Day Three


He needs more money and knows exactly where to find it.



He ordered a Pizza from his room. Only ate half of it, but drank the rest of the miniatures that he’d stolen from the Gatwick Hotel. He slept soundly and woke at seven o’clock, then went for breakfast. He had the full English with lots of black coffee. He knew that by now the Russians would know about Bepa and the fact that he was missing. Ivan would be uncontrollable. He would want him dead. He wouldn’t want to hear the truth; he would just want him dead. Ivan’s men controlled the taxis along the coast. All of them paid a small amount each week for Ivan’s permission to work the area. So it was likely that his men had tracked down the cab driver that took him to the airport. The “family” had people working at the airport so he would also know about the flight to Gatwick. But that’s where their search should come to a stop. For now, at least.

What would they expect him to do? Go back to Essex? Too obvious. Besides, apart from an old uncle, he had no family there anymore.

He’d have to start his life all over again just as he did three years ago when he arrived in Spain. Back then he only had a few hundred pounds with him. But he survived and survived well. It would take time. But he was a patient man. He had skills that he could rely on. But there was one big problem this time. Last time it was only the Police who were looking for him. The worst that could have happened was he was caught and put away for a few years. This time he had to be much more cunning. If he was caught this time they would kill him and he would die screaming. These people wouldn’t give up, they never did. He had to avoid major cities like London, Manchester, Birmingham and Leeds. The Russians controlled all of these now. Ivan would often talk about his British “family” and how they were gaining control of most of the UK.  

He decided he would never stay longer than two or three days at any one place. Keep moving. As his dear old dad used to say “It’s difficult to hit a moving target.”

He would use public transport and cabs. He figured he needed more money before he moved on. But not the watch. The watch he would keep. He dressed in different clothes. Jeans, sweatshirt and trainers, courtesy of Mr Thompson. He ruffled his short hair. He looked completely different from the man who walked into the Swan and Cuckoo yesterday. Today he looked like everyone else. He walked into town and headed for the pub. If there was one thing he could rely on was that bad pubs normally attracted bad people and some of these bad people would have bad money.

The pub was quiet. He counted thirteen people. Groups of twos and threes. He got a beer and sat in a quiet corner. Just watching, waiting. He was on his third pint when a crowd of eight young men walked in. They were loud, excited, animated. He recognised the signs. They were on the gear. If they were, then someone had to be supplying them. Either in the pub or somewhere else. He waited. An hour passed before a motorbike pulled up outside. A tall thin guy took off his helmet and walked inside. He decided he would call him Lanky. Everyone was pleased to see him. He got a beer, drank half then went into the toilets. A few minutes later one of the eight made his way to the toilet. He came out a few minutes later alone. Lanky was still in there. Then another one of the group made a visit. Again he came out within a few minutes. Still no sign of Lanky. One by one they all took their turn. When the last one of the eight went in, he followed. The toilet looked deserted but he could hear voices coming from one of the cubicles. He started to wash his hands. The cubicle door opened and one of the guys came out and left. He dried his hands under the hot air machine. He looked straight at Lanky, who was still standing in the cubicle.

“Got any coke?”

“Yeh man, what do you need?”

He took a step forward towards Lanky, as he did so he smashed the palm of his right hand hard into the guys face catching him square on the bridge of the nose. Lanky fell backwards against the system and slid down onto to the toilet seat. Blood was pouring from his nose and his head was swaying from side to side. Pain and shock were his two new friends. He quickly went through his pockets and took everything he could find. He walked out of the toilet just as another guy was going in.

“I’d give it a minute before you go in there mate. Someone’s shooting up.”

The guy smiled at him and walked back to the bar.

He made his way through the pub and out onto the street. It was market day and he mingled with the crowd. There was a taxi rank by the station. He got in and went back to the hotel. Once there he turned out his pockets. There were bundles of notes all screwed up and just as important there were small bags of coke, tabs and powder. He counted the cash. Three hundred and eighty quid. Not bad for a few hour’s work. He wouldn’t stay another night here. It was time to move on. He put everything he needed into Bob’s Louis Vuitton bag and left everything else in the room and left the hotel. He saw a sign that said Reigate sixteen miles. After ten minutes walking he flagged down a black cab.

“Reigate, please mate.”

“Sure guv, whereabouts in Reigate?”

“The best Hotel in town please.”



D.I. John Morgan was standing naked in a room at the Belgravia Hotel. He dialled a number on his phone.

“Hello Sergeant, look something’s come up, you take the briefing this morning. I’ll be in later.”

He threw the phone onto a chair beside the bed. He felt a stirring in his groin, the Viagra was kicking in. He looked at the beautiful black girl who was laying naked face down on the bed in front of him.

“That is the most perfect arse I have ever seen.”

He couldn’t see her face but he heard her giggle. She opened her legs slightly.

“Wow, now that is a sight for sore eyes.”

Another giggle. Then she turned over to face him.

“You weren’t joking when you said something had come up were you. Now, are you just going to look at me or fuck me?”

She giggled again. His phone rang. He sighed in frustration.

“Leave it, don’t answer it, come to bed.”

“I’d better, just in case.

He picked up the phone and looked at the display. He answered it quickly. His voice suddenly became shaky.


“Hello Mister John. I need to meet with you urgently and I need you to get some information for me.”

“Okay, what do you need?”

“Meet me in two hours at the Hilton in Mayfair. Get me everything you have on a certain mister Robert Jackson.”

Demetri hung up.

He dressed quickly all the time muttering “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He threw a handful of fifty pound notes at the girl and left. This was one meeting he dare not be late for.


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