Shafted Read online

  Taking it, Keeton gazed at the printed picture and whistled softly between his teeth. ‘Bloody hell, that’s nice.’

  ‘What is it?’ Larry peered over his shoulder.

  ‘Range Rover Sports, with full body-kit,’ Terri told him. ‘One of the guys who works at our head office in LA ordered it for his British wife, and he gave us permission to use it for the shoot before he ships it over. Trouble was, he ordered so many extras to be added to it that I was starting to think it was never going to be ready. But it’s done now, so that’s one less thing to worry about.’

  ‘Until it gets here,’ Keeton said, his tone serious now. ‘You’ll need armed guards to keep the ringers away when they hear you’ve got this on the premises. There’s firms in Manchester who specialise in stealing and exporting luxury vehicles, and they wouldn’t think twice about hitting an out-of-the-way location like this to get their hands on it.’

  ‘Good thing you and your men will be on hand to stop them, then.’ Terri smiled, seeming not to grasp the seriousness of what Keeton was saying. Then, letting him know that she was actually fully aware of the risks, she said, ‘Don’t panic, Bill, it’s not actually going to be here. I had a chat with our guys back home, and we figured we’d need so much extra insurance and security to keep it safe that it wasn’t worth the risk, so I’m having a couple of life-size picture boards made up instead.’

  Still gazing at the picture – and seriously thinking about ordering one for himself when he’d built his savings back up – Larry asked what they were planning to do with it.

  Telling him that it was a bogus bonus prize, Terri said, ‘We’re going to flash it up on screen at the end of your ad – kind of like an added incentive for the targets to accept our invitation.’ Glowing with excitement now, she hugged the papers she was holding to her chest. ‘This is going to be so good! Larry Logan, a gorgeous car, and the best crime-buster in Manchester. How can we possibly go wrong?’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Keeton scolded her softly. ‘You know what they say about tempting fate.’

  Amused that this upstanding figure of authority was driven by the same superstitious fears as most showbiz folk, Terri smiled again and promised not to even think it in future. Then, glancing at her watch, she said, ‘Wow, lunchtime already. I know you said you didn’t want any, Larry, but can I persuade you to change your mind and join us? I’m starving, and Bill is bound to be ravenous, because – between you and me – he’s a bit of a pig.’

  ‘That supposed to be funny?’ Keeton said dryly, frowning down at her.

  Grinning guiltily, she said, ‘Sorry, Bill. Didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘I’ll let you off this time,’ he said mock-sternly, winking at Larry as he added, ‘But don’t let it happen again, or I’ll have to arrest you.’

  After lunch, which he’d barely been able to keep down because he was so nervous about getting in front of the cameras again, Larry holed himself up in his makeshift dressing room and tried to learn the script. It was mercifully short, being just commercial length, but he’d never been good at memorising lines so he just couldn’t seem to get it right. And the harder he tried, the worse it got.

  After an hour in front of the mirror, grinning like an idiot, his once sexy wink cheesier than a chunk of Cheddar as he tried to deliver the words with conviction, he tossed the script aside in disgust and lit a cigarette. It was hopeless. He was never going to get it right and didn’t know why he’d thought he could, because it was quite obvious that he’d lost whatever he’d once had. He was utter shit, and it was no wonder nobody had wanted to give him another chance after Star Struck. And he had half a mind to go and tell Terri that she’d made a massive mistake.

  But then he’d have to relinquish the money, and he absolutely couldn’t afford to do that. So, picking up the script, he tried again.

  Still plagued by doubts when Terri brought the make-up artist in a little while later to get him ready for camera, Larry was shaking from head to toe by the time she led him out to the set. Standing on the X-spot with the entire crew facing him, he silently cursed whichever gods had put him in this terrible position, pleading with them to quit fucking with his head and whisk him out of here so that he could die in dignity, because he just knew he wasn’t going to remember a single word he was supposed to say.

