"My dear fellow, I was horrified! I thought the police would arrive in short order and arrest us all! What a night!"
The thin, ginger-bearded man laughed uproariously at his friend's anecdote, slapping the table until the cruet rattled. A passing waiter cast them a wary glance.
"But then…" Albert paused to catch his breath, "then – Kennedy managed to hail a passing taxi, we all piled in, and made good our escape. Our luck was certainly in!" He tossed back the last of his whisky soda and waved the glass at any of the staff who cared (or dared) to offer him a refill.
His dining companion stole a glance at his watch. "Peter, I hate to break up such a great party, but I'll be for the high jump if I don't get home soon. Catriona will be fearfully annoyed with me."
Albert wagged a seemingly tipsy finger an inch from the other man's nose. "Sooo, who wears the trousers in your house, then, Gregor?" This seemed to jog his memory, and without warning he burst into song. " 'Ach, Donald, where's yer troosers?' "
"Sssshhh, Peter, you'll have us thrown out!" hushed the Scotsman, all the while grinning broadly and leaving a hefty tip with the bill to smooth things over. The head waiter accepted it graciously and pretended he hadn't heard anything. The pair were obviously leaving, so he would let it go this time.
Outside in the cool night air of Chelsea, Albert seemed to sober up. He flagged down a cab and they shared it back to Gregor's home. If Albert was taking careful note of the house and its position, he didn't let it show. He was full of concern for Gregor's welfare, and even offered to come to the door to make excuses to Catriona on his friend's behalf.
"No, no, not at all, Peter, I won't hear of it. You get off home yourself now, and I'll call you tomorrow when I hear from my accountant, all right?"
"Just the ticket," replied Albert, going a little woozy again for effect. "You do that. Kiss that lovely wife of yours goodnight for me!" he slurred as the cabbie pulled away into the night, leaving Gregor waving at the tail-lights.
******
"Davenport and Werdecker, may I help you? One moment, sir, and I'll see if he's available." Stacie pressed the mute button on the phone and offered it to Albert, who had just entered the room.
"Gregor McInnes for you," she said with a smile, "and he sounds very pleased with himself."
Albert snapped his fingers in triumph and took the phone. "Gregor! How are you today? Oh, I'm fine. Wasn't that some evening though? I can't remember when I had such a good time. Oh, yes, your accountant…what did he have to say?"
Stacie listened intently to their side of the conversation.
Albert's face was wreathed in smiles. "Well, I'm delighted to hear it, my friend!" The smile disappeared in an instant, although not from his voice. "Who? Should I know her? Oh, at the bank, I see." There was a pause while Gregor spoke at length, then, "Of course. You must keep everyone happy, naturally. Yes, I'll hear from you again later, then." He rang off, and banged the nearest wall with the side of his fist.
"Damn business advisers! They can all go to hell in a handcart as far as I'm concerned. They're the plague of honest grifters."
"A business adviser? Since when did he have one of those?" asked Stacie in dismay.
"Since darling Catriona insisted on it, after a scare they had about eight months ago. She was suspicious of a potential investor's credentials, and had her old school chum from Roedean check him out. It turned out to be a false alarm, but, apparently, 'You never know'." He cast his eyes heavenward. "According to Gregor, the girl friend works for one of the major city banks and knows all there is to know about financial security. So that's that until she gives the plan her blessing."
"And is she likely to, Albie? I mean, is the investment plan watertight?"
Albert paced the floor, hands in pockets. "Well, Ash went over it with a fine tooth comb – several times. We wanted to be a hundred and twenty percent sure it was perfectly plausible, even in the hands of an accountant. Who, incidentally, gave it the thumbs-up without any trouble. So that's one hurdle down."
"And hopefully only this one more to go. All the same, I'll be relieved when Gregor gets back to us."
At precisely that moment, the door opened and the erstwhile financial wizard returned.
"Ash!" Albert greeted him like a long-lost son.
"Steady on, Albert, I only went out for the papers and some milk. What's been happening?"
"Mr. McInnes – or rather, his shrew of a wife – has decided to run the proposal past their business adviser."
Ash stopped in his tracks to the kitchen and looked back. "You have got to be joking."
"His accountant has already approved it, so there shouldn't be any difficulty, should there?" said Albert. "Ash?"
Ash had disappeared, and could be heard slamming the fridge door and clattering around noisily.
"He's hacked off," Stacie said knowingly.
