop to the door. The three men shuffled towards the office, backs turned. “I’m … we’re not open yet,” I shouted. “Later, can you come back later?”

“Noh,” Cheng said urgently. “Mus be now. I goh. Fligh to US. One o’cloh. I ha the fye hundreh,” and he began pointing behind me to Redford and Newman on the back wall.

“What’s he want?” Julio called out.

“Shit,” I said, teeth gritted. “He wants to buy
The Sting.
He’s got a flight at one.”

The door rattled again, Cheng fanning twenty pound notes like a Geisha.

“
Send him away,
” Christopher hissed. “
Grayson could be here any moment. Get rid of him.
”

“My buy veh keen to buil relationshih,” Cheng insisted. “I tahe pohst now, he order big lahte.”

“Neil!”

“I … shit, I can’t,” I said. “He’s got contacts. If I sell him this, I can sell him others. I’m … I’m sorry, I need the business. I’m letting him in,” I said and began to flick the latches. “I’ll be quick.”

Cheng bustled in, flapping his money, a large bag over his shoulder, the men disappearing deeper into the office.

“Can we do this quickly, Mr Cheng? I’m in a bit of a hurry.” I scurried down the shop, grabbing up the kick stool, moving behind the desk and clambering up.

“Ease, ease,” Cheng said, hands held out. “I dohn whan damage.”

I lifted the huge frame from the wall slowly, stepping back down, turning and laying it face down onto the untidy desk while Cheng busied himself in his bag, tugging out a large plastic poster tube.

In the back office, Christopher’s mobile phone gave a muffled chirrup.

“Whas thih?” Cheng said. He was peering into the new display case, sweet breath fogging the Perspex. “Holy … thih reeh? When you geh thih? You seh thih?”

“They’re not for sale,” I said, flipping the clips on the back hurriedly, releasing the back-board from the frame. With finger tips, I wafted the delicate poster out, holding it up for Cheng to see.

“Jesuh, you hah the tablecloh too? Thih worth thousan. Jesuh … How muh you whah? My collec’ he gih you ten thouhsah?”

“Mr Cheng?”

“Grayson’s on his way,” Pete said behind me, making me start. “Henry just called. Get rid of your customer. Now.”

“Sure, sure, no problem. Mr Cheng? Mr Cheng? I’m going to have to hurry you. I’m sorry …”

Cheng was slowly and methodically measuring his plastic tube against the short edge of the poster, nose inches from the paper, peering closely, blowing away invisible dust.

“Let’s pick up pace shall we?” Julio said, shouldering me aside. He was pulling on his security guard’s uniform, shiny peak pulled down hard over his eyes. He grabbed up the poster in two rough fists, scrabbling it into a roll quickly.

“Whey! Whey! Bubbuh wrap, you bubbuh wrap!”

“He’s a minute away,” Christopher called out suddenly, appearing in the office doorway, mobile phone held to his chest. “Pete, take the counter. Get rid of this guy as fast as you can. Julio, watch the door. Neil, get in the kitchen. Let Pete take over. Mr Cheng is it? Mr Cheng?”

Cheng looked up.

“Neil’s
assistant
is going to help you now. Thank you for your business. I hope you make your flight. C’mon people. Focus.” He was back on the phone. “Okay Henry, we’re set. ETA? … Good. Wait for the call,” and he snapped the phone shut, pushing me out of sight, a hand on my shoulder. We moved hurriedly through the office into the tiny kitchen once again, pulling the door ajar.

Hearts thudding, we stood and listened to each other breathe in the darkness. The sounds in the shop. The snap, crackle and pop of bubble-wrap, the rustle of paper, Cheng complaining in
staccato
yelps.

“Reciep?”

“Yes, one second,” Pete said. The till chattered.

“Get
rid of him
,” Christopher hissed to himself, checking his Mickey Mouse watch.

Grayson would be here any minute.

“Reciep?” Cheng said again.

Any second.

“Come on!”

The door jingled.

“Well g’mornin’, g’mornin’,” Grayson hollered cheerily. A cold wind rustled through the shop. “Come on in honey, come on in, putcha bags down here. Ah jus’ wanna show these gennermen our little good fortune here.” We listened to the door close. “A g’mornin’ sir, you got yur heart set on these briefs too, huh?”

“Whah? Noh, I need reciep. I hah plane to cah,” Cheng said. He was beginning to sound irritated.

“Allow me,” we heard Laura say, followed by a click click and a chatter and the sound of the drawer springing open.

“Beautiful
and
handy,” Grayson chuckled horribly.

“Ne?” Cheng called loudly. “Ne? He ouh the bah there? Ne?”

