Retribution - A Dish served Cold

Chapter Eleven

John never set his alarm clock unless there was a justifiable reason. Habitually, he awoke at seven, showered and dressed. Breakfast comprised two slices of toast, followed by coffee and two cigarettes.

He leant back in his chair, telephoned Angus Hope, a legal beagle friend, and made an appointment for that morning. Later, as he walked at a fast pace towards Angus's office, his mind wandered. The Little fish were nibbling at the bait, but he was dead meat on a butcher's hook if he made one mistake.

John checked the time. He was early. To be early meant time to spare, a quality valued in others. He entered Angus's Edwardian house. It was as if he had stepped back in time. The entrance consisted of aged wood-panelled walls and a polished parquet floor. On the walls hung prints of well-known paintings. A crystal chandelier hung in the ornate centre of a white ceiling with original cornices, a reminder of years past.

The young receptionist brushed waves of shiny, long, dark hair from her eyes with her right hand. He regularly noticed she did not wear much makeup, but she did not need to with her good looks. "Good morning, Mr Daniels, long time no see. Go straight in. He's waiting for you."

"Thanks, Kathy."

John knocked on the oak-panelled door, opened and entered. "Morning, Angus. Still making loads of money defending the bad guys."

Angus stopped reading and stood with his right hand outstretched. He smiled. "That's what they pay me for. I hear you took your pension. The word on the street is you might reconsider."

John shook the proffered hand. "Not a hope in hell. It's the best thing I ever did. It gives me plenty of time to work on my trains."

"Grab a pew, John. Tea or coffee? And tell me why you're here."

Kathy's head appeared around the door. "Tea or coffee?"

John smiled. "You've got a good one there. Make mine a strong black coffee, please."

Kathy's head disappeared.

Two minutes later, Angus strolled to his office door, opened it and waited. Kathy approached with two steaming cups. She placed them on coasters on the desk. "Your usual and extra strong for Mr Daniels."

"Thank you, Kathy." Angus waited until the door closed and seated himself. "Okay, John, I'm listening."

"It's not a big deal, but I need the absolute discretion of someone I trust." He removed a sealed envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it over. "If I disappear, I want you to take this envelope without reading its contents to the police superintendent in charge of the local station."

Angus closed his eyes. When he opened them, he spoke with an officious voice. "Can I ask a question?"

"No."

"I'm sure you know what you're doing and why. I'll have Kathy phone you at nine every morning until you ask me to stop. If you fail to answer, I'll do as you say. How long do you expect this charade to continue?"

John frowned. "How long's a piece of string? I'll tell you when it's over."

"I recommend you do."

John sipped his coffee. "Angus, my crystal ball is cloudy. To save any problems," he handed over a signed cheque, "payment in advance. I trust you to fill in the blanks."

Angus grinned. "Remember, a wise Eskimo always looks over his shoulder. We'll have a beer when this is over. Oh, we need to talk about your sister's house and the insurance."

"Don't tell me there's a problem."

"Not really. The policy states they do not pay out a lump sum but will pay for the rebuild plus five thousand for contents."

"Sounds perfect to me, but I haven't the time to oversee the reconstruction."

Angus leant forward. "I told them you're a busy man. It appears the houses on either side need repairs to their roofs. I suggested they employ a part-time clerk of work for the duration, and they agreed. However, you will have to sign on completion that you are happy with the rebuild."

"Not a problem. I intend to sell it. I'll leave it all in your capable hands. Can I use your telephone in reception? I must contact someone."

"Give Kathy the number, and she'll do the business."

"Thanks." John left the room and sat on the edge of Kathy's desk.

He handed her a scrap of paper. "Can you get me this number, please?"

In seconds she handed him the telephone handset. The metallic voice of a machine cut in. "Richard, it's John. Hope you have filled my order. I'll see you on the beach in thirty minutes." He returned the handset. "These days, everyone uses answering machines. I hate them. Thanks, Kathy."

***

John left the building and strolled the mile to the beach. Once there, he lit a cigarette, checked the time, eleven fifteen, and watched the waves lap the shore. A man carrying a beach rod and rucksack walked towards him. "Catch anything?"

Richard, the gravedigger, scratched his nose. "There's a storm coming. The fish are in deep water."

"You look cold. Let me buy you a coffee. The café's open."

"Cheers."

By day the café radiated the colour of the sun, and a large union flag flapped noisily in the strong wind. The grey-brown sea looked uninviting. Seagulls rode the air above them as the two men walked and chatted. Music from a sixty's jukebox flowed through the air, joined with the aroma of freshly baked scones. The Sandy Beach Café menu consisted of sandwiches and soups. Sandwiches if the sun shone and hot soup for days like today.

Elderly customers often came here to chat and reminisce, sheltered from the weather while they dawdled over a cup of tea and a sandwich.

John and Richard sat opposite one another and ordered two coffees and four fresh scones filled with cream and homemade strawberry jam. The two men discussed the merits of beach against freshwater angling until Richard stood, said goodbye and left.

"Excuse me, sir," said a petite fair-haired young woman, her eyes pale green and face covered in heavy makeup.

"Sorry, miles away," said John.

She pointed. "Your friend forgot his rucksack."

John's eyes focused on her glossy bright red lips and false eyelashes. "Thank you. I'll take it. I'm seeing him in a couple of days."

"That's brilliant. You'd be surprised what people leave under the tables. If you ever want an umbrella, I can give you a choice of at least twenty. A few appear rather expensive. You know the type. City gents use them to march with."

John laughed. "Thanks for the offer. The scones were perfect. Can I have two more to take away?"

"Glad you liked them. Me mum has a special recipe handed down from me, gran."

John waited until the girl returned, handed over five pounds for the coffee and scones, lifted the rucksack and hoisted it on his shoulder. As he left, he waved to the girl.

***

In the safety of his garage, John smiled nervously as he opened the rucksack, removed three packages, and placed them carefully on his workbench.

Three more pieces of the jigsaw. It's not what you know but who you know. Holding his breath, he carefully opened the first package. Twenty shotgun cartridges with large lead pellets rolled onto the workbench—the second, half a kilo of Semtex plus a roll of wire and the third, six detonators plus a battery-operated firing switch.