"Too bloody right I am," was the retort, as Ash returned from demolishing the kitchen. "Business adviser? What's he thinking?"
Albert patiently told Ash the story, but was not met with the same restrained response that Stacie had given.
"Our investment proposal looks as sound as a bell; Donald Trump wouldn't spot it for a wrong 'un. That Gregor needs a swift kick up the backside, if you ask me."
"I rather think that would make him a trifle suspicious, don't you?" Albert replied with a raised eyebrow. His good humour defused the situation, and Ash collapsed back into his seat with a grin.
"Thanks, Albert, guardian of the bleedin' obvious once again," he said wryly. He lifted his head suddenly, as if just remembering something important. "Any word from Mickey yet, Stace?"
She shook her head. "I've been expecting an e-mail from him since yesterday, but there's been nothing. I'm starting to get a little worried, actually; perhaps his flight's been held up, plus he was having problems with his phone."
"I'll go online and check," suggested Ash, grabbing his laptop.
******
"Will Passenger Stone for London Heathrow please go to the information desk in the Tom Bradley International Terminal," rang out the announcement.
Mickey was just exiting the duty free shop, having successfully confused the sales clerk out of a hundred dollar bill (well, it had always worked with Eddie, and in Mickey's experience, it hardly ever failed), when he heard the call. He quickly followed the directional signs to the information booth.
"Mr. Stone - I believe you called me," he said in his best Queen's English, which he found always got a good response in California.
"Oh yes, sir! I have a message for you." The smiling young woman pushed a folded piece of paper across the desk. Mickey thanked her, found a quiet area of the lounge nearby, and sat down to read.
"Mr. Stone: Please be aware that your Uncle Albert is most concerned for your safe arrival. Contact him ASAP via email as his phone is not working."
Mickey shook his head, grinning in disbelief. Sometimes, he felt like he was in the middle of a spy story. He suspected Ash's warped sense of humour was at work. After finding out where the nearest wi-fi zone was, he made his way there, opened the laptop case and got set up. Within a few minutes he had sent an e-mail to both Ash and Stacie (he knew Albert couldn't be bothered with computers unless they were part of a scam), and sat back to await a reply. He checked his watch; still 50 minutes to first call for boarding.
******
"Aha!" Ash's exclamation brought Stacie hurrying into the lounge, and Albert looked inquiringly over the top of the Financial Times.
"He's in the departure lounge at LA, with about an hour to go before his flight leaves. And he apologises for not getting in touch as promised, he had to move hotels a few times to stay ahead of things." Ash chuckled at the thought of Mickey throwing everything into his suitcase and taxiing from one boutique establishment to another, with a variety of credit cards being pressed into service.
"Well, that's a relief," Stacie flopped down on the couch beside Albert, who gave her arm a kindly squeeze and returned to the money markets. He knew that Mickey was perfectly capable of getting himself back to London without too much difficulty.
******
"Any spare change?" The appeal fell on largely deaf ears, but one conscience was pricked, and Eddie felt around in his pocket for loose coins. He looked directly at the bedraggled, almost moth-eaten clothes of the man sitting on the pavement in front of him and felt a pang of guilt.
"When was the last time you had a square meal, pal?"
"You tryin' to be funny or somethin'?" asked the beggar, and as their eyes met there was a mutual gasp.
"What the hell…?" Eddie took an involuntary step backwards and nearly knocked a woman over. He turned to apologise, and when he looked round again, the man had gathered his sleeping bag and paper cup together and was attempting to leave.
"Oh no you don't. Not until I get an explanation." He held the beggar's arm firmly.
"You're hurting me." In a quieter voice, "If you don't let me go now, I'll scream blue bloody murder and you'll be in a cell before you can say, 'Penny for the guy'."
Eddie released his grip, but ordered, "In here." He indicated a nearby Burger King, and ushered the man inside. He sat him at a table and returned with two meals, one of which vanished in no time at all.
"You must be bloody starving. Where have you been all this time? What happened? How come you're living rough?"
There was silence as the last of the burger and chips was washed down with a drink. "I actually feel human for the first time in days." He wiped his mouth with his hand and sat back, sated. "Thanks, mate. I didn't realise how much I needed that."
Eddie sat, arms folded, waiting for the answers to his questions. He stared expectantly at the scruffy man sitting across from him.
"I can't talk about it."
"Oh, no? Eddie pulled out his phone and picked a number from his contacts list. He showed the man the name on the screen.