Christopher looked up with an angry, accusatory glare, eyes white and wide in the half-light.

“Mr Cheng,” Pete soothed. “Why don’t we –”

“
Ne?!
”

“Wha’s the fellah shoutin’ about? Someone back there? Huh?”

I held my breath, hard and tight in my chest. Christopher’s eyes narrowed slowly.

“Remember your plane?” Pete was saying. “I think it’s time you were heading off, don’t you? I have to deal with Mr Grayson now, I –”

“Hey boy, what kind’a salesman are you anyhow? Shovin’ yur customers out? Let the man take his time. He knows when his plane is. Jeez this country. Ah tell ya miss, the service in this place …” and thankfully Grayson was off, lecturing Laura on how to treat customers, superior American till technology and tight-assed limey bitches at the Bureau de Change. Somewhere within all this we made out the clatter of Pete chivvying Cheng out onto the street.

Christopher stared at me in silence for an age.

“I … I’m sorry,” I whispered. “He’s a big customer, I-I …”

Christopher put a gloved finger to my lips. I smelled the synthetic rubber, tasted the acid battery tang.

“Step away from case sir,” Julio was saying. “I not tell you again.”

“Okay boy, ahm juss’ showin’ mah gal here. You see this
sweetheart
? Look at them. The definin’ image of the definitive hero of the twenny-eth century. Universally understood. And these.
These
. The very pair, the
inspiration
. Sketched, painted, rendered a
thousand
times. A cultural mahl-stone …”

While Grayson gosh-gollied and goddarned it, in the kitchen Christopher, one finger still pressed against my lips, was silently fishing out his mobile and thumbing through the address book, face glowing in the faint green light of the display screen. Breath held, heart slamming, there was a pause and then the phone on the shop desk jangled into life.

“That’ll be
Sotheby’s
in LA,” Pete said loudly.

“
LA
?”

“Hello?
Heroes
Incoporated
?”

“
Relax
,” Christopher whispered into his little phone, inches from me. “
It’s all going fine.
”

“Yes hi, I thought it would be you. What time is it there … ?”

“
Remember the delay on the line. Lots of pauses. Make sure Grayson can hear you. And talk insurance.
”

“What? Are you there … ?
Insurance
? No, I’ve had all that covered. You told me to … revalued? What do you mean? The
tablecloth
?”

Outside, the shop went quiet.

“Oh my God. Are you serious?! When? When was this?”

There was the squeak of Pete dropping into the chair.

“Everythin’ all right boy? Your boss don’t look so good.”

“I don’t know,” I heard Julio saying. “LA have matching tablecloth going up for auction simultaneous. Maybe they had offers in?”

“Then, God, I don’t know,” Pete went on. “Maybe … maybe you should have it collected or something? … Well like you said, I’ve just got the one guard and the alarm … Yes, but who’s going to pay for that … ?”

“What was the reserve for the cape, kid?”

“I no can tell you sir. It a private auction by invite only.”

“I thought you were going to bid,” Laura said. She sounded grumpy, a little spoilt.

“An’ that I am li’l lady. Hey bud, what’s it gonna take to get me into that auction room?” and there was the sound of a zip.

In the darkened kitchen, Christopher cocked his head a little to listen. I pointed at my chest.

“
Round his neck,
” I whispered. “
Wallet
?”

“Christ,” Pete said, hanging up noisily.

“Problem?”

“Lock the door. Double lock it. And double check the fire escapes.” There was a clink as Pete tossed Julio the keys. “Damn. I knew I should have let
Forbidden Planet
… LA want armed bloody guards.”

“Armed?”

“They’ve had a load of early bids in for the tablecloth. Reserve has tripled. They think the pants are likely to go likewise. We should have them moved. Sir? Sorry sir, I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the store? Sir?”

“Ahll right, ahll right. One second. Ah juss came by to give you a promised peep at this l’il baby. Lookie here.” There was a shuffle and a thud and two loud metallic clicks. “You remember yur fellah yesterday? Mr Laurie?”

“With the cut head? Is … is that it? You got his case back?”

“Ha-haa, come here my beauty. Look at that. Careful now … We were shopping. Ah was buyin’ this lovely lady somethin’
pretty. When some guy calls me up. Juss a few minutes ago. Young kid he sounds like. Says he’s got a case in his possession. Nuthin’ in it but a comic book, train ticket to Blidworth and my name and number. Little tyke says if I want it back, it’ll cost me two hundred bucks. Ha!” Grayson barked. “Kid obviously ain’t a collector! Two hundred. Boy, talk about the deal of a lifetime! Told me I could pick it up at some strip joint just down the street there. Two hundred! Your fellah had me payin’ over five grand.”