Wendall promises he will and as I leave I see him kneel down to offer a prayer. I’m just thankful I could answer one of them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
DAVE
Arriving at the convenience store in Market Street where he is convinced he purchased the winning ticket, Dave demands to speak to the manager in such a rough tone that the poor young girl assistant behind the counter quickly picks up the internal phone and calls Ian Townsend, the night-time manager who joins them in the shop.
“Hello, sir. How can I help you?”
“I bought a Euro ticket two weeks ago, the one which won the £168 million and some dirty tramp nicked it from me. I know you have cameras for security. I need to see them so I can get my money.”
“Two weeks ago, you say? That’s a problem, sir. We don’t keep the security tapes for more than a week. They are automatically recorded over at the end of seven days, so we wouldn’t have the footage anymore.”
Standing in a corner at the back of the shop, Dave is in no mood for a reply that includes the word ‘No.’ “Look, you prat. I need those pictures. I don’t care what you have to do to get them, but I’m warning you.” As he says this, Dave grabs hold of the manager’s shirt collar and pulls him forward. “Get me those fucking tapes or there’s gonna be trouble.”
“I… I can’t, sir. As I told you, we don’t keep the tapes that long. The system’s not that sophisticated. I’d love to help you but–”
“Don’t give me that. There’s got to be a way.”
“I… I really can’t help you, sir. I’m sorry. If there was anything I could do…” Ian Townsend cringes as it looks like a punch is coming his way. He relaxes when Dave drops his hold and starts to walk away.
Turning back, he barks, “Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this, you fucking prat. You’ll be hearing from my solicitors. I’ll fucking ’ave you, you bastard.”
Dave finally leaves the store, to the relief of the members of staff and especially the night manager, who tries to compose himself but is visibly shaken by the experience.
Although Dave has been a career criminal for over thirty years, he’s never actually killed anyone himself, but right now, should anyone cross him, he might do something he could regret. He will find the ‘little shit’ who robbed him and make sure he pays.
Even though it’s close to eleven pm, he decides to go looking for anyone who might know the man who has stolen his winning ticket. He’s seen where the homeless people sit in doorways and beg for money so he walks round to Sidney Street, leaving his car on the wide pavement reserved for disabled drivers.
Walking along the street, Dave’s eyes search every shop doorway for someone who might be homeless and aware of the identity of the man who he has now decided will come to a sticky end once he claims his winnings back.
Finding no sign of anyone who might be able to help, he decides to cut his losses and return home. It’s getting chilly. Tomorrow is another day and he’ll get everything sorted if it’s the last thing he does. He’s been robbed and won’t take things lying down. He doesn’t know that most of the people he’s looking for are to be found at the mobile charity vans dishing out free hot drinks and meals at this time of night.
Dave returns home and pours himself a large Jack Daniels. Taking a big gulp and swallowing it he mutters to himself through gritted teeth, “Tomorrow I’ll find that fucking bastard and tear him limb from fucking limb.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
PETER HOGAN
Peter Hogan, the Town Planning Officer, is someone who can make things happen. If he knows you, and the backhand payment is large enough, there are ways and means he can apply his influence and ensure almost any project will have his backing. This is usually enough to swing the rest of the Planning Committee.
He has told both the committee and council bosses that a group of investors are prepared to pay ten million pounds to take the empty, semi-derelict Asbury Park estate off their hands and redevelop it. He’s told them, in his opinion; this is the best offer they can hope to receive.
There is no reason to think it won’t go ahead.
Peter is currently in league with Dave Rex who has two million of his own money together with a consortium prepared to invest eight million.
Dave is the front man, the money men want to remain anonymous.
With their financial backing, Dave has the ten million pounds he needs to cover the bid put into the council to buy Asbury Park.
In anticipation of this, Dave has set up a company called DR Social Housing Ltd.
This is the plan he worked on at his villa in Spain.
Chapter Twenty-Five
JAMES
I’ve been reading an article in the local newspaper about how the council are planning to sell off the run-down area known as Asbury Park Estate, situated on the edge of town, and then I notice a listing from a local estate agent with a house for sale on the edge of that area.
I’ve decided to view the house so I start the ten-minute walk from the Premier Inn down East Road and then across to Regent Street. This is the area of town where the vast majority of local estate agents are located, including the one listing the property I’m interested in.
I walk past several of their competitors until I arrive at number sixty-nine and the location of Regent Estate Agents. I look at all the properties listed in the window display and spot the one I’m looking for.
As I enter, one of the staff members sitting behind a desk rises, and within seconds is greeting
