The Sweet Smell of Rain
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As Palma ‘came to’ he was vaguely aware of movement. He tried to move but his limbs just wouldn’t respond. He was trussed up so tightly that he could only move both of his legs together so, doing that, he began to kick out at whatever was in front of him. Almost immediately, the sense of motion stopped, and he heard the thick metallic thud of a lock opening. Because his head was still covered he could not tell if it was night or day. In reality, he was lucky because, if he had been able to see anything he would have seen a tall, muscular black man aim a Taser at him before discharging the device into his abdomen.
At least he was spared a second or two of blind panic, before 50,000 volts rendered him completely helpless apart from a whole range of involuntary movements of the like that he had never performed in his life, prior to this three second ‘high voltage tango’. He seemed to enter a kind of ‘nether world’ he was not sure if he was alive or dead or somewhere in between.
He was barely able to string two cogent thoughts together but he realised enough to know that whatever he was in, was now ‘moving again’. More importantly, he knew that he was in deep trouble…deeper than he had ever been before. Who did he know who would do such a thing…there was only one person who came to mind…’First Aid’…had that copper double crossed him?.
Palma had lost all track of time, but he did know three things for certain: he was cold, he was hungry but more than anything else, he was terrified. The dull smooth sound of what he had until now, taken to be tarmac, was replaced by an altogether much more uneven surface, so much so, that he guessed that whatever vehicle he was in, was now off road and driving along rutted tracks…was he out in the country?…perhaps heading to an isolated farm?
Though he would never have used the word ‘Epiphenomenon’ Parks experienced a new level of consciousness and self-awareness that had been absent for almost all of his life until this moment. He reasoned that though he was not ‘angelic’ by any means, and was regarded as a ‘bit of a chancer’ he did not deserve to be treated this way…if it was ‘First Aid’ he knew that he would be lucky to get away with his life…but, as clarity returned to him, he was still puzzled by the ‘non Geordie’ accent.
A few minutes later, the car, if in fact he was in a car, stopped and he heard what he took to be the central locking opening again. Well, if his time was up. He just hoped that it was quick and not too painful…folklore had it that ‘First Aid’ had tortured people in the past…he did not want to think about that. He prayed for the first time in his adult life ‘Please God…I know that we have never spoken before…but please help me’. Palma once again heard a ‘non Geordie’ voice…’Move over’…he was then forced into the corner of what he had now decided was the boot of a large car. As he did so, a number of very heavy objects were placed in the compartment with him.
He felt the suspension drop under the weight of these objects and for a moment he thought…’They are dead bodies…they have loaded some stiffs in here with me…I am dead meat now’. In his panic, Palma started thrashing out. He instantly regretted it as he felt another 50,000 volts convulse his body.
It could have been minutes or hours, but Palma came to again, but on this occasion he was aware of an altogether different sensation…he heard it first, the gentle lapping of water and the gentle up and down bobbing. He was obviously in a boat.
Three of the four men in the vessel knew that they were floating upon Kielder Water. Europe’s largest manmade lake had been designed to solve water shortages in the North of England… however, judging by the number of hosepipe bans in recent years, its two hundred billion gallon capacity had failed to fulfil its early brief.
None of the men in the boat were aware that 178 feet beneath them was the flooded village of Lower Plashetts, complete with Churchyard and Railway Station. Depending on his response to questions, one of the men, Palma to be precise, may be visiting Lower Plashetts in the very near future.
As soon as he stirred the ‘hood’ was taken off his head. It was darkness and he was sitting in a rowing boat that was about fifteen foot long. Two men sat in front of him, whilst a third sat behind. He turned around to look at the man behind him, and as he did so he was punched to the side of his head. He instinctively reached up to rub his wound and to protect himself from further blows, but found that he was still ‘taped up’. If these guys were going to beat him up he could offer no resistance whatsoever. He was a ‘sitting’ or to be more precise a ‘floating duck’.
All three men were dressed in dark overalls fastened up the neck. They wore gloves, identical full face balaclavas, and black boots. There was no visible skin and only one spoke…it was not the black man who had asked for directions. Goodness knows how long ago that was.
