Stay Another Day Read online

  Jack and I went back upstairs where he told me he was taking a nap. ‘Right old git aren’t I?’ he said. ‘Not like the old days when I could stay up night after night on the piss.’

  ‘We all get older Jack,’ I said.

  ‘Not much older for me,’ he said as he headed for his room. It hurt me to hear him talk like that, just as much as the change in his appearance. The fact of the matter is that some of us don’t get older. I’d seen enough people die to know that. And almost died myself as a matter of fact. Suddenly the room was colder.

  I considered driving the car myself to Old Street to pick up the cash, but what I’d seen of morning traffic around the town told me to stick to the cab I’d booked. Besides I didn’t want to be bothered with parking, and the possibility of having the motor towed away. I didn’t fancy having to report it at the local cop shop. Jack reappeared around six, looking all the better for his siesta.

  ‘I’m going to get the cash first thing,’ I said.

  ‘Want me to come?’

  ‘No. I’ve got a cab coming. You sleep in mate, save your strength. Have a decent breakfast. We don’t know what fun and games these people have got in store for us.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ he said, helping himself to a Scotch. ‘Now, what do you fancy for supper?’

  For a dying man he had a hell of an appetite, but I thought it better not to say so. This was the calm before the storm, I could feel it in my bones. These fucking Russians were taking the piss. Kidnapping my daughter was against all the rules. Fuck their photos and videos, fuck the money. And fuck them.

  I knew it was all going to go pear shaped, and I could see that Jack knew it too. He was like some old gunfighter in a film, going on his last hurrah.

  I just hoped I was wrong.

  53

  I was up and waiting in reception for Stew the cabbie to pick me up by quarter to nine. I’d had no sleep and was red eyed, my tan turned a sickly yellow. I couldn’t face breakfast, just enough coffee to get my synapses wired. Couldn’t even bother with the paper, or the crossword, so I knew things were bad.

  He came through the doors just after nine. By then the inside of my mouth was sore from chewing at the skin.

  He saw me across the room and came over. Took one look and said, ‘Heavy night?’

  ‘You could say that,’ I replied.

  ‘Traffic’s not too bad,’ he said. ‘But better get moving. Old Street, you said?’

  I gave him the number.

  ‘We’ll find it.’

  As it happened the traffic was quite light and we made good time. We were in Old Street by five to ten, and he scanned the shops and offices for the right number. ‘There you go,’ Stew said, pointing to a shabby greengrocer’s shop. ‘Getting some fruit?’ He looked at me quizzically.

  ‘No,’ I said through the plastic divider. ‘It’ll be upstairs.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll be here, or close by if a fucking warden gets on my case.’

  ‘Just don’t leave,’ I said sternly. The last thing I needed was to be stranded with £500K in used bills.

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

  I got out of the cab and went over to the building. There was a scuffed black door next to the shop with the number on it in peeling paint. No sign of any kind of business inside. On one side of the door was an entry buzzer, which I pressed. A voice answered with a single ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jim Stark for Mr Mahood,’ I said, and the buzzer sounded. I pushed open the door to reveal a dusty, bare staircase heading upwards, illuminated by a single bulb. I climbed the stairs until I came to a half glass door. There was still no sign of life and the staircase went further up. But there were no more lights, so I pushed open the door. Inside was a bare white room, its window covered by a white shade. The carpet was dark grey. In the middle of the room was a brown wooden desk. The top was bare too. Nothing. No phone, computer or papers. Behind the desk was a black leather swivel chair. The only other things in the office were two cheap looking faux leather suitcases. When I entered the man in the chair stood. He was tall, young, dark skinned, immaculately dressed in a three-piece suit, white shirt and red tie. ‘Mr Stark,’ he said, obviously expecting me.

  ‘Mr Mahood,’ I replied.

  He nodded, and we shook hands. His was firm and dry, mine was firm and damp, but he at least had the good manners not to wipe his hands on his trousers. Or maybe he thought my sweat was acidic and would ruin the material.

