TURKISH DELIGHT by Barry Faulkner (ebook reader wifi .TXT) 📗

and a window table gave a good view of anybody coming towards it. You can’t be too careful. Golden rule in my game, always meet in crowded public places, there’s safety in numbers and you don’t stand out, nobody notices you.

We sat there with our fish and chips and talked over the previous day’s work. I had checked the local radio and television news stations and the South London press, but no mention of my warehouse escapade of the night before.

‘Rambart obviously doesn’t want the coppers inside the place,’ Gold said, trying to shake some tomato sauce from an obstinate bottle. ‘Two murders in a warehouse would have them crawling all over it by now if it was legit.’

‘Self defence, not murders,’ I corrected her.

‘Oh yeah? No jury would ever believe that if they knew you.’ Rather more tomato sauce than she needed decided to leave the bottle and overwhelm her piece of fish. ‘Shit!’

My mobile buzzed. It was Woodward.

‘We need to meet.’

I looked at Gold and covered the phone. ‘Woodward wants to meet, you okay with that?’

‘No – nobody knows I work with you and that’s how I want it to stay. Give us twenty minutes to finish lunch and have a coffee and then meet him here. I’ll be around.’

I nodded. If Gold thought Woodward doesn’t know we work together she’s wrong, but I didn’t say anything and went back to Woodward on the phone. ‘I’m not in my office – giving it a wide berth for a few days. I’m going to get something to eat in half an hour at the cafe on Charing Cross Station, how does that sound?’

‘Sounds pretty ghastly, but I’ll see you there in thirty minutes.’

The phone went dead.

‘He’s coming here, thirty minutes.’

‘Okay.’ Gold had cleared the sauce off her fish and was tucking in. ‘Should be interesting.’ She pointed her knife at me to make a point,’ You’ve got a couple of decisions to make Ben, and Woodward being in the picture doesn’t exactly make them any easier.’

‘Decisions?’

‘Well, for a start you have a contract on both the Rambarts – which one are you going to honour? The way I see it, if you hit Eve Rambart you lose eighty grand, and if you hit Nicholas Rambart you lose a million. From the money side of things you should hit Eve and end up with a million from Nicholas, plus the two hundred thousand Eve’s paid already.’

‘If he pays up and doesn’t have me killed.’

‘There’s always that scenario. You should have taken an advance of him too. These chips are cold.’ She put her cutlery down onto the plate, wiped her mouth with a tissue from her shoulder bag and gave me a ‘make your choice’ smile. ‘Right, I’m going to dig a bit more into Eve Rambart. I’ve a feeling something’s not quite right with her.’ She stood and swung the bag onto her shoulder. ‘I’ll call you later.’ And she was gone, merging into the commuters outside.

My chips were okay, so I finished my meal and fetched a coffee from the counter. Two sips in and Woodward stood in front of me, a disdainful look on his face; nobody could look more out of place in the Charing Cross Station cafe than Clarence Woodward. He took a handkerchief from his light brown overcoat and flapped it at the seat before sitting down. I fought hard to keep from smiling too broadly.

‘I shall refrain from passing comment on your choice of meeting place, Nevis – suffice to say it wouldn’t have been mine.’

‘Can I get you a coffee?’

‘Good Heavens no, I shouldn’t think the coffee here has been within a thousand miles of a coffee bean.’ He undid the top button of his coat and pulled out a printed paper from his inside pocket. ‘You did have some fun last night didn’t you, eh?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘We’ve had the Purley warehouse under surveillance for some time – your antics there were seen and watched, although apparently those of a young lady working with you were far more interesting to our chaps than yours, but we won’t go into that. I take it she is the one known in certain circles as Gold Digger?’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

He smiled. ‘Of course you don’t. Anyway, it seems two bodies were removed from the premises shortly after the arrival of the day shift this morning – the day shift that comprises of a minibus of illegal immigrants who are kept in a house a few miles away in Croydon. You see Nevis, we do have an idea what is going on with Rambart inside that warehouse, although it all seems perfectly legal on the outside; but we don’t have enough information to get a warrant issued and take a look. No need for a warrant now – your photos confirm our worst fears. Rambart is an arms dealer; a perfectly honest one on the outside, licensed annually, always gets the necessary export documents for the product he moves – all above board. But unfortunately he exceeds his license; he’s very clever and we have not been able to nab him so far, but these photos show us a crack in his operation where we may be able to get in and bring him down.’

‘They do?’ I should have gone for more than five grand a month.

‘Yes, indeed they do. The markings on the crates are Turkish – the crates are destined for Cyprus. As I am sure you are aware Cyprus is divided into two halves, one half Greek and the other half Turkish, with a UN buffer border between the two factions since their little altercation in 1974. So the arms in those crates are destined for Turkey via Cyprus, and then from Turkey to who knows where, but