‘If you look down you will see that there is a hessian sack full of boulders tied to your waist….you will also see that we are sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. If you want to see another dawn you had better talk to me’.
Palma would be the first to admit that he was arrogant, that he ideas above his station and an unrealistic view of where he stood in the ‘Criminal Pecking Order’. This however, was way out of his league…these guys were real dyed in the wool heavies and through his sobs he managed to blurt out ‘I don’t know what you are on about…I am just a small time grafter trying to get by…I haven’t done anything’.
‘The Voice’ continued ‘You’re not convincing me…who do you work for’?…In that single terrifying instant one thing was confirmed to Palma…this was not anyone working for ‘First Aid’…the one thing that he hoped to work in his favour, years of loyal service, apart from the odd bit fiddle here and there, was now out of the window. Palma had no idea who he was dealing with or what they would do to him.
‘Wh…What do’ya want to know…if I know it, I will tell you. Just don’t kill me’
There was a young girl drugged and raped…she was given Rhohypnol and some ‘bad’ drink who did it’?
’I don’t know’, he managed to half whisper half cry, real sobs not far from the surface both literally and figuratively.
‘Why were you arrested’?
‘Oh fuck’ thought Palma…’If I lie now I will be in the water. If I tell the truth I will be in the water’. He hesitantly continued ‘I got arrested because the police recovered a whole load of snide Vodka from my lock up. All I do is sell it to people. I have no idea about this girl’.
The Voice said ‘Put him in the water lads. I’ve heard enough’. At that point Palma was man-handled to a point where he was over the side of the boat and dangling waist deep in the water. The boulders were still in the boat…if this capsized now at least one of the four occupants of the boat was going to be in trouble. It did not take all of Palma’s mental capacity or skills of logical reasoning to determine that that person was him.
‘Okay, okay…haul me in and I will tell you everything.’
‘The Voice’ said ‘I will decide when you get hauled in or thrown out. Talk Now’!
‘Okay, that copper Hodder had a warrant and he turned over my lock up and my house. He got booze and other stuff back…I am honestly just a salesman. If Palma thought that this was enough to earn him a reprieve his was mistaken and he continued as the chill of the water penetrated to his bones. ‘For some reason he bailed me with instructions to find someone for him. I am not a grass but he said that he would shaft me to my boss if I didn’t do what he asked’.
‘Who does he want you to find’? demanded ‘The Voice’.
‘There is a kid called Dean Parks. Hodder wants him really badly but I don’t know why…he wants me to call him every day with progress reports’.
‘The Voice’ said ‘Do you know this Dean Parks’?
‘Yes. I’m convinced that’s why Hodder locked me up. He only let me out to find Parks for him. He said that if I didn’t he would tell my boss that I am a police grass’.
‘Who is your Boss?
???
‘I can’t say…he will kill me’.
Quite coolly ‘The Voice’ said ‘And I will kill you if you don’t…so here we are my friend, excuse the pun, ‘You are in very deep water indeed’. Your next words may be your last words so choose them wisely…Who do you work for’?
Palma did not reply.
‘This is your last chance. I will not ask again’.
At this point, a stiff breeze swept across the surface of the reservoir. Where it caught Palma’s wet limbs, it felt like cold knives were reaching into his very soul, and for a fleeting second he wondered how long it would take to drown and what sensations he would experience. Then in an instant he thought ‘It doesn’t really matter what drowning feels like because I will never be able to tell anyone’.
‘Adrian Burrows. I work for Adrian Burrows…his nickname is ‘First Aid’. Can you please pull me in’?
‘The Voice’ remained impassively calm and said ‘You now work for me. Is that clear? It’s either that or the boulders go in the water now…agree and you will live…I have uses for you…I’m going to count down from five. You will be fish food if I reach number one….
FIVE…silence
FOUR…silence
THREE…silence…then ‘Okay, okay…but I will need some protection’.
‘You certainly will if you double cross me…bring him in lads’.
