It Wasn't The Bullet (6) “Hello, is Mrs. Franks there please?” He hoped sincerely that Samantha would remember and abide by the strict rules he had given her, “No, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.” The line went dead just as it should have done. He had told Samantha that he would call and ask for someone that wasn’t there; when he did he would meet her in the Kings Head in Winchmore Hill at eleven o’clock in the morning the following day, which should give her time to get to his money and retrieve it. He was worried about her safety but he had no choice, he couldn’t be that visible right now. He picked the receiver up again and pushed the buttons of another number. He was using a lot of wild guesses today and they all needed to be right otherwise it would be all over before it started. The phone clicked into life and Ralph’s familiar voice came clearly down the line. “Yo, it’s Ralph!” Charlie paused and read the number above the dial pad, “Eight eight six-nine eight four three.” He held his breath, “Got it.” Charlie was listening to silence. He replaced the phone back in its cradle. Ralph was kind of an old friend. They had first met in Holland in the mid seventies, both of them were just having a good time, Charlie from England and Ralph from Canada. They had both been sitting in a coffee shop alone, long haired, jeans, and had naturally started talking. They spent the rest of the weekend chasing girls and drinking. A year later they met by chance again at a party in Highgate. They kept in contact, so much so they became regular weekend buddies, going out getting drunk and stoned, they shared the same taste in music and like to take mind bending drugs to run away from the normality that usually surrounded them. Charlie was drifting into dealing then, and as that drunken year passed Ralph decided to go back to school and Charlie started getting serious. Then, after Annie, Terry and Justin suggested that he needn’t be taking the risks of getting caught with a couple of pounds of hash when they were beginning to make fifty thousand pounds a year from the other businesses they were involved in. Terry said ‘pass it onto someone who won’t fuck it up and ask for five grand after he had been running the business for a year.’ And, as the fates would have it, he bumped into Ralph. They got talking and Ralph asked Charlie if he wanted to buy some hash. The rest was history. The only rule they put in place was that would very seldom see each other, this would lessen the risk of any one watching put together any sort of connection. The bell pealed into to life and Charlie jumped a bit, and then snatched up the phone, “Man, it’s lucky I had my remembering shit together. Fuck I’ve been hearing things man, can I help you.” “It’s good to hear your voice Ralph. It’s been a long time, and now I’m going to fuck with your shit, maaan!” Charlie said the last lines in a ridiculous American accent. “Whatever, wherever Charlie. You know that.” “I’m not far away; I need a place out of the public view for a few hours.” “I’ll meet you on the corner; I’m at that phone booth by the pub.” “I know it, ten minutes.” Charlie put the phone down, and pushed open the door; he gave a cursory glance around the immediate area and marched toward Ralph and his house. His shoulder was throbbing and tried to focus his internal will to fight any infection that might be brewing. He did not know any doctors; not any more. He turned the corner and he could see Ralph, puffing away on a roll up that had more than likely gone out ages ago, he walked a little faster with a curious feeling of elation. It was good to see his old friend; the circumstances just threw a little dampener on the whole thing. Ralph raised his head, Charlie could see that Ralph still had his dark black beard, he watched as his partner scanned the street; he saw Charlie and turned away. Charlie had to admire him; he was thinking of the whole scenario, no one would connect them. He followed Ralph as he ducked into an alleyway, and sped along the narrow laneway, which had a high wooden slated fence running along both sides. He leant against the fence and disappeared, Charlie caught up to where he had vanished and saw the hole. Ralph waved him into an overgrown garden. “Nearly there buddy.” He turned and went crashing over the weeds until they reached an overhanging out door stairway. He ducked underneath and pried away a bit of the wall to reveal a secret entrance to his house. “In you go Charlie.” And in Charlie went, the little passageway was pitch black, and he stopped until Ralph