Chapter 37
‘There’s two types of business in Málaga,’ the rugby player had said. ‘My business and none of your business.’
They decide to leave the main strip of pubs and clubs, and head somewhere a little more sedate.
As they leave the pub, an older man starts walking a few steps behind them. Amy puts her hand on her gun, and the man speaks.
‘You won’t need your gun,’ the man says. ‘But don’t turn around, eh?’
‘You knew Connor Brooks?’ Rosie asks, looking straight ahead and continuing to walk.
‘Nope,’ says the man. ‘But you’re looking for a few old-timers who might have been here back in 2001?’
‘I wish everyone would stop talking about 2001 like it’s the fifteenth century,’ says Steve. ‘I’ve still got pants from 2001.’
‘But yes,’ says Amy.
‘Take this left,’ says the man.
They turn onto a smaller side street. The man does the same, still a few steps behind.
‘You know someone?’ Rosie asks.
‘Wait, are you Rosie D’Antonio?’ the man asks.
‘Call me Rosie,’ says Rosie.
‘Thanks,’ says the man. ‘You writing one of your books about Málaga, then?’
‘Taking a little rest from writing at the moment,’ says Rosie. ‘But maybe one day.’
‘I didn’t know you were taking a rest,’ says Steve.
‘You could name a character after me,’ says the man. ‘In your next book?’
‘I certainly could do,’ says Rosie. They are now crossing a small square, Málaga becoming more Spanish with every step. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Graham,’ says, presumably, Graham. ‘Graham Arbuthnott.’
‘I mean, if you’re unbelievably helpful, then maybe,’ says Rosie.
‘Thanks,’ says Graham Arbuthnott. ‘Down this alley.’
They are now in a small residential alley. If this is a trap, they can’t say they didn’t walk straight into it.
‘Where are we going, Graham?’ Amy asks.
‘If you’d come a year ago, there’d have been no one here from 2001,’ says Graham. ‘As the man said, people move on, or get shot, you know.’
Amy thinks this sounds hopeful.
‘But now?’ says Steve.
‘The ones that didn’t get arrested or shot back then all went to Dubai,’ says Graham. ‘You know, for the safety.’
‘Ah,’ says Rosie.
‘Yeah,’ says Graham. ‘And then, you know, a few of them decided to move back when it got a bit less safe.’
‘And you’re taking us to meet some of them?’ Rosie asks.
‘Taking you? No,’ says Graham. ‘I’m behind you. How could I be taking you anywhere?’
‘Of course,’ says Steve.
‘This left,’ says Graham.
They turn left. A dead-end alley. Ahead to their right a set of steps leads down to a basement. Amy’s hand goes to her gun again. This time Graham has not followed them. He has stayed at the head of the alley.
‘No guns down there,’ says Graham. ‘If you know what’s good for you.’
‘We’re going down these steps?’ Amy asks.
‘You’ll find a couple of old hands down there who’ll help you,’ says Graham. ‘They’re here every day.’
‘How will we know them?’ says Steve.
‘Only Brits in the place,’ says Graham. ‘You take care now.’
They hear him walk away. Steve, Amy and Rosie look down the flight of steps and then at each other.
‘Sha–’
They hear Graham trot back.
‘And, Rosie,’ says Graham, ‘it’s spelt A-R-B-U-T-H-N-O-T-T. Maybe I could be a pilot, or a stuntman. Your choice.’
He leaves again. Steve looks at Rosie. ‘Something to think about there.’
‘Shall we?’ says Amy, starting down the steps. She pulls out her gun.
‘Graham Arbuthnott said no guns,’ says Steve.
‘I don’t work for Graham Arbuthnott,’ says Amy. ‘I work for you … with you.’
Steve and Rosie follow Amy down the steep steps. At the bottom is a red-and-yellow door, and from behind the door they hear conversation.
On the door is a small plaque. Amy reads.
‘What does it say?’ asks Rosie.
‘El Club de Bridge y Whist de Málaga,’ says Amy.
‘The Málaga Bridge and Whist Club,’ says Steve.
‘Thank you, Duolingo,’ says Amy.
‘I think you can probably put your gun away,’ says Rosie.