Free Remix (2010) by Lexi Revellian Page A

to its niche on the first floor, then followed me up to the flat.
    “Got any brandy?”
    “Metaxa. D’you want some?”
    I poured us a glass each and we took them outside. The moon was nearly full. No stars; it’s rare to see them in a London night sky. Dog pottered about, then came and settled by Ric. He liked to stay close, as if, having found himself an owner, he was going to keep an eye on him. Ric didn’t have a lead for Dog; he didn’t need one. He stroked the dog’s ears.
    “Phil rang this evening.”
    I looked at him. “Has he sorted out the money?”
    “No. He said he’s working on it - he reckons he’ll have to get me a false identity. He wants me to leave London. Go and stay in a bed and breakfast in Scotland.”
    “Why?”
    “He said I’d be less likely to be recognized somewhere remote. He’d rather I went abroad, but he knows I won’t till I’ve got the money. I’m not going, though. Not abroad, and not Scotland. I’ve had it up to here with remote. I told him. He didn’t like it. He’s afraid I’ll be spotted, then he’ll be implicated.”
    “How long will the money take?”
    “I asked him that, and he said he doesn’t know. I told him I can’t live on nothing. He’s going to post me twenty grand in cash.”
    “That’s a lot.”
    “It’s not as much as I asked for.” Ric brooded. “He’s going to send it to the post office in Albemarle Street addressed to you.”
    “Why me?”
    “Because they’ll want identification before they hand it over.”
    “He could send it here and save me a trek.”
    “I didn’t want him to have your address. I shouldn’t have let him meet you. You told him your surname, and he remembered it. I’m worried he might look you up on the internet, and there’s your website with all your details.”
    “D’you think he did it, then?”
    “I’m not discounting anyone at this stage,” said Ric, making me smile. He must have pinched the line from Agatha Christie. I was feeling cheerful, after a good meal and the Metaxa. I drained my glass.
    “More?” Ric picked up the bottle and gave me a top up.
    “What’ll you do with the twenty thousand?”
    “Spend it.” Ric grinned. “What else is money for?”

    Chapter
    11
    *
    Friday I biked to Oxford Circus and picked up Ric’s money. On the way there I dropped into Topshop and bought two tops, a pair of shorts and some strappy gold sandals. I’d been a bit careful about spending on clothes lately, but felt entitled since getting the cash for the horses from Ollie and Grace .
    Back at the workshop, Ric ripped open the jiffy bag, counted the notes, pocketed them and left the building with a gleam in his eye, leaving Dog with me. I went to work on the Ayres. He’s called Saladin. I had already removed the car filler some idiot had liberally applied, and glued in the new right back leg I made for him, copied from the existing one. I put the horse on his stand while the glue dried, with bolts through the holes, to make sure he would still fit properly on it - something I learnt to do the hard way.
    Now the glue was set, I lifted the horse off and dismantled the stand, then heaved it up to the roof and applied paint stripper to the multiple layers of paint. I was deeply involved in this vile task when the bell went. I peeled off my vinyl gloves, stepped out of the old trainers I keep for messy jobs, so as not to tread paint stripper indoors, and went to answer it. It was Ric.
    “Where are your keys?”
    “Come down to the yard. I want to show you something.”
    “Can’t you bring it up here?”
    “No.”
    Grumpily I slipped out of my overalls and went downstairs in my shorts and bare feet. I opened the front door. Ric, dressed in black leathers, sat astride an immense motorbike that throbbed and snarled huskily, the noise reverberating round the Yard. It was very black; shiny black on matt black, with a few chrome bits here and there to better demonstrate its blackness.
    “I got you a helmet.