Blaggers Page 3

  Mercedes tapped her foot impatiently. ‘There must be something I can do that doesn’t actually involve handling the bets!’

  ‘It don’t matter. Trust me.’

  Trust Chubby? Mercedes would rather trust a grizzly bear to babysit her nephew and niece. It wasn’t that Chubby was malicious; he was just the sort of guy who would go to give Frankie’s kids a goodnight hug and break a couple of their ribs in the process.

  ‘Well, what about Ladbrokes then?’

  ‘Ain’t no use, Merce. There ain’t nothing I can do about it, sorry. Anyhows, this work experience thing’s only for two weeks. You can stick it out that long. But I’ve got a meeting up West in an hour and I gotta go home and get changed.’

  The two of them were standing in the small car park in front of the school. Mercedes was staring angrily at the asphalt, trying to think of some solution to her forthcoming fortnight of fossilisation when her attention was drawn to two large puddles forming around the bottom of her brother’s trousers. Her heart sank. The odds on Chubby becoming incontinent at the age of twenty-five were too remote to consider, which left only one explanation.

  ‘Oh, Chub, not again?’

  Chubby shrugged sheepishly. ‘Weren’t my fault, Merce!’ It seldom was; that was the trouble. ‘We’re on this site over Stratford, right, and I tells Gary to start breaking up the concrete floor in the basement, right. Only there’s a dirty great water main running underneath!’

  Following the death of Big Al, the bulk of Bent Enterprises had been divided between his twin sons; Frankie had taken over the car firm and the snooker halls, whilst Chubby ran the property development side. Unfortunately, Mercedes got the distinct impression that that side of the business wasn’t so much developing properties as demolishing them.

  She sighed. ‘OK, Chubby, now remember when this happened at the Chigwell job?’

  ‘Yeah, I know but...’

  ‘And the Romford site?’

  ‘Yeah, but Merce...’

  ‘And we talked about the local authority plans and talking to the building inspectors and checking where things like water mains are?’

  ‘Yeah. And I did all that, honest.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  Chubby kicked the floor in embarrassment. ‘Me and Gary stuck the plans on the wall, so that the lads could follow them and everything,’ he pleaded.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Only Gary put ’em upside down.’

  ‘And you didn’t notice?’ Mercedes often wondered how, when the twins had been conceived, their brain cells had been divided up. At times it certainly seemed that the embryonic Frankie must have taken both portions. ‘Look, don’t worry about it,’ she placated him. ‘At least it wasn’t the gas main.’

  Chubby chuckled. ‘Yeah - do you remember that time over at Beckton?’

  ‘I think the whole of British Gas remembers that time over at Beckton.’ Mercedes patted her brother affectionately on the back. ‘Look, Chubby, thanks for coming over.’

  If Mercedes had been realistic, she would have realised that backing Chubby to sort out anything was a surefire way of losing not only the shirt off your back, but most of your underwear with it! She’d only rung him because she knew he thought the world of her. Desperation had momentarily clouded her judgement. That and the fact that her only other ally in the family, Nanny Bent, now spent nine months of every year on the Costa del Sol and wasn’t due back until the weekend. Still, Chubby had come when she’d asked - bless! And she was grateful for that much.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t sort it with the old bird but, like I said, it ain’t for long. Just go with the flow, eh?’ He clambered up into the Range Rover that he used for touring the building sites. ‘Catch ya later.’ And he drove off with a wave.

  The only trouble with Chubby’s philosophy, Mercedes thought, was that only dead fish go with the flow; swimming upstream against the current was a far more exhilarating prospect. But, she consoled herself, she was going to Boreham’s Bank for an introductory day tomorrow, so she’d be able to suss out her escape strategy a bit better after that.

  As she made her way back into school, approaching sirens broke her train of thought. The school was directly opposite the entrance to Snaresbrook Crown Court, so it was a familiar sound to the pupils. Mercedes gave only a cursory glance along the road to watch a police convoy approaching. More interesting than the convoy, however, was the fact that Harley Spinks had appeared from nowhere and was standing by the school gate, waving as the large white prison van and its police motorcycle outriders turned into the Court.