"All right, all right, no need for that. Fancy some apple pie? I think I've got enough here." He rooted round in his cup for change. Eddie plucked the cup from his hands and held onto it.
"Not yet. First, explain."
There was a resigned sigh. "OK, but you're buying dessert."
******
Stacie fairly bubbled down the steps into the bar, her elegant laughter announcing her arrival. Behind her came Albert and Ash, and behind them, the reason for her happiness, Mickey.
They were met by Eddie, whose expression would have given Medusa a run for her money. He stood defiantly at the bar but said nothing.
The quartet eventually realised that something was amiss, and the chatter and merriment petered out.
"Eddie! Long time no see!" Mickey smiled and extended a friendly hand for Eddie to shake. The barman remained implacable. Mickey's smile faded and he tried to discern the reason for the lack of response.
Finally, Eddie spoke. "All finished, are we? Having a good day, are we? Where's Danny?"
"Yeah, where is he?" echoed Mickey. "It's not like Danny to pass up on any kind of celebration." He turned around and grinned at Eddie again, trying (vainly) to elicit some sort of positive reaction.
"Em…," began Stacie.
"It's rather a long story," put in Albert.
"Mick…," said Ash.
All at once.
"Tell you what," said Eddie through clenched teeth, "you're all barred." His finger swept accusingly round the semicircle of four. "And don't come back without Danny."
"What?!" exclaimed Mickey. "Come on, Eddie, surely the slate hasn't got that out of hand…"
"I'll tell you what's out of hand," Eddie leaned angrily over the bar, still jabbing furiously with his forefinger, "leaving a mate high and dry, homeless, kipping in a cardboard box behind Euston Station, that's what's out of hand."
Perplexed, Mickey turned to the others. "Does anyone know what he's on about?"
"Look, Mick," Ash began again, "we didn't have time to tell you…"
"Is he talking about Danny?" asked Mickey, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Before any of the others could reply, Eddie said vehemently, "Yes, he is. And I'm not having anybody come in here and give me their money when someone they've called a mate, a friend, is down on his luck and sleeping rough, begging for change on the streets."
Mickey's jaw dropped as he looked from the crew to Eddie and back again like a tennis spectator. "Wha…?" was all he could say.
It was on the tip of Albert's tongue to add that they'd be quite happy if they didn't have to give Eddie their money and all the drinks were on the house, but he seemed irate enough as it was, and not at all in the mood for witty repartee.
"I think it'd be better if we left," said Ash quietly to Mickey.
"Yes, leave, and don't come back unless Danny's with you, OK?"
Without another word, the grifters went up the bar steps and out into the street, in a much more sombre mood than when they'd arrived.
Mickey shot a blazing look at the other three, and Albert said, "I think we'd better do this back home."
******
The queue of people moved up a little, and Danny drew level with a pile of trays. He followed the lead of the man in front of him, picked one up, and shuffled forward again.
"How are you today?" smiled a pleasant-looking woman.
"I'm…fine," answered Danny, running his hand through his unwashed hair.
"Would you like soup or stew?" she asked.
"Er…can I have both?" Hope filled Danny's eyes.
"Of course you can!" She ladled generous helpings into two bowls and handed them, one at a time, to Danny, who placed them on his tray.
"Help yourself to rolls and tea, and there's butter and jam on the tables."
Danny lingered momentarily at the end of the line, and the woman said, "You're quite new here, aren't you?" He nodded. "It gets easier," she replied reassuringly, and to a girl behind Danny, "How are you today?"
******
Mickey sat, arms folded, grim-faced, on one sofa; Albert, Stacie and Ash sat facing him on the other.
"A few weeks ago," Albert started, "I spotted a mark with tremendous potential…"
Mickey held up a hand. "No offence, Albert, but I'm really not interested in hearing what scams you've been pulling. What I want to know is why Danny isn't here, but apparently living somewhere round the back of Euston."
"That's what I'm trying to explain," said Albert, somewhat impatiently. "The mark…"
"Danny's undercover," interrupted Ash, cutting to the chase in order to save Albert from being throttled by Mickey.
Mickey sat up in surprise. "He's on the streets as part of a sting?"
"Totally voluntarily," Albert answered. "The mark is a very successful businessman with a singular weak spot: he's completely under the thumb of his over-achieving wife."
"So how does Danny posing as a down-and-out come into it?"
