Conman (20 page)

I hit fast forward. Another beep. A hang-up.

A third beep. Breathing. Another hang-up.

I picked up the phone in a sweaty grip and 1471-ed it, one ear out for gurgling plug-holes.

“
Oh two oh, seven seven three four …
” the polite machine intoned with painful enunciation.

I spun a three gently to return the call and listened to it dial and ring, sliding over to the door and pushing it to.

“
Yeah
?” a voice said. Loud. Confident.

American.

I slammed the receiver down and jumped away from the phone like it had spiders all over it.

It was him. It was
him
. Grayson. Seven three four. Where the hell was that? The shop was four three nine. Did that mean anything? Seven three –

The phone let out a bakelite
bringgg
.

He’d called back. Shit, he’d called back. He had my number. 1471-ed me. As I had sown, so had I whassit.

It was still ringing. A splash from the bathroom.

“
I got it!”
I screamed, fumbling it up. “Uhm h-hello?” I
whispered
.

“
Neil? Oh Jesus, thank the Lord it’s you.
”

“Laura, fuck. Hang on,” and I scuttled to the door, pushing it closed. I scuttled back, grabbing up the phone. “Where the
hell
are you?” I whispered. “Christopher and Pete are going
nuts
.”

“
I’ve only got a second. Grayson’s in the shower.
”

“The shower?”

“
Shut up, listen to me,
” She sounded panicked. Scared. “
I called him. Like you said. Said we should go out. He turns up at the shop two hours later. Pulls me out of work.
”

“Pulls – ?”

“
Literally. By the wrist. The boss starts yelling. Grayson tells him I quit. I’m not coming back. He won’t have me serving coffee any more. He takes me back to his hotel –
”

“Quit? Wait, what are you – ?”

“
He’s got these dresses he’s bought, all laid out on his bed. Thousands of pounds worth. He tells me he’s split up with his wife.
”

“Split – ? What
today
?”

“
No no, like a few weeks ago. Says he wants to marry me.
”

“Oh Christ.”

“
I know. Says I’m the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. About to do a deal for two million pounds. I can share everything with him.
”

“Share? Oh Laura, Jesus –”

I sat down. I stood up.

“
I have to come back to Kansas with him. A millionaire’s wife. Marry me, marry me, over and over. What am I going to do?
”

“What did you tell him?”

“
I tried to stall him. Told him I was overwhelmed, flattered, y’know? He’d knocked a girl off her feet, all that. But then he – wait! Shit he’s coming back –
”

Silence on the other end.

“Laura?” I hissed. “Laura?”

Nothing.

“Neil?” Jane called from the bathroom.

“S’all right!” I hollered back. “Don’t worry. S’nothing.”

“
Hello
?”

“I’m here. You’ll have to be quick.”

“
He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Got violent
.”

“Jesus, has he hurt you?”

“
No, but he’s scaring me. Shouting. I lavish you with gifts, treat you like a goddamn prom queen, on and on. So I agreed.
”

“You did?”

“
Well what the fuck was I meant to do?!” Laura spat. “You’ve got me in his room, telling me to keep him happy, at all costs keep him happy.
”

“Okay, okay. So what now, he’s still in the shower?”

“
We went to dinner, now we’re at some hotel casino place. He’s on top of the world. Singing, twirling me about. I’ve made him the happiest man alive. He’s told me to take a wad of money from his black bag.
”

“His bag?”

“
On the bed somewhere … here. Jesus Christ.
”

“What?”

“
There’s gotta be … My God
.”

“And do what?”

“
Huh? Take it down to the casino.
”

“Which? Where are you?”

“
Berkeley Square somewhere. He said take it down to the roulette table and put it all on today’s date. The fourth. Black four. Fourth of November. The day he got engaged to his princess. What shall I do?
”

“You’ve gotta do it.”

“
I don’t know. Neil I’m scared. What have you got me into here? I want to leave.
”

“No, no Jesus you can’t leave. Look, look it’s just a few more hours.” The cat was watching me pacing, head wiping to and fro
like a tennis spectator. “It’s a few more hours. Go. Go downstairs, place the bet. A big wad. Four black. Whatever he says.”

“
And then what? What then? Come back here? He’s going to want to go to bed.
”

“Shit.” I pictured them both. Laura’s curvy frame, struggling, squirming, eyes tight shut beneath Grayson’s white walrus blubber, pumping and sweating. “Shit, then keep him talking. Get him onto the casino floor. Get him drunk, wait for him to pass out,
whatever
it is.”