  Then, suddenly, the lights came up, and almost as if they had triggered a switch in his head, Larry felt a surge of Super-Host blood course through his veins. Eyes twinkling, feeling as if he’d come home after being lost at sea for a thousand years, he looked into the camera when he received the cue and delivered a word-perfect take – and that was an absolute miracle, given how long it had used to take him to get it right when he was still fronting Star Struck.

  Commercial for Gotcha! in the can, and his photo taken for the flyers, there was nothing left for Larry to do but go home and wait for the big day to come around.

  He was under strict orders from Terri to relax so that he would be on top form when he went back in front of the cameras for real. But he was far too excited for that, so he cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, then waded through the backlog of mail that he’d been ignoring – intent on clearing his debts while he had the upfront half of his fee sitting in his account. That done, he sat back and twiddled his thumbs, willing the time to hurry up and pass.

  The advert was airing every evening – and it was brilliant, even if he did say so himself. And now that he’d had his first sweet taste of the limelight after so long out of it, he was itching to get back to work.

  He just didn’t want to think about what he would do when it was all over.

  6

  Larry barely slept a wink the night before the big day. He tried, but it was impossible, and he tossed and turned all night, filled with a sickening mixture of terror and excitement. He knew he could have dropped off in minutes if he’d given in to temptation and downed enough Scotch to drown the voices of the gremlins in his head – who were trying to convince him that it was all going to go horribly wrong. But he’d done so well in cleaning himself up over the last few weeks that there was no way he wanted to risk sliding back down that slippery slope for the sake of a bit of sleep.

  There would be plenty of time for that when it was all over and he was slung back onto the scrap heap – as the gremlins insisted he would be.

  Climbing into the white stretch limo which Terri had sent for him in the morning, pale, exhausted, and in desperate need of an expert make-over, Larry closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool glass of the blacked-out window, praying that nothing would go wrong.

  Keeton was standing outside the back door when the limo pulled into the studio parking lot fifteen minutes later. Dressed in slacks, open-necked shirt and buttoned-up cardi, with his thinning red hair combed neatly over his freckled pate, he looked more like a benevolent grandfather than a respected police inspector when he opened the door to let Larry out.

  ‘All set?’ he asked, giving Larry a pumping handshake.

  ‘Bit nervous,’ Larry admitted, shivering as the cold morning air bit at his fragile body.

  ‘You’ll be fine once we get you inside and warm you up,’ Keeton assured him, clapping a fatherly hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on, let me give you a quick tour before we kick off.’ Pulling the door open now, he waved Larry in, saying, ‘You won’t recognise the place since last time you saw it. You’d never guess it was just a front, it’s that good.’

  He wasn’t wrong, Larry soon discovered when, instead of the mass of activity and cacophonous noise which had been going on all around him last time, he found himself in a fully kitted-out TV studio with the calm, hushed-air quality that was peculiar to professional recording areas.

  Following Keeton out through a heavy stage door behind the set and into a long corridor, which ran the entire width of the building, Larry saw that there were several offices already in operation, and the sounds of ringing telephones, typewriters, printers and fax machines drifted o
ut as Keeton led him past.

  Stopping at the far end, Keeton pushed open a door and waved him in. Telling him that this was the mail room, he nodded towards a stack of sacks piled high in one corner, and said, ‘They’re all applications. Pity most are from ordinary folk who could probably really use a shot at the money, but you have to cast a lot of sprats to catch a mackerel, don’t you? Or, in this case, shark.’ Grinning now, he folded his arms and gave a proud sigh. ‘Must say, I never expected it to be this much of a hit when I put the idea to Terri. Almost makes me think a career change might be in order if I can pull something like this off in such a short time. I’m obviously wasting my talents, eh?’

  Amused that Keeton was crediting himself for how well things were going, Larry decided not to burst his bubble by pointing out that it was more likely Larry’s involvement that had tipped the scales and persuaded people to put pen to paper. It took time to build up this kind of interest from the public, and it certainly didn’t happen for new shows – not unless the host was already a hit. And, judging by this, it was obvious to Larry that he still was a hit – which just proved how wrong Frank Woods had been when he’d insisted that the show was always bigger than the star. And could it be any coincidence that Star Struck was reportedly losing viewers? Larry didn’t think so, somehow.

