Take the Next Road on your Left (7)

“Where the fuck are you?” Hardman bellowed into the mobile so stridently that his bark bounced off the walls of the narrow corridor inside the police station, “We’re 45 minutes behind. I can’t delay any longer. Most of the other delegates have to be away by four”
Most of them were going nowhere and Hardman knew it. He was directing their careers now. They didn’t call him Dead-End Derek for nowt.
“You’re the guest speaker for God’s sake - number one, the boy that doesn’t fail; the rallying call to the troops to get out and sell. The standard I set so I can sack the bastards if they don’t achieve”
I may have been guest speaker but I couldn’t get a word in here.
“Rid myself of the dross. Get some real hard sellers in the company. That’s what I’m getting paid for to give the firm targets; a direction, a path to prosperity”
Here goes and I dived in like a swimmer who doesn’t know the depth of the backwater pool he’s stumbled across rambling.
“I’m in the police station”
Hardman’s next sentence was muffled. He’d either clasped the phone to his garrulous chest or thrown it away but I thought how funny it was that practically every word in the dictionary could be garbled by a poor line or interference with the exception of an expletive.
“Derek, I’m not arrested or anything”
“Come clean Charlie. I’ll support you”
Cane me more like I thought.
“Listen Charlie I have to make a statement, as a witness, okay, just a witness. Then I’ll be along. I’m not due to speak until all the presentations are done so that gives me an hour. Offer my apologies and start the meeting. I’ll be there. The cop shop’s in the city centre so I can’t be that far from the hotel”
No answer.
Let the old bastard sack me. I’ll walk into any rep job with my CV. Besides I could do with a change. Maybe I’ll go work for Charlie’s old mob.

DCI Tudor turned the corner looking agitated.
“I’ve made my phone call – I’m ready when you are”
“Did you get a coffee?” he asked and moved swiftly by me forcing me up against the corridor wall.
“No, but I have to…”
“We forgot him Colin”
“You’re not so important here Charlie boy” The words reverberated around my right eardrum. DCI Tudor had snuck up on me, ninja-like, so that I could smell his bad breath on my nape.
“I’ve just spoken to my boss. He’s expecting me. I have to speak…”
“You’ll talk to us first – when we’re ready right Colin?”
“Aye, a little bit of proper police work required first, eh Tom?”
“A dedicated profession, Colin”
“Commission free, Tom”
“May take some time”
“We have time”
I hadn’t the time but I also hadn’t any choice. They traipsed off into the office at the end of the corridor followed by at least two dozen more staff, uniformed or otherwise. Something big has happened. It’s got to be the robbery, I thought. Maybe they’ve caught them, whoever they are. Don’t tell me you bastards; I’ve only been interrogated and practically accused of being the guy with the hot wheels. The past two hours had been like one extended Pinter pause, like completing the first leg of a triathlon in porridge. I needed to move forward. My feet were tingling.
I tried Hardman again but the phone was dead.
“Oh shit”
“Problem Sir?”
A middle-aged policewoman had approached me.
“You don’t have a charger for a Nokia do you?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Can I get you a hot drink, a coffee or tea? You may be some time yet. Something has cropped up I’m afraid, that were not at liberty to discuss with you.”
Why did they all speak the same bloody moribund dialogue? Estate agents and officers of the law; you could sit in a dark room and have either recite Plato at you and you’d know instantly what they did for a living. But she was pleasant in her way and, mind you, Vlad the Impaler would have proffered better company after Messrs Tudor and Windsor.
“Coffee, please. I’ll need to use a phone to call my boss”
“Yes of course. Just around that corner there – it’s on the wall”
“I might still need the charger”
“Okay”
Two minutes later and after the sixth attempt I finally got through to the hotel reception. I dictated my message like a condemned man confessing to a priest.
“The police won’t let me go you see. No, no, don’t say that: he’ll think I’m guilty of something” I giggled nervously and was answered by a huge sigh at the other end.
Then it occurred to me that despite my bravado I really didn’t want to lose my job. I’d spent a lot of time setting up contacts, cultivating a client base, and, as good as I knew I was it would be expensive game convincing them it was in their best interest to switch companies and follow me, especially after using the same argument to get them to buy in the first place.
“Tell Mr Hardman that I’m a witness to a bank robbery and …” Where the hell was I going to go with this one. “…the gang got away” At least part of this was true, I guessed, from the huge assembly of officers in the far room.
“They’re on the run and I happened to see one of them. It’s for the photo-fit you see?”
I don’t know what the smell was like their end but, even for me, the horseshit was humming uncomfortably.
“I…won’t be able to make the presentation” The words barely traversed the huge lump in my thorax.
“Thank you sir” said the ‘nice’ female receptionist, who could barely conceal the contempt and impatience simmering beneath her facile efficient vocal chords.
“And the name…”
“Lucrii – Charlie Lucrii”
“Is this a hoax sir?”
“No, it’s my professional name. My real name is O’Flaherty”
“I’m very busy Mr Flatly or is it Mr Lucky? Make your crank call somewhere else!”
The phone burred like the flat line on a cardiogram.
“Pompous cow” I seethed. Why hadn’t I written Hardman’s mobile down when he gave it me?
I went back to the small interview room and sat down. The WPC returned with the coffee.
“It’s not very good I’m afraid. Cheap stuff - we get it wholesale”
“Charger?”
“I’m afraid not. Then again the station’s practically empty due to that thing I can’t tell you about”
“Statement?”
“Oh – not me, but someone will be along”
“When?” I felt like a fucking quiz show host.
“Not long. We’ve got a few officers coming in on overtime. Half an hour, an hour at most”
I doubted that very much. Even if it were as quick as she promised it’d be at least three o’clock and I was due to speak at half-past two.
“Short-staffed then? I may need a job”
“You don’t look short of a few bob. Bet you’ve got a top job”
“Not after today” Then I explained.
“When the officer’s finished with you ask them to write you a letter to give to your boss explaining everything”
“Will they give me one for my Mum if I’m home late for tea?”
She laughed cheerily at my sarcasm.
“Only if you’re a good boy”
And then I thought of Val