“
But I – shit. He’s turned the shower off. Fu –
”

“Laura?
Laura?!
”

Nothing.

I closed my eyes and hung up the phone, heart thudding in the silence.

“Who was it?”

I took a deep breath and turned. Jane stood in the doorway.

“Uhm … Maurice.”

“Maurice?”

“Right,” I nodded. I nodded some more. It felt good. I kept nodding, moving forward. I took Jane’s tiny hands. “Leaving a message. Insurance came through. Everybody’s happy. We’re on for Earl’s Court. Everything’s fine.”

Jane sagged, relaxed, relieved. She smiled and I folded her into my arms.

“Everything’s okay now?” she asked, head against my chest.

I breathed deep, smelling toothpaste, cotton and her hair.

“Everything’s perfect,” I said.

I turned my wrist and looked at my chunky watch.

Twelve hours, thirty-two minutes.

“What? The
time
?” I shouted over the static. I craned around and took an anxious look at Elvis on the wall. “Just after eight.”

“
You go hoh sooh
?”

“Home? No no, eight in the morning. It’s the morning here. Thursday.”

“
Ahh, mornih,” Cheng said. “I in Los Ahngeh. Is midnih he. My buy verh pleeh wih hih post. Verh pleeh, Neih sir. Verh pleeh,
” he went on. Something like that, anyway. To be honest, I didn’t care whether he was pleeh. Verh or otherwise. I yessed and really-ed and that’s wonderfulled for a few anxious minutes before getting rid of him, hanging up and breathing out.

The shop was cold and still, Elvis backcombing his quiff minute by aching minute. Despite the stalactites of Magic Trees twisting and fluttering in the office, the place smelled somehow more rotten and damp than ever. A clammy, wet odour of must and fur crawling stale and dank like cobwebs, among which the portable heater whirred and clanked. The morning street was a chill blue, the winter wind catching the shutters and giving them a wake-up rattle.

Cheng’s call had almost killed me. The phone shrilling out as I’d scuttled in, snapping on the lights. I’d wanted it to be Christopher. Or Laura. Pete, Henry, Julio, anyone. Someone just to fill me in, tell me what page we were on.

I moved into the curling lino darkness of the back office, filling the kettle in the kitchen. My hand was trembling about the handle. Only the slightest bit. But enough. I left it standing in the sink and returned to the shop, sifting through the usual post, trying to manhandle the morning into some sort of regular shape.

Something from Earl’s Court I needed to sign and return. Something from the bank.
It is of utmost importance that contact is made with your branch manager at the earliest possible
and so on.

I put it to one side and took some slow, deep breaths. I would set everything straight when I called in on Holborn in the
afternoon
. Nice and friendly, terribly sorry, all my fault, here’s a hundred grand, say no more about it, we really must play golf.

The last letter was a second response from Sotheby’s.
Was I still interested in a valuation of my item? Our team of experts would be pleased to offer a comprehensive
yeah yeah yeah.

I tore it in two and dropped the pieces into the bin. God, I thought, dragging clammy palms over my face slowly. Imagine if I had done it. Put it up for auction. How would I have explained that to Jane. Or to Edward?

Jesus. Lucky break. Luck. Luck was turning.

I jumped at the sound of the door rattling. There was a
recognisable
silhouette visible through the mesh. A familiar shape of messy hair.

“You
spoke
to her? When you
speak
with her?”

“When? Last night. Midnight-ish. I got in from dinner and there was a –”

“And why fuck you not
tell
us?” Julio was tired as always, great blue rings beneath his eyes. He glugged a steaming take-out coffee, blinking crusts from his face, wiping gunk from his lips and smearing it on his heavy anorak pockets. He dumped his familiar purple Reebok bag to the floor and began to dial his mobile phone, checking his watch over and over. “Eh?
Eh
? Why you not
call
? Christopher panicking. We thought whole play was
fuck
.”

“I couldn’t,” I explained. “It was late, my wife …”

“So what she say? He better still be on for noon.”

“I-I think so.”

“
Think
?”

“Sh-she said he was in a good mood. He proposed to her. What about you guys? Is everything still –”

“
Propose
? What propose? What she say?”

“She said yes. I-I think. Y’know, to keep him happy. They were gambling at some casino off Berkeley Square. He told her to take a big wad of cash from his –”

Julio shushed me, holding up his coffee in a gloved hand. He was on the phone.

“Is me. I’m with him now. He said he speak to her last night. Some casino.”

The phone crackled loudly. Somebody, I was guessing Christopher, wasn’t happy.

