The Lover's Children novel Chapter 15

MICHAEL

Tucking the phone back in his pocket, Klempner jumps down again, brushing his jacket straight as he lands. “Michael, bring up the truck if you would. “We’ll be taking quite a lot of this.”

McGuire beams. “Shall we discuss the price first, Sor?”

“Get out what you have on that list. Let me see it in decent light.”

McGuire nods to Jimmy. “You heard the gentleman.” Then, “It’ll take a few minutes. Can I get you a coffee, Sor, while you’re waiting?”

“Thank you. Black, no sugar. My man here will have one too.”

McGuire awards me the kind of look normally reserved for something with too many legs found living under the kitchen sink. I give him my best smile. “Milk. No sugar.”

Klempner accepts coffee in a paper cup. For all his bland expression, humour lurks behind his eyes as McGuire scribbles on a scrap of paper, chews on the end of his pencil, then scribbles some more.

“That’ll be seventeen-fifty with everything. But, for you, Sor, I’ll say fifteen hundred.” He thrusts the paper forward for inspection.

Klempner surveys the contents. “There’s no welding kit.”

“Ah, sorry, Sor. If you’d turned up earlier, you could have had it. But I sold what I had earlier this morning. A good quality MIG. Very well looked after.”

“Could you get another? For next week, say?”

“I might well do that, yes.”

“How much?”

“Shall we say five hundred?”

“That’s a good price.”

“It is, Sor. But I always give a good price to a good customer. I charged seven hundred for the one I sold this morning.”

“Is that right?” Klempner scribbles an extra note on his list. “Alright, load it all onto the pick-up.”

“Jimmy, you heard the man. Now, Sor. It’s cash, I assume?”

I set my cup down, freeing my hands…

Here’s where the fireworks start…

“Nope,” says Klempner. “Just load up what we’ve agreed. I’ll be on my way.”

McGuire havers. “I’m not following ya, Sor?”

“It’s very simple. You load these goods onto the pickup. You can give me the seven hundred paid for the welding kit. I’ll drive away and we’ll say no more about it.”

Colour rises from McGuire’s collar. “Jimmy, go get Donovan, and be quick,” he hisses.

The errand boy darts off, vanishing into the crowd. Klempner stands, hands thrust in his pockets, sucking in his cheeks, apparently casual. But something about the way he rocks on the balls of his feet says the nonchalance is feigned.

McGuire bullies up close, eye-balling Klempner. “What the fuck you talking about?” Spittle arcs from his lips.

Klempner leans back a little, tugs a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his face. “It’s very simple, Mr McGuire. These goods have been stolen from friends of mine. I’m here to reclaim them. You load the equipment onto the truck. I’ll drive away and you’ll hear no more about it.”

“Now, look here…” snarls McGuire. “This stuff’s mine. All bought and paid for. Legal like.”

“That, I doubt. But if it’s so, you’ll have no problem with my calling in the local cops, will you.” Klempner produces his mobile from a pocket, ambles around the air-compressor, aims, and the camera clicks and whirrs. “I have the list of serial numbers, so there’ll be no difficulty establishing that the goods are legally yours… Will there?”

McGuire’s chin juts.

Klempner continues, his voice mild. “Or if you prefer, I’ll put the photos I just took of your stolen goods up on social media. Hash-tag stolen-goods Hash-tag handcuffs. What do you think?”

From somewhere in the crowd, Jimmy reappears, swaggering in with a companion. The stranger is short, heavy-set and was born destined to play the part of the heavy with the low forehead.

McGuire spits onto the tarmac. “These gentlemen are leaving. Jimmy… Donovan… Escort them to their vehicle, would you. And get the phone off that bastard there.” Arms folded, legs akimbo, he stares Klempner in the face…

… or tries to…

Klempner’s not looking at him, but at the stranger. His head tilts and he sucks in his cheeks, then delivers a jack-o'-lantern grin. “Long time, no see, Donnie. I thought you were working for Vince Caproni? Moved down-market a bit, haven't you?”

‘Donnie’ double-takes on Klempner, gawks and pales, then mutters something to his companion, who halts in mid-step.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you two?” snarls McGuire. “Get this pair of fuckers out of here.”

Neither moves, instead shuffling their feet.