Palma was dragged back into the small craft as it bobbed dangerously from side to side.
‘The Voice’ said ‘You will get a mobile phone. You will call me every day…you will tell me what you tell Hodder. You will tell Hodder what I tell you to tell him, and you will tell me what Hodder tells you…if you do not adhere to these very reasonable conditions, my associates and I WILL find you and I WILL kill you…
You do not know who we are, so you will never know when we are watching you. You do not know what we want, that my friend, is none of your business. You are in the business of staying alive…which you will do providing you follow my instructions to the letter. If you don’t, I will kill you. If per chance I don’t kill you, I will make sure that your previous employer who you are going to tell me all about now will kill you. Understood’?
A shivering, quivering Palma said ‘Yes’, and he did tell his captors all about ‘First Aid’.
Back on shore, the sacks containing the boulders rocks were not replaced in the boot of the car, instead they were concealed under some gently rotting branches. The boat was returned to a nearby lakeside lodge. ’The Voice’ said loud enough to be heard by Palma ‘You never know when we may need to use those again’. Palma had the bag placed over his head again and was returned to the discomfort of the boot. Several minutes later, the car was on tarmac travelling, Palma assumed, back to Tyneside, but in truth he did not know. At least he was alive, for now.
Meanwhile, in the Hodder household a very heavy conversation was taking place between Hodder and Grace. She was astute enough not to have made comment when Lauren dropped the bombshell about her stolen laptop…she reasoned that Lauren had been through enough recently and certainly did not need to see or hear her parents at ‘loggerheads’.
‘No. No, Grace, there was a simple recording of an interview that I conducted with someone in custody…I needed Jeff Baxter to have a copy for a job that we are doing…I wanted to cut out red tape and simply asked Lauren to duplicate the recording for me. There will not be a problem…the recording means nothing to anyone other than Jeff and me. As he lied, he felt ‘his old self’ come back for a most unwelcome visit…he simply could not help himself.
Lying felt so natural to him.
Hodder was strangely relieved when another, equally serious matter was raised by Grace who said ‘What are we going to do if Lauren can’t settle here. I mean this place must hold some terrible memories for her’?
Without any hesitation and even less thought, Hodder said ‘Then we shall have to move. After all, if you can’t feel comfortable in your own home where can you feel comfortable…she has got to come first. Do you think decorating her room will help at all? If you don’t then perhaps, we should make plans to move sooner, rather than later’.
Grace responded by saying ‘Lets get her involved in every aspect of the ‘make over’ and if that doesn’t work out then we will take it from there’…she went on to say ‘After all, we have been happy here’.
That last bit certainly threw Hodder, and it took a second or so for him to work out if it was a ‘curved ball’ thrown at him to gauge his response. ‘Yeah, I suppose that it’s best that we don’t overreact’…Just then Hodder’s phone rang. It was Baxter. Hodder apologised to Grace, a look of sad resignation changed her face and her mood. She doubted if anything would change, she doubted if Hodder could change at all.
Hodder got up and covering the mouthpiece said to her ‘I really have to take this’…with those words he may have actually have sealed his fate.
‘This had better be good news Jeff’.
‘It is’ responded Baxter we turned over those containers and we have got hundreds of bottles of Vodka back, loads of smart phones, a whole pile of snide clothing, some porn and some drugs…what a great result. You have hit the jackpot mate. Are you coming in for a drink’?
The old impulsive Hodder would have jumped at the chance but he responded by saying ‘No. Not tonight Jeff. Very well done, did you make any arrests’?
‘No, but we certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons…this is going to cause a right shit storm’.
‘Just make sure that everything is recorded properly and I will see you in the morning…well done again. Don’t you have an appointment with ‘The Nurse’?
‘I did have…but the lads want to go for a beer’.
‘Take my advice Jeff…go and play ‘Doctors and Nurses’. I will see you tomorrow’. With that Hodder ended the call and returned to the lounge where a clearly despondent Grace was staring deep into her wine glass.
Hodder sensed the atmosphere in the room had now changed and he knew that he could not capture the convivial mood prior to the phone call. He said ‘Hey, listen, I’m shattered I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow so I’m off to bed’.
