No Place in the Sun Read online

  ‘I was at your place, you weren’t there, need to see you now. It’s urgent, can’t talk on the phone, can you get back there now? Bit of trouble, need to see you.’

  Something in Kevin’s tone brought Tom to wakefulness. ‘Give me half an hour, see you there.’

  Amanda was half awake, rubbing her eyes. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nine o’clock, sorry I woke you, have to go, urgent.’

  ‘Do you have to? Do you not want breakfast?’ She reached out sleepily and tried to pull him back to bed.

  Tom disentangled himself reluctantly and rummaged for his clothes. ‘Urgent bit of business, you get some sleep, I’ll call you.’

  He found his clothes all over the place, one shoe in the kitchen, another in the living room. A trail of clothes led from the front door to the bed, half of them yellow. God, I must have been really pissed. I wonder what’s up; Kevin is hyper if he’s worried about work this time of a Sunday morning. I thought he would be playing golf.

  He let himself out and looked around; the area was unfamiliar. At the end of the street he called a taxi. ‘Corner of Rathgar Road and…’ he walked around the corner and looked up at the other sign, ‘Frankfort Avenue.’

  The taxi got him home in fifteen minutes; Sunday morning traffic was light. Kevin was sitting in a black Nissan Micra outside the flat. He got out of the car as soon as the taxi moved off.

  ‘Inside quick,’ Kevin propelled him to the front door of the apartment building.

  ‘What’s wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?’ Tom was concerned at Kevin’s demeanour; he had never seen the boss looking like this. The man was red-eyed and unshaven; he looked a mess.

  ‘We’re in deep shit, they’re on to us.’

  ‘Who’s on to who? Slow down and tell me what’s wrong.’ Tom put the kettle on and spooned coffee granules into two mugs.

  ‘Roger Hall, the lad in the test centre, he was arrested last night. Big racket with bent certs. They came looking for me as well but I saw the car outside the flat and I didn’t go in. Willie said they called to him but he sang dumb, told them you and I were away for a few days.’

  ‘Good man, Willie.’ Tom put the two mugs of coffee on the table. ‘But what’s the story, were you involved in a racket with Roger?’

  ‘Just the odd one, but that’s enough to do me.’

  Tom knew he was lying; he had collected a lot of envelopes from Roger since that first day a few months ago, and he never let Kevin know that he knew what was going on. He had always had a concern about the caper but he had put it out of his mind; the money was rolling in, and it was time enough to worry about it when it happened. Unfortunately, it seemed to be happening now.

  ‘How does this concern me? I didn’t know what was going on.’

  ‘Someone at the centre, the fellow that was investigating it, saw you collecting the letter every week. They were looking for you as well as me when they spoke to Willie, but he told them he didn’t know where you lived or what your second name was.’

  Tom sat down and pondered this turn of events. No harm done yet, but they were sniffing at his heels, what was the best thing to do? He turned to Kevin, ‘what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m heading for Wales, today on the ferry. I’m outa here, boyo.’

  ‘But the business, all the cars and the yard..?’ Tom was shocked.

  ‘There is no business, Willie owns the yard and I just rented it from him. The bank and McGuire own anything in the yard, I can walk away anytime. I always kept the business well hollowed out, never any assets and all that. Even the portocabin is rented.’

  ‘But they’ll follow you, if the cops are involved they can get you back from Wales.’

  Kevin laughed, relaxing a little. ‘Get back who?’ I can go back to my own name when I get off the ferry.’

  Tom sat down, stunned at what was unfolding. ‘So you were using a false name, you’re not Kevin at all?’

  ‘I’m Kevin all right, but not Kevin Jones. That was a name I took on when I moved here, had a bit of trouble in Cardiff when I was a young lad, decided to leave it behind me, you know yourself.’

  Tom was angry. ‘I don’t know myself, am I the mug here, will I have to take the rap for your dodgy dealings?’

  ‘Now hang on a minute, you were doing very nicely for the last year, more money than you ever made in your life. Did you think it was all kosher? You were in on the clocking every week, yourself and mad Myles, well able to take the fucking money. Don’t lecture me about dodgy dealing.’

