Stephen Leather - Take Two

The Mint nodded. ‘I’ve got a supplier in Morocco who’s champing at the bit,’ he said. ‘Do you want to go solo or mob-handed?’

Richards blew a cloud of smoke over the canal. Putting his money together with other investors meant more profits by virtue of economies of scale, but the more people involved the greater the danger that someone would grass them up. ‘I’ll leave that up to you, Murray. You’ve never steered me wrong in the past.’

The waiter returned with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two glasses. He poured a splash into one glass but The Mint waved his ringed hand over the glass. ‘Just pour it, it’ll be fine,’ he said.

They both sipped their champagne until the waiter had left. ‘Is your money in the system or are we talking used notes?’ asked The Mint.

‘It’s in the bank,’ said Richards. ‘Jersey. I’ve put most of my cash through the club over the last few years so it’s all legit. I was planning on leaving it there for the long haul but now I’ve got no choice other than to put it into play.’

‘Good to know,’ said The Mint. ‘I can get you a better rate for bank deposits, you know that.’ He took a pen from his jacket pocket and a business card from his wallet and scribbled down a number. ‘Transfer the money when you’re ready,’ he said.

Richards pocketed the card. ‘You’re a gentlemen and a scholar,’ he said.

‘You okay? Is this cash shortage a problem?’

‘It was a one-off,’ said Richards. ‘I dealt with it but I’m having problems getting the money back.’ He shrugged. ‘I might end up writing it off in which case I’ll be back to see you.’

‘Always happy to help,’ said The Mint. He raised his glass in salute.

Richards clinked his glass against The Mint’s. ‘You’re a lifesaver,’ he said. He drained his glass and looked at his watch. ‘I’m going to have to love you and leave you.’

‘I’ll stay here and enjoy the bubbly,’ said The Mint. ‘But pick up the tab on your way out.’

Richards cursed under his breath when he saw the bright yellow clamp on the front offside wheel of his Porsche. There was no ticket under the windscreen wipers but he saw two heavy-set men in bomber jackets leaning against a Range Rover. They both had shaved heads. One was just over six feet tall with a tattoo of a cobweb across his neck. The other was shorter and wider and had a nose that had been broken in the past and healed badly. He had LOVE tattooed across the knuckles of his left hand and HAT across the right. It looked as if it had once said HATE but the E had faded with time.

The two men walked over slowly, their arms swinging by their sides. They had the swagger of men who were used to being feared because of their size. Richards took a pack of cigars from his coat pocket.

The two men stopped a few feet from him. Broken Nose folded his arms and stared at Richards. Richards smiled at the attempt at intimidation. It had been a long, long time since he had been intimidated by another man, especially one who clearly had an IQ barely in double figures.

Cobweb Tattoo snorted and then spat greenish phlegm onto the pavement. ‘Nice motor. The 550 horsepower Turbo S, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ said Richards. ‘Nice clamp. Fell off the back of a lorry, did it?’

Cobweb Tattoo ignored the sarcasm. ‘What would a car like that cost? A hundred grand?’

‘Closer to a hundred and twenty, with all the extras,’ said Richards. ‘Now are you going to take that clamp off, or not?’ He lit a cigar.

‘That’s up to you, innit?’ said Broken Nose. ‘You’re the one who parked on private property.’

‘Didn’t know it was private,’ said Richards.

‘There’s a sign,’ said Broken Nose.

‘I didn’t see a sign.’

‘It’s over there,’ said Broken Nose, pointing at a sign the size of a postcard on a brick wall some distance away.

‘Look mate, what’s your name?’ Richards asked Cobweb Tattoo.

‘We don’t give out our names,’ he said. He had a thick neck and over-developed forearms that came from steroid abuse rather than exercise.

‘Fair enough,’ said Richards. ‘Look, can we just let this slide? It’s Saturday. Who knew it’d be a problem at the weekend?’

‘No can do,’ said Cobweb Tattoo. ‘Once the clamp goes on, it doesn’t come off until you pay.’

‘How much?’

Cobweb Tattoo pointed at the sign. ‘Same as it says over there. Two hundred quid.’

‘Two hundred pounds? Are you having a laugh?’

Cobweb Tattoo folded his arms. ‘Up to you, pal,’ he said. ‘The car stays where it is until you pay.’

‘And if I don’t pay?’

‘Then we’ll have the car towed away and you’ll have to pay five hundred.’

‘Now you’re definitely having a laugh,’ said Richards.

‘Do we look like we’re having a laugh?’ growled Broken Nose.

‘No,’ said Richards. ‘You don’t. And does everyone pay?’

Cobweb Tattoo nodded. ‘They moan and they whine and sometimes they threaten us but at the end of the day, yeah, everyone pays.’

Richards took out a roll of banknotes from his pocket and peeled off four fifties. He handed them to Cobweb Tattoo. The man grinned and pocketed the cash. Broken Nose took a set of keys from a pouch on his belt and knelt down by the clamp.

Richards took a step back and took out his phone. He took a photograph of Cobweb Tattoo. ‘Here, you can’t take our picture,’ he said. Broken Nose looked up and Richards snapped a picture of his face. ‘Won’t do you any good anyway, mate. We’re totally legal. The cops won’t do anything. You’re on private property.’

Richards turned around and took a photograph of the Range Rover’s number plate. ‘I don’t give a toss about the cops, mate,’ he said, and put the phone away.

Broken Nose lifted up the clamp and carried it over to the Range Rover.

‘Do you want a receipt, then?’ asked Cobweb Tattoo.

Richards smiled. Let me explain to you what’s going to happen, whatever your name is,’ he said. ‘Then you can decide whether or not I get a receipt.’

Broken Nose raised the tailgate of the Range Rover and put the clamp away.

‘See now, what I’m going to do is give the pictures to a good friend of mine, and he’ll know everything there is to know about you and your mate within a few hours. Soon as he knows where you live, you and your ugly mate are gonna get bricks through your windows and your tyres are going to be slashed.’ Richards sucked on his cigar. ‘I know, you’re thinking that a brick through your window and a slashed tyre is no big thing, but my mate and his pals will be doing that just so you know what’s coming next. You got kids?’ Richards grinned. ‘Yeah, I can see from the look on your face that you’ve got kids. Well, your kids are going to need a lot of very expensive dental work because my mate will make sure they get smashed in the mouth with a monkey wrench. Now, if they’re really young, they’ll have their second teeth to look forward to, but if not…’ Richards shrugged and blew smoke at the man.

‘Hey, Darren, are you coming or what?’ shouted Broken Nose. Cobweb Tattoo ignored him.

‘Then your wife, she’s going to get battery acid thrown in her face. Might blind her. Might not. But however it works out, Darren, she’s not going to be pretty to look at.’ Richards grinned. ‘And you? Well, Darren old mate, they’ll probably leave you alone. But you can spend the rest of your life knowing what I did to your wife and kids. All because of two hundred fucking quid.’

‘Darren, come on!’ shouted Broken Nose.

‘Fuck off!’ yelled Cobweb Tattoo.

‘So the question you’ve got to ask yourself, Darren, is do you want to give me a receipt for that two hundred quid, or do you want to give me the money back and be on your way? No pressure, Darren, you can decide. I don’t give a fuck either way. My mate owes me a favour. It won’t cost me a thing.’