Rod’s day was really bad. He went to the arcade after leaving Jasmine and played a few machines. But now he had a pocket full of money, the chance of winning 50p here or a pound there had lost its interest. Worse than that, there were no girls in sight. He slouched into the Greasy Spoon and took a seat at the end of the bar in his favourite position.
“Where the young ladies today,” he demanded. The waitress, a woman in her ’30s, casually glanced in his direction. To her, he was just another bit of flotsam that drifted in and like the rest that frequented this bar was not worth much effort.
“Lost your admirers have you dear,” she said. “I reckon they must have seen some sense, at last.”
“We used to have a few laughs,” said Rod. “It was just a bit of fun.”
“I reckon that their parents got onto them and now they’re back at school where they should have been all along not gallivanting around town all day.”
“You reckon too much,” said Rod nastily. “What you reckon could get you into trouble.”
His hands were in the pockets of his bomber jacket and through the wall of the pocket he could feel the hard imprint of the gun. It made him feel strong and powerful. Who was his woman to treat him like nothing? Perhaps he would take the gun out and show it to her. The thought made him feel good. She’d be terrified, he’d thought. Aloud he said:
“They’ll not learn anything at school anyway. I never learnt anything useful at school. They’re much better seeing real life and mixing with people who are doing things.”
“And what are you doing, dear, sitting on that seat all day, loafing around.” She used the word ‘dear’ as a weapon. The way she used it implied she was talking to a child.
“You want to start trying to be nice to your customers. They pay your wages.”
“With what you spend here, I’d certainly be out of the job.” She started working down the bar, running at the surface, trying to remove the stains.
Rod slid off the stool and made for the door. As he left, he picked up an ashtray and upended it on the floor and smiled contentedly at the woman’s look of disgust.
The squat was no better. It seemed damper and dingier than ever before. There was some evidence people had stayed there during the previous night but now they’d moved on. Also, it was within sight of where Rod was living. He tried to see if Jasmine was still there. He half hoped that she still was. Maybe he’d be nicer to her, and get less aggro. Couldn’t she see what he wanted and how their arguments came from her not treating him right? He felt the resentment well up inside him. The world was against him, always had been. The only break he’d ever had was when this machine came into his life.
“No harm in a walk in the woods is the,” he said to himself.
He’d bought a peaked cap with a long brim and pulled it down so any nosy security cameras in the high street couldnt see him. Once in the words, he felt safer and eventually found the house where he broken the windows. He could easily remember the look of fear on the woman’s face. It’s made him feel powerful. He leaned against a tree and watched the back of the house. He’d seen a movement behind the net curtains. All the windows had been replaced and were now double-glazed. It would be less easy to break now, he thought, if they wanted him to do it again. Then a man came into the garden and Rod ducked behind a tree and edged away from the house.
He went down to his old school. In his pocket were a few pills that he thought he might sell for something to do but one of the teachers saw him and threatened to call the police if he kept hanging around. Besides, the kids he knew seemed to have moved on.
He dropped into a pub on the river. It was full of people who had been playing tennis that morning at the nearby Tennis Club and people from local offices snatching a brief break. He had a pint of beer and a pasty but felt out of place. They all seemed so busy and preoccupied. He wondered what sort of sport he would like to do. Not tennis, that was for the toffs. Maybe shooting, that was a sport for a man, but he didn’t like the thought of having to apply for the necessary licences. They would want to look into his life and ask him questions.
“Nosy busybodies! Why do people have to spoil everything with rules,” he thought angrily.
It was early afternoon when he returned to his island house. A young woman was busy in the kitchen with long raven black hair, waif like figure and an olive skin.
“Who are you,” he said.
“I’m Iselle,” she said. “Are you Rod?”
Rod nodded.
“I have been instructed to work with you for a few days. There are some jobs to do and they need two people.” Rod noticed that she had a foreign accent but couldn’t tell where she was from.
“What sort of jobs?”
“We have to go and collect something and then stay with it until it is needed. It may take several days.”
“And when do we start,” said Rod.
This was more like it, he thought. This was action and this slight female with slim black jeans, black T-shirt and jet black hair was just what the doctor ordered after Jasmine. He started to look forward to the next few days with renewed relish.
“You have a car, I understand. Is there somewhere in your car where I could keep this?”
