It Wasn't The Bullet (7) Ralph unglued himself from the floor and staggered out of the room; he returned a minute later with a woollen blanket and tossed it over Charlie. “Sweet dreams man.” With that he disappeared upstairs. Charlie closed his eyes for the second time that day and drifted into a troubled sleep. Morning seemed to come quickly; the smell of coffee pulled him into wakefulness. Ralph teased him about being lazy, and refused to bring the drink to him. Charlie got off the couch and felt his shoulder burn with the effort. He eased into the kitchen, and sat at the table. He offered Ralph a Marlboro and they both smoked their ritual morning smoke in silence. “Do you still have that Maple Leafs jacket?” They both were of similar body shape and if the jacket fitted Ralph’s six foot frame it would fit him. “I’ll sell it to you for a pound. You will be wearing a piece of history, look after it. No holes, ok?!” Charlie sincerely hoped that there would be no vents in him or the coat. “If the shooting starts I’ll tell everyone to wait until I’ve taken it off, is that alright with you?” “That will be acceptable. Now,” He slid some keys across the table top, “the car is in a lock up just down the road. The car is full up with petrol, just call me and give me the address where you leave it. If you don’t call I’ll know that it’s been compromised, either that or I’ll see it on the news.” He laughed a sad laugh and crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Good luck, Charlie.” Charlie nodded at him, and listened as Ralph gave him directions to the garage. As he gently pulled on the jacket, he thought to himself how nice it would be just to remain in the plush confines of Ralph’s house and hide from the coming days. Then the steel trap of revenge closed upon Charlie’s brief lack of resolve and in the time it took Ralph to release the catch on the secret door, he was focused and undefeatable. He followed Ralph’s directions and found the garage; the roll over door opened easily and revealed a black Ford Escort in very good shape. He squeezed in-between the car and the walls of the lock up. It was difficult for Charlie to insert himself into the vehicle but he managed and he fumbled to find the right key for a moment and then twisted it into the ignition. The car exploded with impossibly loud music, Alvin Lee just hanging it out, bidding good morning to his vision of illicit sex. Charlie turned the volume down to an acceptable level and he swore he could hear Ralph laughing his socks off. He didn’t have to drive that far to collect his money, but it was long enough for him to engage his memory of Tony. It was around about five years previously when Justin pointed out ‘that things’ were going very well for the four of them. However, they were attracting the attentions of the more zealous crime fighters. Perhaps it would be prudent for each one of them to have their own personal fallback position should the ‘worst’ occur. It was a very good idea, but Justin was only thinking of himself and his grand personal master plan. All of them agreed, and the next couple of weeks were spent being furtive. Terry and Charlie decided to work together and create their own special secrets; neither mentioned this to Justin or Mikey. On Terry’s advice, which was to hide the money in plain sight, Charlie went to his boyhood park and scouted around for a place that was accessible, safe and would not attract too much attention when the time came for retrieval. He found an old brick structure, which after investigation contained the outdated pumping system for the lake. It was very unlikely that it would be demolished, so he found his way inside and hid twenty thousand pounds behind some loose bricks. Then he felt like have a beer so he walked the short distance to the pseudo village of Winchmore Hill. He strolled into the Kings Head and sat down at the bar, fretting slightly at the thought of so much money laying virtually unprotected and waiting for a chance discovery. He spent longer than he anticipated in the pub, due to the pleasant company of a couple from Scotland who were enjoying a holiday. Time moved on and Charlie ended up getting fairly drunk and somehow deep in conversation with the landlord, Tony. He was the splitting image of the jolly bar tender, a big white beard, framed by ruddy red cheeks and watery eyes. They hit it off, and Tony closed the pub just leaving the two of them at the dimly lit bar. After a while, Tony began to talk about the money problems he had. Apparently the free house had been his fathers and when he died Tony promised he would never sell it to one of the major breweries. The time, however, had come when he had a cash flow crisis and things were looking little bleak. The restorations had cost a lot more than originally expected and Tony was on the hook for one hundred thousand pounds, the bank would not loan him the money because of the fickle trade he was in. Tony was upset and Charlie felt an opportunity. The next day he called in on Terry and explained what had transpired, all they had to do was to either give him the money somehow or secure a loan. Then Charlie thought, it would not take much coercing to get Tony to be a safe house. A place where they could leave packages and such like when stuff had to be in limbo as sometimes happened due to a police presence or just general paranoia. Terry agreed to let Charlie handle it and they set out the guidelines for the whole operation. Charlie went down to see his bank manager and