A Fatal Drug, page 23
The same could not be said about some of the salesmen and business representatives. These often middle-aged men, who could put their hotel bills on expenses, wanted to relax and drink after a hard day’s work, and Martinez was finding it increasingly difficult to keep a lid on their sometimes loud and obnoxious behaviour.
During the past couple of evenings, a group of slightly seedy business people had picked out Janie for their attention and had tried to monopolise her time. Her manager was cautious but Janie won the day. She would smile, speak to them and wait at their table, but when a stray hand touched her small, rounded bottom, she stepped back, brushed the man’s hand away and leaned forward. She slid the heel of her hand over the back of the hand that had touched her and whispered in the man’s ear. “Sir, if you ever do that again, or if you say another word to me, I will have you thrown out. Don’t say anything now. I know you understand what I’m saying. When I move away you will get up and walk directly to the exit. Stay outside for two minutes and when you return we will carry on as normal.”
As Janie freed the man’s aching hand and stood back, he stood up, tried to hide his red face and left the room.
Jesus Martinez watched from the bar and smiled. This young lady can handle anything he said to himself proudly.
A day after that incident, a thin, gaunt man with a pronounced northern English accent slid on to a bar stool almost as Janie opened the bar that evening. She served him a large Coke in an ice-filled glass. There was no one else in the bar and she was relaxed about answering the man’s questions and starting a conversation. She responded in the way she did to all the men who’d tried to chat her up, but something intrigued her about this Englishman. Instead of bringing the conversation to an end, Janie asked him some questions, and the answers stirred up memories of Simon Jardine at home in Derby. It was like ticking boxes on a list that the ever-inquisitive Simon would have loved to ask.
Janie quickly found out that his name was Richard Hewson and he was originally from the west of Leeds, hence the accent. He was now living and working in Spain, running a bar in Fuengirola. When he mentioned the name shivers ran down Janie’s spine.
She looked more closely at him. He was ridiculously thin, which he tried to disguise with a baggy t-shirt and wide-bottomed flares. His eyes were odd. The pupils were so dilated that only a thin corona of white surrounded them. She was convinced that he took drugs, and he said he worked in Fuengirola. These two facts, plus the memory of what Simon had told her before she left England, set her mind racing.
“Why don’t you come to my bar when you have a day off?” Hewson asked after Janie had steered the conversation away and they’d compared tastes in drinks.
“Yes, sure. I’d like that,” she said. “No funny business, though. I’ve got to look after myself.”
“No, of course not. You’ll be OK with me, I’m English. When’s your day off? I could send a car to get you.”
“No. No need. I’ve got to find my way around and a bus to Fuengirola would be all part of the learning exercise. I’m off in a couple of days.”
Hewson wrote his name and the address on a slip of paper, gave it to Janie and left as two more customers, both wearing light, smart suits, entered.
Hewson was a happy man on his drive back to Fuengirola. He’d heard about Janie starting at the hotel and had decided to try his luck, hopefully before any of the rich Spanish lads wheedled their way in and captured her affections. He had been amazed, not just that she was so good-looking, but that she’d agreed to see him again and come to his bar.
Yes, he thought as he swung his little car into a side street, she’ll be perfectly safe with me. Safe as houses. I’ll show her a really good horizontal time, and he laughed out loud as he drew the car to a stop.
CHAPTER 44
Catching the bus to Fuengirola was easy, Janie had been told. Just hop on to any that were heading west – they picked up at the market about fifty yards from the hotel. When she reached Fuengirola she would see a big, rusty sign as she entered the village. “You can’t miss it,” one of the hotel’s cleaners had told her proudly in the little English he could put together.
She sat in the rickety bus and took in the sights and smells of a different sort of Spain. This was not tourist Spain and certainly not the transport that any of the hotel guests would choose, but she loved it. Around her were a myriad of conversations. She’d been learning Spanish with the help of other hotel staff and the manager, but mainly stock phrases and a few of the more common swearwords – nothing too bad. Real conversations in Spanish were just too fast to follow. It was like asking a Spaniard to understand one of the pub customers in Duffield after ten o’clock – even she had difficulty with some of them.
Janie let the gossiping waft over her as she looked out of the window. The line of building sites seemed almost endless: wooden scaffolding, red mud and grey concrete. Every so often a small shack with a dirty, faded awning over two or three tables and plastic chairs would come into view. Old men – and it was invariably men – sat at the tables with small glasses or cups in front of them while a younger man or a woman wearing a grubby white apron stood against the wall watching or staring into space. No conservation passed between them but Janie could feel, even within the confines of the bus, a bond between the old men. It was like watching a long-married couple: they lived in their own space but it was shared; they communicated wordlessly and without even looking at each other.
Middle-aged, dowdily dressed women and pre-teen children walked along the side of the road. There were no pavements, just dusty paths where the road surface dipped from the pitted tarmac to form what would have been a gutter or drain if it rained. They were dicing with death as the traffic thundered past almost within touching distance.