"Funnily enough, it was his own idea," replied Stacie. "Albert cultivated a friendship with the mark and told us what he'd learned about his business, family, and interests, and it was Danny who picked out the one chink in his armour."
"Which is?"
"The wife's a sucker for charity work," said Ash bluntly. "Mainly among the ladies-that-lunch set, but she does the odd spell involving the unwashed masses – namely, at a soup kitchen for the indigent of the metropolis."
"And I take it this soup kitchen isn't far from Euston Station?" asked Mickey, starting to get the drift.
The others nodded. Ash sat forward and drew imaginary diagrams on the table between them as he spoke. "Once a week, the good lady does a stint at a church in Tottenham Court Road, providing lunches for those in need."
"And Danny saw this as an 'in'? I'm impressed." Mickey sat back, relaxing for the first time in an hour, now that he knew Danny was safe.
"I can't believe Eddie ran into him," remarked Stacie. "That is just such bad luck. If we ever want to darken his doors again we'll have to let him in on the con – or at least part of it."
"He looked plenty mad; I doubt he'll give us an opportunity to say our piece any time soon," Albert said.
"The only way to convince him that it was all pretend is to let him speak to Danny again," suggested Mickey. "How have you been keeping in touch with him?"
"Every second day, he gives me a quick call from a payphone, a different one each time so as not to draw attention to himself," explained Ash.
"Next time he phones, you need to ask him to ring Eddie and tell him he's OK," said Stacie firmly, anxious to be back in her favourite barman's good books.
"I wonder why he didn't tell him the truth the first time?" said Mickey.
"I wonder what he told him," Ash added, in a tone that implied Danny wasn't above gilding the lily.
"Heaven knows," said Stacie. "But it led Eddie to believe that Danny was genuinely in trouble, so he must make a very convincing tramp!"
******
The following morning, Ash's perusal of the daily newspaper was interrupted by the vibrating of his phone on the table. The number on the caller ID was an unfamiliar London one.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Ash?"
"Danny! How's it going, mate?"
"Perishin' cold. But I actually managed to speak to her. How's everyone? Any sign of Mickey yet?"
"Yeah, he got back yesterday. Listen, Danny, you have to call Eddie. He's barred us under the delusion that you really are living rough. Why didn't you tell him it was all part of a job?"
"What, and risk blowing my cover? Get lost."
"Danny, it's a con, not an MI5 operation. Eddie wouldn't be likely to spill his guts to the marks, would he? Unless his clientele's really gone up in the world."
"Well, if you're sure…what does Albert say?"
"Here, I'll let you talk to him yourself…" Ash passed the phone to Albert, who spent the next minute or two reassuring Danny that it would indeed be acceptable to let Eddie in on the tale, and finished by giving him the number of the bar.
"He's getting a bit too much into the spirit of things, if you ask me," commented Ash when Albert had hung up the phone.
"Oh, he's just having fun!" Stacie pushed Ash playfully on the shoulder.
"He's not supposed to be having fun," interjected Albert sternly, "he's supposed to be roping in the mark. If he messes this up and lets her get away, Gregor will slip off the hook, and we'll all be back at square one."
"What's the bait going to be?" asked Mickey.
Ash grinned mischievously. "Me," he replied.
******
Danny huddled further down in his jacket as he stepped out into the cold, grey light of a winter's afternoon. He paid no attention to the tall Rastafarian man who trudged past him up the stairs to the church, but instead continued on his way down Tottenham Court Road, gazing longingly in the windows of the hi-fi and computing stores.
Inside the church, the volunteers had almost finished clearing up, and the pastor in charge thanked them, as he did every day, for their hard work and care for those less fortunate than themselves. He spoke briefly to one or two individuals and then headed to his office. The helpers started to disperse, and the few who had driven into town made for the car park at the back of the building.
Catriona McInnes pressed her remote control, and the lights on the silver Mercedes Benz flashed twice. She got in behind the wheel, placed her bag on the passenger seat, and started the engine.
Like Danny, she gave no thought to the dreadlocked fellow who was now sheltering in a nearby doorway, rubbing his hands to keep out the cold. But as the car started to move off, one hand produced a two-way radio.
"Ash, you're on. Danny, get in position now."
The Merc nosed out into the street, and Catriona looked carefully right, left, then right again before joining the slow-moving stream of traffic. Within a minute, however, she was making good progress along one of the quieter backstreets. An advantage of working with the homeless was that you got to know the area rather well, and she prided herself on her cabbie-like knowledge of this particular part of London.
