National novel writing month (chapters 5 and 6 - unedited)

Chapter 5

Ms Carpenter's strange little campaign.

Ms Carpenter tended to get up late, make a cup of herbal tea, light a spliff, and turn her laptop on, check her e-mails, reply to a few, and then check her records. she was keeping obsessive files on anyone she came across, who had annoyed her, she clicked on the file of her housing Officer, unhelpful little fucker, she said to herself. She recorded details of their most recent meeting, highlighting the fact that he had refused to contact her neighbours. I'll get him one Day, get the little fucker sacked.

She turned on her stereo, and blasted out some techno, perfect for 2 in the afternoon, she smiled as she knew the effect the music would have on her neighbours, and how they would know she would only play it for 20 minutes, no time for anyone else to hear it, their little secret. She was meeting friends tonight, at a pub in Stoke Newington, she was looking forward to it, she would be able to tell them about her campaign, against the Housing Association, and against her neighbours, and how she was going to get the whole of the fucking house. She turned the music off, and left, taking care to really slam the main front door, she
knew the house would shake, and walked down to the health food shop, she worked there for a few hours a week, cash in hand.

Later, she got on a 73 and headed for Stoke Newington, it was a bendy bus, and they were free, well no one ever asked to see a ticket, and if the inspectors got on, you could just about get off in time, you had to keep a look out though. She walked up Church Street, stopping to look in the estate agents windows, and the extortionate house prices, and walked into Defoes, she didn't particularly like the pub, but her friends lived around the corner, and liked to be able to get home quickly and get stoned, she was staying there tonight, it was going to be a good one, get
drunk, and get stoned, and fall asleep to some nice chilled music.

As she entered the pub, she didn't notice Joe sitting in a little alcove, he was drinking with his work mate Barry, and clocked Ms Carpenter as she entered. He managed to angle himself so that she couldn't see him, he whispered to Barry and told him who it was. Barry nodded and smiled and then produced his dictaphone,maybe we can listen in he said. Joe was surprised that Barry had a dictaphone, but then realised he used to be an estate agent and had probably nicked it from them.

He was also surprised that Barry had suddenly had a corker of an idea, which became an even better idea, when Ms Carpenter sat down around the corner from them, within earshot. Even better than that was that it was a fairly quiet point in the evening. Barry said quietly that he had 3 tapes that were good for half an hour, they decided to wait for her friends to arrive. Joe was a bit trapped, as he couldn't go to the bar or the toilet as he might be spotted, he handed Barry a tenner to get a round in. Alas he couldn't get Barry to go to the toilet for him, in fact Barry went straight to the toilet for himself, smiling at Joe as he pushed open the gents door,
"fucker!" joe mouthed at Barry's smiling departing face.

Barry brought the pints back just as Ms Carpenter's friends arrived, they went over excitedly to Ms Carpenter, Joe could just about see them both greeting her, hugging her and kissing her. He felt mildly nauseated, he had never imagined her as having friends. He thought the first part of their conversation would involve catching up, and he wasn't wrong. Barry showed him how to use the dictaphone and walked off to play the fruit machine. Joe switched on the dictaphone when he felt that it was about to get interesting.

"so I went to see the Housing Association, and that dick of a housing officer, I am so going to get him sacked, he doesn't take me fucking seriously, he doesn't smirk at me, but I can imagine that he is having a secret smirk, do you know what I mean?"

they both nodded, so did Joe, in his little secret alcove.

"What that little dick doesn't know, is that I managed to get this flat by making my previous landlord's lives a misery, I was on the phone to the chief executive every fucking day. They had given me a crappy flat, in a block, and I wanted a fucking garden, they kept giving me this bollocks about how I didn't have enough fucking points, they certainly gave me enough fucking points when I rang the chief executive on his phone at 2 in the morning"

They all laughed, including Joe, as tactics went, it was a good one, piss off the chief executive until they decide to palm you off on another association. It was also fantastic information, as he knew she had been hassling his chief executive, in fact the only time he had ever spoken to the bloke was when he rang Joe to ask him about her.

"I've managed to convince them that my neighbours are harassing me, that's the secret, then they'll either evict them, or move them away, and they'll be terrified of moving anyone else in because of all the hassle they'll get"

Joe knew he had more than enough on tape, and had already decided on a bit of a confrontation, he whispered to Barry to film the little meeting on his mobile phone, "keep it short said Barry. Joe waited for an opportune moment, maybe when his name was mentioned again would be the best one.

"that dick of a housing officer has been no help at all, I don't think he believes a single word I say"

This was a good moment, thought Joe, with Barry filming, Joe got out of his little alcove, sipped a little of his beer and announced

"that dick of a housing officer knows more than you think"

He showed her the dictaphone, rewound it, and played her own voice to her and her friends, she now had that ashen look that Joe had recently started to like. She started swearing at him, and made a grab for the dictaphone, she was easy to dodge as their was a table between them. Joe switched it off and beckoned Barry over, he handed the dictaphone to Barry, and ordered two pints at the bar. He wasn't going to leave his pub, his local. He watched as Ms Carpenter had a whispered conference with her worried friends.

