Even Money - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,91
he was in any danger.
“My boss says he wants to talk to you,” the man said.
“You can tell your boss to bugger off,” I said.
“He wants to do some business,” the man went on.
“Still tell him to bugger off,” I said. “I don’t do business the same way he does.”
“He wants to buy you out,” he said, ignoring me.
I stood there looking at the man in complete surprise.
“What?” I said, not quite believing what I’d heard.
“He wants to buy your business,” the man said.
“He couldn’t afford it,” I said.
“I don’t think you understand,” said the man. “My boss wants your business, and he’s prepared to pay for it.”
“No,” I almost shouted. “I don’t think you understand. My business is not for sale, and even if it was I wouldn’t sell it to your boss, whoever he might be, for all the tea in China. So go and tell your boss to get stuffed.”
The man flexed his muscles and began to get red in the face.
“My boss says that you can either sell it to him the easy way or lose it to him the hard way.”
“And who exactly is your boss?” I shouted at him.
He didn’t reply but advanced a stride towards me. My head start had just been reduced to nine yards.
“Stay there,” I shouted at him. He stopped. “Who is your boss?” I asked again. Again, he ignored me. And he advanced another stride. Eight yards.
I was at the point of running when another voice came from behind me.
“Hello, Teddy Talbot. You all right?” I turned and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The big man from the betting ring was staggering up the parking lot towards me, together with his band of brothers. “You in need of some help?” he said, only slightly slurring his words.
I turned back to the two bullyboys.
“That would be great,” I said. “I think these two men are just leaving.”
I stared straight at them, and, finally, they decided to give up and go. Luca and I stood surrounded by the cavalry, and we watched as the two men walked across to a black BMW 4× 4 and drove away through the archway and out onto the London Road. I made a mental note of the number plate.
“Were those boys troubling you?” asked my mate, the large guy.
“Some people will do anything to get their losses back from a bookie,” I said somewhat flippantly. “But, thanks to your lot, they didn’t manage it today.”
“You mean those two were trying to rob you,” said another of the group.
“They certainly were,” I said, but not quite in the way I’d made out.
“You should have said so. I’m a policeman.”
He produced his warrant card from his pocket, and I read it: PC Nicholas Boucher, Northamptonshire Constabulary. Off duty, I presumed, in multicolored tropical shirt, baggy shorts and flip-flops.
“I got their car registration,” I said.
“Good,” said PC Boucher. “Now, what exactly did they say to you? Did they demand their money back?”
“Well, no,” I said. “They hadn’t quite, and you guys turning up must have frightened them away before they had a chance to. And I’m only assuming that’s what they wanted. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”
“Oh,” he said, rather disappointed. His case was evaporating before his eyes.“Not much I can do if they hadn’t actually demanded any money from you. But did they threaten you?”
“They looked quite threatening to me,” I said.
“We can’t exactly arrest people for just looking threatening, now can we?” he said ironically.
“No,” I said. “I suppose I can see that. But I’d love to know who they were so I can watch out and avoid them in the future.”
“What was their vehicle registration?” he asked.
I gave it to him.
“No promises,” he said. “It’s against the rules, really.”
He took his mobile phone from his pocket and called a number.
“Jack,” he said into the phone. “Nick Boucher here. Can you do a vehicle check? Registration victor-kilo-five-five-zulu november-victor.” He waited for a while. “Yes,” he said. Then he listened again. “Thanks,” he said finally, and hung up.
“Sorry. That vehicle is registered to a company, not to an individual, so it won’t really help you.”
“Which company?” I asked him.
“Something called HRF Holdings Limited,” he said. “Ever heard of them?”
“No,” I said. I looked at Luca, who said nothing but shrugged his shoulders. “Thanks anyway.”
“Are you guys going to be all right from now on?” said PC Boucher. “I’ve got to get this bunch of drunks home. I’m the designated driver.”