Roskov, Book 26, page 25
Marty cut in, ‘They’re shaving weeks off build-time and they’ve slashed good money off the costs. Watch the damn builders, they should be passing on those cost savings to us!’
Russel told him, ‘We own sixty percent of the Lego block company and make on the cement.’
‘Ah. Sneaky shits.’
They laughed.
‘Our friends in Hastings?’ I asked Russel with a grin.
‘We settled their debts and restructured them, and they have a full order book – to us, so they’ll do well.’
I faced Marty. ‘We’ll use your fund on the new truck park here in Leicester but also on a huge one outside Dover, but we aim to make back some money if all goes well. Dover is full 24hrs a day, so we should be able to make money.’
He responded, ‘Dover is fucking mess, from start to finish. Should be holiday traffic only.’
‘We’ll fix it some, and develop Harwich and Felixstowe.’ I faced Russel. ‘Our car loans?’
‘Are manic, stay in bed from now on, please.’
They laughed.
‘Selling well?’
‘Selling to new customers mostly, in that people hear about them, then join our loans club just to buy a car.’
‘And we make money?’
‘We do, because you bought them at a good price.’
Our NI guy chirped in with, ‘Many being sold in Northern Ireland now. Known as Roskov cars, always three girls in the back.’
They laughed loudly.
I shot him a peeved look. ‘I have no idea what they’re on about.’
Smythe noted, ‘You look tired, and older.’
‘A few people have noticed, yes, probably the stress of the cabal.’
Chessington noted, ‘The police now say that the people massacred in Gibraltar were the ones attacking you and your people…’
‘Seems that way. And no, I didn’t have my people kill them, my security people operate in Corsica only.’
‘Armed officer downstairs now,’ Russel pointed out. ‘Camera to the police.’
‘I wish I knew who they may target next, and I wish I knew exactly who they were and what they wanted … other than me dead, of course.’
Chessington put in, ‘They must think that you’ll go for them next. You went for Roger Pearson, then the police, now NHS managers and others. They’re worried that you’ll spoil their fun.’
I nodded at him. ‘Blair has the heavy mob looking for them, might get them or … be warned off because they’re high up and well connected.’
‘Are they … well connected?’ Chessington asked.
‘To do what they’ve done … they’re at the top of the food chain.’
They exchanged looks.
I added, ‘So make plans … to run this place if I’m not around. Business as usual after I’m gone, just to piss them off.’
Back in the suites, I sat with a cup of tea, angered. I had things I wanted to do, not to be martyred by the cabal. But … could they even kill me now that I had energy similar to that of Julie inside of me?
Cup down, eyes closed, and I imagined that I was floating above Leicester. I suddenly felt cold and wet. ‘Idiot,’ I cursed, and I descended through the clouds. Now I had a street-map view of Leicester.
I imagined crime taking place, people frightened. Suddenly, I was down at street level, not far from where I used to live, a man hitting his druggy girlfriend. ‘Leave her alone!’
He glanced around, puzzled, it was just the two of them.
I moved in and kicked him in the nuts, a bit too hard, he was down and needing some new testicles. ‘Sorry.’
His druggy girlfriend stared both ways down the street, then kicked him in the nuts herself before she ran off.
Back at altitude, I needed to refine my approach. I imagined a woman that was terrified of being hurt. An instant later, I loudly dented a car bonnet and cursed. Somehow, my invisible body had solid aspects to it.
A man jumped out of the car and glanced around, no one there, the woman opening her door and running off. He went after her, so I went after him, tripping him, his face splattered into the pavement, and he would need a new face, and some replacement teeth.
I read his mind, and he was a pimp of sorts, and had planned to stab the woman – a warning to his other “hostesses”. And I never knew that Leicester had home delivery “hostesses” for sex, a new phenomena.
A woman came out of her house and saw the man’s bloody face. ‘Oh, my dear, did you trip? I’ll get you an ambulance.’
‘No, fuck off,’ he said as he scrambled up.
‘That was not nice. Robby!’
Her huge sixteen-year-old son came out. ‘What, ma?’
‘That man fell over, and when I offered to help he swore at me.’
Robby kicked our hapless hostess boss, lifted him and smashed him down into his own car bonnet, making the dent worse. The man passed out, the police called.
‘Well done, Robby,’ I offered.
‘Thanks.’ Robby stopped, turned around and wondered if he was going mad.
My next action was a domestic, a black African woman whose unemployed husband was drunk, and nasty with it. Frying pan lifted, I whacked him with it a dozen times, and he would need some time in hospital, quite a bit of time.
Pan back down, the woman was staring at it wide-eyed and frozen to the spot.
Back at altitude, I imagined drugs, packets of drugs, soon floating above a kitchen table with drugs on, and the men in the room sold those drugs via nightclub doormen into the posh bars around town.
I heaved a sigh, since it was expected, and partly my fault – good wages and optimism meant drugs in the clubs. I knocked two heads together, a bit too hard, a burst of blood, then used the house phone to hit “999”. When the operator came on, I used an accent to ask for police, drugs found, the address given, ambulance needed. Thinking as I waited, I unlocked the front door.
