“Spot that I’m waiting for the same passenger.”
“You say it’s a coincidence. Have a laugh about it. Good point though—try not to go for really unusual names—those might seem too much of a coincidence…”
Jarman: always thinking, always with an answer.
“Are you here for long?” Peppard heard himself ask. They had role-played this—the conversations he might be expected to have. Keeping it light. Nothing that might make the mark begin to doubt.
“A few days.” Bullimer was looking around. “Ah, just what I need!”
And what Bullimer needed wasn’t coffee or a newspaper—it was local currency. He used a machine and seemed to take out a decent amount, which he stuffed into a wallet that didn’t exactly look barren. Peppard puckered his lips, almost as if he was about to whistle a happy tune.
“Now I feel better,” Bullimer said, patting his pocket.
“Yes, sir,” Peppard agreed. Then: “If you’ll follow me, please.”
The car was already waiting at the kerb. It was as good as they could manage—a four-door Vauxhall. They’d even given it a bit of a valet service the previous night, though the smell of cigarettes lingered. Bullimer didn’t look overly impressed, but Jarman was wearing a grey chauffeur’s uniform and peaked cap, which he touched by way of salute as he opened the boot.
“Case in here, sir? Management sends apologies. They had a Jaguar for you but it broke down first thing this morning. All the other quality marques were already out on the road, so we were left with this. By way of recompense, your return journey will be on the house. It’s the very least we can do, and again we do apologise.”
All of which was said at a rush as the case was loaded into the boot, the boot slammed shut, the rear door pulled open. Jarman stood there with a smile, gesturing with a hand.
“I suppose that’s all right,” Bullimer muttered. “It’s only forty minutes or so, right?”
“Traffic’s sticky but this old trooper can shift—three-quarters of an hour tops.” Jarman patted the roof of the car. It was Peppard who closed the door once Bullimer was in. Jarman got in the driving seat and put the car in gear. “Seat belt, please,” he said with another smile. Bullimer complied, then turned his head sharply as Peppard climbed in and settled next to him. The car lurched into the roadway.
“My colleague needs a lift,” Jarman was explaining. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“I was hoping to get some work done,” Bullimer complained.
“Tough shit,” Peppard growled.
They left him on a patch of waste ground. They’d taken everything they wanted, including his address.
“You might go and report this,” Jarman had warned, “but we’ll always know where your wife and kids are.”
Just a few punches to the head, when he’d tried opening the car door at a set of lights. After which Peppard had held him tight, forearm around neck, watching the face redden and the eyes turn tearful.
Now, three hours after leaving Heathrow with their cargo, they sat in Jarman’s kitchen and emptied everything out.
Cash: two hundred pounds, four hundred dollars, four hundred euros. Three credit cards. A Rolex watch. Laptop computer, mobile phone, Kindle. One pair of gold cufflinks. Fountain pen…
“Not bad,” Peppard commented.
“Not good,” Jarman sighed, rubbing a finger across his forehead. “I thought we might get more than this. I hoped we would.”
“It’s the luck of the draw.”
“Would it have hurt if he’d been a jeweller or something? A nice big bag of cut diamonds? A couple of dozen watches?”
“We got a Rolex.”
“One Rolex.”
“That’s one more than I had before. I know what you’re saying though—there were some costs involved and we can only do this one or maybe two more times. But at least now we know it works.”
Jarman nodded slowly. “You know what? Right from the off, the guy wasn’t a good enough bet—you should have sussed that, told him you were waiting on another Bullimer. Sometimes the first fish you hook, it needs to be tossed back.”
“So it’s my fault?” Peppard was glaring at his partner.
“Okay, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But when it’s your turn, you’ll land a bigger fish? That’s what I’m hearing.”
“I said I’m sorry.” Jarman picked up the Rolex and checked the time. “We need to get to the pub, offload these cards before they’re cancelled.”
“And the rest of the stuff?” Peppard was checking the inside pocket of a suit-jacket. It was empty.
“Tommo will take it.”
“This is a nice jacket.”
“Lose two or three stone and it’s yours…”