Inside Straight (23 page)

"You off, Graham?"

I turned to see Fester by the back wall, smoking a cigarette. Both eyes were black and swollen.

"Yeah, I'm finished."

"See you later, then."

"Not if I see you first."

Fester laughed politely. I went to my Corsa and got behind the wheel. Started the engine, let it warm up as I looked across the sparsely-populated car park at the front of the club. Maybe if Pollard hadn't come my way, I would still be there now.

I wondered about what Dave had said, about how I was on a decline. I hadn't noticed myself, but then I'd seen plenty of others lose control in stages and they hadn't appeared to notice either. Life had a way of throwing so many distractions at a man that he didn't know he'd hit bottom until his legs cracked beneath him. Maybe I would've continued on that downward trajectory myself, ended up another clipped ticket in the dance of the lemons. But not anymore. Now I had plans, I had opportunities. I just had to get paid what I was owed.

I called the contact phone number while I drove, and instead of going straight to voicemail, someone picked it up: "What?"

It wasn't Pollard. Sounded like Jez, and he sounded harassed.

"I want to speak to Barry."

"He's not here."

"Can you get him to ring me back?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he says he'll call you when he's ready."

"No, well, listen. Things have changed."

"Nowt's changed."

"No, it has. I'm not ... I'm going to be leaving the country next Monday. I'm going on the ships."

"Good for you."

"Thank you. But I need the money as soon as possible."

"You know what Mr Pollard said."

"Yes, I do. I do know what he
said
. But things
change
, don't they? There's no danger, tell him that. Tell him I'm going to be out of the country. I'm not going to call the police. I'm not going to grass anyone up. I'm going to be in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, aren't I? So it's silly to keep the money. No sense in prolonging this any more than necessary. I can be out of your hair by the end of the week."

There was silence at the other end. I thought Jez had cut me off until I heard something that sounded like traffic in the background.

"Jez?"

"Mr Pollard will call you when he's fuckin' ready."

And then he did cut me off. When I tried calling back, it didn't even go to voicemail. I was frozen out. Made me think he was avoiding me instead of playing it safe, all those old paranoid thoughts marching back through my mind. He was edging me out of my cut, trying to intimidate me. The only way to get him to arrange safe payment was to let him know that the investigation was dead in the water, which it wasn't, because no doubt the police would start in on my carefully sown seeds regarding Stevie Laird. And when that turned up empty, they wouldn't tell me that it was over, would they? They'd tell management, and I wasn't exactly on speaking terms with Dave Randall. I could ask Clive to keep an ear out, but I doubted he'd have much for me by the end of the week beyond the usual news – people boasting of their sexual conquests or else trying to deny it; people disappearing to the ships or one of the Stanley or Grosvenor clubs that promised better pay and working conditions; who was straight or gay this week, and who was pretending to be one when they were the other; just the usual flotsam and jetsam of drifting rumour that would do me no good whatsoever, chatter without substance.

I pulled over to the side of the road and sat in the growing dark.

Pollard wouldn't talk to me over the phone. Jez had severed all communication on that front. So I was outside the loop and would probably remain that way unless Pollard had a sudden attack of conscience and decided to pay me what I was owed, which was becoming increasingly unlikely.

So there was nothing else for it. If he wouldn't come to me, then I would have to go to him.

I turned the car around and pointed it back towards the Riverside, where I parked as far away from the club as possible and took the long way round to the front doors. Someone had been in to fix the glass in the doors, so the reception looked a little more inviting, but there was still no Security on the front and wouldn't be until the night shift came in. Which meant that Janine was alone behind the reception desk. She was a blonde girl with teeth the colour of her skin, which was topped up every couple of weeks with some sort of industrial spray. She was a gossipy sort, prone to shooting her mouth off with the preface, "I'm not trying to be funny, but ..." Lucky for her she was daffy with it, or else she wouldn't be half as popular as she was. She also happened to be a lazy cow, which was lucky for me.

I frowned at her as I approached the desk. "Janine, have you been on since we opened?"

She nodded. Of course she had. Her fellow receptionist had been on duty the night of the robbery, so she wouldn't be back for a while. "It's been chocka, Graham."

"Well, why don't you grab a quick break, eh?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, Kevin's on the pit. Dave doesn't care. Go on, get yourself a coffee or something."

She beamed at me. "Cheers, Graham."

And off she went, a sway in her step that was supposed to make her backside look shapely, but which made her look as if she'd soiled herself. I waited until she was gone, then hopped round the desk and shook the mouse at her computer. It brought up the Sovereign database, which was my gateway to the members.

A few clicks later, and I had Pollard's address.

I grabbed a pad and a pen and noted down his details, then switched out the database to the member Janine had been looking at. I got out from behind the desk and quick-walked out of the reception. No doubt Dave would kick off with Janine for leaving the reception unmanned, but that really wasn't my problem anymore.

It was every man for himself.

Nice and early the next morning, I drove out to Pollard's place in Alderley Edge. His was a detached house, a newish build on an estate of similar properties, all of them sprawling and sporting long drives that terminated in wrought iron gates. It was new money all around here, with the kind of taste you bought out of a catalogue.

As I neared the house, I saw the gates standing open and a number of cars parked on the front drive. I pulled in outside the gates and got out of the Corsa. I was wearing my suit, just in case. I didn't know how he would take to having me turn up in my civvies, so I thought it was best to be as formal as possible. When I saw he was having a party, I was glad that I'd made the effort.

My shoes crunched gravel as I walked up the drive. I looked around at the side of the house and saw a bouncy castle. Inside, three kids of various ages were throwing themselves around like they were invincible.

I took a deep breath. Not the best time for a discussion about armed robbery, but it was now or never. Maybe Pollard was more likely to keep his temper if there were other people around. It was a weak hope, but a hope nonetheless.