  ‘I have your money,’ he said, and nodded in the direction of the cases. ‘Fifties and twenties. Bundled in lots of five K. You may count it if you wish.’

  I shook my head. ‘My banker vouched for you,’ I said.

  ‘As I would for him in similar circumstances.’

  ‘Do you want ID?’ I asked.

  ‘He described you to me. No ID necessary,’ Mahood said coolly, in his East London accent. He went to the bags, opened the zips and opened the lids.

  Lots of cash, banded. I picked up a few bundles and flipped through them. All money. No newspaper cut up into note-sized lumps. Kosher. But then I knew my banker, and he knew me. We had an understanding. He knew that if he fucked with me, there would be trouble. Big trouble. You don’t hide that sort of money in his sort of bank without there being something of a nasty back story. ‘So that’s it,’ I said. ‘Nothing to sign?’

  He smiled. ‘No paperwork. I have been paid my commission. The transaction is complete.’

  I didn’t ask how much his commission had actually been – it would have been rude.

  ‘That’s it then.’ I fastened the cases tight, and humped them once. It’s surprising how heavy money can be. ‘Feels right,’ I said.

  ‘I hope it solves any problem you may have.’

  ‘So do I,’ I said. We shook hands again and I left.

  Stew was parked in the same place. I hefted the bags into the back of the cab and we headed back to the hotel. Job done.

  54

  When I got back to the hotel with the cases, Jack was up and enjoying a lavish breakfast, just like I’d said. ‘Coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure.’ The sight of the food had finally made me hungry. ‘But I’ve got to make a call first.’

  ‘That the money?’ he said.

  ‘That’s it Jack. Want to see?’

  ‘Half a million in cold cash.’ His eyes lit up. ‘Too right. Not often I’ll get a chance to see that much cash.’

  I opened both bags and he weighed some of the packets in his hands. ‘You had a result that time didn’t you?’ He was referring to my bank robbing days.

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ I said. ‘I’d rather have a family.’

  ‘You will. Now make that call and let’s get this baby put to bed.’

  I did as he said and called up the number I’d been given by the Russians.

  When a man answered I said, without preamble, ‘She’d better be all right.’

  ‘In the pink,’ said the garbled accent. These bastards certainly knew some old English expressions. Probably watching too much EastEnders.

  ‘Let me speak to her.’

  ‘You have the money?’

  ‘I do. Let me speak to my daughter,’ I repeated.

  The phone went dead, Judith came on. ‘Dad,’ she said.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘If you think staying with these soap dodging bastards is OK. Talk about strangers to deodorant.’ She was OK.

  ‘They’ve not hurt you?’ I asked tentatively.

  ‘No. Their mum’s kept them on a short leash.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Oh yeah, like that sodding spook said, it’s a family affair. Hold on, Georgie wants a word.’

  Georgie, I thought. She was getting matey and I smiled at the thought of my cunning daughter, able to disarm anyone.

  The Russian came b
ack on. ‘Satisfied?’ he said.

  ‘I will be when I get my daughter back.’

  ‘Then bring the money here, now.’ He gave me an address in Knightsbridge, just round the corner. ‘And no police – or you know what will happen.’

  ‘You got it,’ I said, and he hung up.

  55

  It was time to rock and roll. Jack and I carried the cases of money and the sports bag with the two loaded guns down to the garage. ‘You really want me in the boot?’ said Jack. ‘A man in my condition?’

  ‘Can’t think of any other way,’ I retorted. ‘There’s still time for you to back out. Like I said, no hard feelings.’

  ‘Well try and make it quick,’ he said huffing. ‘Bleedin hell.’

  We put the bags in the boot and I drove to Knightsbridge, with Jack in the passenger seat next to me. I found the street, part of a leafy square with parking meters next to a high iron fence and pulled in. I filled the meter with change which made it legal for two hours. The last thing I wanted was for the motor to be towed away with Jack inside, complete with illegal weapons and half a million quid in cash. I didn’t mention the thought.