Iselle reached behind the sitting-room door and retrieved a short, snub nose and extremely powerful looking automatic gun.
“Phew, nice one,” said Rod.
“I also have one for you,” said Iselle, retrieving another one from the same place.
She looked at Rod and saw a tall spotty boy completely enthralled with his new toy.
“You know how to use it?”
Rod face was wreathed in smiles.
“You point this end at them, pull this little lever here – and they die,” he said, simply – and happily.
“You have to aim low,” said Iselle, contemptuously. “It kicks up very hard. And you have to fire in short bursts or you will get through your ammunition very quickly. There’s no problem with getting more ammunition but it’s a nuisance to carry it around.”
“Is it loaded,” said Rod.
“No, I have some ammunition in my shoulder bag. You don’t need it at the moment. We will arrange for you to get some practise shooting it later. How quickly we can do that depends on how quickly we can leave for the rendezvous.”
“I’m ready when you are,” said Rod, gazing in fascination at his new toy.
“Good, said Iselle, looking around at Rod’s pad. “I couldnt spend any time in this place, it’s disgusting. It needs a thorough clean.”
Rod tried to push a pair of dirty trainers under the couch and out of her sight with his toe. Maybe hed accommodate this attractive female since she had goodies to offer. The cleanliness kick was a pain hed have to temporarily overlook
Half an hour later they were on the M4 and heading for the West Country via Bristol.
“Driver exactly on the speed limit,” Iselle instructed. Rod was doing 95 miles an hour at this time.
“If we get pulled over, and they search the car, they could find the guns,” she said, quietly, seeing Rod’s expression.
“Nobody drives on the speed limit, look at that one.” A blue saloon, the sort widely purchased for company representatives, hung on to Rod’s rear bumper and then shot past.
“He must be doing hundred miles an hour, at least,” said Rod.
“But I doubt very much whether he’s carrying our artillery – and that makes a big difference, so slow down.”
Rod eased his foot off the accelerator. It felt as if he was crawling although the speedometer showed seventy miles an hour.
Iselle pushed her seat back and put her feet up on the dashboard. She put her two hands together, as if in prayer, between her face and the window and quickly fell asleep.
Rod drove on through the afternoon. Sometimes he rested his left hand on the gear stick only inches from her knee and imagined what it could be like with her. She was so different to Jasmine, not only looks but also in attitude. Although she was small and petite, she gave her instructions with authority. It made Rod nervous but he put this thought to the back of his mind and concentrated on the driving.
Iselle awoke as Rod pulled into the car park that overlooked the small harbour on the Southern side of the Bristol Channel.
“You found it okay then,” she said, rubbing her eyes and peering around to get her bearings.
From where they were parked, they could see a board telling the public that high tide would be at 8.00.
“We have three hours before the boat will arrive, we might as well go and check out our accommodation.” said Iselle.
She pulled a map out of shoulder bag and issued staccato instructions.
They turned right outside the car park and then drove up a steep hill, along the headland and then down into a small wooded area. Hidden away amongst the Oak and Beech trees were dozens of wood and block chalet bungalows. Little tarmac roads wound between the trees and little front and rear gardens were packed with small bushes that gave each property a feeling of seclusion. Clear signs led them quickly to their bungalow. It was pretty with a small garage attached and high earth banking on one side which, together with the trees around, made it completely secluded.
The key to the property was under the mat and inside was fresh and clean. A huge window in the lounge pulled back to make a natural sunbathing area. They opened the window and the room was immediately filled with the sound of birdsong and the rustle of the wind in the trees.
“I’m on holiday,” announced Rod. “If this is what it’s like to be on a job with you, I want to work with you forever.” He leered at her generously. Iselle ignoring his remark was busily inspecting the bedrooms. There were two.
“I will put my stuff on this one and you can put your stuff in that one,” she said.
Rod noticed that she didn’t say anything about sleeping, but merely referred to where they should store their stuff.
“What you fancy doing about food,” he said.
“You can microwaves some pizzas, if you like,” Iselle said. “I have to make some telephone calls and some arrangements.”
Rods immediate reaction was to tell her to stuff it. After all he had just driven for four hours and the thought of putting his feet up was very pleasant. Iselle saw him start to object and shooed him into the kitchen like an angry mother hen.
“Hurry up,” she said, “I’m hungry. Surely you are capable of putting a pizza in the microwave.”