‘I’ll be up in a minute’…responded Grace. Hodder did not know how to take that. By the time Grace slipped into bed beside her daughter, Hodder was oblivious and in a deep nasal sleep.
Under the cover of darkness, Dean Parks ordered a taxi from ‘outside the shops’ on Adelaide Terrace and travelled to the centre of Newcastle. He did not want to risk walking through the ‘West End’ with his rucksack for fear of being stopped by some inquisitive police patrol that just happened to be passing. Once in the City Centre, he boarded a metro tram and headed for Tynemouth.
This would be his base for the foreseeable future.
Breaking the habit of a lifetime, Parks bought a ticket for the journey. Normally he would not bother, but he really did not want to draw attention to himself or the contents of his bag. Most of the other passengers in the carriage had clearly imbibed copious quantities of alcohol. To a person, they were indifferent to anyone or anything, other than when or where their next drink or take away Kebab was coming from.
Strangely enough, the thought of food was occupying Park’s mind. He was going to have to be very careful with his money by spending and eating wisely. He knew that he could live on what he could steal, but he did not want to take any unnecessary risks, so, he resolved to steal from only the larger shops and supermarkets where he could ‘blend in’ with their numerous other customers.
Getting off at Tynemouth Station he was surprised how quiet it was, the vast Victorian canopy echoing under his footfall. This was good because he really was counting on being alone. He did after all, have work to do before he could get his head down for the night.
Leaving the station he walked along Station Terrace passing the T.A. Barracks on Tynemouth Road, and once he was on Tynemouth Place, opposite the barracks, he made his way onto Priors Terrace. This g
rand Georgian street offered quite the most stunning sea views, he walked onwards towards Priors Park and then to his final destination…Collingwood’s Monument.
Parks dumped his bag in the shadows of the monolith, and walked around the immediate area…he did not want to be disturbed by or to disturb any lovers, young or old.
All was quiet, and if he worked quickly, he could be asleep within the hour. Parks took the hacksaw that ‘Daft Larry’ had got for him and began to cut away at the hinges on the left side of a steel door that stood in the base of the on the western side of the monument. The door was locked on the right hand side using a heavy duty lock of the type used on sea faring containers…far too tough to cut through, so the easier option was to cut through the hinges at a point close to the wall, so as not to make the cut look obvious. After about forty minutes during which he stopped to listen out for any unusual or approaching noises he had finally cut through the bottom hinge.
He swung the door open around the lock and entered the cavernous base of the monument. It smelt damp…but probably no worse than the ‘doss house’ on Elswick Road. He pulled the door to and closed it behind him. Parks then ‘fired up’ a ‘Maglite’ that ‘Daft Larry’ had obtained for him and he looked around the interior. A number of pigeons fluttered around in startled panic…their obvious point of access being any of the numerous air gaps between the large sandstone blocks that formed the base.
Rats scurried around and in the torch light and Parks saw that some metal barriers, and old scaffolding poles were piled up in one corner. It was time to get to work. The cordless drill, courtesy of ‘Daft Larry’ that he had charged whilst at the doss house sparked into life and two bolts were fitted to the door one in the middle of the inside and a second outside just out of view above the upper sawn through hinge.
It was now time to erect his small tent in the corner of the large space. Once it was up, he rolled out his sleeping bag and using some old sacking blocked a number of the ‘air vents’ between the sandstone blocks so that light from his torch did not ‘filter’ outside. ‘It’s not quite the Hilton, actually, it’s not quite the doss house, but its home for now and its rent free’ thought Parks.
Lying in his sleeping bag Parks thought that the one concession to contemporary living that he had was the laptop, and even that did not belong to him. He made a mental list of ‘to do things’ for the morning. This was not quite the same as ‘counting sheep’ but it had the same effect because he was asleep in no time.
