Death on the Pont Noir - By Adrian Magson Page 0,82
car,’ he said casually, and named one of the bars where the garage had been mentioned. ‘I think his name was Marco.’
‘Is that right?’ The man studied him carefully. ‘I don’t know any Marco.’
‘Well, maybe I got it wrong. But you do sell cars, right? For cash?’
‘Now and then.’ The man indicated with his chin Caspar’s car, a dark-blue Peugeot. ‘But it looks like you’ve already got one.’
‘It belongs to my brother. He lent it to me but he needs it back.’ He dropped the cigarette and stamped on it. ‘Still, if you’re not interested.’
‘Depends how much you want to spend,’ said the man. ‘We do good work – we’re not cheap. And it would have to be cash.’
‘Sure. Are you the owner? Only I like to deal with the boss.’
‘Are you saying you don’t trust me?’ The man looked prickly, his eyes narrowing. His voice had dropped to a low growl.
‘I’m not suggesting that. I just like to know who I’m dealing with, that’s all – especially if I’m going to spend a decent amount of money.’
‘Then I’m the boss, yes. You dealing or not?’
The man was lying. Caspar didn’t know who he was, but he wasn’t the main man – he could feel it. ‘Okay. Have you got any models I can see?’
‘Not here.’ The mechanic flicked his cigarette away and turned to go inside. ‘Meet me in thirty minutes … I need to finish up here first.’
‘Sure. Where?’
‘Back to the main road, go right and take the third on the right. There’s a lock-up down there where we keep our cars. Bring cash. You do have cash, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ Caspar held out his hand. ‘I’m Michel.’
The man ignored the hand. ‘Good for you. See you in thirty.’
Caspar drove out of the street and followed the directions to the lock-up. It was as the man had said. The building was fairly new, a brick-built, metal-clad unit of the type springing up everywhere, and big enough, he estimated, to house about a dozen vehicles. It was in darkness, with no cars outside and no signs of life. He parked along the road and walked back to the front door, and peered through the glass. All he could see was an office containing two desks and a scattering of paperwork. He checked he wasn’t being watched and walked around the back, where he found a large roller door opening out to a hardstanding. The area was unlit, sunk in heavy shadows. There were no cars here, either. He stepped up close to the roller shutter, where an oval window was set in one of the metal sections. He rubbed away a film of grime and put his face against the glass. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the poor light.
The lock-up was empty.
He stepped back from the roller door and kept moving, walking away from the building until he was standing in the shadow of some trees fifty metres away, off-site. His skin was prickling and he felt his pulse quickening. He’d been in this situation many times before, and had learnt to follow his instincts; and right now, his instincts were telling him to get out – fast.
But he waited.
Ten minutes later, a car appeared and turned in at the front of the building.
The man was early.
Then he saw movement inside the vehicle. At least three occupants, all big. He stood absolutely still. The glow of the headlights wasn’t strong enough to reach back here, but he didn’t want to take any chances. This was their turf, not his, and they’d soon pick up on anything unusual.
He heard the car doors opening and closing. A murmur of voices, then footsteps. One man appeared, walking away up the road, passing briefly beneath a street light. He was wearing a leather jacket and boots, broad-shouldered and with a shaved head. Checking out the parked cars, Caspar decided.
Then two more men came round the side of the building and checked the rear yard. They were dressed in work clothing and heavy boots, and moved in concert without talking, as if they had done this before.
Caspar heard an oath when they found the area empty, and watched as the men walked back to the front and stood chatting. The first man came back, and as he met his colleagues, he shook his arm and a length of metal pipe slid out of his sleeve.
The three men laughed and got back in the car and drove away.