  ‘Ok, ok, but you were the one making the really big bucks, I know what you were making on the caper, twenty grand a day sometimes. I must have been thick. What am I going to do?’

  Kevin pulled a roll of notes from his pocket. ‘How much do I owe you for last week, roughly?’

  Tom went through the sales he had made since Monday, adding the commissions in his head. ‘About two grand, give or take, including the finance commissions.’

  Kevin counted off bills from the roll. ‘Here’s the two and another five, get yourself out of here for a couple of months, lie low for a while and it will blow over. They’ll just figure you as an employee; they’ll lose interest after a while. Don’t ever mention what I said about me having another name, ok?’

  Tom was still in shock at the turn of events, and his head was throbbing from the effects of last night. ‘What do you mean, where would I go?’

  ‘I don’t know, go off to Spain for a couple of months, take a holiday, lie in the sun and meet a few nice chicks, just keep out of here for a while.’

  Tom pondered the situation, it sounded attractive in one way. He hadn’t had a holiday in the year he had worked for Kevin, and the flat was rented, he could be out of there today, leave his stuff with Walter. Suddenly the day looked brighter.

  ‘Ok, I’ll do it, get a flight to somewhere in Spain and chill out for a while. The weather is miserable here now anyway, a change of scene will do me good.’

  ‘Good man. I’m heading away on the next ferry, don’t tell anyone you saw me, tell them you are off this week if you are stopped by anyone.’

  He held out his hand, and he seemed genuinely regretful.

  ‘Good luck, Tom, you’re the best I ever saw, bloody great salesman, pure natural. I’m sorry it’s all gone pear-shaped, but good luck to you whatever you do.’

  Tom felt no animosity towards Kevin; at least he had paid him and not done a runner on him like old Milton. In fact he would miss the mad bastard and the excitement of working in the yard. ‘Mind yourself, you daft Taffy bugger, and stay ahead of the posse.’

  Tom slept late after a restless night; in the morning he went to a travel agency in the city and bought a ticket to Malaga. He caught a bus back to the yard and got off at the stop at the corner and then walked back to see if Willie was about. The gate was locked and he peered through the fence to see if there was any sign of life around by the shed.

  He hadn’t noticed the dark blue car parked by the kerb, and he jumped when the man got out and spoke to him.

  ‘Tom, is your name Tom, do you work here?’

  He knew immediately that the man was a cop; he had that cleancut look about him. He shook his head.

  ‘No, I was wondering if they were open, I want to buy a car.’

  ‘No, they seem to be closed today. You don’t work here then?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Tom’s legs were shaking. ‘I need a new car, just thought I’d see what they had.’

  The policeman looked him up and down, and then got back in his car. Tom could see that he wasn’t fully convinced, and he just wanted to get out of there before the cop radioed someone for a description. He skipped quickly across the street between the moving cars and flagged down a taxi going back into town. A couple of blocks away he got out and crossed the street and caught another taxi going in the opposite direction, not relaxing until he was back in Walter’s house.

  He spent the afternoon watching television and declined W
alter’s offer of a trip to the Willows for a pint.

  ‘No thanks, I think I’ll stay in tonight if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Keeping the head down?’

  ‘I just don’t want to risk being seen. You never know.’

  It was great to have such good friends at a time like this. Walter was a good mate, somebody who was there for you when you were in trouble, no questions asked. He had been very good, had given up his golf to help him pack his stuff into boxes and move it to his garage.

  ‘It’ll be fine there, son, no hurry about moving it, get back when you can. We never use the garage anyway, don’t worry about it.’

  Walter’s wife Pamela was very kind too, making up a bed for him in the spare room, and taking a morning off to drive him to the airport.

  ‘Imagine, Kevin being a crook, who would have thought? Look after yourself, young Tom, and keep in touch. Ring when you get there and let us know you arrived ok.’

  ‘Cabin crew, ten minutes to landing.’