  ‘Your old man finally got his comeuppance then, Harl?’ Mercedes called.

  ‘Yeah, right! Your brothers wish!’ Harley sneered. Then added cockily, ‘I’ve got a pony says he’ll be out by teatime.’

  Mercedes hesitated. A twenty five pound bet was not to be sniffed at - but there was something about the way Harley had said it. She didn’t trust her.

  ‘You trying to tell me he’s innocent?’ Mercedes replied. ‘I’d give you better odds on the Pope being Jewish.’

  Harley Spinks tapped the side of her nose and grinned. ‘Can’t go down without witnesses, can ’e?’

  So, like daughter, like father, eh! Just as Harley was not averse to a spot of hockey team nobbling, so her father was going for the witness-based version. Mercedes wasn’t going to go within a disinfected furlong of her filthy money.

  ‘Hey, Harley,’ she said, breezily. ‘Just as a matter of interest - in Geography, have you done about the Khyber Pass?’

  Harley looked perplexed. ‘You what?’

  ‘Well, it’s just a thought but - why don’t you take your dirty money and stick it up there!’ A cheap shot, but Mercedes felt better for having vented some of her frustration about the work experience - and she knew Harley could give as good as she got.

  The entrance to the school had once been the hallway of a large Victorian house and opening off it were the head teacher’s office, the secretary’s office and the school library. Strictly speaking, students were not allowed to use the entrance hall as a thoroughfare but it was the shortest way to the gardens. Mercedes had a quick shufti round the foyer, saw that the Doberman’s office door was shut, so headed towards the back of the building. But, as she passed the library, she could’ve sworn she heard someone crying. Bummer! She was torn. As a general rule of thumb the Bent family motto was, ‘keep your nose out of other people’s business’, but Mercedes didn’t like to think of anyone being in distress - unless it was Harley Spinks, of course, which would be perfectly acceptable. She opened the library door and saw a group of Year 7 girls huddled by the bookshelves. One of them, a small girl who lived three doors along from Mercedes, was weeping loudly.

  ‘Hey, Aisha, what’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing!’ the others said quickly.

  A bit too quickly for Mercedes’ liking but if they didn’t want to talk, that was up to them. ‘That’s cool,’ she said, and made to turn away.

  ‘No, wait.’ Aisha wiped her eyes. ‘She’s safe,’ she said to the others. She blew her nose then explained to Mercedes that she and the others were the library team for that term. The library team consisted of a group of five girls from Year 7, whose duty it was to replace books on shelves, tidy the room and generally make sure the library was kept in a reasonable state on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays, ready for Miss Fowler, the part-time librarian to come in at the end of the week.

  ‘There’s this horrible girl called Cynthia,’ Aisha sobbed. ‘And she said that she’d make sure the library stayed nice and tidy as long as we paid her a fiver a week.’

  ‘Each!’ Another girl chipped in.

  Mercedes’ eyes narrowed. She knew exactly what was coming next.

  ‘And she threatened to draw rude things in the human biology section,’ Aisha said.


  ‘And then she came in and knocked over the potted pelargoniums and rubbed soil into the carpet,’ added Flora, whose mother ran the local florist’s shop.

  ‘And Miss Fowler said that we’d have to pay for any damages so, in the end, we decided that it was probably easier to pay Cynthia.’

  A classic protection racket! Mercedes could barely contain the vengeful thoughts that were running rampant through her mind. And she knew exactly who was going to be on the receiving end! She’d bet a pound to a penny that this little enterprise wasn’t the brainchild of Cynthia. Cynthia might be Bigg by name but she certainly wasn’t big in the cerebral area - unless you counted the enormous vacuum between her ears.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort it,’ Mercedes said. ‘And if anyone - anyone at all - gives you any grief, you refer them to me. OK?’

  Returning to the car park, she approached Harley Spinks.

  ‘Ah, Harley, I’ve changed my mind on that little wager. What was it, twenty-five knicker? At - let’s say, odds of ten to one? How’s that sound?’

  Harley smirked and produced a fan of five pound notes. ‘Just couldn’t resist, could you?’

