Roskov book 3, p.1
Roskov, Book 3, page 1
Ricky Roskov
Book 3
Copyright © Geoff Wolak
Written in April, 2021, from an idea first formed in 2006.
This book is a work of fiction based in fact, technically accurate in the detail of geographical locations.
Email the author: gwresearchb@aol.com
www.geoffwolakwriting.com
A different mood
A week after I had arranged for paint to be thrown over Roger Pearson’s house – a reaction to Alicia Stone’s murder and a release of some pent-up anger, the police came to the glass factory, and it was none other than Inspector Kenwood himself, a bit of a shock for me.
I immediately asked about American women and false claims against me, to throw him.
‘No, no, nothing like that. You … helped us out in the past, you’re wired into the local gossip, so I was after some help.’
‘Sure.’
‘Heard anything about a house being daubed with paint?’
‘In my neighbourhood?’
‘No, up in Highfields.’
‘Highfields? All posh fuckers up there, not us working class lads. Don’t know anyone in Highfields. Whose house was painted?’
‘A … local magistrate,’ he lied.
‘Someone wanting back at him for being sentenced,’ I said with a nod. ‘I can ask around, they all talk after a few beers.’
‘I’d appreciate it, yes, and … keep it quiet, we don’t want to confirm a magistrate’s address.’
‘Of course.’
As he left, I wondered about my acting skills, and had I been convincing. I also wondered where I could buy a gun and shoot the fucker.
That evening I ventured to the gym with Bonza, getting a loud welcome from some of the girls in the aerobics class, a few nods and grunts from the bodybuilders that I knew from football, and I met an ex-copper who involved himself with movie stunt work now and then.
His name was Robbo, he was about the same height as me, but he had a face that had taken a few knocks, quite a few knocks. After a stretch and a warm up, we started with the basics, rolling away and falling safely on the rubber mats.
After that it was movie-style self-defence, starting with a plastic knife. And I did check carefully that it was plastic.
‘Go for the wrist, both hands. Up and over, kick out his knee, kick him to death afterwards. But try this. Block the high knife like a punch, then karate chop the inside of the elbow.’
I practised a few times.
‘Do the same for a bad swinging punch, give him a dead arm and then back away if there are witnesses around. OK, I point my finger in your face. Right over left, or left over right, grab the wrist and pull it down and past you, leg backwards, down in the stance.’
I tried that a few times, locking him down. We followed with knee kicks and sweeping kicks.
‘OK, try this. I wave the knife at you. You grab my wrist with your right hand, your left hand flat jabs to his knife hand to bend it and make it too sore to use. Start slow.’
After a few tries I speeded up, being careful not to hurt his wrist.
‘Next, police holds.’
I grabbed his wrist and got his arm behind his back, then modified it to twist his wrist and cause some pain, both left and right handed.
‘OK, you’re fit and strong already for a young lad,’ he commended. ‘Try some throws. You pull him off balance, hips in the way, free hand guiding him, then your foot on his neck, his arm bent backwards to a yelp.’
I mucked-up the first few attempts, soon getting better.
Session done, cash handed over, and I hit the treadmill for thirty minutes, followed by a quick session of weights with Bonza, girls using the gross-trainers glancing my way.
Two days later, and practising my spycraft not my self-defence, I went to visit Kenwood in the police station, all of the officers recognising me, a few rude jokes cracked my way.
In with Kenwood and his assistant, I began, ‘No one boasting about daubing a house with paint, but was it pink and green and Lilac paint?’
‘Lilac?’ the second man asked.
‘Purple I think.’
Kenwood said, ‘No, Lilac is a light blue. And yes, those colours.’
‘You know the nursey on Halls Road?’
‘Yes…’
‘They were we fitted out, and painted - all last week they had a rubbish skip outside, and locals saw twenty tins of paint, empty they thought, but some were half full or more and nicked away. One guy had the Lilac and he painted his kid’s bedroom, one guy got some pink.’
They exchanged a look.
Kenwood noted, ‘Five or six large tins were used, not some leftovers.’
‘So maybe the nursey had a break-in, paint stolen, because it sounds like the right colours. Who the fuck uses Lilac and pink?
‘They … are odd colours, yes, we’ll look into it.’
‘Wait. You said … five large tins?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would take four large men to carry that, no simple job, so it was well organised. Any evidence left behind?’
‘No.’
‘Four or five men, in a van, well organised, and they keep their gobs shut? You’re being optimistic if you think that was a local group of piss-heads. If my lot from school could do that I’d be impressed with them.’
They again exchanged a look.
I told them, ‘You’re looking for someone a bit better organised than the dickheads from my area, I’m afraid.’ I checked my nails. ‘I still have white gloss paint under my nails from house move.’
‘You moved?’ Kenwood asked.
‘Up near Crockton, away from all the trouble, my mum is the nervous sort. Gladys was murdered, then the other old lady, so my uncle at the glass factory helped my parents buy a bigger place, and I loaned them some money as well.’
The second officer asked, ‘What will you make, a year?’
‘Close to a million.’
‘Jesus, from school to a million,’ he blew out.