  The boot was spacious enough to fit his body inside plus the pistol and shotgun next to the cases. ‘I really am sorry about this Jack,’ I said, looking up and down the street. ‘Do it,’ I said, when the coast was clear.

  ‘Bollocks,’ he said as he slipped into the space. ‘Now fuck off and get sorted.’

  I crossed the road and rang the bell for the apartment number I’d been given over the phone. A guttural voice answered. ‘It’s me,’ I said, and I was buzzed in.

  The flat was on the top floor and I took the lift to a private foyer.

  I was met by a squat, well built geezer in a bad suit with a pistol in his german, who frisked me down in a professional way. ‘I come in peace,’ I said, but thought if you believe that, you’ll believe anything.

  When he was satisfied I was unarmed, he stepped away from me which was a relief as, just like Judith had said, he seemed to be a stranger to soap and water. ‘Where is the money?’ he demanded.

  ‘Close,’ I said. ‘But first I want to see my daughter.’

  He gave me a filthy look, but backed through another door into the apartment proper. I followed him.

  The penthouse flat was a thing of beauty – if your tastes ran to gold leaf dining table and chairs, etched glass doors to the balcony, and a carpet so deep that it gave my shoes a polish as I walked on it. But on a closer look, the place was uncared for. There was dust on the surfaces, the windows were dirty and smeared, the carpet was stained and the whole place stank of chips and body odour. Not that I’m the perfect housewife, but one does have standards. And these bad boys obviously did not.

  There was a chair with its back against the balcony window so that it was in silhouette, with someone sitting in it. ‘Mama,’ said the bloke who’d let me in. And then something in Russian. About the lack of cash, I imagined.

  ‘There’s money,’ I said. ‘As long as my daughter’s safe.’

  ‘She’s safe,’ said the woman as she rose from her chair and walked towards me so that I could see her properly. I wished she hadn’t.

  She was three stone overweight, stuffed into a dress three sizes too small. The tops of her breasts were on show, but they were wrinkled and flabby, and I could just imagine the cellulite creeping up her fat thighs. On her head was perched possibly the worst Irish I’d ever seen. It was platinum blonde in colour and looked like it was made from steel wool. Not a good look, particularly as I could swear there were bugs crawling about inside it. Something was moving inside it, that was for sure, and I thought it better not to look too closely. And if she wanted to perpetuate the belief that she was a natural blonde she should have done something about the grey hairs sprouting from the massive wart on her chin. Her lips were thin and mean and when she opened her mouth I was certain that her teeth were made from wood, so darkly stained were they. A real doll.

  ‘Mr Sharman,’ she said with a smile as false as her Hampsteads. ‘At last we meet.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ I said.

  ‘I wish I could believe you. Now, you’re sure you have our money?’

  ‘I have it,’ I said. ‘It’s safe until I’m sure my daughter is the same.’

  ‘We have no intention of cheating you,’ she said. ‘And your daughter is just fine.’

  ‘Let me see her.’

  ‘Let me see the money.’

  ‘My daughter first.’

  She smiled and showed more discoloured teeth. ‘An impasse,’ she said, cruelly. ‘But we have the upper hand I think. Georgie,’ she said to her son as she showed me the little belly gun she was holding. ‘Fetch Alexie and the girl.’ Then to me. ‘You see Mr Sharman, we are not intractable. We both have children we love. We are not barbarians.’

  Like fuck, I thought. Just get me my daughter, unharmed, you ugly cunt.

  56

  Georgie left the room through another door, as Mum kept me covered with her pistol. ‘What were you thinking Mr Sharman?’ she said. ‘Surely you must have known that stealing those photographs would only bring you trouble.’

  ‘I try not to think too far into the future,’ I replied. ‘Gives me a headache.’

  ‘Not the wisest of philosophies.’

  ‘Served me OK so far.’ I said, shortly. ‘How did you find us by the way?’