Palma, meanwhile, suddenly became aware that the vehicle had stopped. He heard two doors open and footsteps leading away from the car and muted voices fade into the distance. Palma did not know that Bostock and one of his associates had entered the twenty four hour Tesco on Norham Road, the same shop where only days earlier Dean Parks had been. Once inside, they split up. Bostock bought a mobile phone. Meanwhile, his associate visited three different checkouts buying three sim cards from each one.
Palma’s instinctive reaction was to kick out and scream but he quickly did the maths…there was still one person in the car…this was confirmed when he heard the car radio being turned on and a station search that finally settled on some ‘God awful’ rap music…yeah he was most certainly not alone.
About ten minutes later, the head count in the vehicle was returned to ‘full complement’. Palma was still terrified and the churning pit that was now his very empty stomach was beginning to take on a feeling of normality…but not a welcome form of ‘normality’…he had no idea if he could continue playing this game. He had ‘ran with the foxes and the hounds’ for years but this was on an entirely different level altogether.
He really was in a mess…He was supposed to be working for ‘First Aid’, he was supposed to be working for that double crossing bastard Hodder and now he was working for ‘The Voice’ too. Years ago he had heard the phrase ‘a man cannot serve two masters’. He had no idea who was responsible for that particular pearl of wisdom, but he assumed that ‘working for three masters’ was even more demanding than working for two, which, given the circumstances that he now found himself in, made working for ‘just two’ seem like a stroll in the park.
As the tarmac underneath him sped past, he quickly worked out the options available to him.
a)‘I can tell ‘First Aid’ what has happened, or double cross him. Either way, he will probably kill me’.
b)I can tell or double cross Hodder what has happened. Either way I will go to prison.
c)I can lie to ‘The Voice’ or double cross him. Either way, he will probably kill me.
d)I will not be safe in or out of prison. Should I do a runner and have all of them after me?
All things considered, right now, Palma wished that he had taken the opportunity of the plumbing apprenticeship he was offered when he was sixteen. He would certainly not be as wet or have as many leaks to contend with!
Palma started to feel sorry for himself as the car pulled up to a halt. The engine was killed and he heard the familiar ‘clunk’ as the boot lid opened. He was hauled out of the car. He felt the duct tape being cut around his ankles. Then his hands were released…
‘The Voice’ then spoke as something was placed in his packet. ‘There is an untraceable mobile phone and charger in your pocket. It has fifty pounds credit on it. Do not register that phone and keep it safe. You will call a number that is texted to you every day and call me back. Each day, a different untraceable sim card will be used to contact you. Each sim will only be used once. If you have anything to tell me you had better have that information when we speak’.
‘Do you understand’?
‘Yes, but how can I contact you if I hear anything’?
‘You can’t. But we will be watching you’.
‘Do you understand your instructions’?
‘Yes’.
Sensing that at least this phase was going to be over soon, Palma let out an audible sigh. This was a really bad move because he was struck in the stomach with such force that he fell backwards cracking the back of his head on the road surface.
The bag was ‘whipped’ from his head as he lay rolling on the cold hard tarmac. He heard the car drive off, but by the time he was able to get into a semi-crouching position there were only tail lights disappearing into the distance. It was dark and it took a number of seconds for his eyes to adjust to the amber glow of the street lighting. Palma noticed that he was back on Tyne Street at exactly the point where he had been abducted ‘God knows how long ago’.
Little did the man whom Palma knew only as ‘The Voice’, his associates or indeed, Palma himself, know that he was only about half a mile from Parks who was enjoying a dreamless, deep sleep.
Nursing his aching stomach Palma decided to walk home and like all good criminals ‘abroad’ at night he decided to keep off the main roads. So quickly working out a discreet route, he headed down to the quayside, past ‘The Bottom Dolphin’, with its whale bone, a reminder of the long forgotten North Shields Whaling Fleet standing by the front door. How long ago was it he wondered, when he had nothing on his mind but getting drunk inside that particular establishment!
