SIXTY SIX
POKER NIGHT
Wednesday 13 January 2009
“Straight flush,” Paul ‘The Ghoul’ Turner announced as he threw the cards on the table, “frigging beautiful.”
“Are you counting cards?” Chalmers asked, “That’s the fifth hand in a row you’ve won.”
“Of course I’m counting bloody cards,” The Ghoul said, “although it doesn’t help much in Poker; it’s more useful in Blackjack.”
“Let’s take a break,” Chalmers suggested, “you’ve taken nearly all my money anyway. Another beer?”
“Don’t mind if I do. How are things in the fascist department going?”
Chalmers laughed.
“You think we’re all a bunch of little Hitlers don’t you?”
“You lot aren’t too bad,” The Ghoul said, “but those frigging bastards in uniform think they can click their heels, give the Nazi salute and, hey presto we’re all under their control.”
“They’re not that bad really. Anyway, who do you think keeps villains off the streets?”
“Lawyers and Pathologists like me of course; we’re the frigging heroes in life. Bad luck about the Willow case by the way. I suppose that public school prick who calls himself the Superintendant has officially closed that one.”
“We had to endure his stats presentation yesterday,” Chalmers sighed, “There’s no way in hell we can reopen the case.”
“You know he didn’t do it don’t you?” the Ghoul said.
“Martin Willow?” Chalmers said, “Smith is convinced it wasn’t him.”
“Smith is right. Bloody good copper that one. And the other one, the one who fancies Smith?”
“DC Whitton?” Chalmers seemed surprised, “she’s a colleague that’s all.”
“If you say so,” the Ghoul smiled, “I reckon if I had to open her up and remove her heart, Smith’s name would be all over it. Anyway, I’ve been working with the police for over five years and the only decent coppers I’ve met have been those two.”
“You heard what happened to Smith?”
“That bloody scumbag deserved it,” the Ghoul said, “Smith only did what any of us would have. I hope you didn’t bollock him too much for it.”
“I gave him two weeks leave,” Chalmers replied, “it was owed to him.”
“You’re all frigging heart Bob. Where’s he gone, Blackpool? Lovely at this time of year.”
“He wouldn’t say,” Chalmers said, “he said he had some family business to sort out.”
“You know he’s not going to let that Willow rot in jail.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Chalmers said, “he’s a brilliant detective but he pretty much does what the hell he likes. Luckily, he’s got Whitton to look after him.”
“I tell you Bob,” the Ghoul said, “those two are going to be the next frigging police wedding we’ll be going to. I can feel it.”
SIXTY SEVEN
DETERMINED
Smith woke up in a strange room. He had a thumping headache and his mouth was dry. He got up off the bed he was lying on and stood up. The veins in his temples seemed to be pumping too much blood to his brain and he felt like his head was going to explode. He needed a glass of water. He opened the door of the room and realised he was in Stepan’s flat. Alec was asleep on one of the couches in the living room; he was snoring loudly. Smith poured himself a glass of water from the tap in the kitchen, drank it in one go and poured himself another. He sat on the other couch and rubbed his temples gently.
“Coffee is good for the hangover,” Stepan said from the doorway to the bathroom.
Smith smiled.
“I must stop drinking too much,” he said.
“I’ll make the coffee strong then,” Stepan said.
Even with a hangover, Smith could remember clearly what had happened the night before; everything until the gun was pointed at his head and Alec saved his life. After that, the night just blurred into drinks, dancing and many unfamiliar faces.
“There you go,” Stepan placed the coffee on the table in front of Smith.
“Thanks,” Smith said.
Stepan did not seem in the least bit concerned that he had a man who had almost been executed in his flat. Maybe Alec did not tell them, Smith thought.
Alec groaned. He was waking up. He stood up, groaned again and walked past Smith and Stepan without saying a word.
“Where’s Lucas?” Smith asked Stepan.
“Work,” Stepan replied, “he’s an early riser, he never gets hangovers either.”
“Lucky bugger,” Smith said.
“Would you like some breakfast?” Stepan asked.
“I’m not hungry,” Smith said, “but I’d better eat something. Thanks.”
“I’ll go and get something from the baker down the street. That’s if they have anything left, it’s almost lunchtime.”
Smith looked at his watch. It was half past eleven. Stepan put on his shoes and coat and left the flat. Smith heard the toilet flush in the bathroom. The door opened and Alec sat down again; he looked terrible.
“I suppose I must thank you for what you did last night,” Smith said.
Alec shrugged his shoulders.
“I told you not to do anything stupid,” he said, “You could have been killed.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Smith insisted, “I got a note from my sister and then I was ambushed in the alley. How did you know I was there?”