  Tom woke from his nap, his head against the window. The Airbus was side slipping, dropping over the Sierra Nevada and heading out to sea to make a turn and face the runway at Malaga airport. It flew low over the Mediterranean and crossed the beach, skimming the vegetable plots and the highway and bumping lightly on to the tarmac. The engines roared in reverse thrust and it slowed and turned off quickly on to the taxiway.

  They were all on their feet before the plane had even stopped, grabbing at bags in overhead bins and switching on mobile phones, anxious to be on their way and to get the most of their week on the beach. Tom let the tide of people pass by and got slowly to his feet, strolling down the steps to the blast of heat from the still strong afternoon sun.

  The bus to the terminal was packed with holidaymakers, excited about being in Spain, and remarking on the heat. The runway shimmered and the sun glared back from the white façade of the airport buildings. He was first out of the bus and through passport control; the policeman took a cursory look at his passport and waved him on. Tom felt relieved that he had not scanned the document; you never knew who might be looking for you. He put the thought out of his head, he hadn’t really done anything wrong, not really, it would be Kevin they were looking for and not him. They would really only have wanted to question him about Kevin’s whereabouts. Willie didn’t know anything about him either, not that Willie would talk anyway. No, there was nothing to worry about, just relax and enjoy a few weeks in the sun.

  The car hire agent that Walter had recommended was waiting at the barrier with Tom’s name in big letters on a sheet of paper.

  ‘Senor Murphy, I am Juan, come with me please.’ He led the way to the car park where the small Seat was parked, two wheels on the pavement. The formalities were completed on the bonnet of the car, rubbing the credit card docket with the cap of a pen to make the imprint, no fancy zip-zap machine here. Tom felt like he was on familiar ground, this operation reminded him of City Auto.

  Juan went to the pay machine and paid the parking ticket, wished him a buen viaje, and he was on his way. Walter had written out the directions, and he glanced at the sheet on the passenger seat. Through the roundabout, ok, then pass the brewery, that must be it on the right, you could smell the hops, then join the highway. So far so good.

  Hard to go wrong with these directions, right at the BMW dealership and join the motorway, then stay on it all the way. ‘Keep the sea on your left’ Walter had said, ‘and you can’t get lost.’

  Tom had never seen such a clear sky; not a single cloud marked the perfect expanse of dark blue. The Mediterranean glittered like a blue mirror that had been sprinkled with a million diamonds, and Tom felt his spirits lift. He was here in this sunny paradise, money in his pocket and the sun shining. How much better could it get? The road ran parallel to the coast, uphill from the string of holiday resorts that seemed to merge into each other along the shoreline. For the first time since the call from Kevin, he felt a lightness in his heart, a feeling of being on holiday and the excitement of being in a new and different place.

  The highway split in two, one branch going towards the coast and a toll road that bypassed all the towns. He kept on the tolled branch as Walter had told him, and followed the road that cut through the mountains and lost sight of the coast. He paid the toll and kept his eye out for the exit that Walter had told him to take. Avoid the next toll road, keep right and through the tunnel, follow the signs for San Pedro.

  There it was, the road split and the tunnel went under the highway, just as he had described. He switched on the lights as he drove into the gloom, blinking in the glare as he emerged again into the bright sunlight. Second exit after the casino, there it is on the right, so far so good. He talked himself through the directions Walter had given him. Fair play to old Walter, knows his way here all right, there’s the office.

  The young woman was gorgeous, something about Spanish women with their sallow skin and the natural suntan.

  ‘Hola, Senor Murphy. I am Carmen, follow me please.’

  Tom followed behind the girl with her jangling keys. What a stunner; I wonder are they all like her? I’d follow her anywhere.

  Carmen opened the gate and led him through a garden with a blue swimming pool, then selected a key from the bunch to enter a clean marble corridor that led to the lift. He was conscious of her attractiveness, tried to avoid looking directly at her but it was difficult to avoid the view of her slender figure with the mirrored sides of the lift. She caught his eye in the mirror and flashed a winning smile at him.