  ‘We have friends in high places.’

  ‘Spooks,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not.’

  It was the fucking spooks all right. Bastards would sell their own mothers for peanuts. I had a feeling Judith and I had been set up. And by Christ someone was going to pay.

  The door opened again and Georgie, accompanied by another ugly little bastard, came in, Judith between them. She looked OK, but I could tell she wasn’t happy.

  ‘You see,’ said Mum. ‘No damage.’

  ‘Bitch bit me,’ said the other man, who I assumed was brother Alexie.

  ‘Nearly died of food poisoning too,’ said Judith. ‘Hello Dad. Welcome to Minsk.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Georgie. ‘You always making bloody jokes. What’s so bloody funny?’

  ‘Your dress sense for one thing,’ replied Judith.

  ‘Bitch,’ said Georgie. ‘Fucking funny bitch. Never quiet. Needs sorting by a real man.’

  ‘Pity there’s none in your family,’ said Judith.

  I thought he was going to whack her then. ‘Caught it off me,’ I said. ‘I never know when to shut up either.’

  ‘Then get us the money,’ said Alexie. ‘And get the fuck out of our faces.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ I said. ‘It’s downstairs in my car.’

  ‘Then let’s get it,’ said Georgie. ‘And this business can be all over.’

  ‘Suits me,’ I said. ‘Come on then.’

  We left, Georgie carrying his pistol stuck in his suit coat pocket. It didn’t improve the hang of the jacket, but did make it hard for him to shoot anyone right off. I could only pray as he went downstairs that Jack hadn’t lost his bottle – and that the street was quiet enough to carry out the plan without being disturbed.

  57

  ‘A lot of pounds to leave lying around in the street?’ said Georgie when we got outside.

  ‘It’s only money,’ I replied.

  ‘I like that attitude,’ he said, baring his dirty teeth in a smile. ‘You won’t miss it then.’

  I just shrugged. He was enjoying his day, but I was just about to piss on his parade big time.

  He made me walk in front of him, the pistol still in his jacket pocket. I took the key fob for the Jag from my pocket and pointed it at the back of the car. ‘In the boot,’ I directed him.

  ‘No problem.’ He moved up to my side, and I could see he was almost salivating at the thought of the cas
h. I looked round and the street was deserted, so I popped the boot lid. As he stuck his beak inside, Robber popped up like a literal Jack-in-the-box with the sawn-off in his hands. ‘You, fucker,’ he said to Georgie, whose mouth hung open, ‘let’s see your hands. And as for you Sharman, you took your fucking time didn’t you. I can hardly feel my legs in here.’ All of a sudden he sounded like the old Jack Robber that I used to know.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t drag myself away from the company. Now Georgie, hand out of pocket. Empty. There’s a good boy.’

  He growled but did as he was told, and I helped myself to his gun. A nice Glock 9mm, which was certainly cleaner than his flat.

  I kept looking round for anyone paying us attention, the last thing I needed was any nosy cops appearing. ‘Come on Jack,’ I said. ‘Out you get. And keep that shooter out of sight for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Gimme a chance,’ he said, clambering out awkwardly. ‘You know the state of me.’

  ‘You’re a fucking star Jack,’ I said, poking Georgie hard in the back with his own gun. ‘Come on son, let’s go and see your mummy.’

  58

  ‘So how’s Judith?’ asked Jack when he was back on terra firma.

  ‘Not happy, but not too bad. She bit Georgie here’s brother.’

  ‘Good for her. Right Mr Sharman, what now?’

  ‘Now, we go and get her.’

  ‘And the money?’

  ‘Hand it over. I want this thing done and dealt with, and no comebacks.’

  ‘So why all this?’ He looked perplexed, indicated to the guns in our hands.

  ‘Just so they know we’re not worth messing with again. Georgie,’ I said. ‘You carry the cash.’

  He hauled the two suitcases out of the boot and I slammed it shut. ‘Come on then,’ I said. ‘Off we go.’