Even Stranger Page 6

  “I’m a bit worried,” said Brenda. She was straddling his back in a workmanlike way, “That I might squash him, but I daren’t let go.” Face-down beneath her, he wriggled and bucked again. She reached up for a glossy cruise brochure on the desk behind her, rolled it and swatted him, none too gently, on the back of the head. “Stay still, you.”

  “Not the police.” Said Hilary, raising her head. “No police.” I saw, with shock, there was blood at the side of her mouth, she wiped it with the sleeve of her jumper, the resulting smear made it look far worse.

  “It’s Martin,” she said.

  “What’s Martin? Did he hit you?” I was completely at sea.

  “No, course not.” Hilary shook her head, then thought better of it, nursing her sore mouth with a cautious hand. “It’s… well, Martin’s got a problem.”

  “What sort of a problem?”

  “Rather not say.”

  “For goodness sake, don’t be ridiculous Hilary, what d’you mean, rather not say? Who the heck’s this?” I indicated the bloke on the floor. He’d gone worryingly quiet. I hoped Brenda hadn’t finished him off. She obviously thought the same, because she shifted a little and he took in a breath and cursed, which was reassuring. “Hilary,” I said sharply, “Who the hell is this? What’s he doing here? And where is Martin?”

  “Travel exhibition.”

  “And… ?”

  “He didn’t believe me.” She inclined her head towards the supine one.

  “And what? He hit you because Martin’s out?” I knew people took booking their holiday extremely seriously, but surely not to this extent. Hilary shook her head and again regretted it.

  “He wants money, that’s why he’s here.”

  “What money?”

  “Money Martin owes.”

  “Who to? What for?”

  “Gambling, he gambles, OK? Puts money on horses. Stupid sod, never wins, ever. Got right out of his depth, borrowed a lot and hasn’t paid it back yet.” Her face was pale and taut.

  “And… ?”

  “This… person, came to warn him what would happen if he didn’t settle. He didn’t believe me when I said Martin wasn’t here so… ” she paused and wiped more blood which had trickled down, “He warned me instead.”

  “Bastard!” hissed Kitty. “Should be bloody ashamed, hitting a woman like that.” I didn’t think a lecture on manners was going to make much of difference to the status quo, quite apart from which, I knew the man on the floor was a great deal more dangerously angry than when he’d begun this business call. He bucked his legs viciously, trying to shift Kitty, then yelped and cursed comprehensively as she gave his calf a sharp pinch.

  “Listen,” she said, “Nothing you’ve got to say’s going to shock me, so you might as well shut up.”

  I gathered he worked for a small, but highly efficient organisation, lending to those who’d exhausted all the normal channels and were desperate for another, short-term avenue, albeit rather out of the fat and into the fire. These though were lenders who liked loans and accruing interest repaid, and repaid promptly. When this didn’t happen, as it so frequently didn’t, action was called for and it was best called for from an employee who was highly effective, because he really relished his work. He not only invariably collected the requisite amount, but enjoyed the process as much as the payment. A man happy in his work.

  In the normal course of events, a visit would have been made, threats issued and a return appointment arranged to pick up the fruits of the threat. Today hadn’t gone quite to plan, and because reputation and status are powerful things to those that have them, this was one deeply unhappy chappie. He’d turned from landing ‘a smack or two’, on the wife, only to find her shrieks had brought reinforcements from upstairs. He’d seen who it was, and had never been less perturbed in his life. He’d simply carried on doing what he’d come here to do – expanding on what hubby could expect, if payment wasn’t pronto.

  Concentrating on the task in hand, he was startled to find himself suddenly hit hard on the head with a firmly wielded office stapler which, not unnaturally, caused him to stagger a little. At this point, a chair on wheels had hit him painfully behind both knees causing, him to swiftly assume a sitting position, although by then, the chair had been whisked away, so he landed hard on the floor instead, whereupon two crazy women rolled him over and sat on him. He could, he thought, have thrown the old one off without missing a beat, she was like a bleeding skeleton but the other one, fat cow, had somehow managed to pin both his arms down with her legs, which were on the substantial side.

