Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

“You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Maybe so. But I’m not the one that began the amateur psychology session. If I wanted to open my heart to the public, I’d go on the Oprah Winfrey Show. I’m tired and I need to go to bed because I’ve got a sneaking feeling that our team boss thinks that we can do better than third next time and he’ll be at me from early tomorrow. So goodnight.”

“What if I said that it was all over?”

“Then you’d be lying. You didn’t build a business by letting people walk over you. Those poor misbegotten smugglers walked over you. Oh, they didn’t mean to but they did. You’ve built your life by taking out the people who walked over you and kicking them to death.”

“But what if I did say that it was over and that you could walk? Would you?”

“That’s one hell of a good question. But it’s not one that I can answer. I don’t determine my own future. I delegated that responsibility to Superintendent Davenport. If this operation closes, Davenport will simply find another.” He didn’t feel so happy about accepting that. Much as he had tried to avoid human feelings for Penhalion and his crew, he would not be at all happy to leave them at this juncture. It wasn’t only the buzz of the racing. It was the contact with honest-to-God ordinary human beings. Not good guys, not bad guys. Just humans with all the feelings and foibles that that included. So ask Davenport your hypothetical question.” Kane turned to walk away.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It is what it is.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was like a social history of the world, Doc thought, as he looked around the faces of the mechanics gathered in the Charlie Chaplin pub in the Via San Cesareo. The drivers and managers were in the Sorrento Palace quaffing the champagne while the hired help slugged beer in less salubrious surroundings. Doc was playing the drunk and had gradually brought the conversation from the accepted subject of marine engines to the more controversial subject of drivers and managers. He was surprised by the result. According to his colleagues, there wasn’t a decent man in the ranks of the bosses. The managers were universally slavedrivers while the drivers were always laying the blame on the crews. The boat-owners/drivers were exclusively drunks, lechers with strings of mistresses, penny-pinching bastards, and barely short of the devil himself as far as misdeeds were concerned. Doc threw in a few whoppers about Kane to play along with the game. After listening to an hour of bitching, he had a list the length of his arm of possible candidates for the man that they were seeking. And the top of that list was undoubtedly Barrett. However, Barrett wasn’t alone. As the stories of misdeeds resounded it appeared there were others equally qualified.

“Your boss might be a bastard,” Doc slurred at Barrett’s mechanic. “But at least he has the balls to stay in there. Imagine the amount of money he lays out from his own pocket to keep the team going.” He slurped down some more beer.

The mechanic tossed his eyes up to heaven. “I don’t think that everything comes directly out of his pocket. Sometimes other pockets are involved.” He tapped the side of his nose knowingly.

“Is that so?” Doc waved his hands in the air to attract the attention of the barman and signalled another round. He didn’t appear to have heard a word the other mechanic had said. “And whose pockets might they be?” he smiled stupidly.

“Mum’s the word.” Barrett’s mechanic was beginning to slur. “Loose lips s-s-sink s-ships. You can get yourself hurt by talking about certain people.” The smile suddenly faded from the mechanic’s face and it was replaced by a puzzled drunken look. He leaned towards Doc breathing whisky and beer into his face. “You’re a bloody curious little bugger aren’t you? I think I said too much. What did I say by the way?”

“Damned if I know.” Doc paid for the round of drinks and immediately tasted his beer. What I do in the line of duty, he thought as he poured half the glass down his throat.

“Mr Barrett is a gentleman and one of the best bosses I ever had. Did you hear that?” Barrett’s mechanic shouted at the men around the table. “The best boss I ever had and a gentleman. That’s all I know.” He stood up from the table and ignored the beer that was sitting on the table before him. “I’m going now. I s-said too much.” The mechanic staggered away from the table.

“Funny fella,” Doc said, pulling the full glass of beer towards him.

He was wondering whether he should follow when he saw some of the other mechanics staring at him. He launched into the first bars of ‘I left my heart in San Francisco’ and several of the others around the table immediately joined in. He gradually allowed those with better voices to take over the singing duties while he reviewed his evening’s work. They were no further forward than they had been when they sat in the Europol office in The Hague. He was beginning to think that Kane was right about this operation. There were too many suspects, most of whom appeared capable of being the great-grandson of Jack the Ripper. They would need a stroke of luck to break this case and even if they got it, he wasn’t sure that Kane would be able to get inside. He’d been watching his partner closely over the past few weeks and not because he considered him to be fucked-up and on the edge of a breakdown. Kane was beginning to lose his detachment. Doc had been undercover enough times to know that you can’t care about the people you’re mixing with. You can’t identify with ordinary people because they become your Achilles heel. Eventually, you go back to