I headed round to the side of the house. A large crowd had developed in the massive back garden. People stood with drinks in their hands, watching the kids in the bouncy castle, watching others on the small fairground that had been set up in the far corner of the garden. Everyone I saw looked old and cheap in that hard-drinking, working class way as they shifted uncomfortably inside their designer clothes. A large table strained under a mountain of brightly wrapped presents. Another groaned with cake, a large fairy princess triple-tier pink confection surrounded by cupcakes. My stomach growled at the sight of them, but there were too many people around to sneak one away. The area around the back of the house was decked, and at one end of the decking stood Pollard, his back to me, in front of a large barbeque. I smiled and coughed. My throat was dry. I picked up a cup of juice and downed it. I didn't want to sound mealy when I reached the grill.

"Mr Pollard."

He turned sharply at the sound of my voice. His mouth was open, some curse word rattling around in the back of his throat, gaining a little volume when he saw the empty cup in my hand.

Admittedly, that didn't look great. I put it down.

"How did you get in here?"

"Just round the side there."

"The
fuck
" – the word was muttered, a momentary drop in volume – "are they doing?"

"Who?"

"Supposed to be a couple of lads ... Doesn't matter, come on." He grabbed my arm and marched me towards the kitchen, smiling and nodding at his guests as we went. I looked behind me and saw a large man with hair climbing out the back of his T-shirt take over at the grill. There was a sizzle and a shout as he flipped something.

Once we were inside the house, Pollard yelled for Jez. Jez passed the door, a little girl on his shoulders. She was screaming and giggling, and she wore pink fairy wings. She was beating Jez on the back of the head with a fairy wand. He stopped at the sound of Pollard's voice. When he saw me, Jez frowned and his eyes grew wide. He hauled the girl off his back and set her down on the decking. She ran off. He gestured to someone out of sight, pointed into the house and then came in, making a noise that sounded as if someone was letting the air out of him.

"Yeah, Michael fuckin' Dudikoff, isn't he?" Pollard let me go, gestured to his left. "Take him through to the den, will you?"

"You crashing, are you?"

I held up both hands. "No, wait, listen to me—"

It was Jez's turn to grab me now, and his fingers clamped tightly around my arm as he dragged me towards the door. Pollard turned to leave and I felt like shouting his name, but I knew I'd be in even bigger trouble if I did that. He caught my look and fought back with a warning glare and a finger. "I'll see you in a minute, alright? Let Jez take you through."

Jez kept ushering me away. I noticed a shared glance that did nothing for my blood pressure and made my stomach knot. Jez shoved me towards a double door. I went on ahead, my legs trembling.

"Open it."

I did as I was told. And when I opened the doors, I saw the last thing in the world I wanted to see.

Plastic. All over the den floor.

"Wait,
no
." I turned, panicking.

Jez smacked me in the face. White lights flared, something exploded behind my sinuses and I was halfway to the plastic before I knew I was falling. I dropped, landed on my keys, the jab of pain against my thigh momentarily upstaging the pain from my nose. I felt something warm and sticky dribbling out over my top lip, but couldn't see through the tears in my eyes. I tried to get up. I didn't know why I needed to get up, but I tried to anyway. Someone kicked me in the chest. I lost my breath and sprayed blood across the plastic. Another kick to the back, and it felt as if something electric snapped in my spine. I scraped some breath and yelled it out. More kicks followed, piling pain onto pain across the small of my back, my lungs screaming for oxygen so I could scream myself. I threw out a hand, tried to pull myself out of the way, but they'd surrounded me. I didn't know how many, but there were enough to keep me cornered and crying. After a while, the pain became too much, my body and legs knotted with burning bruises, my head ringing with the agony in my nose. I dragged my knees up to my stomach, hunched my shoulders and held on, curled into a ball on the floor. They continued for a dozen more kicks, but they were listless blows. Soon I was left alone. I rocked slightly, breathed harshly through my mouth into a puddle of my nose blood.

I opened one eye. Jez stared back, and another man who was built like a He-Man action figure shifted behind him.

Jez sneered at me. "Fuckin' baby."

I closed my eye again. There was blood in my mouth.

The door opened and closed. I could hear the sound of shoes on plastic as Jez and his mate took off to either side. I could feel Pollard standing there looking at me. I could hear him breathing. He crossed the room.

When I opened my eyes, I saw him sitting in a large, comfortable chair a few feet away. He crossed his legs, his jeans riding up to show one hairy ankle.

I watched him. I swallowed. Blood coated the back of my tongue. I wanted to throw up.

He watched back. His face was blank, but I knew that I wasn't allowed to speak until I was spoken to. And when he finally spoke, his voice was low and his tone was disappointed. "My little girl's birthday today. She's seven. She's got all her mates round, she's got loads of presents, loads of cake, ice cream, jelly, the lot. Special day for her. I'm not going to have anyone ruin it."

I spluttered the words before they became intelligible. "I'm sorry ..."

"She's busy. She'll be busy all day. Doesn't give a fuck what her dad's doing. So I can take my time. I can keep you here all week if I want to. I can keep you here as long as I want and I can do whatever I want, because my little girl doesn't give a shit, my wife can be trusted and the boys here ... well, they're happy to do whatever I tell them to do, aren't you, boys?"

Jez and He-Man agreed. They enjoyed their jobs. The prospect of doing it for days on end was just living the dream.

"So you're lucky. Because if I'd been in a hurry, there's a good chance you wouldn't be fuckin' breathing now. Would've just taken you somewhere nice and quiet and dropped you." Pollard shifted a little in his chair. He held out his hand and clicked his fingers. Jez offered him a cigarette. Pollard curled his lip. "Fuckin' Marlboro Lights? What you trying to do?"