Sandro at the hotel had been right: in just over twenty minutes the bus passed the beaten-up, rusty sign for Fuengirola and less than a minute later pulled up outside a bar. Janie stood up and waited for other passengers to lead the way off the bus, and about half a dozen moved down the centre aisle.
As she stepped off the battered bus she looked at the other passengers. She looked down at herself. She was every inch the English tourist in her spotless light blue, short skirt and light pink blouse, while everyone else’s clothes seemed to blend with scenery. The women were in voluminous dresses, the few men in baggy brown trousers and shirts that could do with a good wash.
Janie reached into her small canvas shoulder bag and pulled out the piece of paper that Hewson had given her. She read the address and remembered his directions, and set off walking away from the sea and the little harbour.
The Sierra y Mar, Hewson had said, was tucked away down an alley just off the main street. It was just a few minutes gentle walk away and she had no trouble finding the bar. She was quite surprised, bearing in mind the effusive invitation from the Englishman that, compared to the bars and restaurants in the main street where the bus had stopped, this was a near-hovel. Its name was written in crude, large white letters on a deep red board over the door. Janie didn’t know what a drug den looked like but this place was certainly seedy and cheap.
“Janie! This is great. I didn’t think you’d come, and you found us OK. That takes serious geography,” Hewson said as she neared the bar, and he watched her elegantly stride forward on those long, shapely legs. Janie smiled and headed towards a small table set beneath a brightly coloured sunshade. She wanted to be outside, even though it was hot, and not cooped up out of sight in a dirty bar.
“What can I get you?” he asked as she slumped down in a plastic chair, watched by two old men. Their conversation had been interrupted by this pretty English girl but they seemed in no hurry to start again. Janie’s skirt was not minuscule compared to some she’d seen tourists wear but it did show off her long legs, and they always attracted attention. The old men’s eyes were glued to her and their mouths hung open.
“I’d love a long, cold lemonade. It was only a short trip on the bus but it was very dusty and I’m very hot.”
“One minute and I’ll be with you. I’ll just sort these two blokes out.”
Richard turned away and spoke rapid Spanish to the men. Like a native, he waved his arms, laughed and then went back into the bar, reappearing within a minute with two bottles of beer. Each was coated in condensation, as if they had come straight from a cold fridge or freezer, and he placed them down with a flourish. The Spanish conversation continued briefly, with more laughing and looks at Janie.
Hewson went back in and returned with a nearly pint-sized glass full of ice and a cloudy yellowish liquid. Janie took a sip, sighed, and then a long drink as she savoured the cold sharpness.
“You needed that,” Hewson said as he settled himself into the chair opposite.
“That was heaven. How much do I owe you?” She had let the fresh, intense taste flow through her.
“Nothing. That one’s on the house. Anyway, it’s different in Spain. You don’t pay when you get your food and drink in a bar, we just run a tab. You’ll get used to it. I suppose it’s different in a posh hotel like Parasol Gardens. But I’m sure you didn’t come here to learn about Spanish culture or chat to a dumb Yorkshire bloke. You probably know all that from working in that flash hotel.”
Janie smiled. Yes, she knew all about the Spanish way of serving drinks. The Parasol Gardens may be a lot classier but the ways and culture were the same. She looked at the ugly glass of lemonade and compared it unfavourably with those in the hotel. It was tall but not elegant; it was chunky and thick and might not break if it fell off the table. She glanced down. Maybe the flagstone would crack instead.
Hewson looked like he was in sole charge of the bar and could be interrupted at any time, so she decided to cut out the small talk and get straight to the point. He didn’t seem the type to get bogged down in inconsequential pleasantries anyway.
“I’m really here to ask about some friends of mine from Derby. They were looking to buy some stuff, if you know what I mean.” Janie winked and smiled. She placed her now cool hand on Hewson’s forearm affectionately, hoping the gesture would seal the bond so that he really did get the message.
Flattered, he didn’t move his arm away but looked into Janie’s eyes. This could turn out very nicely, he thought, smiling in what he hoped was a sexy way.
CHAPTER 45
Janie didn’t flinch. Hewson’s full-on leer was repulsive. He wasn’t physically attractive and so far he’d shown a repulsive personality. His almost permanently open mouth displayed nearly a full set of misshapen, stained teeth. This guy was not the sort of man she could ever spend time with. An image of Simon Jardine flashed across her mind and she nearly giggled at the comment he would have made about the toothy grin she was getting.
She had met many low life types like Hewson in the pub at home and in Derby’s clubs but most stayed out of her way. She could easily handle them. This Yorkshireman, with his dilated pupils and stick-thin limbs, was no catch for a girl. Perhaps that was why he took solace in drugs, which unfortunately exacerbated the downward spiral as far as physical looks were concerned.
Hewson’s leering expression stayed fixed on Janie. His mind whirred. She’d asked a good question, and in the right way, but this was only the second time they’d actually spoken. Could he trust her? She looked sweet and virginal but she had come straight to the point about wanting to buy from him, so she was obviously savvy. Plus, she’d come out here, and travelling alone in Spain was always a risk for any good-looking girl. Anyway, he thought, there was no harm in talking about the past and it might be good for future business.