  Satisfied that he’d seen enough, Keeton now jerked his head for Larry to follow him through to the greenroom, telling him as they walked that they had received confirmations from most of the targets they were after.

  ‘We’ll probably have a few no-shows,’ he concluded, pouring two coffees from the urn and carrying them over to an empty table. ‘But I’m expecting most of them to turn up, so I’m not overly concerned about losing the odd one.’

  Frowning, because it hadn’t even occurred to him that somebody might not turn up, Larry tore open a sachet of sugar and tipped it into his cup. He hoped to God they all did, though, because no criminals meant no show – putting him right back where he’d started. Nowhere.

  Answering Larry’s unspoken fears as he poured three sachets of sugar into his own cup and stirred it, Keeton said, ‘They’ll come, or they wouldn’t have bothered replying. But even one out of ten would be a result, so, like I say, I’m not worried.’

  Taking a pack of Bensons out of his cardi pocket, he passed one to Larry. Then, squinting at him across the table when they’d both lit up, he said, ‘Not about them, anyway. But there is one we haven’t heard back from, and I’ve got an idea I wanted to run by you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Intrigued by the sudden seriousness of Keeton’s tone, Larry sat back in his seat.

  ‘Dex Lewis,’ Keeton said, his eyes taking on a cold light at the mention of the name. ‘If I could get my hands on him, I’d happily let the rest of them walk. But we haven’t heard back from him since we sent him the ticket, and we sent two follow-up letters warning him that he’ll miss his big chance if he doesn’t confirm, but still nothing.’

  ‘He’s obviously not interested, then,’ Larry said simply, wondering why Keeton was bothered about one man if he was so convinced that the rest would come. One more or less wasn’t going to make or break the show.

  ‘I want him,’ Keeton replied darkly, the gleam in his eyes unnerving Larry. ‘And this might be my best shot at getting him, so I’m not letting it go without a fight. That’s why we’ve decided to give him the full VIP treatment – which is where you come in.’

  Peering back at him through the smoke, Larry felt his heart rate step up a pace. Something told him he wasn’t going to like this.

  ‘We want you to go to Lewis’s house and schmooze him,’ Keeton explained, adding quickly, ‘but you won’t be alone, so there’s nothing to worry about. One of my men will be acting as your chauffeur, and I’ll have plenty of back-up scattered around the area, so we’ll be right on it if there’s any trouble.’

  ‘You are joking, right?’ Larry drew his head back, his brow puckering with concern. ‘He must be bad if you’re this keen to get him. So what is he? An armed robber, or something?’

  ‘Pardon my French, but Lewis is a cunt,’ Keeton said bluntly. ‘And the worst kind of cunt at that, because we know he’s got his nose in all sorts. But we can never pin him down. He’s either got an alibi, or he just isn’t where we think he’s going to be when we go looking for him. But I’ve had a tip-off that he’s been seen at his mother’s place recently.’

  ‘So why don’t you just go round there and arrest him?’

  ‘Not that easy,’ Keeton muttered, tapping his cigarette agitatedly on the rim of the ashtray. ‘It’s not his house for starters, so we’d have a problem getting a warrant to enter when all we’ve got to go on is hearsay. Anyway, the mother’s as bad as him, so she’d hide him down her knickers if she thought he’d fit. And even if we got in and found Lewis there he’s guaranteed to kick off and I can’t put my lads in danger, because he seriously injured a couple of them last time we pulled him – and only got fourteen months for the privilege, which is nothing for someone who’s spent half their life behind bars.’

  Eyebrows creeping steadily upwards, Larry gazed at the inspector in disbelief. He didn’t want to endanger his own men, but it was all right to sacrifice Larry?

  ‘You don’t seriously think I’m going to agree to this, do you?’ he croaked when Keeton looked back at him expectantly. ‘Can you imagine what would happen if my face got damaged? I’d never work again.’

