Goin... Goin... Sold

Prologue

The day was Thursday; the sun was gasping its last breath before slipping below the horizon. Frankie Parch took the last draw from a cigarette he’d lit only five minutes earlier.

In his late twenties, six feet two and well built, with his fair hair shaved millimetres from the scalp and a thick neck that seemed to mould into his head, Frankie looked as if he should be standing at a nightclub entrance, rather than sitting in a parked up people carrier, forty miles from Manchester on the Welsh coast.

The vehicle was parked in such a position that he was able to look out to sea; in a small car park used by coast walkers and hardy bathers intent on swimming from the pebbled beach below. Its only access was by a steep, stepped path from the car park.

Looking at his watch, as he’d done a number of times since arriving, he was becoming restless. The launch was late and the last thing he wanted was to hang around.

Harry Stone, of similar build but black hair, climbed back in to the passenger side, after stretching his legs. We may as well go, Hans isn’t coming tonight, that’s for sure, besides, soon it will be too dark to even see anything, he drawled.

There’s still some light left, we’ll give it a little longer; I don’t want to take the merchandise back if I can help it. Besides, he did confirm he was on his way before we left Manchester, Frankie retorted.

Harry shrugged, then pulled a half-smoked cigarette from his pocket, lighting it by using the cigarette lighter set in the dashboard.

He’d only just taken his first draw when both of them saw a small launch come into sight from around the headland. It was travelling fast, the wash breaking an otherwise calm sea.

At last, at long bloody last! Let’s go, Frankie muttered.

Before going down to the cove, they went to the back of the vehicle and opened the large single rear door. In the back and lying in the small gap between the two rows of seats was an eight year old girl. She was wearing old jeans and a T-shirt. Her feet were bare, her ankles bound. Her wrists were tied behind her back. She was unconscious.

Frankie pulled her out, and then with the help of Harry, he swung the little girl over his left shoulder and set off down the steep steps leading to the cove. Harry grabbed a plastic bag off one of the back seats, slammed the door shut and followed. Once at the bottom, Frankie lay the unconscious girl down at the far end of the beach in the shadows.

By that time the launch had arrived; the two men had moved away from the girl and were now standing watching as three people climbed down the rear ladder of the boat, then began wading ashore. One of them was Hans.

We’d nearly given up on you, Hans, Frankie said as Hans approached, followed by two girls of around eighteen. Both girls were carrying a large holdall.

The fucking engine cut out just as we left the ship. Water in the fuel, I think, Hans answered.

Frankie pulled a small torch and two photographs from his pocket, looked at the photos with the help of the light from the torch, and then glanced at the girls. Satisfied, he took a large envelope from his pocket, handing it over to Hans.

Hans opened the envelope, glancing inside, before closing it again and slipping it inside his jacket pocket.

Frankie turnned to Harry. Go up with the girls, he said quietly, at the same time taking the plastic bag off him.

Harry turned to the girls stood waiting. You both speak English? he asked.

Of course, one replied for them both.

That’s good. Grab your bags and follow me.

With Harry leading the way, they began to make their way up the track from the cove. The bags were heavy, but Harry never volunteered to help.

Once out of sight, Hans and Frankie walked over to the girl he’d brought down.

So this is the girl you want delivering then? Hans asked, bending down and shining a small light from a torch he carried into each of her eyes, while at the same time forcing open her closed eyelids. Then her felt her pulse.

Yes, they’ll be expecting you Saturday night. I gave her an injection about two hours ago. It should be good for another hour or so. He handed Hans the plastic bag. If you have trouble entering the country, you’ve everything you need there to get her through. There’s even a small bottle and a syringe. Give her the lot and it will send her completely confused and incoherent in minutes. That will enable you to claim she’s been taken ill on your boat with food poisoning, or whatever, and you need to get her to hospital. I’ve included a new passport with a different name, a small child’s handbag containing a few girly trinkets and a valid national insurance number card that matches the new passport. You’ll get your cash for the transport when you deliver.

You’ve planned it well. The documents could be very useful, if we’re stopped. You know she’s still making the front page on the Continent, even now?