  ‘Well - you’ve got me there, Harley. I just couldn’t let a sure thing pass me by.’ She stuffed the notes in the front of her blouse and patted them safely. ‘And the thing I’m sure of is this...’ She leaned so close to the other girl that she could smell the salt and vinegar of the crisps she’d had at break. ‘This money’s going back to those kids in year 7 and, if you even attempt to extort money from anyone else in this school, you might find you need a bit of protection yourself. Am I making myself clear?’

  She walked back into the library and handed over the girls’ money.

  Now there was just the little matter of her work experience to sort out!

  Laverne Bent was poring over architects’ drawings spread out on the dining table.

  ‘In ’ere, babes. Come an’ tell me what you think,’ she called out when she heard her daughter slam the front door and toss her school bag on the floor.

  Attila and Genghis, the two German shepherds, bounded from the kitchen to welcome Mercedes home. She stood in the doorway of the dining room patting the dogs and sighed when she saw the sample boards of fabric and colour swatches that were propped against every available surface. Having the house redecorated was one of her mother’s hobbies, so Mercedes didn’t give them a second look.

  ‘There’s a problem with my work experience placement. I need you to speak to the old culture vulture and get it changed for me.’

  ‘Orright, babes,’ Laverne said, dismissively. ‘Look, I’m having all the salons done. We’re gonna have a corporate colour scheme and I can’t decide between seaspray with salsa accessories,’ Laverne reached over and thrust a large sheet of cardboard covered with several photographs and colour charts into her daughter’s face. ‘Or -’ she swapped sample boards - ‘amethyst frost with opal mist accessories. What d’ya think?’

  ‘Cool. But this is serious, Mum. The old Doberman’s set me up in some poxy bank for two weeks, pushing a pen. She said they’d chosen that for me because I’m so good with figures.’

  ‘Aw! That’s brilliant.’ Laverne patted her daughter’s face in what she hoped would be seen as maternal pride. ‘You always was good wiv numbers an’ that. I remember your dad, teachin’ you black jack when you was a nipper. Quick as a flash you was. Now, if I go for the seaspray, then Tara, my image consultant, thinks the name should be ‘Halcyon Haze.’ She placed her thumb and forefinger about ten centimetres apart and drew an arc in the air. ‘What d’ya think? I’m not keen myself. Sounds a bit like a patio light to me.’

  ‘You’re thinking of halogen,’ Mercedes said. ‘Halcyon means peaceful and calm.’ Laverne raised her eyebrows and nodded approval. ‘It’s also the name of a mythical Greek bird associated with the winter solstice - a bit like a kingfisher.’

  A look of delight spread across Laverne’s face. ‘Oh, look, that’s why she put a kingfisher on the logo. I get it now! And I like the sound of a solstice. Adds a bit of spirituality, don’t it?’

  It was obvious to Mercedes that she had about as much chance of getting her mother to speak to the headmistress as she had of training a donkey from Southend beach to win the Cheltenham Gold Cup.

  ‘So what’s your other option?’ she asked with resignation.

  Laverne made the same sweeping hand movement through the air and, in a voice barely louder than a sigh, said, ‘Cosmic Caress.’

  ‘Yeah, go with that.’

  Mercedes had never thought the day would come when she’d say this but, for once, Chubby might be right. She might just have to go with the flow on this occasion and stick it out for two weeks. She took the dog leads and headed for the door. ‘Come on boys, I need some thinking space.’

  Zak Khan leaned back from the computer screen and stretched out in satisfaction. Marc Mercer, his mentor at Boreham’s Bank, had asked him to prepare a financial model for a forthcoming take-over bid in the holiday industry. Timeshare Immemorial, a firm that specialised in apartments overlooking sites of historical interest, was soon to become Timeshare in Memoriam if Sunbeam. com, one of Boreham’s biggest customers, had anything to do with it. Zak would’ve liked to have punched the air in triumph but it was an open-plan office and he already suspected that several of the more old-school fund managers had him down as a bit weird. But he’d done a top job on this one and he knew it. According to Zak’s forecast, the outlook for Sunbeam.com looked very sunny indeed and, even though he knew that Marc would present the figures as his own, there was nothing that could take away that buzz of a job well done.

