Bumping Uglies

Chapter Thirteen

I stood, frozen, rooted to the spot.

I felt a sinking sensation as two forces imploded with my world at the centre. Was Richard a member of The Tunnel of Love? Was he a part of Madam Poon's little family, my brother-in-vice?

The seconds dripped past like treacle spilled on a cold Christmas in Aberdeen. Richard stood staring at the door; I stood staring at Richard.

I darted into the wasteland and threw myself to the ground behind the ramshackle remains of a corrugated iron lean-to, just as the door opened and Richard cast a last look around before heading inside.

I fumbled to retrieve my camera, keen to snap a few incriminating images of Richard entering the knocking shop. That, at least, would serve as some solid evidence to show Sophie. It wasn't until I had undone the clasp, removed the camera from the bag and the lens cap from the camera, and finally raised it to my eye, that I realised...

I was far too late.

Richard was inside, the door was closed and there was nothing to suggest that this particular industrial unit was anything out of the ordinary.

Options, Satchmo. What are your options? I thought.

I could go inside. I too was a member, after all. Perhaps I could ask Elira if she knew Richard...

I lingered on that thought, and the memory of Elira, for a while, then discarded it as ridiculous.

I didn't have the cash for starters, and I was sure that Madam Poon and her collection of muscle would not appreciate me snapping photos or shouting the odds with other punters inside The Tunnel.

My only other option seemed to be to wait it out and to get some snaps of Richard as he was leaving. Then I would need to establish the nature of the Tunnel of Love in such a way as to convince Sophie, but not in the kind of detail that suggested I had first-hand-shandy experience of the place.

Two stake-outs in one day; this was the case that kept on giving.

I adjusted my position to be on the near-side of the lean-to, such that I could just about see the edge of the door. It wasn't ideal, but it meant that I would see the door open and that would give me the few seconds I needed to both get ready, and to duck back out of sight if required.

That done, I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible, which is to say as comfortable as one can be while lying on ground strewn with rubble, shards of metal and God knows what else.

I realised that Richard would most likely be in there for an hour, that being the establishment's unit of currency, and that I would also get the opportunity to tail him back to wherever he was staying afterward.

That would be it; case closed. Nice and easy. Piece of piss, really.

I was just smiling at the thought of a job well done, when I heard an unusual sound. It was a sort of bubbling mechanical cough; regular, and approaching from along the canal.

Phut-phut-phut-phut.

I craned my head and saw the snub-nosed prow of a narrowboat edging around the bend of the waterway. Aware that a guy lying in wasteland with a camera would look beyond suspicious, I rolled back around the other side of the lean-to, picking up a series of cuts and scrapes as I did so.

The narrowboat crested the bend in the canal and seemed to be slowing somewhat. I took greater notice of it. It was painted all in black, without any of the cheerful livery I associated with restored canal cruisers; it bore no jolly name stencilled on the side and its little round windows seemed to have been blacked out. The boat itself was towing a second vessel, a butty, that seemed to be low and flat to the water. It was about half the length of the barge and had no structure or cover, like a floating trailer.