Free Seven Daze by Charlie Wade Page B

recognise Jim, he must somehow know him. “Monte Carlo, of course.”
    The other twat sniggered at his friend’s heroic cheek.
    Jim nodded and sipped his lager-style frothy drink. He counted to three inside his head. He wanted to knock the grinning smiles off their faces, but that would come later. For now, he was his best mate. “We stay in Larvotto when we go there,” Jim said. “Obviously, we do the casinos at night.”
    Being bored and in prison had benefits. “Shifty Ted”, a roulette whizz and serial gambler of other people’s money, had talked for hours about his time in Monaco after robbing a post office. It ended nastily of course. He was caught and extradited. But Ted was such a good talker and explainer that Jim had been given a virtual tour of Monaco and its pleasures. Jim had listened avidly, impressed by all the money and wealth, hoping some day he could go there and give the money a new home.
    Twat A grinned then laughed. “Yacht or apartment?”
    “Apartment.” Jim edged slightly to his right. His plan was to nudge Twat B from the conversation. Every sentence saw him edge further in front of him. “Cressida’s father owns it. One of the benefits, you know.” He nodded suggestively. The twat knew just what that kind of nod meant. “Shall we sit down, chaps?” He pointed to a empty table.
    It turned out Twat A’s name was Raif, Twat B had a name too but Jim hadn’t bothered to listen when told it. He wasn’t important. A plan was brewing in Jim’s head, he wasn’t sure where it was going or what it involved, but Twat B played no part.
    They spent half an hour drinking expensive lager and talking about Monaco, bonuses and money. It turned out Raif’s short break was a gift from his company for the best performing twat this quarter. When asked where he worked, Jim gave Charlotte’s company’s name. He regretted it instantly, but he was thinking on his toes and mistakes were bound to happen. He was sure they’d never remember. They were both well gone.
    As they spoke and laughed the plan grew, mutating in his head. What should have been his first venture into wallet thievery was becoming more serious.
    “Better make this the last one chaps,” said Raif. “Melody’s picking me up soon.”
    “You going straight to the airport?” asked Jim.
    “Ya. Flight’s in a few hours.”
    Twat B made his excuses and headed for the toilet leaving Raif at Jim’s mercy. This was hard work yet enjoyable. He still couldn’t believe just how easy it was to be accepted by wearing the right clothes.
    “Which airline?” asked Jim.
    “BA, of course,” said Raif. He pulled the tickets from his rolled up jacket and waved them around, Chamberlain like.
    He’d bitten his tongue for much of the last half hour, but knew this would be worth it. He’d have the last laugh “We went by train once. Terrible journey, took nearly a whole day. Cressida’s idea of course.” Jim tutted. Placing his bottle back on the table, he accidently knocked Raif’s. The bottle rocked from side to side, teasing before it fell, and directed the foaming lager towards Raif’s trousers and expensive mobile that he’d displayed advert-like in front of him.
    “Jesus. Sorry, chap.” Jim reached for the fallen bottle and remounted it, splashing another glug over Raif’s trousers. “Oh, clumsy. I am so sorry.”
    “It’s alright.” Raif stood up. Drunk yet in charge of his faculties, he headed for the toilet.
    With them both out of sight, Jim took a look around. Their corner was quiet and well hidden. The bar was filling; everyone was knocking off early on a summer’s Friday. The weekend calling, a few drinks before the tube was one of the benefits of living in London. Though busy, the clientele were more interested in getting served than what Jim was up to. With one eye on the toilets, Jim slipped his hand into Raif’s jacket pocket and pulled out the plane ticket. Quickly opening it, he read the name and address. Raif