borrowed against his own ‘front’ company and went round to see Tony. He caught him as he was opening for business. Tony greeted him warmly and offered him a coffee, Charlie enquired as to the state of his troubles. The building company had filed a writ against him for default of payment and he would soon be in court. The only option left to him was to see if one of the brewery companies would buy him out and leave him as the landlord. He was not happy about breaking his promise to his late father. Charlie outlined the plan he and Terry had come up with, and showed him the loan agreement. Tony would not be paying Charlie back but the bank at a very low rate. Tony being a shrewder man than Charlie had supposed asked almost immediately what Charlie wanted in return. Charlie took a deep breath and explained. If Tony were in agreement it would unfold like this; every so often, maybe once in three months, or perhaps twice in one week, someone would come into his pub and ask for Max. Then he will hand you a bag, a letter or parcel. The thing, whatever it was, would always have a handle or cover. All Tony had to do was keep the package under the bar; in a cupboard anywhere safe and undisturbed until some one came in and asked for Marcy’s coat. The only irritating thing in this whole scenario was that all these drops and pick-ups would take place in the morning. Meaning Tony would have to always be on his own and in the pub between nine and eleven thirty in the morning. Tony sat and pondered for a few minutes asked only one question, ‘You have nothing to do with the IRA, do you?’ Charlie replied with brutal honesty, ‘Drugs, Tony.’ Tony nodded and signed his name to the loan agreement and filled out the appropriate information. Then Charlie added one more rule to the situation, he would be grateful if one; Tony would never tell another soul about this arrangement, and two; never recognise Charlie in public. Tony clapped Charlie on the back and said, “Who the fuck are you!” The need for using the Kings Head had dropped off in the past year because of the situations that had occurred, but Tony had never let them down. Terry, in one of his splendid paranoiac episodes, had even sent in dummy packages with all sorts of traps on it to find out if it had been tampered with or opened. They always returned in perfect condition. He was bopping along Hoppers Road before he realized and began to muse on Samantha’s adventure. He was sure that she wouldn’t let him down, but there was always the possibility that some one from Superintendent Greens little group had got to her or pieced together that it was she who had come up with the bogus trip to the x-ray room. Well, he would soon find out. He circled the block a few times as if to give the impression of seeking a parking space. He could detect no shadowy men in stationary cars. The great thing about the Kings Head was that it had a snug bar, which you could enter without going through the main body of the pub. A left over from the days when men took their wives out for a drink and their mates wouldn’t see them and therefore save a ribbing about their relative manhood. He guided the car into a parking space in the tiny lot adjacent to the pub. Charlie counted two other vehicles resting there. His shoulder was now fiercely painful, and he had a small amount of difficulty extracting himself from the drivers’ seat. Again surveying the scene he moved cautiously to the rear doors of the building. He carefully pressed down on the old brass handle and let himself in. The bar was the same as he remembered it; it was a few short paces to the door of the snug. Slipping inside he let the door close with a slight rattle and hoped that Tony was tuned to the subtleties of his property. He sat down on one of the cracked leather chairs and unconsciously rubbed his wound. The door to the snug opened and Tony and Charlie stared at each other, without missing a beat Tony asked, “What would you like to drink, sir? A pint of our very best ale, or something else?” “I think I’d like a pint of lager. The house brand will be fine.” “Coming right up.” Tony turned and left, Charlie exhaled and wondered what was going to transpire next. He lit another cigarette, crossed his legs and rested his head on his upturned palms giving the impression of the tired and hurting man he was. The door swung open again and Tony was holding the drink in his hand, he looked into Charlie’s eyes and seemed to take in a hesitant breath, “Would you be Max, sir? Only your colleague is here to inspect my flat above these premises. I sat her in the saloon bar so she would have her privacy.” Tony had put Samantha there so she would be unable to see anything that happened in any other part of the pub. Charlie thought for a split second and gave his reply, “Will it be alright if I take my drink with me? Only Miss Jones is notoriously long winded when it comes to these things.” ‘Oh that will be fine sir. I will show Miss Jones to the flat, and I will help with her bags.” Charlie’s face must have registered surprise because Tony gave him a quizzical look and started to say something but stopped himself, and instead said, “Just follow the stairs on your right and go through the blue door.” Charlie heaved himself up and went out into the corridor. ‘Bags plural?’ thought Charlie, ‘what the fuck was going on?’ He found the door and entered the sparse but comfortable living room, he dropped down onto a sofa, put his glass down on the small coffee table an arms reach away and waited to see what the future had in store for him. The door on the opposite side of the room opened slowly and Samantha sheepishly edged inside. She was holding two small identical black canvas bags and looked as innocent as a schoolgirl. She was wearing a pretty pale blue smock and her hair was tied into pigtails, she looked like Heidi in a Blake Edwards film. She stayed still for a brief moment and then dropped both the bags and rushed over to him flinging her arms around his shoulders and gushing, “Oh Charlie, I was scared that they’d catch you. I was terrified and excited at the same time, I got your money. You told me to look innocent,” she leapt up and gave twirled around, her loose dress billowing out around her thighs, she sat back down on the couch still talking at a hundred miles an hour, “Charlie, gosh, it was so thrilling to be doing something really…” she searched for a word and failed, “really real. I don’t know why but I have the urge to tell you everything. Like it was so scary that I got very excited, if you know what I mean,” Charlie tried to keep a straight face and feign ignorance. Her face reddened and her gaze left his face and studied the faded pattern on the carpet. Charlie was taken aback at the change in attitude and wondered briefly if she had a mental issue. He waited to see if she was going to say anymore. He put his good arm around her shoulders and gave a tender squeeze; she leant into him and rested her head on his chest. She stayed still and Charlie was just about to ask her what was in the other bag when she sprang to life again, gone was the dizzy blond, replaced by the serious nurse, “Charlie have you washed your wound since you left the hospital? I thought not; take off that smelly sweater right now.” She got up and marched over to the bags, picking them both up she placed one of them next to Charlie and then other on the floor by his feet. “That one has your money in it and some fresh clothes for you this one,” she pointed at the bag on the floor, “has some medical supplies and some clean clothes for me.” She giggled to hide her sudden blush, and busied herself with the contents of ‘her’ bag. Charlie was speechless; he really didn’t know what to say. He struggled with the sweater, which had become glued to his bandages; Samantha noticed this and helped him pull it up over his head. He felt she could have been a little tender but was afraid to say so. She told him ‘to hold still’ and then she carefully began to cut away the crusty fabric. As she was working on cleaning him up, Charlie was thinking what to say; eventually he just decided to wing it, “Samantha what do you mean, ‘you brought some clean clothes’?” “Well I have ten days holidays, I think I’ve fallen madly in love with you” she said with an air of seriousness and then gave Charlie a smile that said dream on, “and you need to be nursed until this heals properly. It’s already infected slightly, another day or so and you’d be really ill.” Charlie spoke very softly and precisely, he was very angry, “When did you book you holidays Samantha?” She looked up from what she was doing and stared him right in the eyes, holding her gaze steady for a number of seconds. “Now you listen to me Charlie. Don’t use that tone of voice with me unless I’ve done something to deserve it.” She held up her hand to silence him, “I am not stupid. I know exactly what I’m doing and it is a conscious decision. My holidays were booked two months ago and I’ve told everybody that I’m going on a driving tour round the highlands of Wales. My auntie has a cottage in a very small village in East Sussex and that is where you are going to recuperate fully, and I am going to have the time of my life being a gangster’s moll. Do I make myself clear?” All Charlie could do was nod his assent, and try and sort out the myriad of whirling emotions in his mind. She patiently cleaned and swabbed, disinfected and generally repaired Charlie’s injury while they both remained silent. Charlie was thinking that she put on a good act of being silly, probably from school where she was picked on for being clever, he then dismissed that because he had been wrong about everything else concerning this woman so why would he be right now. He did know that he was feeling some powerful emotions and, for the first time in what seemed forever, did not want them to cease. He countermanded these thoughts as being a product of stress and perhaps the beginnings of a fever brought on by his wound. Samantha sat back and inspected her work. She had replaced the bandage with a kind of big sticking plaster made of some weird material that he had never seen before. “There you are all done. I used a dressing they use in surgery, it will be easier for me to look after the wound and give you more range of movement. You won’t look so suspicious.” She giggled again and kissed him on the forehead. Charlie watched her as she picked herself up off her knees and sat beside him on the couch. He asked her for the other bag; unzipping it he searched inside for the plastic bag containing the money. All he could find were what appeared to be pretty hip looking clothes. He glanced at Samantha; she was giving him this face of distain. He turned his attention back to the bag and upended it, pouring the clothes onto her lap. She cradled her arms to prevent the clothes from landing on the floor. Charlie tugged at the cardboard insert in the bottom of the bag, it came away with a little pressure and bank notes tumbled out covering them both with