Chapter 7: Links
"This is a bit of all right, innit?" Ash was stretched out full length on the sunny bank, his feet pointing downhill and his head resting on one arm. A skylark was pouring down its waterfall of song somewhere in the blue sky and the leaves of a small stand of nearby trees were waving gently in a light, warm wind which smelt of summer.
Stacie, reclined on the bench by his shoulder, sighed happily by way of agreement. "I'm not sure Mickey's having quite such a good time, though."
Ash raised his head to peer down the slope to the green where Mickey was having his third golf lesson in as many days. As they watched, Mickey's club swung up and back, then swept down to strike the ball cleanly. They were too far away to hear any sound, but the sight of ripples spreading on the water hazard and the disgusted slump of Mickey's shoulders told their own story. "I think he's getting better," Ash observed.
"You're just mean!" Stacie leaned down to swat at him gently with her magazine.
"No arguing, now, children." Albert appeared from the direction of the house and leaned on the back of Stacie's bench. Looking down the slope he added: "I see Michael is still fighting the good fight."
"Yeah, well, he can't be brilliant at everything, can he?" Ash laid his head back down and blinked up at the sun.
"That won't stop him from trying," Albert pointed out. "I thought his torture should be done for today; that was why I came over."
"It looks like they've finished." Stacie raised a hand and waved to Mickey, receiving a weary flourish of a nine-iron in return.
A few minutes later Mickey trudged up the bank to join them, the gangling, tweedy, ginger-haired figure of Euan McIntyre strolling in his wake. "Not a word!" Mickey said, warningly, slipping his clubs off his shoulder and letting them clatter to the ground.
"We wouldn't dream of it!" Stacie shot Ash a look and swung her legs down, patting the bench beside her. "Poor Mickey – you look exhausted."
"He's not doing so badly as all that," Euan assured them as Mickey flopped gratefully into the proffered seat. "Good hand-eye co-ordination and a good sense of balance…"
"… and a vertical learning-curve." Mickey added, easing his shoulders in slow circles.
Euan leaned against the trunk of one of the nearby birch trees and removed his panama to let the wind ruffle his hair. "You're getting it fine," he said. "Another three or four lessons and you'll pass anywhere."
"I came to ask about that," Albert said. "That takes us into next week – does that dovetail with you, Ash?"
Ash considered briefly, then nodded. "Should be about right. We haven't had that much to do, considering the size of the place. Need to do some finishing up, stock the bar, sort a few people to act as staff."
"Stacie?"
She squinted up at him. "That's fine. I spoke to Freddy this morning and he's quite happy. So long as we fix a definite date by tomorrow afternoon I can keep him nicely on the boil."
"It was a good wee find, this place, Albert." Euan looked admiringly up the gentle slope towards the elegant Victorian structure of Lansdowne Park, half-hidden amongst mature beech and chestnut trees with the handsome modern clubhouse standing proudly on what had once been a large front lawn.
"My ace in the hole," Albert said. "The owner's away for several months and as it happens he owed me a considerable amount of money. I took this as payment in kind."
"Because you never know when you might need a golf course handy." Mickey remarked.
"Never look the proverbial horse in his proverbial mouth, my boy." Albert straightened up and rubbed his hands briskly. "Now, who's for something long and cool?"
"Oh, please!" Stacie said as Mickey raised a hand.
"I put some beers in the fridge in the bar this morning – you can get a few out if you take them from the back," suggested Ash.
"Don't you just love this job?" Stacie stretched languidly and smiled teasingly at Mickey, whose half-closed eyes and irritable expression indicated that at the present time he didn't care for this job much at all.
"I'll bring them over," Albert offered. "Euan?"
"Not for me, sadly. I've to see a man about a dodgy piece of Victoriana. Shall we say Saturday, Mickey? Give you a day off?" Euan emerged from the shade and replaced his hat.
"You're too kind," Mickey said without opening his eyes.
"That reminds me, Euan," Albert began to stroll across the grass with the tall man at his side, "I wanted to ask you about that Georgian card-table with the secret drawer…"
"Never lets up, does he?" Ash said affectionately as the two mismatched figures headed around the corner of the clubhouse and out of sight.
Mickey smiled up at the sky. "Fish swim, birds fly, Albert grifts."