"you won't be able to use any of that you arsehole, it's not admissable as evidence, and you better watch your fucking back" she added, with what she thought was some menace, but it made her friends uncomfortable to hear that.

Barry clicked the dictaphone off, with what some might say was a flourish "haven't you said enough darling" he grinned at her rapidly departing back..

Cheers he said as we clinked glasses, a job well done.

Chapter 6

Delayed Entry

Lance woke up fully clothed on top of his bed, he looked at the bedside alarm, 8am, he was ok. He hadn't scheduled any meetings this morning, he had to be in the Downing street by 2.pm for a meeting. He undressed, folding his clothes neatly, even though they smelled of beer, and cigarettes, he always folded his clothes, even as he out them in the laundry basket, he liked to put them in neatly, he'd do that task later. He climbed into the shower, and turned the water on, extra cold, he needed to be refreshed, he shivered as the cold water hit is body, and lathered with the expensive gel he liked, it smelt of citrus fruits. He emerged from the shower and grabbed the dressing gown, and headed down to the kitchen. He made himself a coffee,
and grabbed the pile of news papers from the front door, he had all the papers delivered, even the daily sport, just in case there was a story he could exploit, he liked to be deep background, and had briefed favoured journalists in the past, giving them titbits, and in return he asked the occasional favour. He had called these favours in a few times, usually after a mugging, when he was lucky enough to have one of his journalists pick up his scent. A quick phone call to him and he gave them something better than a junior minister being stupid. He had made life very uncomfortable for several more senior ministers in the past, hadn't actually caused any sackings,
but one "I want to spend more time with my family" and even that didn't end up in a promotion for him.

There was nothing of interest in the paper, his boss had given the traditional dull but worthy speech. He really needed to get better writers, not Lance obviously, he was awful at writing speeches and depended on a small team of graduate interns, clever and very cheap, extremely keen, who did loads of research, and made him look good, with snappy speeches.

He decided to get public transport to work, he could have driven, but he didn't fancy facing the London car nightmare today. He decided on the same suit, all his gear was in there, why bother going to the hassle of transferring everything into the pockets of another suit, as he got to his meeting, he had to go through the security cordon, it was then that he remembered dropping something the night before in the bin store, he then remembered what he couldn't see in the dim light, his fucking security pass. It had to be there, but he couldn't exactly just stroll by and pick it up, only tenants could get in there, and there was the small problem of not knowing exactly where it was.

He had a fallback plan to get in, he was able to be signed in to the meeting, making the pretty piss poor excuse that" it must be in my other jacket" during the meeting, he repeated a mantra in his head, "i will get out of this, I will get out of this, I always have before, I always have before" and he believed himself. Somehow a recovery plan would come to him, and he'd recover the lost pass, with no damage done. It might cost him something, cash and favours, well it would cost him, but he was confident that he would get through this mini crisis, relatively unscathed.

It was when he received the phone call that his confidence, if not shattered, was dented, the caller would not give his name, but said he had found his security pass, knew he was an mp, and must be worth a few bob, and wanted a "finders fee". At first Lance tried his best bluster, said he was going to call the police, that he wouldn't be blackmailed, the caller then added his trump card, "Tracey says hello", who the hell is Tracey was lance's initial thought, which he expressed out loud. "Tracey who you were with last night, in the bin store"

Lance knew he was fucked, but he could still rescue this, it was just a security pass, he could concoct a story about losing it in Kings Cross, just as he was getting a train to his safe (not for long at this rate) northern seat. But even as he was thinking this, his voice blurted out "how much" £2000 said the voice, Lance was absurdly pleased, a story like this could get £10,000 in a tabloid, even though he wasn't that well known, ok, Lance said, without admitting to the caller that he was worried, I can give you £1500, no more, if you don't like that, do whatever you want. Lance sensed some desperation in the reply, and realised he should have offered less, the voice
said yes, and gave him an address. Lance wasn't about to go to some run down pub (it sounded run down) "it won't be me who comes, but you'll get your money" call me again in 2 hours and I'll give you the arrangements, he had to control the negotiation, going to the pub himself was out of the question. He had to think of some place to meet, and someone to take his place. The voice agreed, and disconnected the call. At first he wondered how it had been found, wouldn't the cleaners have just swept it up and dumped it? Then he figured that he probably wasn't her only client, so she had probably gone back there later. Then given it to her pimp, who saw a money
making opportunity, in a way he admired the guy, he could have made more money from the papers, but obviously didn't want his name or picture splashed all over the tabloids.

He needed a go between, someone to take money from him, pass it to the pimp and get his card back, as he tried to think of someone, his mind kept settling on one person, Joe. He knew Joe wouldn't exploit the situation, one of Joe's faults was that he was a decent bloke, he didn't like to fuck people up. He made the call, told Joe he needed a favour, that it was important, but that he couldn't discuss it over the phone, he agreed to call around to Joe's flat that evening.

He felt better, he would get out of this mess after all.