  He couldn’t quite believe how he’d wound up like this, and his language was pretty choice, there were certainly a few words I hadn’t heard before, although luckily he was a bit short of breath, so really couldn’t spit out everything that was going through his head. The problem was, we had ourselves a bit of a rattle-snake situation. The minute they let go, he’d swing round and lash out indiscriminately. I could see he was so lividly humiliated, he couldn’t care less who he hurt, as long as it was someone and badly.

  Hilary, meanwhile, had hauled herself up unsteadily from the floor and was leaning shakily against a desk.

  “Martin’s got the money.” She said. “What he borrowed and extra, for the interest. I told him.” She jerked her head towards the floor. “But he says it’s not enough.”

  “Where is it?” I said.

  “What?”

  “The money, where is it?”

  “Here, it’s in the cash box, couldn’t risk leaving it with Martin, could I? He’d only bloody gamble it away again, silly fool.”

  “Right. Give it to me.”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes, now.” I snapped. She produced a key from a chain around her neck, the cash box from the drawer and, after a moment or two, a plump wad of notes. I put my hand out and she gave it to me.

  “OK,” I said. “You, yob on the floor.” He grunted. “This is what’s going to happen next. I’m not going to call the police, much as I’d like to see you locked up and the key thrown away. I’m going to ask these nice ladies to get off you. You’ll then stand up, slowly, with your hands at your side. Understand?” He grunted again and I saw that what he had in mind, in no way included standing still with his hands at his side. I also knew, because he was planning on getting it out at the first opportunity, he had a flick-knife in the back pocket of his jeans. I nodded at Kitty and Brenda, they both looked at me doubtfully – and they didn’t know the half of it – I nodded at them again and Brenda climbed off cautiously, and extended a hand to the older woman.

  The second Brenda’s weight was off his back, he was up, lip curled, fist raised, sending Kitty flying off his legs. Brenda and Hilary both grabbed for her and hauled her in, before he could land a blow and I knocked his legs right out from under him. He hit the ground again, hard. I have to confess, it gave me a bit of a headache, it was a long time since I’d moved anything as heavy, I usually only shifted cups or plates. I shook my head at him,

  “I said, not to stand up too fast. Didn’t do what you were told, did you?” I was a little alarmed to hear myself sounding just like Kitty, when she was credit-chasing, but maybe a bit of menacing was called for. “Now, let’s try it one more time, shall we? Stand up. And don’t move too fast, or you’ll go over again. It’s possible,” I added helpfully, “You’ve got a bit of concussion. Dizzy? Headache?” I went into his head, but with care, the last time I’d attempted this in a difficult situation, the consequences had been rather dire. He sat up, measurably slower this time and immediately clasped hand to forehead and winced, I thought I’d probably done enough.

  “Upsadaisy.” I said encouragingly, “Slowly now, and keep those arms down, where I can see them.” This time he followed instruction, I think his headache was giving him grief. “Now, there’s a very unpleasant litt
le knife in your pocket. Take it out,” I instructed, “And don’t even think of trying anything. Put it down on that desk.” He gawped at me, reached into his pocket, extracted the knife and promptly flicked open the blade – honestly some people are just so unreliable. I heated the handle to red-hot, he yelped in agony and threw it down.

  The three women, meanwhile, had retreated into Hilary’s corner. I noted, Brenda and Kitty had a firm hold of each other, automatically forming a shield for Hilary – a promising sign, I thought, for future working relationships. Standing, our visitor towered over me, overworked biceps straining at a tight leather jacket. He was a bit lop-sided, on account of having to hold his head, where it was thumping unpleasantly, at the same time as flapping his rapidly blistering hand back and forth to try and cool it. He didn’t smell too good, inside or out, a combination of leather, sweat, stale cigarettes and rancidly sour, anger and frustrated violence. He didn’t know which of us in the room, he wanted to do the most damage to. I felt I needed to bring this to a conclusion, and the sooner the better.

