‘Please, take what you want. I won’t say a word to anyone, I promise.’
‘
He nodded, wild-eyed.
I pulled away from him, my right hand still gripping him and my left hand on his shoulder, controlling him.
He was flapping big-time.
‘Don’t look at me. Look at the floor.’
A car mounted the ramp to my half-left, its tail lights glowing red as it made its way to the exit.
‘Just stay calm, all right? Don’t do anything. You got kids? Think of them.’
He shook his head, which made him more of a dickhead. I would have said yes, to make my assailant think he had the leverage.
‘Then think of your wife. Got one of those?’
I let go as another car swung towards us. ‘Go to the driver’s side.’ I made sure I stayed level with him, the far side of his Volvo as a Prius glided past us. We got in together. I jabbed the knife against his crotch as he went to put his seatbelt on. ‘Not yet. Don’t look at me. Face the front.’
We were inches from a bare concrete wall, with his reserved parking sign drilled into it at head height. His nostrils flared as he breathed. I knew what was going through his head. He was working hard at not fucking up here. He wanted to get this nightmare over and done with.
By the look of him, he hadn’t shaved since I last saw him.
‘Give me your phone.’
I could hear a couple talking behind us. I saw them in the wing mirror. They didn’t notice us. Even if they did, they’d probably do the city avoidance thing and not want to get involved. They’d rather walk past and see if their suspicions were right when they watched the ten o’clock news.
He passed over an iPhone. I took it with my left hand, and kept the other holding the knife to his bollocks. ‘Lean forward. Head on the wheel.’
I tapped the calendar icon. He had loads of appointments today until three forty-five, and then it went blank. On Sunday evening he had a chess game. I assumed that was what it was - it just said, ‘Chess’. Maybe it was the musical. I didn’t care. There was still no indication of what or with whom. No dinner parties booked, nothing else going on.
‘Please, just take everything. I won’t say anything.’
‘
I hit the number list. ‘Who’s Gillian? You made a call to her at ten oh eight this morning.’
‘She’s my receptionist. I was a little late and …’
The only other call was the one he had just made. ‘Who’s M?’ I pressed a +1 310 number, Los Angeles.
‘My mother, she doesn’t sleep so well and—’
‘Give me your wallet.’
‘Now you’ve got to let me go. I have nothing else. Take the car!’
I opened the slim brown leather folder. Besides cards, there was about PS150 in crisp twenties and tens, straight from the ATM. There were no family snaps. He should at least have had a baby picture in there, even if it wasn’t his. It gives you far more chance of having your wallet returned.
His driver’s licence gave an address in Stanmore Hill in North London. The house number was followed by a B. He lived in a flat.
‘Get the keys, left hand. Turn on the engine.’
‘Just take everything.’
I pressed the knife harder into his crotch. ‘Turn on the engine.’
His left hand fished for the key and the diesel was soon ticking over. I powered down the window and smashed the phone onto the concrete. I kept his wallet. It joined the other steak knives in my pocket.
‘Now sit up, and belt up.’
Breathing heavily, he did as he was told. Sweat ran from the back of his head down the front of his face and nose, and was now trying to make its way onto his chin. He glanced across and got his first view of me as I pulled down my hood. When he saw who it was under the glasses and cap it was like the opening of a floodgate.
‘Oh, my God! They made me do it! I’m so sorry, I—’
‘Who? Who made you do it? Tresillian? Julian?’
‘Who - what? Look, I don’t know. Two guys visited with me. Heavies. They said this was your scan, and they gave me the drugs. I swear. I had no choice. Please—’
He lost it. His hands came up, pleading with me. ‘They made me! Please believe me! I don’t know anything …’
I pressed the knife down further. ‘Calm down.’ I pointed at his face. ‘You got no wife or kids over here? You on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, whatever - you don’t know it yet, but you’re in deep shit. I can’t lose control of you until I’ve finished what I’m here to do. That means either killing you …’
‘No! Please!’ He was almost hyperventilating.
‘Calm down, for fuck’s sake. Or it means keeping you with me all the time, making sure you can’t tell anyone what’s just happened.’
If I was right about him, he was in as much shit as I was. He just didn’t know it.
‘Take deep breaths. Come on, that’s better.’ I took the knife away and held it up between us. ‘But don’t go mistaking kindness for weakness, all right? You tell me what you know and do what I say and you’ll get out of this car alive.’ I pointed the blade at his face. ‘OK, a couple more deep breaths and then you’re going to drive us both to Fulham.’
5
Kleinmann was a good prisoner.
We sat at a window table in TGI Friday’s. A far too cheerful waitress bounced over and announced she’d be looking after us tonight. Kleinmann was happy for me to do the ordering, as long as it was chicken.
My eyes never left the restaurant front on the other side of Fulham Broadway. Getting something to eat and keeping out of the rain were secondary. We were here for the stakeout on the Vietnamese.
Passing buses obscured the target for a couple of seconds now and again. The junction was busy. High-sided vans sometimes got stuck at the lights. Most of the footfall had their heads down, collars or brollies up, orange Sainsbury carrier bags alongside them, en route to a ready-meal for one and a bottle of wine in front of the telly.
Our food turned up, with another round of Diet Cokes. I knew Kleinmann was scared, but he probably felt secure. If people have control, you feel safer. You’re being held for a reason, and they’re not going to do anything rash.
So far he’d done exactly what I’d told him to do. He’d shut up, driven us here, parked up, and even offered to buy dinner, which was good of him considering I had his wallet.
‘The shadow on the scan, the big red Smarties … It’s all bullshit, isn’t it?’
He nodded miserably.
I dunked a chip in the dish of tomato sauce. ‘Why are you mixed up with all this shit? What have you been doing to get so fucked up?’
He wiped his forehead with the paper napkin. His liquid brown eyes glistened with anguish. ‘These guys came in. They made me do it. I had no choice. I don’t know who they were. I don’t know why they wanted me to do what I did, and I don’t know why I’m sitting here. I just know I’m scared …’
He stared at his untouched food. I picked up another chip and poked it at him.
‘What is it they’ve got on you? Or did they simply come in and say they were going to kill you?’
His hands came up. ‘Please, I’m doing everything you say. Please don’t use those words.’ He rubbed his beard
