1
I turned left onto Papaverhoek and passed FilmNoord XXX. The window blinds were up and bright blue-and- white rope lights shone their welcome onto the pavement.
I’d used the same route as yesterday from Westerstraat, taking even more care than usual not to become the focus of any attention. I kept the sun visor down even though it was dark. There weren’t as many speed and CCTV cameras here as in the UK, but I wasn’t taking chances.
I passed the German office block and nosy-parked in front of the shutter, exactly as I’d done with the Panda. Headlights off, I climbed out and limped over to the door. The telltales were intact. I went to put the key into the top lock. Pain shot through my buttock as I raised my arm. The congealed blood felt cold on my skin. I’d been sitting on the warm leather of the Passat’s driving seat and now the air was getting to it.
I leant on the door with my left hand as I started on the last lock. My leg spasmed and bile flooded into the back of my throat. My nostrils stung as the puke acid launched another attack.
I wrestled the door open. I wanted this wagon under cover as soon as possible, and then I wanted a brew, a shower, and some first aid.
The footsteps behind me were heavy. I spun round. She emerged from the dark interior of one of the doorless garages and headed straight for me, arm outstretched. She was still in my boots and clothes.
‘What the
‘Please,
She had a wad of euros clutched in her hand.
‘Please, the money. Take it. I—’
I grabbed her and bundled her over the threshold, then followed her in. She fell against the stairs. I shoved my face right into hers. ‘Wait here!’ I needed her off the street, as well as the Passat. I’d get rid of her later.
She shut up. She was going to do what she was told. She wanted me to help her. She was going to be compliant.
I moved as fast as I could into the loading bay and down the metal steps towards the shutter. I banged the button and it started to grind open. I didn’t turn on the lights. As soon as there was enough clearance I bent down and eased myself underneath it. It still stretched my wound and another jolt of pain shot through my body.
I slid behind the wheel. There was a smear of blood on the driver’s seat, but there wasn’t a pool of it. The capillaries withdraw after the initial trauma and the deeper muscle mass closes the wound. After a while the site is just gooey, not running with the stuff. But there was still one fuck of a hole in my right buttock and every move I made felt like I was sitting on a red-hot poker.
I drove in and parked alongside the Panda. As soon as the shutter came down I went back through to the front door and closed that too.
As the lights flickered on, she clambered to her feet, the cash still in her hand. ‘Take me. You leave tonight, yes? Help me. Please.’ Her eyes had filled with tears.
I stood with my back to the door. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you go to the airport? The woman, the blonde woman, my friend, was waiting for you.’ I dug into my jeans, dragging out more cash.
She slumped to her knees and threw her arms around my legs, squeezing them tight. The red-hot poker got busy again and I pushed her off more vigorously than I’d meant to.
She saw the blood smeared on her hands from round the back of my jeans and must have smelt the bile. ‘Let me help you. I will help you.’
I leant against the door. My mouth tasted of puke. My leg throbbed excruciatingly. I clenched my teeth and breathed deeply through my nose. ‘Right - go upstairs. Get the kettle on.’ Fuck it, it would all be over in twenty-four hours.
‘Kettle?’ Her face relaxed. She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew I wasn’t kicking her out.
‘Boil the water.’ I mimed drinking. ‘For tea.’
She nodded and jumped up, eager to please. She bounded up the stairs.
I turned and locked the front door. I didn’t bother with any new telltales.
Pushing myself off it, I shuffled back through the fire door and into the loading bay.
I took off the Passat’s fuel cap. There was nothing to tell me if it took diesel or petrol. I gave it a sniff. Good: it was petrol. I’d need an extra bit of accelerant for what I had in mind.
I retrieved the Bergen from the front passenger seat and hauled myself upstairs to what I hoped was going to be a brew.
2
I checked the remaining telltales as I made my way gingerly up the stairs. I did all I could to avoid bending my leg. They were all in place.
The girl was standing with her back to me as I hobbled into the room. She seemed to be preparing the brew as if it was a three-course meal. Anything to look indispensable, I supposed. The roll of cash I’d given her sat on the drainer beside the open box of Yorkshire Tea.
I shrugged the Bergen strap off my shoulder and let its weight drag it down my arm. I didn’t have the strength to lift it off properly. I leant against the wall in a vain attempt to relieve the pain. I didn’t want to sit down and stretch the wound site any more. I was fucked, and I was glad to be here.
I let the Bergen drop to my feet and spoke to the back of her sweatshirt. ‘What’s your name?’
She didn’t turn. Perhaps she still thought I was going to show her the door. She really was just a kid, doing the brew-making version of dragging the duvet over her head.
I didn’t know if she hadn’t heard me or if it she was ignoring me. I said it louder. ‘What is your name?’
Her hands flew around in front of her as if she was conducting the Philharmonic rather than just squeezing out a couple of tea bags. ‘Angeles.’
‘Like the city?’
She finally turned and smiled.
‘Where are you from, Angeles? Nationality? Your country?’
‘Moldova.’
‘Why didn’t you go to the airport, like I said? You could be safe now.’
She turned back and mumbled something into the drainingboard.
‘What?’
She got stuck into the sugar bag and finally came towards me with two steaming mugs of the black stuff.
‘But I am safe. I want to stay with you.’
It wasn’t much more than a whisper. Her hair fell across her face. I found it even harder to understand her now I couldn’t see her mouth.
I was desperate to sit down, but leant my weight against the wall instead. She stood in front of me.
‘How old are you?’
‘Fifteen. I will cook for you. I will look after you. Anything. Please let me stay …’
I nodded and started drinking. The brew was hot and sweet and right at that moment it was as good as anything I’d ever tasted.
She sipped hers like a bird, then started waffling like a madwoman. ‘I will help you, yes. Will you take me away from here? I can go with you tonight?’
I raised a hand to encourage her to slow down. ‘I want you to do something for me. Get that towel and tear it into strips.’ I held my thumb and forefinger about three inches apart. ‘Like a bandage, yeah? I’m going to go and clean myself up.’
I started to move, but winced as the pain shot through my arse.
‘Please - let me help. What happened?’
‘Don’t ask. Don’t say anything. Just do what I say and I’ll help you, OK?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