"There's something I've been wondering..." Stacie said, a little hesitantly. Both men looked at her and she leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. "All this – it's a bit over the top, isn't it? I mean – we're spending a lot of money and I don't see us making much profit. We're going to pay Freddy Hall five thousand quid for a start-off…"
"That's the convincer," Mickey reminded her. "It buys us Freddy's trust and makes sure he comes back for more when we want him to."
"But more what?" Stacie asked. "There's only so much money we can fleece out of Darren before he stops wanting to play you at poker. Even he's not that stupid. Okay, so he'll bring all his mates from Blackwall FC to spend money in the bar, but even then they'll only be good for a few thousand. Surely we need somewhere bigger for this to go, don't we?"
Mickey and Ash exchanged glances, and then Ash slowly extended his open hand toward his friend. Sighing, Mickey dug in his trouser pocket and produced twenty pounds which he slapped good-naturedly into the waiting palm.
"Ta very much, Mick."
As Ash slipped the note into his own pocket, Stacie looked from one to the other. Innocence stared back. "Did you two have a bet on me?" she demanded.
"It's possible…" Ash said, poker-faced.
"We may have." Mickey agreed.
"On the plus side, I was the one who said you'd clock it," Ash added.
"Let's get this straight!" Stacie turned accusingly to face Mickey, who pulled a "thanks a lot" face in Ash's direction. "Not only did you have a bet against me, but you bet that I was a thickie?"
Mickey sighed. "There's no good way out of this, is there?"
"No!" came the reply from the others in perfect unison.
"I was afraid not. Sorry!"
She folded her arms and gave him a mock-evil glare. "So, am I right?"
"About Albert having something more up his sleeve?" Mickey pushed himself fully upright on the bench. "Well … as you say, Darren and all his mates together will just about spend enough for us to break even…"
"… and there's all this stuff about going down in grifting history," Ash put in. "Shaking down a few flash gits isn't going to do that, is it? No matter how slick we are."
"But whatever it is," resumed Mickey, "it's not quite in place. Otherwise he'd have given us the details by now. Something must be not quite as he wants it."
"What do you think it might be?" Stacie asked
"You know as much as we do. What do you think?"
"Well…" she hesitated, weighing the possibilities. "We're conning one player and his agent. Conning more players isn't going to be financially profitable, and it's not going to get extra recognition. It just makes it more likely that someone will work out who we are and what we're doing. So it would have to be higher up the food chain. A manager? A chairman? Who's the chairman at Blackwall … what are you looking at me like that for?"
Mickey turned to Ash. "Is it only me, or are you a bit scared of her as well?"
"She's terrified me for years," said Ash dryly.
Stacie flushed a little, but her smile betrayed her pleasure at their backhanded complements. "I'm a quick learner."
Ash pushed himself up on one elbow to peer over their heads. "Beer!" he announced warningly, and they turned to see Albert returning with the bottles in his hands.
Stacie put down her magazine and went to relieve Albert of some of his burden.
Mickey looked at Ash. "I think she's got it, you know."
"Yeah." Ash appeared thoughtful as he clambered up and busied himself dusting down his jeans. "Dunno about going down in grifting history – sounds more like front page headlines to me."
Mickey, seemingly energised at the thought, hopped to his feet and slapped Ash's shoulder as he followed Stacie. "Don't worry, Ash. We can handle a little notoriety."
Ash followed more sedately. "Wanna bet?" he said under his breath.
A few more days, as Euan had predicted, made all the difference.
Mickey became competent enough at golf to lose convincingly to Darren, which at this stage was all that was required of him.
Albert emerged from the study at regular intervals to check on progress, wearing an air of satisfaction but remaining intriguingly impenetrable.
Stacie chatted alluringly several times on the phone with Freddy Hall and had booked a firm date for the entourage to turn up for the shoot, along with an acquaintance of hers from college who was going to take the photos and was under the impression that she was taking part in a subversive art project using look-alikes.
Ash completed the fitting out the clubhouse to a startlingly high spec, so long as everyone stayed in the four rooms which he'd managed to stretch the budget to cover, and brought on board four or five bar staff – contacts who would work for a few hundred in cash.
Wednesday, June 21st in the year 2000 dawned bright and sunny – and the con was on.