Yes, but if you look at her description, they’re looking for a girl with long, brown hair and a pasty complexion. She’s now got curly black hair and with a little skin dye has a more Mediterranean complexion. The girl looks very different, don’t you agree?

I do; besides, the port we’ll be heading to, the customs is lax, catering only for fisherman and the odd private yacht. So I’m not expecting problems.

With that Hans picked up the girl and like Frankie put her over one of his shoulders. Carrying the plastic bag in his other hand he set off along the beach.

I’ll be in touch later in the month, Frankie said as they walked down to the water’s edge close to the launch.

Okay, see you later, Hans replied, before beginning to wade out. Once aboard, within minutes, the launch was leaving the cove.

Frankie stood watching for a short time and then began to make his way back up the steps towards the car park.

***

The people carrier turned onto the motorway heading into Manchester. An hour later they arrived at an old Victorian-style house, set among similarly styled houses, most already converted into single room flats.

The girls followed Frankie into the house and up two flights of stairs to a room in the attic. The room was empty except for three single beds.

What’s this? My dad paid for us to stay in a flat for six weeks so we could settle in and find somewhere to live, one of the girls asked, at the same time wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell, a mixture of damp and body sweat.

You’re not getting a five star room for two nights before you move to London, so put up with it, Frankie retorted, leaving the room and slamming the door after him, before making his way back down the stairs.

Jakoe, a man of forty, small and balding, who looked after the house, met Frankie at the bottom of the stairs and urged him into an empty room. Your hunch was right, someone is watching the house, that car was there again. There’s a guy of around thirty inside. When I walked past he started up and drove away.

Shit, any ideas who he was?

I don’t think they’re the pigs, or customs, normally they’d watch in pairs. This is the same guy as last night and the night before.

Well, I don’t want whoever it is hanging around, so sort it.

Jakoe nodded his understanding. If he’s back tomorrow night, I’ll call a couple of the lads, have them bump the car, then go from there.

Do that.

Chapter One

Charles Smithe-Jones, although everyone called him Charlie, was to become a singer and an actor. However, to be fair he never knew of this new direction in his career, that was until everyone reminded him that he was a natural, and even this revelation hadn’t been brought up until a flyer for a talent contest arrived at the house, tucked inside a local free paper.

It should be clarified that ‘everyone’ is perhaps a little tongue-in–cheek: that’s because this new-found revelation was restricted more to the immediate members of his family, rather than an agent or talent scout more able than family to spot these startling abilities.

First there was Ethel, Aunt Ethel to Charlie, who enthused for weeks over his minor role in the end of term play for long after he’d left school. Then there was Donald, Granddad Donald to Charlie, and his wife Margaret who were full of encouragement at Christmas. That was after Charlie took charge of the microphone attached to the karaoke unit, given to his brother as a Christmas present, leaving everyone clapping following his rendition and urging him to sing more.

It was to this end that Charlie found himself standing in a very long queue waiting patiently for his turn to put his name forward, before receiving a round yellow piece of sticky paper, on which his number in the contest would be clearly displayed.

Name? a young girl, with huge glasses and baseball cap sporting the name of the promoter, drawled as Charlie finally arrived at the front of the queue.

Charles Smithe-Jones, he replied. I’m a singer and my name is spelt with an e, he added as he watched her writing down his name.

The girl looked up at him with a bored expression. I know how to spell Jones; after all it’s hardly rocket science. We’ve had fifty of you already.

No … the Smithe has an e. I wasn’t suggesting you couldn’t spell Jones, Charlie cut in.

Oh ... you’re one of them, are you? What’s wrong with just plain Smith or even Jones? I presume your address is not just a number as well is it?

Hey, don’t get heavy with me. I was born with the bloody name. But the least you can do is to spell it correctly; after all when I win, names are very important. Mind you, he said sheepishly, you’re right about the house; my mum calls it Smithe Lodge, Risings, Essex, although we’re not actually on the Rising, but the corner and we’re really 1, Rack Lane, off the Risings. But she’d never admit to that.