“Bag?
Angry
? I not know, hold on,” and Julio put the phone to his chest and glared at me. “Grayson is back at Waldorf. Twenty minutes ago. He on his own and furious. Why so? What she done? She refuse to fuck him? Huh? She cross her legs like some
high-school
virgin? And what you know about bag? He say anything about bag?”

I shrugged dumbly.
Bag
?

“He know nothing,” Julio told Christopher. He took some instructions, nodding, glugging some steaming coffee. “Got it,” he said and hung up.

“So what’s going on?” I asked, but Julio was pushing past me, into the back office. I followed him through, worry gnawing at my stomach. He was unrolling a pair of surgeon’s gloves, pulling them on in a snap of latex and talc. He began to load up the Reebok bag. The blue plastic kitchen timer, the can of 3 in 1 oil, grabbing handfuls of Magic Trees from the overhead lights, his eyes scurrying about the floor and ceiling.

“Is it all still on?” I said in the doorway. “Tell me it’s still going ahead?”

He was ignoring me, gathering up old newspapers.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call, okay. My wife suspects I’m –”

“It still on,” Julio scowled. “As long as you and girlfriend haven’t screwed. Christopher is at Kensington place. Pete getting him set.”

“Henry – ?”

Julio pushed past me, shoving my post to one side and rolling up a set of headphones from the desk. He snatched Christopher’s Rupert-check scarf from about the neck of my cardboard Chewbacca.

“Henry at hotel. Watching for Grayson to leave. We have three and a half hours.”

“And Laura? Where do you think she –”

“Who the fuck know?” Julio spat. He dumped out four sets of shop keys with a crash and zipped up the bag smartly. “That it.” He pulled the bag up and began to head for the door.

“Wait! Wait, what do I do? What if Laura calls? What if Grayson comes here?”

“He won’t. You job is done.”

“But what if –”

“
Done
,” Julio barked. “Finished, over with. Relax. All back to normal for you.”

“Relax? Sure. Sure, fine. When Grayson’s on the plane and I’ve got my cut in the bank and – with all due respect – you and Christopher and the rest are all out of my life forever. Then,
then
I’ll think about trying to relax.”

“You wait for call to say buy has take place. Then Henry tail Grayson to airport. Moment plane is in air, it all over. You meet Christopher at flat. Then hey, we go out, have a few drink. Celebrate con well play, yes?” He opened the door with a jangle.

“O-Okay,” I said. “Don’t you … y’know. Don’t leave me hanging here,” I said.

Julio left.

I turned and leant against the door, letting it click shut behind me and sighing an anxious sigh when the phone began to ring.

Christopher.

Was Julio still there? How had Laura sounded? Was I holding up? Not long now.

I explained Julio had cleared everything out and gone. Stripped clean. It was as if they had never arrived. And me? I was ready. I just wanted it over.

Christopher told me not to worry. He and Pete were all set. The room was ready, the drip was in, the pants were wrapped and they were ready to go. Grayson had just called. He was still on for noon. The only loose cannon now was Laura. Did I have any clue where she was?

“Literally no ideaaarrgg
hhHH!
” I said, followed by a “Sorry. No no, not a clue.”

The reason for this being that Laura suddenly stood in the doorway to my office, shaking her head, eyes wide, very much the worse for wear.

“I screwed up Neil. I-I screwed everything up.” Her face began to collapse, bunching on the edge of tears and she fell into my
arms, her slim body almost disappearing in my hug. Something flipped against my fingers. At her neck, a
£
2950 price tag still on the dress.

Everything that had first struck me about Laura the night the thieves had taken her car – the feistiness, the sway of her walk, the way she put her weight on one hip, the dip of her head – that was all gone now.

She looked eight years old. Maybe seven. Her hair was a tangled crackle, wisps falling out around the sides. The little make-up that remained had been stolen from mummy’s dressing table and applied in haste. Mascara streaked down one eye like a bruise, lipstick thin, half rubbed away. Her dress was crumpled, torn a little at the neck. No tights. One shoe missing, her bare foot bobbing on its ball, cold against the peeling office lino. She was sniffing,
trembling
.

“I did … I did what you said,” and she swallowed hard, wiping her eyes, mascara creating a feline swipe across her temple. “Last night. I did it. I went to his bag, his black bag, and took some money out.”

“Four black.”

“He … he was in the shower. He just said take a fat wad from th-the black bag. A hundred big ones he said. I – I …”

“Which you did. Then what? C’mon,” I urged. “What happened then?”

