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  Chapter Two: Double Cross. My head feels like it is going to burst, the pain is right in the middle of my skull; I am mad, really mad. It’s not easy trying to collect my thoughts and think of a productive way out of this mess, but my natural will to be a winner and not to lose keeps me going, keeps me thinking of ways to turn this back to my advantage. Ray Mead is the problem, that ingratiating sales guy who suckered me. It’s Sunday, but who cares; damn him and his bloody cronies. Basic manners and a respect for any man’s home life initially tugs at me to wait until Monday morning, but this cannot wait: where’s that phone? ‘Ray, Hi, how you doing? Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday mate, but can we talk?’ ‘I’m with my family and friends, can’t it wait?’ ‘Not really Ray, something has happened’. ‘I know, Stuart told me on Friday, he was not impressed’. ‘Not impressed! What does he think I feel like? What’s going on? Why has your high and mighty leader cancelled the flights and hotel bookings’? ‘You told me he would get the work for all three cooling units’. ‘You know that’s not true Ray, the deal agreed between us was strictly to the value of present sales, not to any future sales or any work awarded in the past; your boss did the dirty on me and you know it’. ‘Well you need to have these things sorted Steve; Stuart thinks he should have got the work for the 3rd unit’. ‘That was not the deal Ray and you bloody well know it. You have left me in the crap and you know so’. ‘There’s no need to talk to me like that Steve, I will talk to you on Monday. And I don’t expect you to phone me at home on a Sunday and give me grief on my day off’. Then ‘Click’ the phone goes dead and my attempts to call him back fail miserably as he’s switched his phone off. ‘God damn it’. The surmising and stress continues at home, and only settles down once the flights are booked out of my own money. That night as we lay in bed, Cat is watching TV and moans at me for continually tossing and turning, but it was hopeless, my mind mulled over what that idiot of a man had done to us, if you could call him that, and how aggressive his tactics were. And then, to cap it all, in total comparison to my own anguish, I notice Cat has flaked out and is blissfully out for the count, without a care in the world; breathing gently as her well toned body ticked over with effortless grace, regenerating, healthy and calm. This was not good, I needed to calm down and get on with my life; what was done, was done. I turned the TV off.

  It was soon Monday morning and a chat with Andy Townsend was my next move. He is the project Manager from East Ham Engineering, who takes over and manages the project installations once Mr Ray Mead has finalised a sale; we are both amicable guys, we get on and we trust each other. But rue the day Ray Mead and I ever met, he is a double crossing crook who sweet talked me into using his company for client projects. Andy explains that Ray had already called him and they chatted for some length of time, he was not a happy man. He concurs with Ray’s summary of what has happened over the past few days and explains that there is nothing he can do; and I should not have screamed abuse at Ray down the phone, let alone at the weekend while he was with his family. This was not a good move and Ray is not a guy to be messed with; he has friends and a reputation. He does admit though, that he would have reacted in the same way, which is no vindication of the position they have put me in. It’s approximately an hour later that Ray calls me, but not in the usual friendly manner that beguiles you and demands compliance for his friendship. His voice is calm as normal, but underneath it all, you can sense the menace within him. He insists we meet in the Cafe Costa, the café we usually meet to discuss business; we need to sort things out.

  On approaching the café, there’s a guy stood by the window. It is immediately obvious it’s him outside waiting for me, he is a big guy and you can’t miss him; he is dressed as if ready to work in a corporate office with expensive shoes, trousers and a nice shirt; but oddly, he wears one of those heavy smooth leather jackets, the single breasted type. It’s the hard man look, and with those shoulders its working on me. The greeting is friendly but abrupt and we go inside. ‘What do you want Steve?’ ‘Skinny Latte and a slice of cake please Ray’. He points to a corner table and instructs me to sit down. While he is paying for the order, he turns and just looks at me, as if judging my worthiness, my status in this world if you like; which will I am sure, gauge how strong his approach may be and to what level of violence, he may subject me too. Ray sits opposite me and even though he is sat down, you can tell he is at least 6ft 6 inches tall and at about 55 years of age, it’s a surprise that he holds his size so well, he obviously keeps himself fit. It may have something to do with his part time occupation as a club doorman. Now here sat opposite him, the image of the doorman is blurred by my knowledge that he is actually a clever salesman and a very good one at that, who uses his slow, deliberate and menacing manner to win over people and get what he wants. As his mouth opens to instruct me of his displeasure; he does not rush his words and looks straight at me during this interface of his thoughts, of which I am intently listening too. It is scary to feel that any other response will be met with violence and pain; not now, here in public, but at some other time when I least expect it. Vocal apologies immediately stream from my very soul, as I account for my unsolicited rant at the weekend, when I vented all my frustration at him, my so called friend. I now realise instantly how much of a front his manner is to achieving his own aims and how insignificant I am. He slowly informs me of his displeasure, explaining in slow, methodical detail of his position within the business deal we had made, the one I did not stick to, and that nothing will change. The bloody cheek of it, the one that I did not stick to indeed!

  He continues with a quiet, serious tone of voice; the underlying message being that I have disrespected him and I do not understand his position. Once again I explain that enough work was passed onto his boss ‘Stuart’ to justify the £2k of gifts that I was due to receive, and that it was my prerogative to choose whatever sub-contractor I wanted to in the future. I was in effect, not tied to him and his bosses firm. What I was actually thinking was: I am not in the boys club, I am not a ‘brother’ and I can do what the hell I want. He accepted my apology, but like any bully, his career skill is to impose himself upon you; whilst you accept his opinion, but all along you subconsciously deny yourself that you are scared witless. Ray’s phone rings and he takes the call. ‘Yes, yes, all right, I won’t be long, I’m just clearing something up, be there in 45 minutes’. He leaves in a hurry, but warns me that we will speak again. Thank goodness for that, he’s gone. Genuine relief washes over me; but that feeling: that two burly blokes could be waiting for me at any time, around any corner, still lingers on. But hey, my luck should hold out. It would be some time before I would realise that Ray would not forget my ‘lack of respect’ and would get his own back in a much more subtle way than I could ever imagine. I am just about to leave myself when I notice he has left a business folder behind, the standard black leather type. The temptation is too much to resist, this is a chance to raise my game and grab an advantage; Leaving the café behind me, folder securely under my arm, I head back to the office. Work beckons; I must get back and do enough to keep the wolves at bay. Outside the London traffic is its normal incessant self and a horn sounds as I dodge the traffic running back to the office.