He continued along the North Groyne, which is a promenade which skirts the north bank of the Tyne Estuary, in the direction of the Spanish Battery, at Tynemouth. At the last minute, he took one of the hillside footpaths that led towards Collingwood’s Monument. As he passed the base of the monument heading towards Pier Road, Tynemouth Village and the ‘safety’ of home he did not know that he was passing within ten feet of Dean Parks, who slept on blissfully unaware that he was indeed a ‘person of interest’ to more than one ‘interested person’.
Walking down Hotspur Street towards his flat and sanctuary, Palma’s spirits began to lift. It had been a ‘God Awful day’ but after some food and rest he was sure that he could cobble a plan together that may see him through his current plight. He was in the door within seconds. He closed it and chained it against th
e world. He leaned back against the door, letting out a heavy sigh. Walking into the open plan living room/kitchen he turned on the light making a bee line for the fridge…there had to at least be some cheese in there’.
He was famished.
However, had he known that he had been followed home, he would immediately have lost his appetite.
A voice from behind him said ‘And where the fuck have you been’….it was ‘First Aid’. He did not usually do ‘home visits’, especially at night. Palma sensed this meant trouble. If confirmation were indeed needed, this came in the form of ‘Big Neil’, ‘First Aid’s’ most trusted ‘Lieutenant’ who entered from the bedroom.
An already long day was about to become much longer.
With ‘Big Neil’ standing over Palma who was pinned to a chair by fear, he wisely under the circumstances gave a heavily edited version of events, electing to avoid mention of Parks, Hodder or ‘The Voice’. Instead, he chose an almost believable explanation that the police were lucky enough to ‘stumble’ across some Vodka and smart phones in his loft.
Driven by survival instinct he did not mention the booze recovered from his flat. He played on the fact that ‘they’ (the police) had no evidence, otherwise they would have charged him with something instead of bailing him.
‘First Aid’ was about to drop a bombshell. ‘Luck?...luck…there is no ‘luck’ in this whole sorry cock up…so far, I have lost loads of product, thereby loads of money…so, don’t talk to me about luck. Did you tell the police about my containers? Because, they have been turned over and all of my stuff has been seized’.
‘Err, I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant was that they have no idea that I work for you…I will probably get the gear back when they cannot trace it. Honestly, Mr Burrows I have no idea how the police found out about the containers. You have to believe me’.
‘Oh, that’s okay then’ said ‘First Aid’…’No damage done then…you owe me for all of the gear that has been lost and you owe me for the last batch that you sold…by my reckoning that’s eight thousand ‘sheets’, not counting the stuff from the containers, and I want it now or rather, ‘Big Neil’ here wants it now’.
Shuffling uneasily in his seat, Palma said ‘The money is hidden…I can get it for you later’.
Turning to ‘Big Neil’ ‘First Aid’ said…’Is that how we operate big fella’?
Speaking for the first time in a voice that was surprisingly soft for such a man mountain ‘Big Neil’ said ‘Not normally…what I normally do is….’ and with that ‘Big Neil’ hit Palma so hard in the face that both he and the chair that he was sitting in tumbled backwards onto the floor where upon ‘Big Neil’ began kicking Palma about the head and body to such an extent that all Palma could do was adopt the foetal position and just hope and pray, for the second time that day that the barrage would end soon.
After what felt like an eternity, the assault did stop and Palma lay on the floor groaning, blood pouring from his mouth. Amidst his tears, he could barely draw breath because of the god almighty pain from his ribs which were obviously broken.
‘First Aid’ watched on impassively as ‘Big Neil’ righted the overturned chair and hauled the whimpering Palma to his feet and quite simply ‘dumped’ the injured man in it.
The big man then said…’I don’t normally say ‘Please’ but can Mr Burrows have his money NOW please’.
Palma was unable to get up, but simply pointed to the ‘cooker hood’ and managed through breath more than words to utter ‘In the hood, it’s in the hood’.
Under normal circumstances ‘Big Neil’ would have simply pulled the canopy from the wall until he located his ‘prize’ but he was mindful that his ‘boss’ was the owner of the flat, and that he was watching. So, he carefully removed the filter in the hood, and once it was out, he fumbled around inside and retrieved an old wooden Cuban cigar box, which he opened.