  ‘We get a lot of Irish here, they like Puerto Banus. You have stayed here before, no?’

  ‘No, I have never been here before, first time in this area or in Spain at all actually.’

  ‘I hope you enjoy very much your stay.’ She opened the door to the small apartment and showed him where everything was. He loved the way she pronounced English words, with a slight lisp that was very appealing. She made ‘enjoy’ sound like ‘enhoy’; he could listen to her all day.

  He started to call Walter’s number, then remembered to add the country code and dialled again. Walter answered on the first ring.

  ‘You got there all right so?’

  ‘Thanks, found it no problem, great directions.’

  ‘How do you like the apartment?’

  ‘Looks good, not expensive either, I expected somewhere a lot more slummy for that money but it’s actually brilliant.’

  ‘They do good deals this time of year; we stayed there a few times, love the place. It’s handy for the port too, and the shops are close by, just go out the front and turn left, then cross under the main road at the casino, you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Walter, I really appreciate this; thanks for all your help. I won’t forget it.’

  ‘That’s what friends are for, anyway I feel a bit guilty; I introduced you to Kevin in the first place.’

  ‘Not your fault, I reckon it will all work out well, I have a good feeling about it.’

  ‘Mind yourself, Tom, keep in touch.’

  ‘I will. Thanks again.’

  The evening was warm, just weather for shirt sleeves still. Tom closed the gate and walked down to the main road, turning left as Walter had described. The traffic was heavy, not too safe to cross by the look of it, and he walked back towards the casino. There was no sign of an underpass and he was considering making a dash across the dual carriageway, but the security man at the front of the casino motioned him to the tunnel entrance, hidden in the shrubbery just inside the gates. Nice friendly people, he thought to himself, I’m starting to like it here.

  The underpass was a clean white pedestrian tunnel that brought him into an upmarket residential area; large marble floored apartment buildings with doormen and a few fashionable clubs and restaurants. This looked like a hangout for the rich and famous, the place had the unmistakable stamp of wealth about it.

  Puerto Banus was spectacular; a large yacht harbour had been created in the sheltered water that was en
closed by a long breakwater that curved around in a semicircle to end at a stone lighthouse. Every berth seemed to be occupied, with some serious pieces of the shipwright’s art moored along the quay wall. Tom had never seen such boats; these were floating palaces, most locked up but a few with groups of people sitting on deck, enjoying drinks or tucking into food. The parking spaces along the wall were filled with Porches and Ferraris and all kinds of luxury cars; this place seemed to attract some very rich people indeed.

  It was also a magnet for lots of onlookers who strolled along the promenade, admiring the boats and the toys of the rich. It seemed to Tom as if there were two kinds of willing participants in the show; the wealthy were blatantly showing off their possessions, and the tourists were staring open-mouthed at this orgy of conspicuous consumption. Tom loved it immediately.

  This place must be a salesman’s dream, he mused. So much money and so many people, I’d love to be selling boats, or anything. What a place to live! He wandered along the street to find something to eat. A lot of the places were expensive, but Picasso’s looked promising and he joined the short queue outside.

  The menu prices seemed like great value, much better than at home. Some of the other diners were tucking into giant pizzas, or pasta dishes, but Tom felt the need for something more substantial. He plumped for what looked like a hamburger and chips.

  ‘I’ll have the hamburgesa con huevo con patatas fritas,’ he pointed the menu item out to the waiter. ‘And a beer,’ he added, ‘a big one please, por favour.’

  ‘Cerveza grande.’ The waiter wrote down the order.

  ‘Whatever.’ Tom shrugged, he felt sorry he hadn’t learned Spanish in school. He puzzled at the menu and the waiter’s conversation. Not sure what that was all about, the meal looks like a hamburger and fries, no idea what ‘con huevo’ means, maybe it’s a kind of sauce, sure we’ll find out soon enough.

  ‘It’s ‘amburgesa,’ that’s how you pronounce it. You never pronounce the ‘H’.’ The man at the next table leaned over to speak to him. ‘On holidays then?’ He sounded English.