Like a bowling ball to the pins I took out the woman of the house as I crashed into her, phone still in her hand. She tumbled to the ground and I went with her. The scream as she went down was way too loud in my ear and the roar of the husband indicated that I was in for a serious kicking if he got to me.
I rolled over the woman and tried to get up, kicking her in the face as I scrambled for the door. She screamed again as the hall door burst open and the man took in the scene. He raised the bat and I rolled to my left as he brought it down. It bounced off the carpet and he raised it again. I lashed out with my foot and caught him on the shin. He howled and swung at my head. I ducked, but this time the bat caught me on they shoulder and it dropped numb. As he made ready to reload I stood up and charged the front door. There was a key hanging from the lock. I grabbed it and turned it.
The man brought the bat down again and I leapt towards him, ducking under the swing. I balled up my fist and sunk it into a surprisingly firm stomach. He started to double up and I used his downward momentum to thrust my head up, catching him square on the chin. He went over like a dead thing and landed on his wife. At the top of the stairs the teenager appeared. For a second I caught his eye, turned away, pulled at the front door and fled into the night.
It was a right royal fuck up but at least I could regroup and find another target.
As it was, the shitstorm was just gathering.
I jogged into the night and heard a car crank up its engine before it raced ahead of me. The doors flew open and it was goon city. I turned to escape but I was in no fit state to outrun them. I swung a fist at the first attacker but he stepped clear with ease and returned the favour to my head. I went down. A couple of kicks later and I was hauled up by the arms, and flung into the back of the car. A black cloth was placed over my head and my wrists were bound with plastic ties.
I tried to talk but a punch in my gut told me to shut up.
I was pinned between two goons. The doors were slammed shut and we took off. We didn’t drive far before the car stopped and I was bundled out, onto the pavement. There was no attempt to remove the cloth or ties and I heard the doors close before the car moved off.
‘Listen, shit for brains.’
The voice was loud and in my left ear. The accent was east London and the word ‘brains’ was accompanied by a slap to the head.
‘Dupree wants you to know that you are breathing only because he feels generous. We’re keeping an eye on you. Dupree wants you to walk a nice straight and narrow path. No freelancing — those days are over. Understand.’
Another slap to the head.
I nodded.
‘Step out of line again and I’ve instructions to waste your sorry backside. So get a fucking job, save up for a mortgage and be happy that you might retire one day. Do I make myself crystal clear?’
Slap number three and four came in.
I nodded.
There was a chink of something falling on the pavement followed by the sound of fading footsteps. I waited for a few moments before trying to remove the cloth by rubbing my head on the ground. I felt something hard and cold against my cheek and I scrambled around until my hands were at the object. It felt like a Stanley knife and I carefully slid the blade out of the casing and worked it into the ties and cut them. I reached up and pulled off the cloth.
I was lying in a back street canyon of tenements. I didn’t recognise the place and stood up alternately rubbing my shoulder and my face.
I got back to Martin’s sometime after four and crashed.
The next morning I told him what had gone down and he called me an arsehole. I thought he was going to throw me out on the street but instead he told me that a friend of his was looking for some help in one of the big hotels in town.
‘Take the job and stay clear of trouble.’
‘But the photos, the account — what about Dupree?’
‘It seems to me that going after Dupree is the last thing you want to do after such a warning. Take the medicine and get your head down for a while. You can always come back to him later.’
I was in no mood to let it go but with no cash, and Dupree on my case, I had little choice. If the secret to bringing the Frenchman down lay in Mallorca then I would have to earn the money for the trip the honest way.
I agreed to the job in the hotel and Martin gave me a number to phone.
Gordon Brown
59 Minutes
Tuesday March 18 ^th 2008
I started the job at the hotel last night and hate it. I’m a dogsbody whose only function is to clean up everyone else’s crap. I worked out that I need to stick with this job for four months to get enough cash to go to Spain. I don’t think I can last four days.
Chapter 42
Thursday March 27 th 2008
Got in a fight with one of the kitchen staff. Only the intervention of Ronnie the concierge stopped me losing my job.
I’d just been to the hospital to have my cast removed and was up on the eighth floor cleaning up after a late night drunk who couldn’t make it to the toilet to relieve himself. He had pissed into one of the plant pots and it had overflowed onto the tiled floor. Bucket and mop in hand I was trying to figure how to re pot the plant without touching the sodding thing when one of the kitchen crew appeared on my shoulder.
‘Chef says get your arse down to the main hall. Someone has chucked up at the entrance to the kitchen and he wants it cleaned up.’
I told him to piss off. Pee I can deal with. Vomit is something else.
‘Chef will be angry.’
Like I cared.
‘Very angry!’
I pushed him away but he came back at me and next thing we are on the floor, rolling around, trying to knock lumps out of each other. A guest must have complained and a minute later Ronnie appeared. He grabbed us both — Ronnie is built like the QE2 — manhandled us into the service elevator and out of sight before the assistant manager appeared.
I owe Ronnie big time. He told the manager that it was two guests that had been fighting but they had run off when he appeared.
I hate this job.
Chapter 43
Tuesday April 1st 2008
Ha, bloody, ha. The little shit that I fought with pulled an April Fool on me today. He got the head of maintenance to call me in. Technically the head of maintenance is my boss although I never really see him — mostly I’m on nights and he does days.
His name is Tam Kettering and he has been in the hotel business since birth. We’ve been having major problems with the plumbing on the top floor — six rooms are out of operation and the GM has been on Tam’s neck to get it fixed.
What I didn’t know was that they had just solved the problem and Tam was now the GM’s best friend. As such he was in an unusually good mood when I rolled up.
‘Ah there you are. Look, the plumbing on the top floor is still a bit dodgy and we’re short of some spares. Terry (his number 2) is up to his armpits in work. Can you give the suppliers a call and order up this list? Start at the top and make it clear we need the stuff ASAP.’
He handed me a bit of paper and I was dismissed. I went into the back office and put the list on the table. They had the gig well planned and as I finished dialling Tam re-appeared. He told me to be double quick and I missed the greeting from the person on the other end.
‘Hello this is the Excelsior Hotel here.’ I started. ‘I’ve been told I need to place an order for fourteen seals. It’s urgent.’
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line and then the girl asked me to repeat what I had said.
‘Seals. Fourteen. It says here you’ll know what type but we need them quickly.’