said, “Feel for the wall and push on it, it’s just a couple of feet in front of you.” Charlie did as he was told and felt the rough plaster; he shoved and almost tumbled into a kitchen. The kettle was boiling and steam had filled the room and as he was using a wicker chair as a crutch to get upright, Ralph’s head and torso popped through the opening, “Oh shit, I forgot to turn that off. Do you want a cup; I’ll put on some more water.” Charlie sat down on one of the Habitat stools that surrounded a modern looking breakfast bar and rubbed his shoulder, he must have grimaced because Ralph said, “That bothering you? It bet its sore; although I’ve never been shot I imagine it hurts a lot.” Charlie sighed and replied, “Yes it does hurt a bit, but there’s nothing I can do about that for the moment. You know what you’re doing, right?” “I’m making a cup of fucking tea, it ain’t difficult Charlie. That alright with you?” “I’ll shut up. You’ve got the place looking nice. It’s changed a lot since I was last here, it seems more…more expensive.” “It certainly is that. I was going to buy a house out in the country somewhere. But I got a bit worried that I wouldn’t be able to explain where the money came from. So I had a large thought and decided to make the inside of this a palace and maybe in ten years time take all my ill gotten gains and buy a villa in Spain or go back home. I’ll show you the rest of it when you’ve rested a bit and we’ve drunk our tea. Here you go.” Ralph turned round holding two mugs of steaming liquid; he placed one in front of Charlie and sat down on the other side of the ultra chic glass tabletop. Ralph then looked over at the hole in the wall and got up to put it back into place. It was hinged into the grey and white tiles that adorned sixty percent of the kitchen walls, when it was closed you could not really tell that anything was there. He saw Charlie studying the wall, “I’ll put some toothpaste over the seams a bit later and you won’t be able to see anything at all unless someone starts licking the walls.” They both reached for their cigarettes, Ralph started his laborious task of rolling his own, and in all the time Charlie had known him he had never quite got the hang of it. “Here Ralph let me do that for you. I don’t think that you’ve had a proper smoke since the last time I rolled one for you.” “Get out, leave my house and never insult my cigarette rolling again.” He paused and threw the tobacco pouch and papers over to Charlie, “but before you go, make me a roll up.” They both grinned at each other and the mutual bond of friendship was restored and time made to stand still. They sat in the kitchen drinking tea and reminiscing about people and places, Ralph catching Charlie up on his life, but very carefully avoiding asking anything of Charlie in return. It seemed he had no curiosity at all, and felt if Charlie wanted to explain he would, and if he didn’t, well he wouldn’t. Nothing like that had ever mattered to Ralph; he liked the people he liked, plain and simple. It was two o’clock in the afternoon before there was a significant gap in the conversation. Charlie caught himself falling asleep, he jerked awake to see Ralph grinning at him. “Hungry, buddy?” Charlie suddenly realised he was and murmured his assent. “Go through to the living room and stretch out on the couch, maybe get forty winks.” “I think I will Ralph.” He got up and walked into the hallway, the plush carpet felt soft beneath his feet. He opened the white gloss door and nodded his head at the style of the room. The centrepiece, of course, was the Technics hi-fi, LP’s littered on the deep grey carpet in front of it. He stared at the books on the wall-to-wall bookcase and then at the colossal black couch. He lay down and closed his eyes. The television intruded into his dream of love, only this time it wasn’t the fresh freckled face of the misty girl, it was someone different. She exuded peace and stillness, pure and good. It made Charlie have a sense of balance. He felt calm and at ease as his conscious brain climbed back into the relative world. He slowly forced open his eyes and waited for the room to come into focus, the television program was garish and childlike. A thirty something blond haired hip announcer was attempting to whip an adolescent crowd into a frenzy while introducing the next big thing. “Now the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the meanest, baddest, hippest sound in town, Tinsel Town Boys.” The decibel level in the studio must have been off the scale, it was loud even in the comfort of Ralph’s’ living