“Well it was more than I thought, y’know? There were
thousands
in there.
Hundreds
of thousands. All wrapped up in fat bands, like from a bank, y’know? Hundred dollar bills. Piles of them. So I took a wad. Like he said. Like
you
said. A
wad
. Like you
told
me to.”

She gave a messy sniff. I fetched her some loo roll from the toilet. She bunched it up and wiped her nose.

“The casino gave me a tray. These square chips. Four black.” She was breathing deep, slowly now, recovering. “Well it lost. Red nine. So y’know, I went back to the room. What was I
supposed
to do?”

“It’s all right,” I soothed. “It’s all right.”

“I get out of the lift and he’s in the corridor. He’s yelling. Standing there in his pants.
You dumb bitch, where the hell’s my
goddamn money!
You bitch this, you
goddamn whore
that. People are coming out of their doors.”

“But –”

“He grabs me, pulls me back to his room, throws me across the bed.” Her hand instinctively reached up to her upper arm. There were the fat blue welts of a hard grip. “He had
two
.”

“Two?”

“
Two
. He had two. How was I to … ?”

“Two what? Laura? What are you – Lift your head, I can’t hear your –”

“You
said.
You
told
me. Take a wad. Go to his bag …”

“I know. Slow down, Laura –”

“His bag. Black one. On the bed. Go to it. Take a wad.
You
never said.
He
never said …”

“Slow
down
. Relax. Tell me. Two … ?”

“
Bags. Fucking bags. Two fucking –
”

“Bags. He had two bags?”

“YES! Two stupid black bloody stupid
bags
.” She wriggled away from me. Angry. At herself, at the situation, at the world. “A stupid black girly thing. Like a –”

“Handbag,” I said, swallowing hard. “Like a handbag.”

“Right.
That’s
what he meant.”

“That’s what he – ?”

“
THAT’S
what he meant! Take a wad from
there
. Not …”

“But you … Oh. Oh God, you …” I trailed off, sick cold fear creeping in around the edges. “What did he – ?

“A hundred pounds. He’d meant a hundred
pounds
. From his purse. A wad of fives. A hundred
pounds
. Not …”

“God, how much did – ? Laura? How … ?”

“It was dollars. Wrapped in bands. A hundred grand.”

“A
hundred grand
?! But –”

“Then he starts. Whacking me. Hitting me. Hard. With the little bag, like a whip, over his head, round and round. It’s got th-these clips, metal fasteners …”

“Oh Jesus, Laura …”

“And all the time he’s shouting. I’m trying to stand up but he’s shouting.
What have you done you dumb bitch, what have you done!
”

“So … wait, I don’t understand. Where … ? You took a hundred thousand from – ?”

“His
bag
. A holdall thing. On the bed. He
said
on the bed.
You
said take it.”

The room began to throb and spin. I held her tight, to keep her still, to keep everything still.

“Ow,
ow
Neil –”

“Shit, sorry, I-I’m sorry.” My head thudded. “Okay so, he’s angry …”

“He’s slapping me. Over and over. I’m screaming,
praying
someone will hear. Knock on the door, call the police,
something
. Then he just stops. Just walks away. Slams the door. Disappears.”

“Where … where did he –”

“I don’t know,” Laura said. She looked up at me with her bruised eyes, blinking and teary. “I … I lay on the floor for a while. It hurt, y’know? It hurt just to move. But eventually I got up and lay on the bed. I remember the light was on, the ceiling light. Bright. I could feel it against my eyes but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get up to turn it off. So I just lay there.”

“You want to go to hospital?” I said, backing away, looking her over. Her knees, her thighs, bruised with angry black flowers.

She shook her head.

“Let me … just let me sit down.”

I led her to a chair, returned to the kitchen and boiled the kettle for tea. As it bubbled away, I went back to Laura. She hadn’t moved. Head bowed, shaking, shivering, one bare blue foot curled around the toe of her remaining shoe.

“He –” she began, stalling over the word. Over the thought of the man who had done this. “He woke me up a few hours ago. Shaking me. Still angry. Worse. A sort of calmness about it. I thought he was going to kill me. He was talking.”

I knelt and took Laura’s hands. They were bony and freezing. I gently rubbed the knuckles, trying to wake them, to bring them to life, returning her to the ring. Round two.

“Said I’d ruined
everything
. On and on. I’d ruined
everything
. It was … I mean he wasn’t making sense. Pacing about in his tuxedo, little silk socks. The fat –”

“It’s all right, it’s all right.”