Her mind was shifting into home mode, and her concentration had lapsed ever so slightly, so she didn't see the middle-aged man with his groceries stepping deliberately into the path of her car.
She did, however, feel the impact, and see him as he rolled, in slow motion, over the bonnet. She saw the crimson trickle from his mouth and heard the sickening crunch as his head hit the windscreen. The tyres squealed as Catriona braked hard, then leapt out of the vehicle.
"Oh dear God!" She bent over Ash, waving her hands about in panic, terrified to touch him. She looked around frantically for someone to help her. "You!" she yelled at a passer-by. "Help! This man's hurt!"
As she said this, Ash twitched, went into a spasm, and let out a long, dry, gasp. Then he was still, his head fell to one side, and Catriona could see the blood seeping from his left ear. She retreated, horror-stricken; this could not be happening to her!
She looked up in despair at the only other person on the street. It had totally escaped her notice that somehow, traffic cones and roadwork signs had suddenly appeared at either end of the otherwise-deserted street.
"You've killed him." The words rang around inside Catriona's head but meant nothing. "You've killed him." The pedestrian moved closer to Ash's motionless form on the road.
"It was an accident! He just…he just came out of nowhere…I didn't see him until…" Her perfectly manicured hand shot to her mouth as the full realisation of what had happened broke on her. Trembling, she leaned against the car.
"I…my husband…" Ideas came rapidly into her mind. She grabbed the young man by the shoulders. "Nobody must know about this!" she gasped in fear. "We'll lose everything: the business, the house…"
"You'll go to prison," he stated matter-of-factly.
"NO!" Catriona almost screamed in his face. The adrenalin started to kick in and she ran round the car, opened the door, and grabbed her handbag. She rifled through the contents, throwing lipstick and Filofax and house keys onto the ground until she found what she wanted.
"Here, you take this. It's yours. Only you can't tell anyone what happened here, all right?" She held out a Cartier watch, still in the presentation box she had purchased with it earlier, a gift for Gregor.
"Whoa, lady, what are you saying? I can't do that. This guy's dead. Besides, I know you. You work in the homeless place." He gestured back up the street in the direction of the church.
Catriona stared hard at this paragon of honesty. "Of course! You just started coming, didn't you? Think of how much you could get for this! You could afford rent on a nice flat, lots of new clothes; you wouldn't need to be on the streets any more."
Danny hesitated, as if torn between his conscience and a desire to change his life for the better. "But he…" he waved his arm at Ash, "…he's dead. I never saw someone die before."
"You're in shock, we both are, but please understand that if this comes out my family will be devastated. Like you said, I'll end up in prison, and all for what? A total and utter accident. You know what the police are like, they always need someone to blame."
"But you are to blame," retorted Danny, not vindictively, but almost naively, child-like.
"Please!" Catriona implored. "I'm begging you, begging you, don't tell anybody about this. Not anybody from the soup kitchen, or the police…not a single soul!" She proffered the watch once more. "Take it. You can just walk away. This didn't happen," she said slowly, as if trying to mesmerise him.
Danny's hand hovered, as if tempted, in mid-air, then dropped to his side. "We need to call an ambulance," he said finally.
"Yes, yes, we will…I will, but not from here. I…I don't have my phone. I can call from home, OK?" she said, placatingly, in the tone of a mother promising a small boy a treat. Danny's eyes rested first on the Blackberry that lay beside the car along with the emptied handbag, then on her desperate, pleading face.
"Look, missus, I'll take your watch, but you have to report this. I'll be checking the papers to see if you have. I'll come back to the church again, and if you're not there, and the story's not in the papers, I'm telling the cops, OK?"
"OK, OK! Just take this and go." She thrust the watch into his hands, would have told him anything just to get rid of him. She watched him shamble off down an alley and turn a corner out of sight; then, without so much as a glance at her victim, she collected her scattered belongings, turned the car round, and retraced her route. The roadblock had mysteriously vanished, and in a side street Mickey, Stacie, Danny and Albert leaned against a wall, huffing and puffing with the effort of it.
******
"Peter? Gregor here. I wondered if we could meet at the Carlton this afternoon, perhaps talk over your proposal some more?"
"Of course! I'd be delighted, dear boy. Shall we say about three, then?" Albert hung up and turned to Stacie. "He's on the hook," he announced with a Machiavellian grin.
