Free Cold Blood by Alex Shaw Page B

drive them. These skills he had learnt in his native Transdniester working on Soviet-made cars where only the ingenious managed to stay on the road. By the time he had finished working on his new car it would be anonymous and fast, just what he needed to operate without being noticed. He had almost bid on the BMW he had seen but decided not to. A BMW was a bandit’s car and even though he was a bandit he did not want the world to know. He was happy to be back in London and decided that it was now time to finally spend some of the money that he had earned from his ‘uncle’. Shipments were coming in via Tilbury docks from the continent and he was always nearby observing, just in case anything went wrong.
    On one occasion he believed that the operation had been compromised when he saw a group of men watching from a van. He had kept his own watch on them but was very relieved to find that they had been from HM Immigration and were concentrating on a shipping company using illegal immigrants as labour. The fact that he himself was an illegal immigrant had not been lost on him. That had been close, as his shipment was due in the same day. But, unperturbed, he continued to lurk in the shadows with his pair of Leica high-powered binoculars. He kept a ‘birds of Britain’ book in his glove compartment just in case anyone wanted to confront him. This, along with a false Ornithological Society of Latvia photo identification card and an RSPB sticker on the windscreen, would hopefully explain his strange behaviour to all but the very persistent. These he would need to add to his new vehicle.
    He paid in cash for the car and drove it away. Sticking to the speed limit he cruised out of south London and headed east for the Blue Water shopping centre in Kent. The traffic was mostly light at this time of day on a Wednesday but built up as he approached the complex. He parked his new car by the House of Fraser entrance and entered the store. He was taken aback by both the range of goods and the prices. The shops on the streets of Tiraspol still displayed shoddy Soviet-era clothes and cheap Chinese electrical goods. He could still not get used to the choices available to him here especially now that he was ‘cash rich’, compared to many, that was.
    He picked up a Ralph Lauren polo shirt and almost laughed out loud at the price: £55. Nevertheless he chose four, two blues, a black and a dark red. Next he picked up a couple of pairs of chinos and three pullovers before finally he added a jacket to the pile. The assistant had a happy look in his eyes as he rung up the total – in excess of £700. Arkadi smiled and paid in cash. The assistant was slightly perturbed by this but put the sale through and in his estuary accent, which seemed out of place in an up-market shop, wished him a ‘nice day’.
    Cheban next picked up a mall map and studied the layout. He spotted the shop he wanted and entered. It was a small unit but full of authenticated celebrity items such as autographed pictures. He pointed to a photograph of David Beckham and said that he wanted that one. The assistant informed him of the price; this time Cheban did laugh out loud but still laid down a pile of notes on the counter. Feeling happy with himself he grabbed a large coffee before returning to his car and driving back to London. Later that day he would dress to impress and give the Polish waitress her present; he had overheard her say that she liked the new ‘England football captain’. However first he would work a bit on the car. He made a mental note to go to the nearest Vauxhall dealer and get a set of proper wheels. He was allowed to look flash but the car was not.
    *
    Odessa , Southern Ukraine
     
    Varchenko put the large Crimean grape into his mouth and looked at Ruslan. He was a mess. Tubes stuck out of his nose and greasy hair protruded from his bandaged scalp. He was now sitting upright and could finally speak for the first time.
    “Tell me exactly what