Exit wound

Women of all races paraded around us in short, strapless dresses. A couple of hours down the road in Saudi it would have been a capital offence. There were a lot of girls down that way with mayo stains round their letterboxes.

I reached for my Pepsi. No Coke here: most of the Middle East seemed to think Coca-Cola was a Jewish company.

As on the aircraft, there was no talking shop while we were around others. ‘What made you get out of here so quick, mate?’ I was thinking about the abandoned vehicle. ‘Just that Chrissie didn’t like it?’

He took the top off his drink and rejected the straw I offered. ‘The whole expat lifestyle. The way they treat these lads-’ He nodded in the direction of the Filipinos sweating at a stir-fry counter. ‘Me and Chrissie, we’re from shite. Our dads were both down the pit. They had principles. Socialism rubs off, you know. Seeing these people treated so badly pissed us both off. She couldn’t handle it.’

He took a bite out of his burger. ‘I said we’d bin it – but maybe just another month or two to get some money together.’ He over-concentrated on the tabletop all of a sudden. ‘She had a breakdown. It wasn’t just the being here… it was a culmination of years of me fucking off working. I was just too engrossed in what I was doing to see it coming.’

He raised his paper napkin to his eye, trying to persuade me that he had a bit of grit in it. ‘We left, but it was too late. She binned me. I should have listened to her. I fucked up, mate – forgot there was another life, something more important.’

He looked at his Big Mac and put it down. He’d lost the taste for it. He sat back with his arms on the table, his hands squeezed together. ‘I kidded myself I was doing all my soldiering for them. Creating a family, putting together a nest egg. But guess what? It was all for me, because I loved it. Now it’s make or break. My last job – and this time it’s for Chrissie. No more bullshit. I’m going to get some of the good stuff and give it the big fuck-off to everyone else – including you and Dex. It’s end-ex for me.’

Red Ken couldn’t pull off the grit act any more. Tears welled in both eyes. ‘From now on, it’s going to be about her. I’ll go down on my hands and knees at the christening if I have to, if it means she’ll have me back.’

I watched a tear dribble down the crags in his cheek. ‘Is that why you left everything to the Fat Controller?’

He sort of nodded, and at the same time waved his finger in front of his face. He was right: no work talk. ‘Believe me, son, I’m desperate. Without Chrissie, I’ve got nothing. I want her back. I want my kids and grandkids to have a good life. Not a shite one like I’ve given to Chrissie. If this doesn’t work…’

I cut away from it a moment to scan for Checked Shirt. ‘What about Dex? Why’s he taking the risk?’

‘Because he’s soft in the head, that’s why. You know him. One minute he’s here for the fucking juice, and the next – who knows? He’s been talking about moving to Scotland and buying a castle, but that was last week.’

Red Ken looked over my shoulder and nodded. I turned to see Dex empty-handed.

‘For all that, I’m glad he’s here. You too, Nick. I just wish Tenny was too, you know?’

Dex bounced in and sat next to me. He studied Red Ken’s face. ‘You OK, chap? Nick here been stealing your chips?’

Red Ken wiped his eyes. ‘No, you soft twat – just the normal thing.’

‘Ah.’ Dex pointed at the carton full of juice. ‘That mine?’

He gulped it back with relish, then leant forward with that ever-bright smile. ‘Guess what? We’re being followed. The checked shirt stayed with me. So, what now?’

Red Ken took a swig of his drink. ‘Fuck ’em. We’re just shopping, aren’t we? So we carry on doing what we’re here to do – show Nick what he needs to see, and carry on as planned. We finish our drinks, get on with our job, and keep our eyes skinned.’

19

Dex had some bits of orange caught in his straw and was trying to blow them out instead of just taking the top off and drinking normally.

Red Ken thumped his watch. ‘We need to go up to the car park.’

Dex gave it some thought. ‘I’ll bring it with – and I see Checked Shirt. He’s sitting to my half-right, outside Starbucks. He’s talking with a white shirt, long-sleeved, buttoned-up, jeans. It’s a trigger.’

We got up and started walking, ignoring the two of them. We passed through the funfair, where Indian and Filipina girls stared out from behind the stalls. They looked as though they were in prison.

It’s best not to look for followers while on the move. It’s too obvious and not necessary. The best way is to check things out once you go static. Who was there the last time you stopped? Who just fucked up by jumping into a shop doorway?