Stroking the cat I found outside, it peered around for a human stroking it, suddenly terrified, and it ran off.
I waited, both men bleeding baldy, and ten minutes later the door was shoved aside, the drugs sighted straight away, the two men given first aid, the drugs called in – it was a major find.
At altitude again, and I felt a woman’s fear, soon rushing down, but I found myself on the M1 motorway, a four-car crash. Inside the first car, I found the thirty-five-year-old woman alone, her face bloodied, her ribs bust, her heart about to fail.
‘Take it easy,’ I told her, and she opened an eye. I fixed her ribs, pressure off her heart, her heart fixed, blood pressure stabilised, broken leg left broken but I did ease the pain.
She sucked in a big breath, just as the door opened and man stuck his head in.
‘Take it easy, love, ambulance on the way. Can you speak?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you’re speaking then your heart and lungs still work, and your brain, so you’ll make it.’
‘He was here.’
‘Who was, love?’
‘The angel, he … he saved me.’
‘Just … sit there and take it easy, love, no need for prayers just yet.’ The man moved on to the next car.
I told her, ‘We have a limited lifespan, to do some good, to make things better for those who come after us, the next generation.
‘We are what we are, here and now and in this place, but what matters is what we pass on to the next generation. You don’t need to sit in church, you just need to make the world a slightly better place. Don’t try and fix the world, try and fix what you see in front of you.’
I left her crying onto her steering wheel and moved on to the next car, an old man assisted, his pain eased.
At the worst car, all mangled, I put out the fire before it spread, but found the lady driver quite dead already. In the back was her baby, that crying red-faced chubby lump soon somehow focused on my face.
‘Shush, little one, I’m going to take care of you.’
I closed my eyes, a nurse in a car twenty cars back soon out and sprinting with a purpose. She reached the baby and lifted her out, and I got the images.
‘Things happen for a reason,’ I told her.
She glanced around, wondering who said that, the baby now calm, sirens heard approaching down the hard shoulder.
A police car preceded an ambulance, an attractive male officer jumping out and rushing for the nurse. He knelt, suddenly shocked, and pleasantly surprised. ‘You!’
‘Oh, hey, odd place to meet.’
‘Last time we met … was in the hospital, bad smash a mile south of here.’
She studied him. ‘I … took your number, that was wrong.’
‘Why wrong?’ he puzzled.
‘My shifts keep me tired, not fair on you, always an excuse, telling a man that I’m tired.’
‘Try being a police officer,’ he quipped.
Her mobile trilled, and she answered it with one hand as she held the calm baby, and as the wounded were extracted from vehicles.
Call ended, he asked, ‘Bad news?’
‘I … got the job I wanted, Roskov nursing home, days, office work mostly.’
‘I’m on days from next month, off traffic after two years. You … up for that drink?’ he risked.
‘Hell yes. And your number is on my dresser.’
‘You … kept it?’ he puzzled.
‘Kept wanting to call you, always so fucking tired.’
He walked her to the second ambulance, but the paramedics had to take care of the wounded first, so she had to wait, holding the baby, the baby holding the officer’s little finger.
She studied the officer’s hand, and they exchanged a look.
The first lady I had assisted was trolleyed away, and I held her hand as they moved her. She squeezed my fingers till she passed out.
Back at the suites, I opened my eyes and stood, staring out of the window for a while.
‘Laz, you there?’
He appeared a few second later.
I began, ‘I can float around out of my body, and I … stopped a few crimes and helped at a car crash site. Am I breaking any rules?’
‘If you were given those powers then it was for a reason, and you were trusted with them knowing what you might do with them.’
I nodded. ‘One small cat.’
‘The exercising of power made manifest. You taught us angels that, you … a human.’
‘Am I wasting my time, one person helped at a time?’
‘I refer you to the Great Roskov: It’s just one small cat.’ He vanished.
‘One small cat,’ I repeated. Returning to the window, I began, ‘On the surface of it … not worth saving, but a society is made up of millions of people, all in a pyramid shape, those below supporting those above and besides them, and when they work together they achieve something.
‘One falters, a group falters, the shape falters, the domino effect. So one person does matter, and one person can go on to do great things. One person is not judged on the here and now but on what they may affect in the world later on, and where they fit into the pyramid.
‘What matters is the next generation, so … I need to focus on what will help them the most. Till I’m martyred, that is.’
A fresh cup of tea, and I considered what would help the next generation the most. ‘Housing, definitely. Jobs, always. Law and order, a good thing but most don’t care, they live outside the city centre.
‘Hope. Hope affects everyone, every day; everything. People need hope. I gave the AIDS sufferers some hope, but I cheated a little. Question is, what can I do the most … to give people hope? Being martyred doesn’t give them hope.’
Laz reappeared. ‘I was listening to your internal debate. What gives them the most hope? You do.’ He vanished.
‘I do?’ I puzzled. ‘A … young celeb, a … young businessman, a … figurehead? A new outlook? Or does my hope show, can they see it, are my words inspirational?’