  Zak had been at Boreham’s since January and, although technically this was a gap year before going to university, he was enjoying his placement so much that he was seriously thinking about giving up the whole idea of uni. He could picture himself now, going up to receive the ‘Financial Whizzkid of the Year ’ award. Should he wear a conventional dinner jacket, he wondered, or a white tuxedo?

  ‘Ah, Zaki.’

  Zak crashed back to reality at the sound of his full name. There was only one person who called him Zaki - other than his parents, of course: Sukhvinder Chadha from Human Resources! And she’d placed herself at such an angle that, even had she not had the stature of your average water buffalo, it would have been impossible to ignore her. Zak lurched forward on his chair knocking the polystyrene cup that was next to his keyboard and slopping cold tea across his desk.

  ‘Oh b - !’

  ‘Zaki!’ Sukhvinder admonished before he could finish the expletive.

  ‘...bother,’ he said, lamely.

  ‘I hope you’re going to mop that up.’

  Zak looked at the enormous woman and smiled obligingly. ‘Of course, Mrs Chadha.’ What did she think he was going to do - add a motor and turn it into an ornamental water feature? He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the next desk and began patting up the liquid.

  ‘Now, Zaki, we have a Year 10 student with us today. She’ll be joining us on Monday for a two-week placement and as you are the only other person on work experience at the moment, I thought it would be nice if you would take her under your wing, show her the cafeteria, that sort of thing.’

  Oh, great! Just what he needed to improve his credibility rating; some snotty school kid to childmind. He’d been hoping to meet up with Marc at lunchtime and run through the figures with him. If he was lucky, he might even have been rewarded with lunch in the executive dining room. Instead of which...

  ‘Mercedes, this is Zaki.’ Sukhvinder stood to one side and Mercedes stepped forward.

  Phwoar! Did Mrs Chadha say Year 10? Zak could hardly believe his eyes. This girl was seriously hot. In fact, lunch in the cafeteria had never looked more appetising.

  ‘Hi.’ He stood up and shook Mercedes’ hand
. ‘You can call me Zak.’

  ‘And you seriously enjoy working here?’ Mercedes had chosen steak with sauté potatoes and French beans for lunch. It made a change from the M & S ready meals her mother served at home.

  ‘Too right,’ Zak replied. ‘It’s wicked. I’m seriously thinking of ditching the whole university thing and staying on here.’

  Mercedes was poised with a forkful of the pink meat halfway to her mouth; she was trying to decide whether Zak was seriously deluded or a total geek. Looks wise, he certainly didn’t fit the ‘geek’ criteria - and, if she wasn’t mistaken, that suit was top of the range Armani. She liked a man who knew how to dress. In fact, that was one of the few things she liked about her brother Frankie. Frankie was as sharp with his clothes as he was with everything else - including his words! Although Frankie and Chubby were twins they were about as non-identical as it was possible to be. It was as though all the qualities of a single human being had been divided up; Frankie taking the full quota of brains, looks and business acumen whilst Chubby had been left with a hefty chunk of lovability but not much else.

  ‘What about you?’ Zak asked her. ‘What do you want to do with your life?’

  Mercedes had never really been asked that before, apart from by the careers advisor at school, and it threw her. ‘Don’t know really,’ she replied. ‘I want to travel, I suppose, but I’ve never really thought beyond that.’

  ‘Let me guess, you want to go to India to find yourself.’

  ‘Leave it out!’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Do I look like I’m into backpacking?’ She placed her knife and fork together and pushed her plate away. ‘I prefer to leave the hippy trail to the hippies, thank you.’

  ‘So what sort of places do you want to visit?’

  Mercedes eyed him suspiciously. If there’d been a competition for abiding by her family motto, keep your nose out of other people’s business, Zak wouldn’t even be a contender. Didn’t he know that asking so many questions was dangerous? How many times, when she’d been younger and more inquisitive, had Mercedes been brushed off? ‘Them as arx no questions gets told no lies,’ Nanny Bent told her. And, ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out, babes,’ was her mother’s favourite.