  “Right,” I said, “Listen up. I’m going to hand you this money. You’re going to take it.” He shook his head, he really was a tryer.

  “It’s bloody short. She’s not given you enough. Can’t go back with just that.”

  “Oh, I think you can. If it’s short, you make up the rest, you’re not getting any more here. Bit of a tough guy huh? The one they call, when they want to put the frighteners on? Not going to sound good, if it comes out you were knocked silly by a few women. Don’t want that getting around do you, might dry up the hard-man jobs a bit.” He opened his mouth to offer me a few suggestions, as to exactly what I could do with myself. But then what I’d said, started to sink in – he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, even if one of the most vicious, but I think he realised, he wasn’t coming out of this smelling of roses.

  “Take the money and go.” I said sharply. “Before I change my mind and send you out with nothing.” He put out a hand and snatched the cash.

  “Bitch.” He spat, with feeling. I turned my back on the others and moved in closer to him, so they couldn’t hear.

  “I know who you are,” I said softly, “And I know who you work for. I can make a whole load of trouble for you, any damn time I choose and, trust me, it’ll be trouble that hurts – a lot. I don’t want to see your ugly mug within a mile of any of us, ever again. Are we absolutely clear?” He snarled sour breath into my face, and turned away, a touch of bravado returning, as he felt for the door handle.

  “I want my knife.” He said.

  “I want a Rolls Royce,” I responded, “We don’t all get what we want.”

  “I’ll remember you, you little cow.” He said with bitterness.

  “And I’ll remember you.” I said. “If I ever come across you again, headache’ll be the least of your worries.” And I gave him a thump to the temples, saw him recoil as it registered painfully.

  “Out!” I jerked my head. He went, and I locked the door after him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  We tidied up the office, not saying much. I think we were all a bit tired by then. An hour or so later, Martin returned from the travel exhibition. He was given a tongue lashing by four angry women, jabbed sharply several times with a handy pair of knitting needles by one of them and was made to promise this would never, ever, happen again. He duly swore, he’d die before crossing the threshold of another betting shop and Brenda, took it upon herself, to assure him firmly, that this most definitely would be the case. I hoped to God he’d learnt his lesson.

  Brenda and Kitty, pragmatists both, whilst shaken, viewed the whole thing as a job well done under the circumstances. They retired upstairs, for a recuperative nip from a bottle of sherry I hadn’t even known Kitty kept in the filing cabinet. They all thought a bully boy, faced up to and outnumbered, had simply backed down, none of them had the remotest idea of the real depth and danger of what had been going on in the room, which was probably no bad thing.

  For a week or two, there was somewhat of a strained atmosphere between us, upstairs and Martin and Hilary downstairs. I know they felt far more had been revealed than they’d have liked, and whilst they were both grateful for our intervention, they’d have preferred us to know a lot less about their personal affairs than we did. But after a while, things, as they usually do, settled down again and they were able to meet the eye of any of us, without looking awkward.

  It also helped that we were all pretty busy work-wise, and Martin and I had come to a further mutually agreeable arrangement. With a small additional increase to my rent, he’d let me put up my Simple Solutions office sign, beneath his name, on our joint front door. Hilary was delighted at the thought of making us more permanent. She felt Martin was intimidated by the combined force of Brenda and Kitty, which provided an ongoing insurance against future straying towards the horses, on Martin’s part. In this spirit, she’d gone out of her way, to make the new arrangement work well.

  Without consulting Martin, who grumbled a fair bit about the cost when everything arrived, she ordered an impressively posh reception counter, with polished wooden frontage, on top of which she installed a small PBX phone system. She also purchased a tastefully, florally decorated, folding wooden screen. About four foot high, and standing behind the newly titled ‘Reception Area’, this partition meant travel agency customers could be directed into Hilary and Martin’s main office, while our clients were graciously shown the stairs.

