It Wasn't The Bullet (8) “You looked hungry.” Charlie reached out and took it, and Tony turned and made his way back down the stairs. The smell of bacon and eggs zeroed in on his stomach, he knew that eating would be a good thing. “Yummy.” Cooed Samantha who then took a sip of Charlie’s lager and then sat down at the polished hard wood table that had been placed by the bay window overlooking the village green in front of the pub and waited to be served. Chapter Five Be the centre of attention They were travelling south along the A21; Samantha was a competent driver and Charlie relaxed, slouched down in the seat of the Austin Mini. Upon leaving the Kings Head Charlie had tried to give Tony some thank you money. He had refused saying ‘we had an agreement, so please don’t insult me for keeping my end of it.’ He had also asked Tony to find the number of the Hammers pub and call it to find out its location in St. Albans. After bidding their goodbyes to Tony, they slipped out of the building by the back door and Charlie told Samantha to meet him at the car park by the Sainsbury’s in Wood Green a fifteen-minute drive away. Once there, they left Samantha’s car and Charlie drove them north up to St. Albans to scope out the meeting place that Clay had chosen. It was a good place for Cassius; the pub lay on the corner of a main road and had front and back parking, perfect for a set up. They drove past it twice and Samantha thought she glimpsed a sign on one of the front doors that said Salon Bar. Satisfied that his plan had a good chance of working they swung back into London and picked up Samantha’s mini. Charlie still felt that they should only take one vehicle to Sussex so on they way south they pulled off the M25 at the Gatwick airport exit and left Ralph’s car in the departures car park. After an hour of fairly traffic free driving they were nearing their destination, “You’re going to love the cottage. It’s near a tiny village called Burwash, no one ever comes down the laneway except for lost tourists. It has a wood burning stove and it’s terribly old.” Charlie interrupted, “The stove or the house?” “The house, silly!” She had glided into her airy blond persona, he was amazed that she could do it so effortlessly and more to the point, whether she was even aware that it was happening. He was smiling at the absurdity of his situation, and enjoying the ride. “It was built in the late seventeen hundreds by a man called Henry Briand, his family lived there for over one hundred and fifty years until my mother’s family inherited it by some kind of wacky legal thing. My Auntie stays in the house for the summer and then moves to Spain for the winter. She’s quite well off, her husband died and left loads of money, so she just swans around without a care in the world….” Samantha kept up her rhetoric all the way through the narrow lanes and roads until they reached a partially hidden turning off the Heathfield Road. She pulled over and looked at Charlie, “Well…” Charlie looked at her uncomprehendingly; she tilted her head forward and said, “Open the gate, Charlie!” “Oh sorry, I guess I wasn’t thinking.” He got out of the car and tugged at the old mildewed wooden farm gate. He had to lift the end up so it would swivel on the giant rusty hinges; his shoulder gave him a painful reminder as he watched Samantha drive the mini through. She waited for Charlie to close it and he got back into the car. The lane was a dry muddy track, overhung with a canopy of ancient branches, the leaves beginning to morph into their summer colours and wrapping both of them in a chilly soft shadow. The track was at least a quarter of a mile long on a gentle downward slope and Charlie wasn’t surprised that Marjorie, Samantha’s aunt, didn’t spend the winters here. One good fall of snow and he imagined that the laneway would almost be impassable. The dappled shadows moved and danced on the inside of the mini until they rounded the last curve and the small picturesque cottage flooded the view. The gravel driveway scrunched as Samantha brought the car to a halt, turned off the engine and wound down her window. Silence invaded their senses; they both sat back and listened. The house was as old as Samantha had promised; its white walls and black timbers gave the impression of having seen a hundred lives lived, the thatched roof lay like an ivy and straw blanket above it. “It’s beautiful.” Said Charlie eventually, Samantha gave him an impromptu peck of the cheek, and restarted the car. She drove around the driveway to the back of the house which overlooked the gentle slope of the end of a valley. Charlie gazed at the centuries old trees and felt a curious peace invade his body. Akin to being in the eye of a hurricane. Samantha made Charlie carry