‘A lucky break, yeah, then … a lot of shit from men wanting to get at me, and then Alicia Stone shot dead. I’m forever looking over my shoulder and locking the doors these days.’
‘Can’t be easy,’ Kenwood noted. ‘And they always love to attack celebs.’
‘If I stayed where I was, with my parents, we would have been broken into for sure, people knocking on the door to chat to me, get an autograph. Anyway, anything you need, don’t be a stranger, I want these streets safe for my mum to walk around in.’
The second officer smiled. ‘We mentioned your suggestion in a meeting, hang the bodies from a lamppost. There’s a cartoon on the wall in the canteen.’
‘Poverty causes crime, and that’s the government,’ I told them.
‘You stuck it to John Major…’
‘Was never my intention, they cut-up the speech, I stuck it to Labour as well.’
‘As bad as each other,’ Kenwood noted. ‘Things never change, our budgets always the same.’
Out the meeting, I wanted a shower, to wash off the stench of corruption. But I was getting to be a good actor at least. Either my onscreen acting was helping my spy work, or my spy work would help my onscreen acting.
But where did my heart lie? And if I took on Roger Pearson, then my parents would be in the firing line, and the twins when they visited here, and that was a worry.
The next day I went for a drive, and I made sure that I was not followed as I headed southwest, circling around, finally into a farm that needed some work.
The owner, Dave Hitch, was an ex-soldier who had a brother accidentally shot dead by the Leicester police, and a teenage son that had been arrested for a crime that he never committed. It was fair to say that he was anti-police.
At fifteen years old I had found the evidence to clear the lad, who had played Junior Sunday League with me, and I had stayed in touch with the family.
Parked, I eased out as Hitch came out, a face that never smiled. He calmed his dogs.
I walked towards his pond, he followed until he was alongside me, and I stared down into the murky green water. ‘The police are sniffing around, to see who painted Roger Pearson’s house, but they have no clues, none at all, and I threw them off the scent as well.’
‘Boys were careful,’ he assured me.
‘Still nothing in the papers, so he has control over the editor for sure, and I know that the editor suppressed the rape stories.’
‘Why not hurt the fucker?’
‘I want them all, and … that could be fifty of them, and I want the full story, all the money recovered, these fuckers in jail.’ I handed him a thousand pounds. ‘Beer money.’
‘That lady reporter got anything?’
‘She went to Portugal, because Roger Pearson organises trips down there, golf trips, no wives. Rumour has it that there were girls provided, some on the young side.’
‘And this Roger, I wonder if he has a hidden camera or two.’
‘What … for?’ I asked.
‘We did it in Northern Ireland, hidden camera, because the mark we wanted some dirt on was fucking next door’s fifteen year old girl. Blackmail.’
I turned my head to him for a few seconds, then went back to the pond. ‘If he has filmed them, then … that film would nail them all.’
‘Need to find it, see where he keeps his records.’
‘I have to be real careful here, he has the local police and judges in his pocket, and no one will lift a finger to help me if I accuse him of anything. And he could st itch up my parents.
‘But I have a good relationship with the tabloids these days, so if I find something I’ll send it to them anonymously.’
‘Tabloids will sink him, aye, they’re like a pack of hyenas.’
‘How’s the lad?’
‘Steady job now, in Dubai and fitting a new airport wing, or something like that.’
‘He … still doesn’t like to be back here?’
‘Fuck no.’
‘Pity. That episode scarred him for life. Tell him I said hello.’
‘I’ll show him all those photos of you with them birds!’
I smiled. ‘That will just make him jealous.’
‘Aye, me too,’ he complained.
The Bonza brothers
Back at home, I checked my emails, and Interflora wanted us this coming week. I went to see Bonza.
Bonza stood shocked. ‘Me? Acting?’
‘You don’t have to say anything, just look big and mean, your brother next to you.’
‘Both of us?’
‘You’d make a few quid, and … you may meet a nice girl afterwards.’
‘Well … yeah … but … everyone will see us.’
‘They will, but it’ll be OK, trust me. Chat to your brother and let me know.’
I called Trish, to tell Bob Turnball that I had two tall brothers and that we needed an old man, short, a comedy actor maybe.
That evening I called the twins, and Olesya would be on a plane Wednesday, to get in a paying concert at the hotel as well as the Interflora role – my character’s apology flowers to be filmed arriving.
The twins reported good poster sales, and that Olesya was finally over the death of Alicia, having had some counselling – as well as big dose of love from the Rasmussen family.
Rolf had found British expats in Spain, Italy, France and Greece, and we were almost ready, Trish’s documentary guy ready, and Rolf had taken receipt of the first million Euro. It sounded a lot, but it would soon be used up filming.
The next day I met my local lady reporter. She began, ‘I didn’t find out who owns the brothel, but I now know how to go about getting it. If someone on adjoining land has an issue they can request it, otherwise it’s well hidden.
‘I sat in bars in the marina and chatted to old men, buying them drinks, and the so-called “golfing holidays” are joked about. I never used his name in case I was spotted, but one old guy did mention Roger Pearson, and that he has a business down there, an estate agents and rental agency.