The girl grinned. Okay, I’m sorry, but you won’t believe how many mothers have been at this table giving me names, it made me just want to roll on the ground in laughter. If I were you I’d change yours fast, after all if you’re going to be a pop star, Smithe’s a bit nose-in-the-air, don’t you think?

I can’t say you’re wrong. I’ve spent the last eighteen years being called Charlie. Mum goes mad and always calls me Charles. Anyway, how about a stage name like Brendon Grange?

Excuse me, she laughed. Brendon Grange, what sort of name’s that? I think you’re a Reece. Maybe even keep the Jones but stuff the Smithe.

When you two have finished thinking up a name for a two minute stage wonder, I’d like to register this side of dinner. After all, my son will knock spots off all the so-called talent that’s been on up to now, commented a woman standing behind Charlie.

The girl looked up at the woman. Yeah … I’ve been hearing that all day from everyone. It’s going to be bloody crowded on the winner’s podium at this rate. Anyway, I’ve not finished with Reece – I mean Charles here yet.

I don’t like your attitude, young lady. I’ve a good mind to complain.

The girl shrugged indifferently. Do that and you lose your place? There’s at least seventy behind you.

Tell you what, how about I call myself just Charlie Smith without the e? Charlie cut in, already becoming embarrassed at what was beginning to look like quite a confrontation.

Yes, okay then. Here’s your number, currently waiting time’s about three hours so you’ve time to get some dinner. Good luck!

He gave her a weak smile and wandered over to find a seat. Pulling a scrunched up sandwich from his pocket, he began chewing it slowly. Now his mind was drifting to the time he would be on stage. The initial questions, then the stunned silence as he began to sing, followed by a performance that would bring the house down. Yes, he could see this was the first rung of his new future and a hundred miles away from the hot grill of the local steakhouse he slaved over eight hours a day, besides the ribbing of his ex-girlfriend who had decided he’d never get anywhere in life and she didn’t want a loser as a boyfriend.

He was brought out of his dream with a bump when his name was mentioned. I said do you fancy a drink, it’s my break?

Standing in front of him was the girl from the registration table: now she looked very different, her hat missing, hair down and no longer wearing the huge glasses. In fact, in his mind, she was a very attractive girl.

Hi, yes I’d love to go for a drink. What’s your name?

She looked a bit embarrassed. Sherry, Sherry Malloy. And before you say anything, like everyone does, I know I’m named after a drink, but I got it after an argument between my mum and I think it was my dad.

He frowned. What sort of argument gets you a name like Sherry then?

Sherry sighed. My dad, or whoever, wanted me named after his favourite football team and my mum couldn’t seem to get it into his thick skull that I was a girl. So when he demanded what she wanted to call me, she was apparently lost for a name, then she saw the word ‘Sherry’ on a bottle behind the bar they were in, so that was it – I became a bottle of booze.

Charlie smiled to himself; he had the girl on the run. And this is a girl who ribbed me over Smithe.

I didn’t rib you, that’s unfair; I just said it wasn’t really a stage name!

He stood and grasped her hand. Come on, let’s get a drink, shall we? Mind you, you’re only getting a lager, I’m not buying posh drinks like your namesake.

She laughed, giving him a friendly punch. I hate sherry; I had some at Christmas a couple of years back. Well, I say some, half a bottle to be precise and God was I ill. Now I just feel sick at the thought of drinking the stuff again.

Walking over to a pub across from the hall, they spent the next ten minutes fighting a huge crowd to get to a bar, swelled by people from the auditions with the same idea. Finally succeeding, they took their drinks outside to the back yard of the pub. The yard had been turned into a sort of half-hearted beer garden: in reality though, an area smokers could huddle under a precariously built cover if it rained, and three wooden picnic tables with every space covered in empty glasses, bottles and overfull ashtrays.

Leaning against the back wall, Sherry looked at Charlie. So what brought you along to the auditions?

I don’t really know, now I’m here. It all sounded so good at home when everyone kept saying I was a natural, so I thought what the hell, it beats cooking steaks all day. But with hundreds of people to compete against, and only one winner, it seems a bit pointless. Mind you, I’ve at least got something out of it.

She frowned. What?

A drink with you.

Sherry grinned. Yes, well, you’d not even have had that if I’d not come and picked you up.