the bags while she felt under the wicker mat for the key to the back door. Charlie dropped the bags onto the floor and flopped down into one of the cotton floral print sofas and watched Samantha prepare the kindling for the fire. The house held the delightful musty aroma of age. While Samantha moved around in the kitchen, the room began to lose the slight damp chill of early evening and Charlie waited for the news on the television. As she returned to the room the familiar face of the BBC news anchor filled the screen. “This afternoon the Metropolitan Police issued a picture of a man they wish to interview in connection with several crimes committed in the Greater London area.” Charlie’s face appeared in front of them and the announcer’s voice carried on, “He is thirty-four year old Charles Hitchens, six feet tall, two hundred pounds, medium length black hair, he is believed to be armed and should not be approached by members of the public. He escaped from a Central London hospital two days ago where he was receiving treatment for a gunshot wound. Detective Superintendent Norman Green stressed that under no circumstances should anyone try to apprehend Mr Hitchens, if you see him please notify the police. Now onto political news, Mr Michael Hesaltine said today..” the channel abruptly changed to a sordid American soap opera and Samantha calmly asked, “Do you want some more bread?” she was holding out a plate, Charlie absently removed a slice, “That was a terrible picture, when was it taken? They made you look really mean.” “They must have found that in my flat, Terry took it a million years ago when we were in the Black Mountains having, what you might call, a field trip. I guess the game is afoot, and you, my dear, are now an accessory, aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. They can now put you in prison. It’s not too late to change your mind.” The room had become comfortably warm and Charlie struggled out of Ralph’s jacket placing it on the worn carpet. Samantha carried on eating the baked beans with toast she had made. He reached for his cigarettes and was glad that Samantha, not he, had gone into the petrol station to pay for the fuel and bits and bobs they needed, there was no telling when the police had released his picture. One thing was for sure, tomorrow it would be in all the newspapers and life would become rather interesting, and he was beginning to suspect exciting for them both. Samantha suddenly announced that it would be advisable for her to pop into the village and be seen, so none of the busy bodies would come and investigate why there was smoke coming form the chimney. As she was leaving, she told Charlie quite sternly to go and have a bath or a shower and she would be back within the hour. He heard the car stutter and then burst into the sewing machine engine sound of the Austin Mini, he climbed up the creaky stairs to investigate the bathroom. He had the feeling it was going to be a typically chilly country ablution. By the time Samantha tumbled in through the front door, Charlie was scrubbed and shiny and his beard was showing signs of maturing. The room was now almost unbearably hot and he was just wearing a towel draped around his torso. Charlie had lost track of time and had meant to be fully dressed before Samantha returned. They looked at each other, Charlie with a huge sense of embarrassment and Samantha with wry smile. He must have started blushing because Samantha said, “Charlie, have you forgotten that I am a nurse? Who do you think washed you when you were unconscious.” Charlie was now, he was sure, bright red. It had never once occurred to him that someone had to have bathed him after the shooting. He started to squirm and Samantha was enjoying the situation greatly. “It’s alright Charlie, I know things get smaller when the body is in shock.” She began to laugh, and Charlie felt a flash of annoyance then realised that she was right, it was funny and he gave a half-hearted attempt at brevity. It could not have succeeded because Samantha pouted, “Oh Charlie, I thought a big tough gangster like yourself would a have a thicker skin.” With that she walked into the room and placed a shopping bag on the table and delved inside to remove two bottles of red wine. “Here, I’ll open one of these while you be a sour puss and put some clothes on. Then you can tell me your plan.” As Charlie began to ease himself out of the sofa, she swiftly moved over to him and rested her hand on his upper arm. “Let me just check the wounds.” She peeled back the waterproof bandage on his back and examined the exit wound, she muttered something to herself that Charlie did not hear, then after gently adhering the plaster, she did the same for the injury on the front of his