  Assuring him that he wouldn’t be in the same danger as his men would be, Keeton said, ‘One thing you’ve got to understand about criminals . . . they might hate uniforms, but they love being associated with fame, ’cos they all think they’re fucking superstars already. And in their own little underworlds I suppose they are, which is why they get away with so much, because no one will dare grass them up. But if someone like you gets in with Lewis, he’ll be your best mate – I guarantee it.’

  ‘Er, I’m not sure I want a best mate like that.’ Larry gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Anyway, if he hasn’t responded to the letters, he’s obviously not interested, so I can’t see me making any difference.’

  Peering at him across the table, Keeton said, ‘I honestly think you would. And I’m not just saying that because I want you to do it – I’m saying it because I know you’d walk it.’

  Flattered that the inspector seemed to have such faith in him, Larry sat back in his seat and exhaled loudly. The sensible, life-preserving part of his brain was screaming at him to say an emphatic no. But, perversely, the same terror was weaving a seductive spell on the rest of his body, giving him a tingling sensation of excitement at the thought of being involved in something so dangerous. It would make for shit-hot TV if he pulled it off. And why wouldn’t he? He was Larry Logan.

  Which was precisely why he shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

  Watching Larry for a good few minutes and seeing the emotions – from terror to excitement to panic – flicking through his eyes, Keeton said, ‘Look, I can see you’re not sure about this, so I’m going to lay it on the line. Truth is, if I thought it would work I’d steam into his mother’s place and take him out. But even if we got the warrant, we’d need so many men to tackle him, everyone in Manchester would know we were there before we got out of the van, and he’d be on his way to Spain before we got through the door. That’s why I need you.’

  Stubbing out his burned-down cigarette, Larry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing that Keeton would quit staring at him.

  Taking the hint, Keeton finished his coffee and slid his sleeve back to look at his watch.

  ‘Right, well, I’d best go and see how Terri’s getting on.’ Standing up, he looked down at Larry with a hopeful smile, saying, ‘No pressure, son, but I’d appreciate it if you’d think it over and let me know as soon as, so I can shuffle a few things around. Okay?’

  ‘What’s Lewis done?’ Larry asked, folding his arms defiantly to let Keeton know that he’d by no means decided yet.

  Pursing his lips, Ke
eton looked down at him, weighing up how much he should actually reveal, given that Larry was, in effect, just an ordinary member of the public. But he needed his cooperation right now, and if that meant telling him things that he was not really entitled to know, so be it.

  ‘We’re after him for jumping bail on a charge of TDA at the moment,’ he said.

  ‘Is that all?’ Larry frowned, sure that TDA was something to do with cars. ‘Bloody hell, the way you were talking, I thought he was a drugs baron, or a mass murderer, or something.’

  ‘That’s all we’ve actually got on him at the moment,’ Keeton admitted. ‘Which is another reason why it’s not worth trying to get a warrant for his mum’s place, because there’s no real justification for heavy-handedness on a minor charge like that. I honestly couldn’t tell you how many more things he’s done and got away with, though – but it’s a fair bet they involved violence, because that’s the kind of guy he is. We’ve pulled him for numerous violent incidents in the past, but he must have some sort of charm hanging over him, because he always manages to get off more lightly than he deserves.’

  Gazing back at him, Larry sensed that the inspector’s interest in Lewis was far more personal than professional. Keeton obviously hated the guy and would do anything to put him away – no matter who he had to sacrifice to achieve it, apparently.

  ‘Look, our powers have increased since the last time we had our hands on him,’ Keeton told him now. ‘And if I can just get hold of him for long enough to get a DNA sample, I’m sure it will lead us to something more serious than the TDA. You’d be doing me and the rest of Manchester a huge favour if you helped me,’ he said now, gazing down at Larry earnestly. ‘And I’d stake my reputation that you’d be in no danger. But it’s your decision, so just think it over and let me know one way or the other before it gets too late. Okay?’