‘Apartments are empty half the year, so it would be easy for him to let someone stay for free, a gift in kind – and tax free. I can get the accounts of the company, so that’s for the next trip.’
‘Cost much?’ I asked.
‘No, very little, and I had a few nice walks on the beach, a bit of a holiday.’
I handed her five hundred pounds without anyone seeing. ‘Keep at it, slow and steady research. But your editor and the police are definitely in Roger’s pocket. Someone … daubed his house with ten gallons of paint, his cars, the works.’
‘Been no mention of it in the paper…’ she puzzled.
‘Exactly. And it’s a police matter. It confirms what we thought - they do what he asks. And I met Kenwood.’
‘You did?’ came a startled question.
‘He asked me about the daubed house, said it was a local magistrate, and to ask around for him. I played along, and they think I’m on their side.’
‘So who did the paint?’
‘No idea,’ I said with a grin.
Wednesday lunchtime I met Olesya at Heathrow, soon on the tube in disguise and heading around to the hotel. Olesya now had glasses for disguise, but that just made her look super-sexy.
But my body was aching, from all the stuntman practice ready for the movie I was scripting. My wrists hurt, my knees, and my back hurt.
Getting to the hotel, we ditched the disguises, the doorman recognising us. The staff welcomed us, a quick chat to the manager about the concert – the mini piano recital, before we headed up to the room.
Door closed, and Olesya jumped on me for a kiss and a big hug, my back hurting. ‘I miss you.’
‘And I missed you too. Are you … OK now?’ I asked as we hugged.
‘I was sad, she was a good friend, and she call from New York to talk, but now I am OK. I must not be victim.’
‘Correct, you must live your life and be happy, or that man kills two people.’
She started to undress me.
‘So I guess you don’t want to watch TV then…’
She unbuttoned my shirt.
‘Some good documentaries on about volcanoes and tropical birds’ seasonal migration habits…’
She unfastened my belt.
‘And the news will be on in half an hour…’
As I eased my cock into her I still had my trousers on, my shirt on yet unbuttoned, and she had simply taken her knickers off before we lay diagonal on the bed. ‘Well I guess this is better than watching the news,’ I quipped as she gasped. ‘You keep taking the birth pill?’
‘Yes, like the twins.’
I began a steady motion, being careful not to hurt her, and judging by the sounds she was now making it would not take long. She gripped my arms and then my back, encouraging me on, but I was taking it easy for her sake.
Barely a minute into it, and she arched her back and let out a loud moan, flush in the face. I slowed down, but I kept going, and she was pulling me down and closer, onto my elbows.
Locked together like mating dogs, we lay there, a gentle motion from me, her eyes closed, and she seemed to be enjoying it greatly. I was close to finishing, the tight slow motion feeling great, but I was dragging it out.
I finally came to my own loud moan, and I had my own slow build-up to benefit from.
Rolling us both over, my cock still inside and twitching, she lay on top and soon seemed to be asleep. As awkward as it was, I did not want to disturb her, so I suffered for twenty minutes before finally easing her off me.
She opened her eyes and lifted up. ‘Good, Mister. I leave you ten dollar on the pillow.’
‘Wow, that’s … the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’
My hand grabbed, she led me to the bathroom, and we showered as we spoke about the concert and the next Interflora advert, Olesya asking after my bruises. She told me about the twins’ self-defence classes.
Partly dressed, room service ordered, and we ate a small meal, soon laying on the bed and cuddling. She fell asleep for an hour.
At 5pm we were getting ready, cups of tea sipped as we made plans.
I had called my snapper, and he was stood waiting at 7pm, soon snapping me in my trademark suit, Olesya in another Henk and Olafson outfit and looking both stunning and radiant.
The dress was mostly black, but with grey lines and triangles. It was no summer dress, and we were not in a hot climate, definitely not a hot climate.
After posing for my snapper we greeted guests and worked the room, many people snapped with us, including the Shadow Home Secretary again, and the same High Court judge and his wife.
Trish turned up with the Athena model. Trish told me, ‘The tennis posters sold out, they had to print more, twice, forty thousand sold.’
‘Hand your friend another grand from me.’
She nodded. ‘I speak to Ingrid regular now, we go through statements and usage, and she faxes me things or we use email. She seems to have picked it all up quickly.’
Taking in the crowd, I told her, ‘She went to study in the agency that the twins used. And she worked in accounts before.’
‘I found Alicia’s agent and contacted her, told her about the posters. The money goes through her into the bank, and the family are trying to claim it, but Alicia had no will so it’s intestate – a right fucking mess.
‘We pulled her posters in Europe, but they had already sold most of them. TUI have used Alicia in their hotel advert, which is questionable, but usage would go to the agent then into probate so … they broke no laws technically.
‘And all the publicity, that hotel in Mexico is full of the Los Angeles crowd apparently – and not at all what TUI wanted.’
I nodded as the place started to fill up, then spotted the Swedish music expert Kurt. He came over and hugged Olesya before he shook my hand. ‘You’re wasting your own money to be here…’ I began.