Okay, I’m shy, I admit it. So how long have you worked for the TV studio? he asked, at the same time pulling a cigarette packet from his pocket and offering her one.

She took a lighter out from her bag, lighting both her’s and Charlie’s. Thanks, I needed that. But this job’s not permanent, a mate found it for me. It’s only a couple of week’s work, besides being really naff and boring. My hand feels like its going to drop off with all the writing. You take abuse all day and all that for under a fiver an hour. Besides, the more I see, the more I think it’s a con.

Why’s that?

Well, they’re not part of the BBC or ITV; this is a private venture, although they don’t make that clear. Then work it out, five quid entry cost, food and soft drink concessions charging double the price for everything. I’ve signed up six hundred already and there are three of us at it. I bet they’ve made ten grand.

You mean it’s not going on telly? So who’s the guy going around with a camera and the girl talking to the contestants then?

She laughed. That’s Frank and Pippa; she’s supposed to be an actress but she’s only ever been in one film, a low budget sort about some walking zombies. She lasted for one scene and then got eaten. They have to wander around the waiting area and keep the clients happy, make them believe they’re all stars, but the films are to go on YouTube mostly. I think Barry, who has set all this up, is hoping to get someone like that woman on telly that got tens of thousands of hits and an American contract. Haven’t you read the small print? By agreeing to enter the contest, you agree that the promoter becomes your agent with a twenty percent charge on your earnings. They can’t go wrong. If you’re useless they get a fiver. If you’re one in a million they get to manage you.

So I’ve wasted my money?

She smiled wryly. For the talent contest, yes, but you met me, that must be worth a fiver? That’s unless you’ve already got a girlfriend and not saying?

Charlie laughed. I did have, till she told me I’d no ambition and she didn’t want to be seen with a loser. I think after what you’re saying about the competition, she’s probably right.

Oh, that’s a blow.

What is?

Well, here’s me asking you to go for a drink and all the time you’re a loser. I certainly pick ’em.

I could win.

Yeah … and pigs fly.

Okay, so what about you, is there a boyfriend lurking?

You mean you don’t think I’ve got one?

No … I didn’t say that. Have you?

I’ve had loads of offers, even a few from contestants.

Yes … but have you got one?

Not yet, because I’ve not said yes to anyone.

So how old are you?

Why do you want to know that?

He looked at this girl for a moment before replying. She was acting very defensively. No reason, just wondered, that’s all.

I’m eighteen, what about you?

The same.

Sherry looked at her watch. Got to go now, see you around then and thanks for the drink. She began to walk away.

Do you want to go out with me one night? he blurted out.

She stopped and looked back at him. I suppose I might, when?

Friday, but it’s got to be after eight. I’m working till half seven and need to get changed. If I don’t, I smell like a steakhouse.

Can’t do Friday, I could meet you Saturday.

We could but then it’d be ten.

I’m not going out at ten at night. When’s your day off?

Monday.

So make it Monday then. What time and where?

He thought for a second. We’ll go to the movies. I’ll meet you outside the multi-cinema at seven.

She nodded and walked away.

Charlie stayed another ten minutes or so and wandered back. Already he was feeling really despondent and he’d not even got to stand on the stage yet.

Chapter Two

The day following the talent contest found Charlie, as usual, working hard cooking steaks. A waitress named Patricia, whom everyone called Pat for short, was hanging around waiting for him to turn the first three out onto plates.

So how did the audition go yesterday, Charlie? she asked.

It didn’t, besides I don’t want to talk about it.

Oh come on, after all you’ve been on about it for days, so you could at least tell me what happened.

He turned two steaks over and looked at her. I waited four hours, gave the man my CD and he dropped it. He wasn’t very careful picking it up, scraping it along the floor before he could get hold of it. Then of course when I got out on the stage the CD wouldn’t work, it just kept screeching then nothing. That was a put off I can tell you, especially after me spending a minute or so building my performance up.

So you never got an audition?