room. He turned his head slightly to see where Ralph was, “This band sucks, but they buy an awful lot of shit off me. How are you feeling my friend?” “Fine, I think. A bit groggy to tell you the truth.” “Yeah, that’s the trouble with those afternoon naps. You must have been having a good dream; you’ve been smiling in your sleep for the last hour.” Ralph got up from a charcoal coloured giant chair and handed Charlie a glass of iced water. “You’ve been asleep for three hours before you ask. You fell straight into a coma as soon as you laid down. You want some dinner or breakfast? I’m going to make myself an omelette, will that do you?” Charlie couldn’t help but think that this was to be a treasured episode in his life. He knew that Ralph was doing this because he wanted too, a mutual respect that had spanned the twists and turns of time, something that is rare and precious in his line of work. Charlie was determined not to fuck it all up, he had to leave and lessen the danger to Ralph. “Ralph, I’ve got to get out of here, it won’t be long before my picture hits’ the media and then the shit will surely hitteth the fan.” “You know, Charlie, for an intelligent guy, although lacking in some areas of sophistication, you can be such a fucking prick. I kinda gathered that you probably have to make your move in the next couple of days. I figure that you also probably have a cock eyed, but brilliant plan. I also figure that your shoulder is hurting like a bastard and you need a place to hang out and just be calm. I watched every early evening news program, all my TV’s were tuned to different channels, all the police are saying is ‘that a dangerous man absconded from a central London hospital and the public should not approach him.’ Then they showed this crappy photo fit picture of you, which by the way was a lot better looking, and went onto ‘tragic carrot spill on the M1, two people killed.’ Imagine that, having to tell someone’s wife that a carrot killed her husband. So, what do you want, cheddar or Emmental in your omelette?” “Cheddar, please.” Charlie felt embarrassed, and scolded like a school child. Ralph headed out of the room and he heard the fridge door open and close, Ralph’s head popped back into the room and he said, “Drink this.” A can of Heineken came flying towards him, he caught it with his good arm and contemplated what opening a can of beer with Ralph meant and pulled the ring tab. While the chef was creating his masterpiece, Charlie was wondering what Green was up to. Why not put his name out there, they must have some surveillance pictures of him, and they certainly knew that he wasn’t going to just give up. Maybe Green was playing with his mind, or maybe there was something else involved here. The pieces were slowly coming together and the next thirty-six hours would see the end of the first half and with a bit of luck he would be one goal ahead. Chapter Four This is what’s going to happen. The remains of their meal lay scattered around the empty beer cans, and Charlie and Ralph were giggling together at nonsense. The conversation headed for its natural conclusion. Ralph cleared his throat and said, all be it, a little unsteadily, “So, Charlie, when are you making your move?” “Tomorrow. Most of the plan is already in motion. I just have to join the dots. I have to be somewhere at eleven in the morning. To tell you the truth, it’s all going to be a bit tense and exciting.” “You’ll need a car then.” Ralph held up the palm of his hand to silence any rebuttal, and with the piercing gaze of his brown eyes he succeeded, “I have a car in another name, with, cue fanfare, a driving license in said name. Before you start you futile protests, it’s my transport car. I am ninety-nine percent sure that it’s clean. I only use it in emergencies when I can’t get my hash to the regular safe place.” “How did you get the license?” “Well you British seem very adverse to picture ID. I just chose a guy who I know is in Asia and is not coming back for another ten years, pretended I was him and said that I’d had my wallet stolen. The efficiency of Swansea is amazing; I had false papers in two weeks!” “I hope it’s an automatic, I don’t think I could drive a manual. One more thing, what colour is it?” “Yeah it is an automatic, and I’m not going to tell you the colour. I think I have to go to sleep now Charlie, I’ll wake you at ….?” “Half past nine should do it Ralph. Thank you, this is one debt that will be repaid when I’ve got things sorted. Don’t scowl at me, I mean it Ralph, thank you.”
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