“I s’pose you mean some dope,” he said and Janie nodded. “I’m sure I can get hold of a little for you. How much do you want?”
“Well I’m not really sure. My friend from Derby was here a few weeks ago. How much did he have from you?”
Hewson’s interest perked up. That was a big shipment and he’d been told to organise it direct, without a middle man. He’d done very well out of it. Were the guys in Derby using him as a major route and go-between? It would be fantastic if they were but it was best to tread carefully. Was this totty checking him out? Had the top guy in Derby sent someone to make sure he was toeing the line? No. She’s too innocent, too naive. This girl is genuine.
“There was a young guy here a few days ago – maybe a week or so. I’d been told to expect him. He was supposed to be called Steve but when he turned up he said his name was Harry. It didn’t bother me – he seemed to know what he was talking about. I was just setting the deal up. Is this the friend you mean?”
Janie was thinking hard. “Yes probably. How much did you get for him? I can probably match the amount if you’re willing.”
Hewson relaxed. This girl must know Steve, Harry, whatever, so that was OK. It all looked like being a good business deal and he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty either. Just like last time. It was odd, though, that he hadn’t been warned.
“I sorted things out for him with a contact in Tangier but this is where the cash changed hands. It’s not me. I can see you’re totally genuine and trustworthy but I have to follow the rules. That’s what my boss in Derby says, and I’m not going to argue with him and his men. So are we going to do some business? I can get you a sample and we could get together and try it.”
Janie kept her hand on Hewson’s arm. He took her other hand and moved his leg round so his knee touched her bare leg. The lecherous closeness was repulsive but she would put up with it. She wanted to find out as much as possible about the drugs link to Spain – or at least one of the links in the chain – and report back to Simon. She was also feeling excited, if not stimulated. For the first time since the Savoy incident she was actually doing something to exorcise the horror of seeing that dead body.
“So who’s this contact of yours in Derby? I might know him.” Janie squeezed his hand affectionately. Hewson smiled as he pushed his leg forward and tried to force it between her knees. This beautiful girl had not resisted his physical chatting up at all. She wasn’t like the other girls he’d tried it on with. They’d said he was disgusting – repugnante, one of the first Spanish words he’d learned – but Janie may be a bit more willing.
“I very much doubt it. He’s not the sort of person you would be associating with. Apart from the fact he’s much older than you, or me, he’s a Pakistani. Name of Rashid Jamal.”
Janie’s revulsion rose as Richard kept trying to force his knee up between her legs. She took a breath and forced a smile. “You must be a pretty big player if you can organise hash from Africa, or does this Jamal guy do all that?”
Hewson began to feel uncomfortable. The girl was asking too many questions. Just accept that I can get you some dope and let’s make out, he thought. Stop asking me things. Have I said something I shouldn’t? He’d mentioned Jamal and Tangier but nothing incriminating. Was she making out she was up for it or just leading him on?
He shook his head to clear it. “What’s with all the questions? Relax. We can get friendly.”
Janie could take no more of the slimy feeling as Hewson’s knee forced its way along her thigh. She reached down, put her hand on the edge of her chair, pushed herself back and slammed her legs together. Her smiling expression never changed.
Hewson winced as her knees crashed on to his leg painfully. What was all that about? Why had she given him the come-on and was now shutting him out? Was she just another little prick teaser?
Maybe she was just another frigid Brit. Even if she was a bright, young innocent English girl, he couldn’t yet trust her. The owner of the bar or, worse, Jamal would tear him apart if they found out he’d been talking so openly.
Janie’s smile stayed on her face. “I’m sorry about that it must have been a fly or a mosquito or something. Are you OK?” she asked solicitously.
Hewson still smarted from the pain, but more from the deliberate rejection. “Perhaps it’s best if you forget everything I’ve said. I’ve got a little bit of dope here if you’d like to buy some.”
The friendly chat-up was over, Janie thought. This guy’s whole demeanour had changed when she’d blocked his crass attempts to get into her knickers. He’d also said too much and was scared. Perhaps it was time to go. She could always come back, as long as she was still friendly with him.
“Yes, right. It’s been fun and thank you for the drink. I really just wanted to get out of the hotel and meet up with you, Richard. You know, a friendly face and all that.”
Her voice was bright and friendly, back to the professional way she treated everybody in the hotel. “Now I know where you are I can always come back and pick up some dope, but the hotel manager doesn’t take too kindly to people, especially staff, having drugs on his premises. Let’s leave it for a few days.”
Janie looked at her watch. “I don’t know when the buses run so I’d best get back to the bus stop. I have to start my shift in an hour or two. It’s been a real pleasure seeing you in your lovely little bar. It’s great to get a feel for the real Spain with someone who not only speaks the language fluently but is also English. Thanks ever so much.”
Hewson stood up and smiled – this time a more genuine, less leery smile. She may be a prick teaser but she was at least pleasant and he could make a bit of money by selling her some dope next time. “Yes that’s great. Just remember, say nothing to nobody about what I’ve just said. They’d have my guts for garters.”
