Read Online Death Can’t Take a Joke by Anya Lipska - Free Book Online
Authors: Anya Lipska
Ads: Link
worthless husband.
‘Spare me the relationship counselling, Oskar,’ growled Janusz. ‘Just tell me what you’ve got.’
‘Keep your hair on,
kolego,
I was getting to that,’ said Oskar. ‘I dropped in on my mate, Marek, the one who owns a
Polski sklep
on Hoe Street? You should go there – he sells the best
wiejska
in London. And his
rolmopsy
…’
‘Oskar!’
‘Okay, okay. Anyway, it turns out that he knows the guy in the Discovery, the one you saw with that gorgeous bird!’
‘What does he know about him?’
‘He’s Romanian, grew up there when that
kutas
Ceausescu ran the place. But he managed to get out and went to live in Poland after Solidarity got in – Marek says his mother was Polish.’
That made sense
,
thought Janusz. Poland had been the first country to throw off communist rule in 1989, making it a magnet for people escaping Soviet-backed regimes all over Eastern Europe.
‘Does Marek know how the guy makes his money?’
‘
Tak.
He has business interests in Poland, Ukraine, some of the other ex-Kommi states,’ said Oskar. ‘Marek just invested some cash with him actually – he says he’s making a packet.’
‘Shady business?’ asked Janusz.
‘No! He says it’s all totally above board.’
Janusz just grunted. Some people didn’t ask too many questions so long as the rate of return was attractive.
‘Anyway, sisterfucker, listen to this,’ said Oskar. ‘Marek sees the Romanian going to some Turkish café opposite his shop in Hoe Street, twice a week, to drink coffee with the owner.’
Janusz had never had any dealings with London’s Turks, who kept themselves pretty much to themselves, but during the recent riots they’d won his grudging admiration. While the cops had stood by, helpless and outnumbered, as lowlifes looted and torched his local shops, further north in Green Lanes the Turks had lined up to defend their businesses armed with hard stares and baseball bats. When the dust had settled, theirs were the only shopfronts that didn’t require the attention of emergency glaziers.
‘And the girl? Does she go along to these meetings?’
‘Sometimes. But Marek says he’s always there – four o’clock, Thursdays and Fridays, regular as clockwork.’
Marek sounded like a nosy bastard to Janusz. He checked his watch: it was Thursday and just after three. Plenty of time to get up there and back in time to cook dinner.
Janusz still had no idea of the precise nature of the relationship between the girl Varenka and the Romanian. She certainly wouldn’t be the first girl to settle for an older, uglier lover in return for a luxurious life. But was he also her pimp? The scene Janusz had witnessed in Hoe Street, which had ended with the bastard assaulting her, suggested that was a strong possibility.
‘Did you get the name of this Romanian?’
He heard Oskar fumbling with a bit of paper. ‘Barbu Romescu.’
‘You didn’t let Marek know this was anything to do with Jim?’
‘Of course not, Janek! I just dropped into the conversation that I’d seen this
seksowna
blonde girl getting into a fancy black 4X4 in Hoe Street. You know, man talk.’
‘Not bad
.
Maybe you’re not as bat-brained as you look.’
‘I was thinking,’ Oskar’s voice became conspiratorial, tinged with suppressed excitement, ‘I could park the van near the café, like I was doing deliveries, and when the Romanian comes out, tail him to his hideaway.’
Janusz grinned at the idea of Oskar and his old crock of a van with the squealing fan belt shadowing anyone undetected. ‘I tell you what,
kolego
, here’s the best thing you can do. Take Marek out for a drink. Drop into the conversation that you have a mate who’s come into a pile of money and who is looking for investments paying a good return.’
Right after he’d hung up, the message waiting sign started flashing on his phone. It was a voicemail from Kasia.
‘Janek, darling. Please don’t hate me but I can’t make it tonight.
‘Spare me the relationship counselling, Oskar,’ growled Janusz. ‘Just tell me what you’ve got.’
‘Keep your hair on,
kolego,
I was getting to that,’ said Oskar. ‘I dropped in on my mate, Marek, the one who owns a
Polski sklep
on Hoe Street? You should go there – he sells the best
wiejska
in London. And his
rolmopsy
…’
‘Oskar!’
‘Okay, okay. Anyway, it turns out that he knows the guy in the Discovery, the one you saw with that gorgeous bird!’
‘What does he know about him?’
‘He’s Romanian, grew up there when that
kutas
Ceausescu ran the place. But he managed to get out and went to live in Poland after Solidarity got in – Marek says his mother was Polish.’
That made sense
,
thought Janusz. Poland had been the first country to throw off communist rule in 1989, making it a magnet for people escaping Soviet-backed regimes all over Eastern Europe.
‘Does Marek know how the guy makes his money?’
‘
Tak.
He has business interests in Poland, Ukraine, some of the other ex-Kommi states,’ said Oskar. ‘Marek just invested some cash with him actually – he says he’s making a packet.’
‘Shady business?’ asked Janusz.
‘No! He says it’s all totally above board.’
Janusz just grunted. Some people didn’t ask too many questions so long as the rate of return was attractive.
‘Anyway, sisterfucker, listen to this,’ said Oskar. ‘Marek sees the Romanian going to some Turkish café opposite his shop in Hoe Street, twice a week, to drink coffee with the owner.’
Janusz had never had any dealings with London’s Turks, who kept themselves pretty much to themselves, but during the recent riots they’d won his grudging admiration. While the cops had stood by, helpless and outnumbered, as lowlifes looted and torched his local shops, further north in Green Lanes the Turks had lined up to defend their businesses armed with hard stares and baseball bats. When the dust had settled, theirs were the only shopfronts that didn’t require the attention of emergency glaziers.
‘And the girl? Does she go along to these meetings?’
‘Sometimes. But Marek says he’s always there – four o’clock, Thursdays and Fridays, regular as clockwork.’
Marek sounded like a nosy bastard to Janusz. He checked his watch: it was Thursday and just after three. Plenty of time to get up there and back in time to cook dinner.
Janusz still had no idea of the precise nature of the relationship between the girl Varenka and the Romanian. She certainly wouldn’t be the first girl to settle for an older, uglier lover in return for a luxurious life. But was he also her pimp? The scene Janusz had witnessed in Hoe Street, which had ended with the bastard assaulting her, suggested that was a strong possibility.
‘Did you get the name of this Romanian?’
He heard Oskar fumbling with a bit of paper. ‘Barbu Romescu.’
‘You didn’t let Marek know this was anything to do with Jim?’
‘Of course not, Janek! I just dropped into the conversation that I’d seen this
seksowna
blonde girl getting into a fancy black 4X4 in Hoe Street. You know, man talk.’
‘Not bad
.
Maybe you’re not as bat-brained as you look.’
‘I was thinking,’ Oskar’s voice became conspiratorial, tinged with suppressed excitement, ‘I could park the van near the café, like I was doing deliveries, and when the Romanian comes out, tail him to his hideaway.’
Janusz grinned at the idea of Oskar and his old crock of a van with the squealing fan belt shadowing anyone undetected. ‘I tell you what,
kolego
, here’s the best thing you can do. Take Marek out for a drink. Drop into the conversation that you have a mate who’s come into a pile of money and who is looking for investments paying a good return.’
Right after he’d hung up, the message waiting sign started flashing on his phone. It was a voicemail from Kasia.
‘Janek, darling. Please don’t hate me but I can’t make it tonight.
Similar Books