"Do you think he'll swallow it?" Danny appeared in a bathrobe, having enjoyed his first shower in more days than he cared to admit.
"Without a doubt. Now I must select just the right tie for such an occasion…" Albert wandered off to inspect his wardrobe.
Danny threw himself down on the couch beside Stacie, who was going through a file of notes and newspaper clippings.
"Keeping yer scrapbook up to date?" he asked flippantly.
"Ha ha. Just doing a little fine tuning," she answered. "We don't want to fall at the final hurdle."
"Well, that's the fishing analogy out the window, then," he observed, and got up to go and get dressed.
******
Albert shook hands with Gregor McInnes and they sat down in a quiet corner of the Carlton Club's morning room.
"How are you, Gregor? And how's that lovely wife of yours?"
McInnes turned a very poor colour indeed, and Albert exclaimed, "Good heavens, man, nothing's happened to her, has it?"
The Scot raised a shaking hand to his brow. "Actually, Peter, that was why I wanted to talk to you about your investment plan. I need access to substantial funds as soon as possible. Catriona…" he paused to compose himself and take a long draught at his brandy, "…has got herself into a very difficult situation."
"My dear chap!" Albert leaned forward in a manner that invited confidences. "Gregor, I'm glad you came to me with this. I can help you. Nothing you tell me will leave this room."
"There's been an…indiscretion, you might say." Albert was inwardly repulsed at McInnes's one-word trivialisation of the whole affair. "And we need to…ah…relocate to a more amenable climate."
" 'A more amenable climate'?," thought Albert. "More like somewhere without an extradition treaty to the UK." He nodded understandingly, and said, "I see, I see…well, I'm sure if your investment is lodged in the appropriate account today, you should have four times your original sum by close of business on Thursday. Would that be soon enough?"
Gregor drained his glass and signalled to the steward to bring him another double. "It'll have to be. I'm sure you appreciate, Peter, the need for total discretion in this matter. There may be questions asked, but I feel confident that you will be unable to provide any useful answers."
"You can count on me, my friend." Albert patted the other man's shoulder comfortingly. "Now," he produced some documents from his attaché case, "I just need your signature on both copies of the bank transfer forms, and that will be that." Gregor scribbled hurriedly and Albert returned the papers to their case. "And as it's a matter of considerable urgency, I'll take these straight to my bank and have them action it at once." He stood up, Gregor followed suit, and they shook hands again.
"Goodbye, and good luck," said Albert, without meaning a syllable of it.
"Thank you!" Gregor clasped Albert's hand in his two. "You don't know how much you have helped us."
"No thanks necessary," Albert waved Gregor's gratitude away self-deprecatingly. "Just send me a postcard when you get where you're going." Turning to leave, he muttered under his breath, "Hopefully Wormwood Scrubs."
******
Albert tore off his tie and headed for the drinks cabinet. "If I never have anything to do with that man again as long as I live, it'll be too soon, so help me." He poured himself a large whisky.
"If he's anything like his wife, I second that," said Danny. "What a piece of work she was."
"You made a few quid out of it," observed Ash.
"We've all gained." Danny opened his arms in a magnanimous gesture.
"But not all of us got a nice new watch," said Stacie, a little resentfully.
"Children, children," intervened Mickey. He sat down beside Albert. "So, what's the bottom line?"
"Half a million," was the reply.
"With very little overheads," added Danny. "I hope you realise that my brilliant idea to live rough cut our costs considerably. All we're out is dinner and a few drinks." Albert rolled his eyes.
"Even the roadblock didn't set us back, did it? And no-one noticed we'd borrowed it."
"Yes, yes, OK, Danny, you're a genius," said Mickey, wearily. Danny looked doubly pleased with himself.
"How's your head, Ash?" Stacie enquired solicitously.
"Oh, fine. Two aspirin and it's a doddle. Everything OK at the bank, Albert?"
"A1. Couldn't have been more helpful. The transfer should be through by tomorrow afternoon, such are the improvements in banking technology these days. In fact, I feel an idea for a celebration coming on …"
******
"This is brilliant, Albie," said Stacie excitedly, her arm linked through his. "I love surprises!"
"Patience, my dear, our flight will come up on the departure board soon enough. Meanwhile, I've booked us a table at the airside restaurant, so let's have lunch."
They all made their way through security, and were enjoying a five-star meal overlooking the departure lounge when, without warning, Danny dived under the table.