  Hilary’s use of her own initiative, had apparently quite gone to her head, and she’d taken on a junior assistant, Melanie, who, once persuaded the permanent chewing gum had to go, was happy to act as receptionist, operate the phones, usher people where they needed to be ushered and let us know when someone was on the way up. All in all, the whole operation was looking and feeling far more professional and a lot less like the hare-brained scheme it had, perhaps, first appeared.

  By the time we reached our first business anniversary, which we toasted in with tea and fresh cream pastries, we had quite a respectable showing of clients to our name, and a regular ad appearing in several local papers. All of this, allowed Kitty to relax a little over our monthly takings, although she still insisted on regularly putting what she called, management accounts, on my desk. I could make neither head nor tail of these, relying rather on her facial expression, to judge how well or otherwise we were doing. Of course, it hadn’t escaped my notice or hers, that she’d made herself pretty indispensable and we both knew, but didn’t discuss, that the ‘first going off’ had turned into a ‘whole lot longer’.

  Brenda’s office skills, as I’d been confident they would, had bounced back and been dusted off without too much trouble, and whilst I still looked after old favourites like Professor Lowbell, she was starting to acquire a few regular clients of her own. She and I were also still doing the out of office escorting tasks, picking up and taking people everywhere, from doctors to dentists to vets to airports, which left Kitty in sole, smug charge of our expanding administration, and that suited her just fine. She still insisted, that in the office we all stick to her ‘professional’ name, and whilst I fully appreciated the sense of that, it didn’t roll off the tongue and I usually ended up addressing her as ‘Ah… Miss Macnamarra’ which made me sound a little on the vague side.

  There were only the three of us in the office, but we’d accumulated a fair number of differently skilled contacts who could provide all sorts of additional outside services, as and when called upon. We knew where, when, and how, to lay our hands on useful individuals such as piano tuners, reliable decorators and ladies who were dab hands at turning up a hem. We were fierce in our criticism of any of our suppliers who didn’t come up to scratch, and were establishing for ourselves, a growing reputation for reliably meeting a whole range of practical needs. One way and another, I felt, things weren’t looking too shabby.

  I hadn
’t laid eyes on Glory Isaacs for over six years, when she turned up in the Brent Street office one morning, while I was sorting out job schedules with Kitty and Brenda. I was both surprised and unsurprised. I suppose I’d always known our paths would cross again, although I wasn’t thrilled. Glory always came accompanied by some sort of trouble.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Now in her early thirties, she looked not a day older than when I’d first spotted her, standing at the top of the staircase at Newcombe, her sightless eyes, sweeping the crowd of children gathered in the hall below. Her fashion taste hadn’t changed much either. Today, wide-cut, black silk trousers, shimmered beneath a psychedelically swirled, scarlet and black, knee-length tunic, which left a retinal after-image if you looked too long. Whatever she wore though, never really took your attention from the supple grace of that slim figure, the glossy black, high-piled hair, milk-chocolate skin and the arrogance of a sculpted profile that wouldn’t have been out of place on an ancient Egyptian frieze. No, she hadn’t changed one jot.

  Ed was with her, naturally, he’d driven. If the intervening years hadn’t touched her looks, they’d done few favours for his. His six four frame had broadened, emphasising his disproportionately small, hairless head. His nose, broken at some stage in childhood and thereafter left to its own devices, had taken up position to the left of centre, below small, deep-set, light blue eyes. His face, pale as if untouched ever by sunlight was, as always, immobile. He had Moebius Syndrome, a paralysis of the facial muscles. Throughout his life, his tragedy had been he could read, all too clearly, even the unspoken reaction of others. But he wasn’t expressionless, not if you looked into those eyes. He ducked his head briefly, in acknowledgement of my smile.

  “We need,” said Glory, sweeping busily past Brenda, who’d opened the office door to her sharp knock, “Your help with something.”