chest. “I think I’ll be able to remove the stitches very soon, perhaps tomorrow, but you’re going to have quite the scar.” “Will I have a bit more movement?” Charlie asked softly. She smiled and nodded and said, “it will take a while but you should be as good as new.” Charlie padded across the carpet to the stairs; he got to the first step and lingered unsure if he ought to speak his thought. Silence got the better of him and he climbed the rest of the way lost in an array of conflicting emotions. He loved the quirkiness of the old cottage. Nothing was really level to anything else, the creaks and moans of the floors, the grumbling of the plank wood doors as they opened and closed. He shook his head as he pulled on his trousers; this was not what he had imagined that being on the run was all about. It was turning into some kind of bad novel; he hoped whole-heartedly that there would be no obligatory shoot out in the end. Somewhere in his continued musings he had decided to let Samantha choose her own way. She was definitely a trifle weird in the way she arrived at an assumption, but that was one of her attractive qualities. However, dreaming of a life above the law was completely different from actually living it. He thought, depressingly, that once this business with Clay was settled she would probably see that this was not the life for her and return to her nursing having had a fantasy vacation. However that would all change if someone found out it was her aiding and abetting him. It was a strange feeling for Charlie to conceive, already perceiving loss. He sighed loudly and struggled a little with the clean t-shirt as he lifted his arms to put it on, he peered at his reflection in the tiny panes of glass that made up the window on the landing. All he saw was the ghostly fragmented image of his face peering back at him from the inky blackness of space and thought it to be rather on cue. He made his way down stairs and he could hear the growling voice of Tom Waits spinning his tales of destitution and woe. He loved Tom Waits, and if His Bobness and Frank were unavailable for the desert island, Mr. Waits would be getting his call. “Is this one of your albums?” “It’s my cd, yes. Why, do you not like it?” Charlie sang the next two lines in unison with the singer and Samantha replied, “You are one complicated person Charlie. The way you are portrayed by police and some of John’s friends, one would presume you are the devil incarnate. But here I am, able to discuss any topic I choose and you have an informed opinion. How is that?” “Let’s drink some wine and talk about more immediate matters.” He turned the music down a bit, and plopped himself next to Samantha. She handed him a glass of deep red wine and touched his glass with hers, there was a crystal ching and Charlie returned her cheers. Charlie didn’t really like wine, he always found it too acidic, he was a beer man but he didn’t wish to offend Samantha by refusing. He took a sip and then spoke, “Ok, so what does the village think you are doing here? Are they used to you dropping in or is this unusual?” “I come here quite a bit, no-one is going to come snooping around here. It’s a very tight village, everyone knows each other’s business and by now they all know I’m here. If I don’t go to the village for a couple of days, someone will come down here to make sure that I’m all right, but that’s about it. Auntie is up north somewhere in the Lake District visiting one of her friends. She won’t be back down until it’s time to close up the cottage for the winter.” “Good. This thing I have to do with Clay…” ‘We’ Samantha interjected, “This thing we have to do with Clay could get a bit hairy. I’m not positive what’s driving him. You obviously listened to the call I made in the x-ray room?” She nodded, “Well, I lied. I don’t have any secret codebook; I just figured that he was on the take. But, and it’s a big but, we could fake it. I think that he will be so intent on recovering something that will keep him safe, he’ll get greedy and make some mistakes. Did you ever act in school?” “Yes,” she said proudly, “I was the lead in Cabaret, Annie Get Your Gun, and …” “Ok, Samantha. I get the picture.” She gave the impression of being slightly disgruntled that Charlie was not more interested in her fledgling acting career. “ Clay wants me to beep him, and we will meet three hours after that. So I intend to meet him in the early afternoon or late morning, so that the pub will only have one or two people in it at most. I want you to play a role, dress up, and be a distraction to anyone at the bar. You know what I mean, get the bartenders attention, smile and..” Now she was offended, “Charlie! I know how to flirt!”
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