Alex Gray - The Riverman

Eddie had just got out of the car and grinned to the driver of the Porsche when the sound of another vehicle slowing down made both men turn their heads. As the red estate wagon curved around the corner he threw himself back into his white car and, with a nod to the buyer to follow him out, he reversed then accelerated past the new arrival, leaving a bemused pensioner and a barking retriever in his wake. He caught a glimpse of the Porsche in his rear-view mirror and nodded to himself with satisfaction. It was okay. He’d find a quiet lay-by where he’d exchange his goods for the other guy’s cash. He smiled to himself. This was the life! It was worth wee risks to see the baffled looks on folks’ faces whenever he had to scarper suddenly. Like being in a movie or something.

Usually Eddie didn’t give a thought to what would happen to the stuff or how it was used. That wasn’t his concern. All he was interested in was the bulging brown envelope that he’d receive at the end of the day. The thrills were an additional perk of the job. Still, there were times when he wondered about some of these punters. Take this guy, for instance, with his flashy car. He was a handsome guy, too; didn’t look like he’d have any bother pulling the women. So why go to all the bother of buying large quantities of a date rape drug? He shrugged absently. Other people’s tastes were none of his concern. The man in the Porsche shivered as he left the shadows of the railway bridge. He disliked all this cloak-and-dagger stuff. It felt demeaning to have to act as an errand boy, and the near-miss with the red estate had given him his first intimation of just what sort of dangerous game he was playing. Up until now the whole thing had been anonymous, but as he drove slowly through the Renfrewshire villages he realized there was at least one more person involved who could identify him if anything were to go wrong.

He took one hand off the steering wheel and fingered the package by his side. What if he were to open the electric window and toss the thing over a hedge? But what would he do then? He had already considered the consequences of such an action and knew with a sinking heart that he would carry out his part of the scheme. Even when he was aware of the lives that it would ruin.

‘Yes!’ The champagne cork popped to the sound of corporate laughter and there was a general clinking of glasses as the waiters made their rounds.

‘Here’s to you, Michael,’ Alec Barr raised his voice, momentarily causing the people in the room to turn his way. ‘On behalf of the partners and staff of Forbes Macgregor I’d like to wish you every success in your new venture.’ Barr held his flute aloft. ‘To Michael,’ he added, a smile of satisfaction on his face as the toast was repeated on everyone’s lips.

Michael Turner, flushed with drink, beamed at his superior. ‘Thanks very much. Thank you. I’ll miss you lot.’ He grinned again, sweeping his glass in a wide gesture to encompass the friends and colleagues gathered around him.

‘Aye, sure,’ someone commented. ‘You’ll be too busy spending all those dollar bills to think about your old mates!’ More laughter rang out, then a tall redhead came forward and linked her arm through his, leading Michael away from the throng.

‘Ah, what it is to be young and starting out all over again,’ Duncan Forbes nodded his head and smiled warmly in his young colleague’s direction.

‘Some champagne, sir?’ the waiter offered, the napkin-swathed bottle already tilted towards Duncan’s empty glass.

‘No thank you. Orange juice, if you have it, will be fine.’

‘Not even tonight, Duncan?’ Alec Barr’s tone was a mixture of amused benevolence and gentle persuasion.

‘Not even tonight,’ Duncan Forbes replied.

‘Ah, Duncan, can I have a quick word?’ Catherine Devoy had glided towards her two fellow partners, her pink suede heels noiseless on the executive carpeting. Duncan inclined his head and followed Catherine who led them into a quiet corner of the room. Alec Barr watched them move away, his eyes following them closely as if he needed to imprint their images upon his memory. ‘Duncan and Catherine,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Duncan and Catherine.’

Outside the hotel, the row of lime trees swayed as the wind caught them, their branches heeling over in a medley of creaks and groans. Even the tall grey lamp-standards rattled under the onslaught of the storm, causing the lights within the white globes to flicker nervously. Deep shadows fell across the entrance to the hotel, contrasting with the lozenges of light from the hospitality suites on the first floor. Below, the water churned black and cold, the occasional reflection glittering on the wind-whipped crests. Cars passing between the river and the shadowy glass building were forced to creep slowly over the speed bumps on their way towards the hotel car park.

Liz Forbes turned off the ignition and shivered inside her sheepskin coat. What the hell was she doing here? The decision had been a moment of utter madness. At first she’d told herself it would look like a good wifely gesture to arrive late in the evening on the pretext of driving Duncan home, but now it simply seemed idiotic. There was no need for her to be here at all; Duncan had his own car parked in the Crowne Plaza car park and there were always taxis laid on after a party.

The woman unbuckled her seat belt and contemplated the lines of darkened vehicles parked on either side of her. Inside they’d be laughing and drinking, having fun on young Michael’s last night. Her mouth tightened as she had a vision of Duncan chatting companionably to the women. They’d all be smartened up for tonight, a bit of glitter relieving their ubiquitous black office suits. Liz craned her neck to see her reflection in the rear-view mirror: a tired-looking woman with wisps of wind-blown hair gazed back at her, the hastily applied lipstick already smudged at the corners of her mouth. Her heart sank. It wasn’t really so difficult to imagine Duncan preferring one of the younger, sexier females to that face, now was it?

That second letter had really clinched it for Liz, its reasonable tone reminding her of Duncan’s continuing infidelity, suggesting times and places too. She’d been frantic in her search for his desk diary, checking the dates against those nights when she’d supposed her husband working late in the office. They’d all tallied. Was it another sign of mischief-making? Or was the writer of the letters really telling her of something already known to others within Forbes Macgregor? The thoughts seemed to stifle her and Liz opened the door, gulping in the cold air. A short walk would help, maybe, she told herself. Then she’d drive off home and Duncan would never know she had been there at all. The lights flicked twice as she pointed the remote to lock the doors then, taking another deep breath, Liz Forbes made her way out of the car park and headed along the grey ribbon of cycle path that bordered the river.

She stopped beside the swirling waters, looking down into the inky depths. Some might see this as a romantic place, the lights dancing across the black surface, but Liz found herself glancing fearfully over her shoulder as if someone might loom up at her out of the night.

Her steps quickened on the walk back and she paused only once to look up at the glass-fronted windows where the party was taking place. A figure moved towards the window as she glanced upwards. Had she been seen? Liz moved into the shadows again, almost tripping in her haste to regain the safety of the car. At last she was sitting in the Mercedes once more, fingers fumbling the key into the ignition. As the long sleek shape of the car glided past the hotel, Liz knew only a sense of relief. Nobody would ever know how close she had come to making a complete fool of herself.