“I saw the way you were acting and when you disappeared I went looking for you.”
Alec took a sip of coffee.
“That’s better”, he said, “I hope you will have the good sense to leave Tallinn as soon as possible.”
Smith sighed; he had come so close but now it seemed that his sister was further away than ever.
“She wanted to meet me,” he insisted, “why else would she have given me the note?”
“There’s a lot you don’t understand my friend,” Alec said, “Wolfie knows everything and he has that most dangerous of personalities, a paranoid genius. He is in total control of everything that happens around him.”
“He can’t keep an eye on everything twenty four seven,” Smith said, “There must be a way I can see my sister without him knowing.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“You know a way don’t you?”
“You’re very stubborn Mr Smith,” Alec said, “that’s a very perilous trait; you were almost killed last night and yet you persist.”
“I’m determined to get my sister away from these people. After what happened last night, I’m even more determined.”
“There may be a way,” Alec said finally, “but I won’t discuss it now; Stepan will be back soon.”
“You didn’t tell him what happened did you?”
“He didn’t need to know. Nobody knows and we must keep it that way. I have a meeting in an hour but it shouldn’t take long. Meet me in the car park of the Passenger Port at two; it’s only a few hundred metres from here. Wolfie will be watching you but I’m certain he will not follow you to Finland.”
“Finland,” Smith exclaimed.
“Beautiful country,” Alec mused, “But it has no interest to Wolfie. Bring your bag; you will not be coming back to Tallinn.”
“But I have a return ticket.”
“You will never make the flight, Wolfie will not risk it. What happened last night was merely a prelude. You will simply disappear and nobody will ever know what happened. I have to go home and change; meet me at two. If I can organise it I may have a surprise for you.”
Alec put on his coat, shook his head and left the flat. Smith wondered what he meant by the surprise. He stood up and looked out the window; the snow had turned to ice on the roads and the sky was clear. He shivered even though it was warm in the flat. He could just make out the icy waters of t
he Gulf of Finland in the distance. Finland, he thought. Never in a million years did he think he would be in Estonia about to take a ferry to Finland.
The door opened and Stepan rushed in.
“Its minus eight outside,” he said, “it says so on the board next to the Theatre.”
He placed a brown paper bag on the table.
“I’ll get some plates,” he said.
They ate a lunch of bread, cheese and cold meats Smith had never tasted before.
“What are your plans for today?” Stepan asked.
Smith thought hard. He did not want to put this kind flight attendant in any kind of danger.
“I think I’ll see a few of the sights,” he lied.
He looked at his watch. Half past twelve; he had an hour and a half.
“I’ll show you around,” Stepan offered.
“Thanks but I have a map and you’ve done enough for me already.”
“Its no problem,” Stepan said, “Lucas doesn’t finish until late.”
“I’d rather walk around on my own,” Smith said, “I need to think.”
“You’re leaving aren’t you?” Stepan was sharp.
“How did you know”?
“I may be a flight attendant but I have eyes in my head. I saw how you looked last night. He threatened you didn’t he?”
“Who?”
“Wolfie of course. Where are you going?”
“I don’t want to put you in any danger.”
“I’m nobody to them,” Stepan said frankly, “they’re not worried about me.”
“Alec is meeting me at two at the Ferry Port; I’m going to Finland.”
Stepan stood up and went to the bedroom. He returned with the Gestapo camel hair coat. “Take this,” he said, “Finland is even colder than Estonia.”
“I can’t take your coat,” Smith said
“Take it.”
Stepan was adamant.
“I bought it for Lucas in Paris,” he said, “but he never wears it.”
Smith had a lump in his throat.
“Thank you,” he said, “I think I’ll leave now; I really do need to think.”
Smith picked up his bag, put on the coat and turned to face the kindly flight attendant. He was sure he saw a tear on Stepan’s cheek. Stepan quickly wiped it away.
“That coat looks much better on you anyway,” Stepan smiled.
He held out his hand to Smith. Smith took the hand to shake it but quickly let go. He put his arms around Stepan and hugged him tightly.
“I see you’re a bit more relaxed around gay people,” Stepan said with a smile.
“Thanks for all your help,” Smith said, “I won’t forget it.”
He opened the door.
“Oh, by the way,” he added, “I was meaning to tell you before; my mother was gay.”
Stepan smiled and watched Smith walk down the stairs.
Smith was instantly grateful for the coat as he made his way to the Ferry Terminal; the wind was biting his ears. He put the collar of the coat up higher and fastened the top button. Smith did not notice the man in the green car as he passed; he was too preoccupied with staying warm. When Smith was further along the road, the car door opened and the man got out. He closed the car door, walked up the stairs to Stepan’s flat and rang the bell.