‘Those stuck up gits I had to negotiate with probably drank this stuff, you know, the pin striped, poe faced captains of British industry. I killed one of them you know, really.’ Tapping the side of his wide-pored bulbous nose he winked at Sherry. ‘You don’t believe me do you, either of you?’
‘Believe what?’ Beginning to lose his patience, Webb was provoked into the snap. It defeated its own purpose, not silencing the union boss, but giving him encouragement.
‘That I killed a shitty white collar crud. Well I did, with this.’ He stuck out his furred tongue and wagged it from side to side.
A glimpse was enough for Webb, and he busied himself with lighting ornamental candles set in wall fittings, as the last of the evening’s light faded.
‘Nine hours the dumb fucker was sat opposite me.
Every time he increased the offer, I upped the demands. When he said he’d introduce a bonus scheme I said the brothers didn’t want one, when he withdrew it I said we wanted it. He had to settle on our terms in the end, he had an important defence contract. Just when he thought he had it all sewn up, I put in a load more demands, he was practically bloody crying. On the way home he had a heart attack, drove right under the back of a bus, messy. The company went bust, I moved on, started it all over again somewhere else.’
‘You’re not fit to be a representative of the workers.’ Sherry made no move to prevent it, as in upending the second bottle Gross tipped over backward in his chair. He managed to arrest his fall by clutching at the table, at the expense of several more smashed bottles.
‘Workers? Don’t make me laugh, I don’t give a fuck about the workers.’ Walking unsteadily to the bar, Gross went behind it and relieved himself into a sink. ‘Who do you think it is who’s been paying for the life of luxury I enjoy. I got a union job when I saw what a load of cloth-capped ignorant sods were in charge. Inside a couple of years I was earning more as a union official then most of the university educated wankers I was negotiating with, and all paid by the thick shits slaving their guts out on the factory floor. Bloody lovely, and even better when you add in the free car and petrol, expenses paid trips abroad, a mortgage through the union at a fixed two percent and not forgetting private health care insurance and last but not least those big fat fees from the TV stations every time I went to the studio and put on my serious-and-oh-so-deeply concerned-and genuinely-sorry face to lie about the reasons for yet another piddling stupid strike.’
‘You’ve had enough to drink.’
‘I have never had enough.’ Brushing aside Webb’s attempt to wrest his-bottle from him, Gross took a long series of gulps before paused for breath and then belching. ‘That’s why I started taking Ivan’s money. Easy it was, just start a strike here, rig a ballot there, nothing to it. I was doing it anyway, and the good old USSR paid up like I was doing it to order.’
‘Help me to carry Edwards to the car.’ Not really expecting any assistance, Webb was surprised when Gross, pants still gaping, took the professor’s blanket-swaddled feet.
‘Should have chucked him overboard like that ancient fool with the dog collar and worry beads.’ Having difficulty focusing as well as keeping his footing, Gross lurched in a zig-zag course with his share of their unconscious burden.
‘Any further diminution of our numbers would, I feel, devalue our mission. In fact his condition might even enhance the propaganda value of our journey.’ Webb had to stop while the drunk disentangled his feet from the tangle of bandage that had unwound and was trailing from Edwards’ right hand.
‘How about if I slit his throat, then we’d have a heroic martyr, wouldn’t we. That’s got to be worth more points, hasn’t it?’ Giving up his attempts to divest himself of the bandage, Gross resigned himself to its hobbling restraint and signalled Webb to lead on. ‘Fucking silly idea. Did you fancy a bit of embalming practice?’
‘I did it to stop him scratching himself, to lessen the chance of infection.’ Waiting for Sherry to unfasten the tailgate and move some of the equipment to make room, Webb’s arms ached abominably when at last they were able to push the chemical’s victim into the back of the Rover.
Much less gently, Gross swung his portion of the casualty inside, slamming shut, the rear door without making any effort to arrange Edwards comfortably. ‘Well he’s asleep isn’t he? Christ,’ he became indignant at the looks the others gave him, ‘with all the problems he’s got what difference is a ruddy stiff neck going to make?’
‘You are an animal.’
Breathing heavy alcoholic fumes over her, Gross nudged the woman. ‘Just parts of me. Want to see a cock that wouldn’t disgrace a stallion?’ His clumsy grab at her breast met only thin air as she stepped beyond his reach. Stuck up whore! He’d have her yet, every way he could, every way there was, and then some.
‘Right, well I’ll just collect the medical kit then, and we can be on our way.’ Webb pretended not to have seen the attempted indecent assault. The woman had a reputation, and if she didn’t complain about the lout’s advances then there was no reason for him to concern himself. And besides, she appeared quite capable of taking care of herself, and if he did intervene and it came to a physical conflict between him and Gross, he could not be certain of coming off best. Slight lingering qualms he might have had about leaving them together were allayed when the inebriate followed him back inside the inn.
‘Thought I’d lay in a stock, to tide me over until we reach the commie lines and they top us up with vodka.’
Webb half hoped the fall he heard on the cellar stairs meant Gross had sustained a disabling and painful injury, but the drunk heaved himself back to the bar a few minutes later smothered in cobwebs and burdened with many bottles. ‘We don’t have the room to take all those.’ The protest he made, Webb knew would be ineffectual.
‘Oh piss off. With old Holy Joe gone there’s loads of sodding room. If you still say there isn’t then I’ll chuck out the other old git.’ Blearily he examined a label.
‘Can’t stand red, tastes like weak ink.’ He shied the bottle at a boar’s head over the door, lurching unsteadily. ‘So far you’ve been giving all the orders, well from now on I want a say, and I say we get our priorities right. He waved a burgundy over his head before sending it at the candles. The room was darkened instantly, bottles clinked noisily. ‘These are my priorities.’
Offering no further argument or resistance, Webb groped his way to the door. Glass crunched underfoot. All he could hope was that the uncouth Gross would swiftly drink himself into a stupor. The man’s capacity for alcohol was legendary, but surely even he had to have a limit.
Watching him sprawl on the rear seat of the Range Rover, leaving the door for others to close, and start on a fresh bottle, Webb began to have doubts.
The food had gone cold, but Rozenkov didn’t notice, spearing a white dumpling that floated half submerged in the scum of grease on top of the fast congealing gravy, and pushing it and half the handle of the fork into his mouth. His jaws clamped tight and the prongs withdrawn were as bright as if just polished.
Beside him the radio chattered and crackled. He didn’t miss a word, occasionally flicking the tuner to select another channel. It was not as good as being there himself, but it was the next best thing.
A timid knock at the door and a pink faced young junior sergeant entered, stopping yards short of the desk. He had to cough twice before he could speak. ‘The colonel has finished his meal?’