I got one alright, but had to sing without music. That was really difficult and I couldn’t keep the tempo going. But there was worse to come, because suddenly the music began to work, although not, I might add, at the same point I was singing which left me hastily trying to fit the words to the music. In panic I began a bout of coughing which blew the song completely. I was going to apologise and ask to do it again, when they pressed the buzzer calling for the next contestant. To tell you the truth I was more than relieved, I couldn’t get off that stage quick enough.

She, by then, was in fits of laughter. Sorry, she said after seeing he wasn’t amused, but you have to look at the funny side. Besides, there’s always next year.

You have to be jesting. I’m not going back, ever. Maggie was right; I'm a loser, although I did get a date. I met a girl called Sherry; she’s eighteen and nice looking. We’re going out on Monday.

By then he’d turned the steaks onto the plate and the waitress had picked them up. That’s a blow, Patricia said as she walked away.

Why? he called after her.

I was going to ask if you’d take me for a drink, now Maggie was out the picture, she called back, before disappearing through the swing doors leading to the restaurant.

As Charlie stared after her, he was stunned. This was the second girl who’d asked him out, except this girl he really liked, but never thought he’d have a chance with her. Sighing, he went back to the steaks as another waitress came in asking if her order was ready.

***

On the way home later that night, Charlie called into a local bar directly opposite the bus stop close to home.

Over here, Charlie, a man’s voice shouted.

He went over to the small group of men. Hi, Dad, where’s Mum, is she not out tonight?

No, she’s watching some reality show on telly. Just finished work, have you? Want a pint?

Yeah … I could murder one. The grill really gets your throat parched, he answered, taking a ten pound note from his dad’s hand. Do you want a refill?

I do, lad, and a half for Eric.

When Charlie went to the bar, his mate Rick was leaning on the counter watching a football match on the television behind the bar.

Alright Rick. You’re in early tonight.

Hi, Charlie, I’m not working. We’ve been laid off, haven’t you heard?

No I haven’t, you don’t get to know anything in that kitchen. So how long are you off for then?

They didn’t say. Talking about three to four weeks. Well stick that, I’m off to find another job.

Well, if you see anything good, think of me. I could do with getting out.

Rick laughed. You … I’m talking about a skilled job. I’m a welder not a labourer.

Charlie never commented but handed the barman his money before taking a long drink of his pint.

Coming to the match on Monday? Rick asked.

No, I’ve a date at seven.

Have you … So who’s the unlucky girl then?

Charlie glared at him. If you must know she’s eighteen and quite a stunner. Besides, at least I do get dates; all you ever do is talk about it, leaning on this bar every bloody night.

Yeah … well if she’s anything like your last one, she won’t hang around either after finding out you cook steaks all day.

Charlie shrugged. Whatever, he said, taking the change from the barman and collecting all three glasses. I’ll see you around.

Spending the last hour playing darts, Charlie left the pub with his dad. Already he’d begun to look forward to seeing Sherry again. After all, they seemed to get on okay and he’d no intention of propping the bar up every night, like Rick.

Chapter Three

Hi, been here long? came a girl’s voice.

Charlie turned to see Sherry approaching. She was wearing a fluffy jumper and skin tight jeans, her hair up. He thought she looked stressed.

Not really, he answered. Well, yes I have, in fact I was thinking seriously of going back home.

Yeah … sorry about that but it couldn’t be helped; I had to go somewhere for my mum and it took longer than I thought. Anyway, what’s on?

Charlie looked at his watch. We’ve missed the start of Android so it’ll have to be Night Star.

Okay, whatever.

Her seeming indifference to him having to wait close to half an hour for her annoyed him, even though she’d obviously taken a lot of care in her make-up and looked particularly attractive. His only concern was if he’d not known she was eighteen, he’d have taken her as more sixteen. Pushing these thoughts and concerns to the back of his mind they went inside.

The cinema was practically empty, but they still took a seat at the very back. She snuggled close to him. Her soft perfume suited her and Charlie found it intoxicating. They said very little for a time as the film began, then she looked at him.

Are you still mad at me?

Why do you ask that?

With me being late; now we have to watch a crap film.

He grinned. But couples going to the movies aren’t usually interested in the film that much. Just being alone together is okay with me.