‘Yes,’ came Laz’s voice.
I blew a breath. ‘More inspirational speeches then.’
The next day I headed to the hospital to do the rounds, which was where I started out, where I started on my missionary work. The staff were all delighted to see me, and they all lambasted NHS managers.
In the Ladies’ Ward I found my target, and she did not look well. I held her hand and she opened her eyes.
‘Are you real?’
‘Yes, but you have to keep my secret, I can’t be known as being invisible. How’s the chest?’
‘I should have died…’
‘Yes.’
‘Why save me?’
‘One small cat.’
‘I … found a cat last week, took it in and fed it, handed it to the shelter.’
‘You did the right thing, because you’re a big strong human with food and warmth and the cat is … just a cat. You used your power to help it. And what of my power? Should I not help you? And what criteria did you apply when deciding to save that cat?
‘I … found it and … I could help it.’
‘Correct, simple as that, as to why I might help you. I found you, one small cat.’
‘I read that French book about you, knew you were special. Those people trying to kill you…’
‘Are corrupt, out to make money. But I’m not so easy to kill.’
‘You need to beat them.’
‘I will, but … slowly, and not harm too many people along the way. Do you have people to look after you?’
‘Not really, mum is old.’
I glanced out of the glass dividers and waved in two people. ‘These people are from an agency, and they’ll help you get back on your feet, and then we can chat again. Get well quickly, eh. And don’t worry about money and things like that, I run a charity.
‘And when you’re ready, and if you want, I have a job for you in an orphanage in Corsica.’
She stared at me. ‘Oh.’
‘Have a think, have a think about what you did when you left school and … where you took a wrong turn. Get some rest.’
I moved on to the next ward, ladies cheered, hands held with old ladies, finally on to the children’s ward, kids cheered up, a baby secretly aided.
Leaving the hospital, I headed for Rose Fallon House, and I spent a few hours with the old ladies in wheelchairs. But my attendance at both the hospital and at Rose Fallon House was reported on Radio Leicester.
And it was Radio Leicester that I visited the next day, a speech to give to the nation. I felt like Churchill.
Settled, water sipped, a nod from the technician, and I began, ‘This is Ricky Roskov, Radio Leicester, updating the people of Leicester as well as the wider population about things that might interest them.
‘First, here in Leicester we’ve started work on what will be very large warehouse and lorry park. That move … is part of a wider programme of buying vehicle logistics companies – people which move cargo around the UK – and warehouses where such cargo may be stored.
‘You may have heard the term “Food Security”, and what that means … is that back during the Cold War we had a stockpile of food and fuel so that if war broke out we would have a reserve, and not run out of food and fuel quickly.
‘Those stockpiles, Government stockpiles, have gone, and now our only reserves are in the hands of private companies, basically the supermarkets.
‘And since it costs money to store food, and there’s no need to store food at the moment, the supermarkets do not have huge reserves of food, just a few days’ worth, no law saying that they should waste money on large reserves of food.
‘So what I’m now doing, and with taxpayers’ money, is building bigger and better food processing plants, creating fleets of efficient refrigerated trucks, and reorganising the way we distribute food in this country.
‘That should save fuel and money, so the price of food in the shops should be a few pence cheaper we hope, and the supermarkets are cooperating with me every step of the way, so there’s no need to criticise the supermarkets.
‘When my large truck and food company is up to speed, and we already move around ten percent of Britain’s frozen produce, I’ll create warehouses that store our frozen foods and other foods, and we’ll keep a week’s supply of food in those warehouses.
‘What that equates to … is a truck that arrives, offloads its frozen or regular food packets, and those packets that have been with me a week already get moved out, a never-ending carousel of movement; first-in first-out.
‘And as a by-product of that approach we’ll have a stockpile of food should we need it. If there’s a bad winter, or a war in the Middle East, we’ll have more of a supply than we did last week and last year.
‘I’ll also store long-life products, tins and dried foods, and we may have a month’s supply sat there at low cost, and if the supplies are ever needed – such as during a bad winter, then we can move them out and keep our nation fed with good old tomato soup.
‘Tony Blair and his Cabinet are involved, and will be closely involved with our food security, because none of us know what’s around the corner, a bad winter or a war somewhere that disrupts our supply chain.
‘And what my logistics experts tell me … is that this is easy, and not just easy but that we can also make a profit. Begs the question as to why it was never done before.
‘So if there’s anyone out there in the Midlands that seeks a job in logistics, warehousing and trucks, we’ll have a few jobs going in six months or so, well-paid jobs here in Leicester, just that we have a shortage of workers as it is.
‘What I’m also doing, is working a deal with large trucking companies in Denmark and Europe, so that their trucks will be driven to the ferries to travel to Britain, but the keys will be left in the trucks and maybe the drivers will go elsewhere in Europe.
‘The trucks will come across devoid of a suitable driver, and when they dock in Britain a British driver will pick up the truck or the frozen pallet on the back and drive it onwards, maybe to one of my warehouses. That will mean more trucking jobs for British drivers, but it was not planned with that in mind, we just wanted to save on costs.