She then pulled out a pocket book and started entering numbers rapidly into the keyboard of her mobile phone.
Rod made his way into the kitchen. He didn’t like to admit he’d never used a microwave. Slowly he examined the instructions on the side of the packet and related them to the instructions on the front of the microwave. Half an hour later, he emerged into the lounge to find Iselle was just putting away a mobile phone and notes.
“Aah,” she said, “Just in time. I could eat a pony.”
“What you mean is that you could eat a horse,” said Rod.
“You English may eat horses, but I would rather eat a pony – it would be much less tough,” smiled Iselle, with a rare smile.
The meal was quickly finished, and washed down with some cider that they found in the fridge which had been left there to welcome them.
Iselle stretched and leapt to her feet.
“Tidy the plates away,” she instructed, “and remember to wash them. I’m going to check the garage out.”
Rods mouth was still open as she disappeared.
Five minutes later, she was back looking triumphant. Rod had just about finished wiping the plates up and putting them away.
“Could you reverse your car up against the garage, I want to see if something fits.” And then she was gone again.
Rod ambled round the chalet and made a three-point turn on the narrow road of which she was quite proud. Then he backed up against the now open garage door. Iselle reappeared slowly trundling a trailer. Rod got out and inspected his tow bar.
“You think it will fit,” she said.
“There is only one way to find out,” Iselle said. “We must put it on and go for a quick drive.”
The attachment was surprisingly easy to fit and it even catered for indicators to be connected up and, in a few more minutes, Iselle was back in the passenger seat and Rod was slowly easing the small car and a large trailer behind it down the little road.
“If we follow the coast, said Iselle, the road will take us up onto the moors. According to this map, they used to be an airfield there and that will give us a chance to do a bit of reversing.”
Exactly as Iselle had planned, a large run down, windswept tarmac area came into view. Many of the buildings were in poor repair. There were some run-down signs of local industry but clearly these have not survived the communication problems of this location.
Rod checked out the reversing capabilities and the turning circle. It was most difficult to reverse in a straight line because of the height of the trailer that obscured the driver’s view. They found it best for Iselle to get out of the car and give him directions. With a few attempts, they found a series of signals that worked.
“We haven’t got time to go back to the chalet, we’d better go straight to the harbour,” Iselle ordered, as they descended off the moors:
“Those green hills just seem to roll and roll. They are so beautiful. I could just stay looking at them for ever,” she said dreamily.
Rod wondered if they reminded her of home, wherever that was. When he had asked where she came from, she had merely said:
“Oofa, the same place as you. You think we give birth differently in other countries?”
And that was all she would say. She didn’t want to talk about it and Rod, still wondering what the arrangements for sleeping would be, didn’t press her.
The harbour was busier than on their earlier visit. Some fishing boats were getting ready to put out to sea and a couple of pleasure craft were mooring up for the night.
“Reverse the trailer down the slip way,” said Iselle.
It was slippery and difficult to know how far down to go as the waves were washing over the foot of it and sometimes much further up but Rod manage to get the trailer halfway down and parked. He hoped that when it came to driving away that the wheels would grip on the wet cobbles.
Minutes later, a large inflatable with three outboard motors sped through the entrance to the harbour and straight up to the slipway. Piled high everywhere were fishing rods, lines and diving equipment. For the first time, it registered with Rod that his trailer had large faded lettering about a diving club.
There were four men aboard the boat, still wearing wet suits, including headgear. Rod doubted that he would recognise any of them if he met them again. They worked silently after a grunted “hello”. The equipment was quickly transferred and stowed away in the trailer. The air canisters were particularly large and cumbersome. They took two men to carry them and most of the space.
As quickly as they had arrived, they departed. Iselle closed and locked the door to the trailer and Rod gingerly eased his way up the slipway thanking his lucky stars that the wheels gripped. By the time they got back to the chalet, Rod was at ease with driving with the trailer attached and soon had it safely reversed into the garage. Iselle said she had to make some more telephone calls and suggested that Rod can survey the local hostelries and find a nice spot for eating later, preferably not too close.
Rod, grumbling but hungry, drove off to do the research. As the green hedgerows sped by, speckled with blue and yellow flowers, he imagined in graphic detail how good it would feel when he started giving the orders and forced her satisfy his every whim.
Waiting is for wimps, he thought, Ill make it soon.
