“Touché,” he said with a wry note in his voice. “Not very good at accepting flattery, are you, Charlie?”
“When that's all it is, no, I'm not,” I agreed flatly.
“Hmm, you need the practice, then. So, how soon are you going to come and see me?”
I reached over to the desk and retrieved my diary. It was more of a play for time. I already pretty much knew when my classes were during the week. He suggested a time for the following afternoon at the club. It seemed ironic that the excuse I'd made to Sam was solidifying into reality, even if it was a day late.
I have to admit, I liked listening to Marc's voice. Concealed in the background was the faintest trace of a regional accent. He had obviously worked hard to eradicate it, but on the phone it seemed more noticeable than it had face to face. I tried and failed to place it.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said as we wound up our conversation, and the line disconnected.
I looked at the dead receiver before I put it down. “I hope you know what you're doing, Fox,” I said, but I wasn't giving myself any answers. I guess I was just obstinate that way.
Five
The New Adelphi Club looked different in daylight. Seedier, somehow. Less inviting. It was certainly quieter than it had been that Saturday, though, which had to be a bonus.
I parked up the bike at the front of the car park. I noticed with approval that security cameras had been installed overlooking the parking area, although I couldn't remember whether they'd been there before. I made sure the Suzuki was covered by one of them.
Even so, I stuck my roller-chain round the rear wheel and swinging arm, just to make sure. The insurance premiums I pay on the bike, considering it's coming up for seven years old, are stratospheric. I don't want them going into low earth orbit because of a theft claim.
The main entrance was locked up tight when I arrived. There didn't seem to be a doorbell, and hammering on the door itself produced no signs of life. After a few minutes I gave up and wandered round towards the rear of the building.
The back entrance was where the old kitchens had once been and nothing much had changed. Where the front of the Adelphi had been grand and sweeping, the back was a hotchpotch of styles. Hasty additions built for function rather than form. It was interesting to see that Marc hadn't bothered spending his valuable money on tidying things up back there.
The old kitchen door was propped open with a broken breeze block, and a Transit van was pulled up close to it. As I approached Gary came out, carrying a crate of bottles, which he dumped into the back of the van. He was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and looked much more at home in them than he had in his penguin suit of the weekend.
“Nice to see somebody working,” I said by way of a greeting.
He spun round with a start. “Christ, Charlie, you frightened me to death!” he cried. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, it was your idea, actually,” I told him. “I'm here to see Marc about a security job. You suggested it.”
Gary was pale and sweaty. I think his idea of physical exercise is lifting the arm holding the remote control for the TV. “Marc's coming here this afternoon?” he demanded now. I nodded. “Oh hell, we're way behind today. I was supposed to have all this lot swapped over this morning. Give us a hand, will you?”
Which is how I came to be lugging bottle crates between the numerous bars and the back of the van. I quickly came to understand Gary's breathless and perspiring state. I stripped off my leather jacket and dumped my helmet on a chair, but I couldn't do much about my leather jeans. By the time I'd made half a dozen trips myself I was in pretty much the same state as he was.
“How often do you have to do this?” I gasped as I reached the van with yet another crate of empties.
“Too often,” he grinned back,
“When that's all it is, no, I'm not,” I agreed flatly.
“Hmm, you need the practice, then. So, how soon are you going to come and see me?”
I reached over to the desk and retrieved my diary. It was more of a play for time. I already pretty much knew when my classes were during the week. He suggested a time for the following afternoon at the club. It seemed ironic that the excuse I'd made to Sam was solidifying into reality, even if it was a day late.
I have to admit, I liked listening to Marc's voice. Concealed in the background was the faintest trace of a regional accent. He had obviously worked hard to eradicate it, but on the phone it seemed more noticeable than it had face to face. I tried and failed to place it.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said as we wound up our conversation, and the line disconnected.
I looked at the dead receiver before I put it down. “I hope you know what you're doing, Fox,” I said, but I wasn't giving myself any answers. I guess I was just obstinate that way.
Five
The New Adelphi Club looked different in daylight. Seedier, somehow. Less inviting. It was certainly quieter than it had been that Saturday, though, which had to be a bonus.
I parked up the bike at the front of the car park. I noticed with approval that security cameras had been installed overlooking the parking area, although I couldn't remember whether they'd been there before. I made sure the Suzuki was covered by one of them.
Even so, I stuck my roller-chain round the rear wheel and swinging arm, just to make sure. The insurance premiums I pay on the bike, considering it's coming up for seven years old, are stratospheric. I don't want them going into low earth orbit because of a theft claim.
The main entrance was locked up tight when I arrived. There didn't seem to be a doorbell, and hammering on the door itself produced no signs of life. After a few minutes I gave up and wandered round towards the rear of the building.
The back entrance was where the old kitchens had once been and nothing much had changed. Where the front of the Adelphi had been grand and sweeping, the back was a hotchpotch of styles. Hasty additions built for function rather than form. It was interesting to see that Marc hadn't bothered spending his valuable money on tidying things up back there.
The old kitchen door was propped open with a broken breeze block, and a Transit van was pulled up close to it. As I approached Gary came out, carrying a crate of bottles, which he dumped into the back of the van. He was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and looked much more at home in them than he had in his penguin suit of the weekend.
“Nice to see somebody working,” I said by way of a greeting.
He spun round with a start. “Christ, Charlie, you frightened me to death!” he cried. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, it was your idea, actually,” I told him. “I'm here to see Marc about a security job. You suggested it.”
Gary was pale and sweaty. I think his idea of physical exercise is lifting the arm holding the remote control for the TV. “Marc's coming here this afternoon?” he demanded now. I nodded. “Oh hell, we're way behind today. I was supposed to have all this lot swapped over this morning. Give us a hand, will you?”
Which is how I came to be lugging bottle crates between the numerous bars and the back of the van. I quickly came to understand Gary's breathless and perspiring state. I stripped off my leather jacket and dumped my helmet on a chair, but I couldn't do much about my leather jeans. By the time I'd made half a dozen trips myself I was in pretty much the same state as he was.
“How often do you have to do this?” I gasped as I reached the van with yet another crate of empties.
“Too often,” he grinned back,