"Lost something?" enquired Ash, between mouthfuls of his steak.
"It's her!" hissed Danny from his hiding place.
"Come out, Daniel, she can't see you. We're perfectly safe up here. They're just waiting for their flight to be called."
By now the rest of the crew were craning their necks to get a good look.
"Blimey, it is them!" exclaimed Ash. "How did you work that one, Albert?"
"I merely sent Gregor a text message about a budget airline which flies to several South American countries. He was kind enough to reply and tell me they would be leaving for Caracas this afternoon."
"Now that is genius," said Mickey in admiration. He sat back to enjoy the spectacle.
"I love her disguise!" trilled Stacie, amused. "The big hat, the sunglasses - it's so 1960s!"
"I took the liberty of ordering some champagne for this special moment," Albert said as the wine waiter appeared at their table.
"Now, what would just top this off nicely would be if the police were to come and take them away…," said Ash, as he uncorked the bottle.
"All in good time, my dear fellow, all in good time. Now, a toast…"
"Wait a minute, Albert, are you saying you've called the police?" asked Mickey incredulously. "But they haven't done anything!" He pointed in the general direction of the departure lounge.
"Not to us," said Stacie.
Ash, Danny and Mickey all turned to look at her.
"What d'you mean?"
"I mean that there's more to them than you know. Albert sent me digging to check out their background when he first got wind of it, but he asked me to keep quiet in case it affected your 'performance' – especially you, Danny, as you had to deal with Catriona personally."
Albert took up the story. "Several years ago, Mrs. McInnes was involved in a road accident which left a young man paralysed for life."
"Lucky escape, eh?" said Ash.
"Not quite. Catriona was out for a drive with her friend in his sports car when it left the road and hit a wall, very hard. She recovered from her relatively minor injuries, but the friend was left a quadriplegic."
There was a solemn silence around the table. Albert continued, "Catriona always maintained it had been a tragic and unavoidable accident, and that she was in no way to blame for it."
"Why does that sound familiar?" asked Danny cynically, and Ash nodded in agreement.
"When I first met Gregor McInnes, he seemed a decent enough sort, if a bit henpecked. As time went on, I gained his trust, and one day, completely out of the blue, he told me the whole story, and confessed that it had, in fact, been Catriona in the driving seat, not her friend, and that the 'accident' had been more due to recklessness on her part than anything else."
Ash whistled. "Wow, Albert, you really must have reeled this guy in for him to tell you all that."
"I got the feeling that he needed to unburden himself. I was the only person, apart from him, Catriona, and of course her young friend, who knew about it."
"But why didn't the friend report her?" asked Mickey, puzzled.
"I omitted to mention that not only was he paralysed, but brain damaged as well, and able to communicate only on the most basic level. So ironically, Catriona was able to escape the consequences of what she'd done by trading on the wretched results of her actions. With the aid of my cell phone, I was able to record Gregor's 'confession', and on the way home from the bank yesterday, I stopped in at the police station to share the recording with them and make a statement. I also told them where and when they could find the McInneses before they 'fled the jurisdiction,' as they say in all the best legal dramas."
"And I think we're about to see that happen," added Mickey, nodding towards the concourse below.
Everyone turned again, and saw a group of four police officers, two in plain clothes, plus a customs official, making their way purposefully to where the McInneses sat. Riveted, the gang watched as one of the detectives bent down to speak to Gregor. Catriona jumped, her hand on her chest as she saw who was addressing them. Gregor slowly got to his feet, but his wife had to be taken by the arm before she would stand up, and she was escorted by a policewoman as they left the terminal to stares from the throngs of travellers.
"Well, that was some show," said Mickey appreciatively. "Albert, you knew if she'd done it before and got away with it, she'd be more than likely to do it again. I have to say, you are undoubtedly the grand master of the long con."
"Hear hear," agreed Ash, applauding lightly. Stacie and Danny joined in, and Albert topped up everyone's glasses.
"And now," he said, fully in holiday mode by this time," a toast: to our vacation!"
"Viva Espana," added Danny.
"It's in Italy, you git," muttered Ash in his ear.
"Oh…right…" Danny didn't know where to put himself.
"To Venice and all its wonders!" finished Albert.
"To Venice!!"
"Have I ever told you, people, that I have this irrational fear of canals?" said Danny, and ducked under a flurry of well-aimed napkins.