money. “Very clever, very smart.” Charlie was impressed and a bit bewildered. The clumps of fifty-pound notes bound together with rubber bands sat on their laps. They both could not help but stare at the large amount of money. “Look Samantha, I am more grateful than you could ever imagine, but I can’t let you take this ride. It will ruin your life, once you make the transition from civilian to outlaw, there is no going back. You have a life; I can’t let you throw it away because you want an adventure. It’s definitely not glamorous and the complete opposite is true with the danger.” It was Charlie’s turn to quiet Samantha, he put his hand on her thigh and squeezed. Her dress had ridden up slightly so he touched her bare skin unintentionally and it felt like a mild electric shock passed between them. Their eyes locked together for a brief moment, Charlie forced himself to carry on and not to lean over and kiss her parted lips, “I’m going to be dealing with some very ruthless people. They will not care about you, and if you appear to be in the way, they will remove you; one way or the other. Take your holiday, enjoy yourself and know that you did have a brief dip into the shadows. You wanted helped a criminal and you did it well.” He stopped talking and looked intently at Samantha’s soft features; he just wanted surrender but fought with his heart to leave her on the right side of bad. She, too, was gazing at him and Charlie could not gauge the way of her thoughts. This woman was something else. All the crushed and soiled memories of Annie flooded into his mind, he could not make the same mistake again and ruin another beautiful life, even though he knew in his heart of hearts that ultimately none of what happened was his fault directly, and he did not want to feel that again, ever. Samantha reached out and clasped his hand. He felt wary of her; he couldn’t reach out and get a handle on where she was coming from. He could not deny that he was attracted to her and he yet he had the familiar feelings of ruthlessness. What could it hurt to use her and have a place to lie low and heal. After all, she was a nurse to boot. The world stood still, they sat, processing what was in-between them. Finally Charlie moved and Samantha clutched his hand tighter, he shifted his weight to the edge of the seat and turned to face her, “This is what’s going to happen. I need to change my appearance a bit. Soon my picture will be all over the media. So if your offer is still good for the house in Sussex….” His voice trailed off with a slowly fading question mark. “Oh Charlie,” she bit her lip, and swept the moisture out of her eyes, “I won’t let you down. The reason I want to do this is because I owe you my brother’s life. I will never condone what you do, but I feel I have a debt and I want to repay it in full.” Charlie looked away from her intense stare, he did not want the tears to interfere with his rational process. Charlie decided it might be better if he hid Ralph’s car and they travelled south in Samantha’s. She rummaged in the bag she had allotted for Charlie’s clothes and retrieved a stylish dark blue t-shirt. He pulled it over his head, and noticed that his shoulder felt better. Samantha stuffed the money back into the bottom of the bag, then carefully folded the clothes and laid them neatly over the false compartment. Charlie was smoking his last cigarette watching her complete the task at hand, he was thinking about where to park the car. He was positive it was safe, but still, although he expected to have finished the business with Clay in two or three days, he did need a fairly good place to put it. The plan for getting the only evidence linking him to the shooting was now a great deal easier with the two of them involved. His sub-conscious mind had been turning around why there hadn’t been more made of his escape. The answer popped into his mind, Clay must have stolen the gun. Voila, no forensic evidence! They must have tossed Charlie’s flat, and his little business office, then poured over the accumulated surveillance files looking for something that would connect him with any crime that would be enough for a warrant. Green must be having a fit; he would not want to have been one of the men on his team. So, he would have to assume that there was a clandestine port and airport watch happening and it would be thin until Green got the authority to pull in more resources. He figured that they would be safe, from public scrutiny at least, for one more day. With a bit of luck his beard would be sufficient in two or three and Clay would be nicely on edge. He now had Samantha to run interference, he paled a bit at that thought, but if this whole ethereal thing was to play out then he must go with the flow and think as two instead of one. It was absolutely fucking unbelievable, the turn of events in the last twenty minutes had left him reeling and acknowledging other powers for the first time in a while. In fact a lot of things were the first time in a while. The light knock on the door made them both spin round, Charlie so far into his thoughts, that he actually reached across his chest to draw his weapon. He felt foolish with his hand flapping around in space and Samantha peering at him quizzically. “That’s one hell of a nervous tic, Charlie.” Charlie smiled politely in her direction and moved to the door, “Tony?” The door creaked open and Tony stood there with a tray of breakfast food, he held it out to Charlie,
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