Hopkins?’
‘Who wants to know?’
He had recovered sufficiently to register the man’s posh voice and was curious to see him, but when he tried to swivel round his assailant slammed his head against the roof of the car.
‘I’ve got a job for you.’
‘Who are you?’
For answer, the man crushed Douggie’s nose against the car until his eyes watered.
‘What sort of job? Bloody hell, there’s no need to break my nose.’
‘I want to get rid of a car. Permanently. Someone said you’d be able to help me.’
‘Is that all?’
Douggie attempted a laugh.
‘You could’ve just asked. I’m your man. It’ll cost you, mind.’ Cost you extra for nearly breaking my fucking nose, he thought.
‘I’ll give you two thousand pounds, but no more questions.’
‘Two thousand? That should do it,’ Douggie replied.
His nose ached horribly, squashed against the side of the car, but it was worth getting a bruised face for two thousand quid. He would have done the job for less, although he didn’t say so.
‘The car has to be completely destroyed, and it must be done tonight.’
‘No problem. I’ll torch it.’
‘Yes, set fire to it and burn it, burn it, burn it until there’s nothing left!’
‘Yes, alright, I get it,’ Douggie gasped. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing like a fire for getting rid - ’
The man tightened his grip on Douggie’s throat suddenly, almost suffocating him.
‘Shut up,’ he hissed. ‘Shut up!’
Douggie wondered what the geezer was getting so worked up about. If he hadn’t been skint, Douggie would have been tempted to forget the whole thing. But two thousand quid was two thousand quid.
The man relaxed his hold on Douggie.
‘Do you know Elthorne Road?’
‘Off Holloway Road?’
‘Yes. Walk along Elthorne and wait outside the art college, at one o’clock tonight. Got that?’
‘Yes.’
‘A black BMW will drive past and park at the end of Boothby Road. Don’t move until the driver has left the car. The keys will be in the glove compartment, with half the money.’
‘No problem. What about the rest of the money? You said half the money would be in the car.’
‘You’ll get the rest when the job’s done. And remember, whatever happens to the car, it’s nothing to do with me. My work’s too important for me to take any chances, but you - ’ He gave Douggie’s arm a sudden twist. ‘Remember, Douggie, I know where to find you.’
‘Don’t worry, don’t worry,’ Douggie babbled, ‘you’ve come to the right man.’
Two thousand quid, he thought, although the job had to be done that night, which meant he’d have to torch it. That was a nuisance because it involved a long walk, but he couldn’t risk hanging onto the car until the scrap yard opened in the morning. There was something unnerving about this man. He wasn’t the kind of car thief Douggie was used to doing business with. Still, he stank of money. Two thousand for this job and there could be more where that came from.
‘Two thousand quid then?’
‘Two thousand.’
At five to one Douggie was standing at the corner of Boothby Road as instructed when a black BMW drove up and parked on the other side of the street. He couldn’t be certain but he was pretty sure it was the same car his face had been squashed against earlier that evening. He touched his nose at the recollection, fingering the bruise. A dark figure in a long hooded coat jumped out of the driver’s seat and vanished into the darkness. Douggie caught a glimpse of the man flitting into view beneath a street lamp before he disappeared altogether.
‘Vicious bastard,’ Douggie muttered as he drew on his gloves and turned his attention to the car.
He was looking at a 7 series 4 door auto saloon BMW, about four years old but well looked after. He ran his hand reverently along its smooth side, gleaming in the moonlight, before he opened the door. A faint sour smell of vomit ruined the pleasure and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. But
‘Who wants to know?’
He had recovered sufficiently to register the man’s posh voice and was curious to see him, but when he tried to swivel round his assailant slammed his head against the roof of the car.
‘I’ve got a job for you.’
‘Who are you?’
For answer, the man crushed Douggie’s nose against the car until his eyes watered.
‘What sort of job? Bloody hell, there’s no need to break my nose.’
‘I want to get rid of a car. Permanently. Someone said you’d be able to help me.’
‘Is that all?’
Douggie attempted a laugh.
‘You could’ve just asked. I’m your man. It’ll cost you, mind.’ Cost you extra for nearly breaking my fucking nose, he thought.
‘I’ll give you two thousand pounds, but no more questions.’
‘Two thousand? That should do it,’ Douggie replied.
His nose ached horribly, squashed against the side of the car, but it was worth getting a bruised face for two thousand quid. He would have done the job for less, although he didn’t say so.
‘The car has to be completely destroyed, and it must be done tonight.’
‘No problem. I’ll torch it.’
‘Yes, set fire to it and burn it, burn it, burn it until there’s nothing left!’
‘Yes, alright, I get it,’ Douggie gasped. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing like a fire for getting rid - ’
The man tightened his grip on Douggie’s throat suddenly, almost suffocating him.
‘Shut up,’ he hissed. ‘Shut up!’
Douggie wondered what the geezer was getting so worked up about. If he hadn’t been skint, Douggie would have been tempted to forget the whole thing. But two thousand quid was two thousand quid.
The man relaxed his hold on Douggie.
‘Do you know Elthorne Road?’
‘Off Holloway Road?’
‘Yes. Walk along Elthorne and wait outside the art college, at one o’clock tonight. Got that?’
‘Yes.’
‘A black BMW will drive past and park at the end of Boothby Road. Don’t move until the driver has left the car. The keys will be in the glove compartment, with half the money.’
‘No problem. What about the rest of the money? You said half the money would be in the car.’
‘You’ll get the rest when the job’s done. And remember, whatever happens to the car, it’s nothing to do with me. My work’s too important for me to take any chances, but you - ’ He gave Douggie’s arm a sudden twist. ‘Remember, Douggie, I know where to find you.’
‘Don’t worry, don’t worry,’ Douggie babbled, ‘you’ve come to the right man.’
Two thousand quid, he thought, although the job had to be done that night, which meant he’d have to torch it. That was a nuisance because it involved a long walk, but he couldn’t risk hanging onto the car until the scrap yard opened in the morning. There was something unnerving about this man. He wasn’t the kind of car thief Douggie was used to doing business with. Still, he stank of money. Two thousand for this job and there could be more where that came from.
‘Two thousand quid then?’
‘Two thousand.’
At five to one Douggie was standing at the corner of Boothby Road as instructed when a black BMW drove up and parked on the other side of the street. He couldn’t be certain but he was pretty sure it was the same car his face had been squashed against earlier that evening. He touched his nose at the recollection, fingering the bruise. A dark figure in a long hooded coat jumped out of the driver’s seat and vanished into the darkness. Douggie caught a glimpse of the man flitting into view beneath a street lamp before he disappeared altogether.
‘Vicious bastard,’ Douggie muttered as he drew on his gloves and turned his attention to the car.
He was looking at a 7 series 4 door auto saloon BMW, about four years old but well looked after. He ran his hand reverently along its smooth side, gleaming in the moonlight, before he opened the door. A faint sour smell of vomit ruined the pleasure and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. But
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