‘Bingo’…’Big Neil’ counted out nine thousand two hundred pounds all of which he handed to ‘First Aid’…’Looks like young Davy here has been doing a bit of ‘freelancing’ Mr Burrows’.
‘Just as well under these very trying circumstances Neil. It will do as a down payment on the gear that he managed to ‘lose’…now Davy…do you have any more secrets’?
‘No. No Mr Burrows…that’s all that I have…honest’.
‘Oh, that’s fine…you can see how upset Neil gets when I am lied to. Say ‘goodnight’ to Davy for me will you Neil’? at which point another ‘thunderbolt’ rocketed the side of his face causing Palmas head to drop onto his chest…he did not hear the door close as his ‘visitors’ left.
As ‘First Aid’ and his muscle bound side kick walked out of the main door of the building, Bostock and his cohorts watched them as they entered a ‘rather over the top’ gunmetal grey BMW X5. This four wheeled drive version of bling, could not have announced itself more clearly as belonging to a criminal if it had it had ornate coach writing on the side advertising the fact.
‘That will be Mr Burrows boys…we may have to speak to him but not tonight…but I think that it would be the order of the day if we found out where he lived’
Bostock told one of his ‘boys’ to follow Burrows at a discreet distance whilst he and ‘the other one’ paid a home visit to Palma…they had earlier identified his flat when they saw the lights go on when he returned home. Using a form of guile only shared by Criminals, Police Officers’ and Debt Collectors they randomly ‘rang’ one of the intercoms on the communal entrance and ‘bluffed’ their way into the building telling the occupant that they had a ‘Take Away’ delivery for one of the other residents.
Once inside, they reasoned that Palmas flat was one of two they had identified from outside and they were surprised when he answered the door.
For his part, Palma was terrified that it was ‘First Aid’ at the door stupidly forgetting that as the owner he had earlier let himself in using his own key. He opened the door for fear of inviting another beating. His head hit the floor when he saw ‘The Voice’ masked up exactly as he had last remembered seeing him. ‘Oh God, will this night never end’. ‘The Voice’ and his partner simply walked into the flat as Palma backed away from them finding himself sitting aghast upon the sofa.
‘The Voice’ said…’I see that you have had some visitors…who were they’?
His voice quivering with terror, Palma managed to somehow spit out the words ‘That was Burrows…’First Aid’’.
‘What did he want’?
‘He wanted to know what happened to his gear and he wanted some money from me’.
‘Think very carefully before you answer…did you mention your visit to the country today or me in any way’?
‘You must be kidding…he would have killed me’.
‘Then it seems to me that you may be in need of some protection…if you find Parks you will get it. If you don’t I will take you to Burrows myself…anyway we were just passing and thought that we would ‘pop in’ to say hello and that we look forward to hearing from you very soon. Goodnight’.
With that they left. There really was no need to impress Palma with another show of force. He had obviously had enough for now, at least.
Meanwhile, oblivious to all of this, and having a ‘long night’ of his own, Baxter was walking out of a ‘shower made for two’ and heading towards a ‘bed made for two’…all was good with his world.
Hodder had slept as well as he could remember. He awoke refreshed and was ready for the day ahead. His frequent hangovers had made breakfast an infrequent undertaking, and as he made his way downstairs looking forward to the prospect of toast and coffee he saw the post falling from the letter box, remembering as he bent down that he must repair the spring on the letter box because it had a habit of rattling in high winds.
Hodder took the mail to the kitchen and whilst he waited for the kettle to boil he scanned the usual array of bills, junk mail, fast food menus. He was however, intrigued to see a hand w
ritten envelope addressed to him.
Unusual.
He opened the envelope, and a ‘tube’ of ‘Love Heart’ sweets fell from the envelope dropping to the floor and rolling underneath the breakfast bar.
‘The bastard…he knows that I live here’.
Breakfast was put on the ‘backburner’ and after a quick shave and shower he was out of the door.
As he drove to work, for once under the prescribed alcohol limit but well over the prescribed speed limit Hodder reflected that there was no situation that a Police Officer cannot make worse.