Sherry moved closer and kissed him on the lips. Her lips were soft, warm and sensuous. The tips of their tongues touched, he could feel a tingle running down his back as she slipped her arm around him, pulling him closer to her. She was nothing like his old girlfriend, this girl knew how to kiss, how to make a man want her. Soon the film was forgotten, her lateness for the date unimportant. Charlie was hooked as he held her close, even the perfume adding to the aura that surrounded this girl.

At that moment her telephone bleeped. She pulled away, dragging the phone from her pocket and looking at the screen.

Shit, got to go, sorry Charlie.

But you’ve only been here an hour, he protested.

She moved closer and kissed him once again, this time with an intensity that demanded reaction. Every bone in his body was tingling, she was arousing him and he could do nothing to stop her. Then she suddenly pulled away. How about a drink Wednesday night? You name the place and I promise I’ll make up for tonight.

Charlie was at a loss. The adrenaline was still running through his body, so he just nodded his head up and down like a nodding donkey. That’s great, Bull’s Head at nine?

Sherry smiled. It’s a date and I will be there on time, I promise. You stay and watch the rest of the film. I’ll see you then.

She kissed him once more and left. He sat, a little stunned as to how she’d just walked out on him, and yet there was no way he could object. Her actions slick, timed to perfection, drawing him into her then dangling the promise of an even better date to come.

He stayed to the end of the film, walking the two miles home rather than taking a bus, in lots of ways embarrassed if he arrived home too early and making it look like she’d stood him up. So he walked slowly, looking into shop windows he’d normally have walked past, and all the time he kept glancing at his watch, willing the little hand to move faster so he could go home. But it didn’t, time dragged and soon he was sitting on a bench in the park staring out across the calm, still waters of a lake, his mind blank.

***

Charlie arrived home at a respectable eleven forty-five, flopping down on the settee after his nineteen year old brother, Tim, had made space.

Had a good night then? Tim asked.

Great, fantastic. Sherry’s some girl I can tell you, we’re out again Wednesday.

So where did you go?

Charlie tried to act indifferent. You know, went to the movies, walked in the park, sat by the lake.

Tim frowned. You didn’t?

No … not on the first date. We just talked and the usual.

Where are you off on Wednesday then?

Bull’s Head, do you want to meet us there with Sandra?

Yeah … why not? We can have few bevies and a game of pool.

Sounds good.

Charlie stood and stretched. Right, I’m off to bed. I’m on early in the morning. The boss has started breakfasts, so it’s a bit extra in the pay-packet.

See you later then.

Chapter Four

After Sherry left Charlie she ran down the main street into the bus station, at the same time checking her watch as she ran, realising if she missed this bus, it would be another hour before the next, or an expensive taxi fare. The driver was about to close the doors when she climbed aboard.

Another two seconds and we’d have gone, love, where are you going? the driver asked.

Harrington Road, she replied, placing two pounds on the tray.

He looked at her for a moment before keying in the fare. Harrington Road, and the streets around it, was not a place a young girl should be going at this time of night alone. Well known for girls working the streets, but looking at this girl she didn’t seem to be dressed like, or even look like the ones hanging around there. However, his initial estimation of this girl standing there had gone down, and he virtually threw the change into the tray.

Sherry thanked him and moved further into the bus, selecting a seat close to two elderly couples. She always tried to do that, feeling safer than sitting apart, alone.

Pulling out her phone, she looked at the text she received on the way to meet Charlie, telling her that an arrangement she’d made to meet a Harry Stone for a potential job tomorrow night, had been brought forward to that night. Sherry had text back to say she couldn’t make it. However, the text she received when she was with Charlie gave her an ultimatum. Meet at Harrington Road as arranged, or forget it. With a threat like that, she’d no option but to go.

***

Twenty minutes later she climbed off the bus, watching it disappear into the distance; she felt nervous, alone in this part of the city. Already she’d text to say that she was on the bus and could someone meet her. She, like the bus driver, knew the reputation of this area and had no intention of standing about for long.

A car slowed, the occupant looked at Sherry and was about to wind the passenger window down, but changed his mind when another car drew up behind him sounding its horn. He set off again,