Chapter Forty - An Unlikely Hero

Sunday 10th December

Having promised to take his youngest for a Santa Special train ride at the Country Park, Wayne Reynolds left his wife managing Sunday lunch service at the Lord Nelson and motored off down the M27 with the kids.  The elder pair didn't want to come but the Reynolds household was a dynasty, not a democracy, and they were loaded into the Merc regardless.

The motorway was busy with shopping traffic heading for the retail parks and, even if Wayne had been driving alone and more flamboyantly, he would have made slow progress.  Tesco's roundabout was pandemonium and the road from that to the coastal villages at a crawl.

'Before anyone asks, we are nearly there,' Wayne informed his tribe.  'You daddy needs to pay a bloke a visit first, though.'

Wayne had been doing good works ahead of the festive season, though not out of religious or spiritual conviction.  A few years earlier, almost by accident, he had helped out a local charity and found it earned him the respect and gratitude of some genuinely good people.  He liked that.  It was better than being feared or admired by villains, and didn't involve upsetting the Law, or Marie. However, Wayne didn't generally interfere in the day-to-day running of the Welfare Rights Project, even though it operated out of his property in the High Street.  He politely declined the offer of a seat on the Management Committee, on the basis that he knew 'fuck all' about Social Security, and although he received an annual report every year, he tended to file it in the basket of scrap paper fire-lighters, next to the wood-burning stove at the heart of his unconventional, if seriously funky, country pile.  He popped in, from time-to-time, to see if there was anything he could do to help, to make sure the property was in good order and to get a little glow of satisfaction from being thanked for his good works. 

Like most landlords and developers in the south of England, he was doing well from his other property investments so, although he had paid any debt of gratitude he owed the Project long ago, he could afford to waive the rent due on this place.  Wayne couldn't help feeling that his generosity was putting him at a slight commercial disadvantage over some of his rivals so, when his latest visit included a chat with the old priest and Paula Walker about the rising numbers of homeless people they were trying to support, he decided to see what he could do to encourage a little more philanthropy among his property-owning acquaintances.  He gathered up a bundle of direct debit forms for the foodbank, jotted down the full name of the Solent Welfare Rights Project - in case anyone was minded to write the advisers a cheque to enable them to keep up the good work - and paid a few visits.

Of course Wayne once had something of a reputation as a hard man, not adverse to using threats of violence to further his business or even dishing out some of the real thing.  Although he was proud of being a reformed character, an upright citizen, a fair employer, a faithful husband and a loving dad, he still had to looks and mannerisms of an underworld enforcer.  When he asked for donations to his causes of choice, explaining how easy it was in uncertain times to suffer some accident or bad luck and end up out on the street with nothing, even if you were doing alright for now and had loads of money, Wayne was often met with a generosity of response that quite moved him.  It may never have crossed his mind that a few of his kindly fellow capitalists assumed the charities were a front and they were actually buying protection from Wayne-inflicted misfortunes.  On the other hand, he probably had his suspicions.

'Stay in the car, keep the windows closed and shut the fuck up,' he told the kids.  'I'll be back soon, then we'll go see Santa, okay?'

Wayne parked his huge, funereal-looking Mercedes with tinted windows outside a nicely-maintained nineteen-thirties detached house.  He checked carefully that he had come to the right house number.  As he walked up the block-paved drive, past a cobalt blue Mazda and a new VW saloon, he delved about in the pockets of his leather jacket for one of his direct debit forms.

'Bollocks!'

He must have run out.  Still, cash might be a safer bet, from this one.

A blond woman with a sneering expression opened the door.

'Mrs Finn?' Wayne enquired politely.

'That's right.'

'Is your husband at home, by any chance?'

'Who wants to know?'

'Tell him its an old mate of his.'

The woman hesitated, dissatisfied with that answer, but Reynolds gave her his most charming smile and she scurried briskly into the house.  He heard agitated conversation.  A fair-haired man appeared in the hall.

'Sharky, you old fucker!  Long time, no see!' 

Wayne extended his massive, muscular right arm and powerful hand in greeting.  Nigel Finn winced at the handshake. 

'Wayne Reynolds?  What brings you down here?'

'It's the season of goodwill to all men, Sharky, in case you hadn't noticed.  A time when we think of those less fortunate than ourselves.  From what I hear, you spend quite a lot of time doing that.  Thinking of them - and thinking of how to take advantage of them.'

Wayne laughed. 

Nigel Finn laughed too, or at least tried to give the impression of laughing.  He seemed to think it was expected of him.

'What can I do for you, Wayne?' Finn asked warily. 

Reynolds decided not to tell him, for now.

'Business must be good, if you can afford a place like this and a couple of nice motors.'

'Not bad, mate, not bad.'

'Still in the financial services sector?'

'You could say that.'

'I do say that.  Other people say it too.  Some people say you're the lender of last resort round here, specialising in doorstep dosh to families on the breadline.'

'You know how it is, Wayne.  They want the same lifestyle we have but they don't want to work for it.  If they're stupid enough to borrow it and spend it, they've got to pay it back, and I've got to charge enough in interest to cover my losses if they default.  It's dog eat dog, isn't it?  It's a risky business.  If I wasn't here to help, someone else would be doing the same thing.'

'I suppose they would, Sharky.  You've got the edge though, with your nipper scouting out customers for you at his school.  Shame he oversteps the mark sometimes, isn't it?'

'How did you hear...?'

'Never mind how I heard.  I heard.  That's why I've come to have a word.  It seems to me you need to shut some people up.'

'Look Wayne, that's good of you, mate, but I reckon we can handle this.  If anyone investigates, I can pin it all on the boy, make out it's just a schoolyard scam.  There's no hard evidence against me.  It's my word against that of a couple of thick tarts on benefits.  My best bet is to go quite for a while, ride this out and pick up again in the summer, when they're trying to pay for holidays.  It's a bastard, missing out on the Christmas demand, but sometimes you've got to play the long game.'

'So you don't really want any of your old customers hurt, Sharky?  I wondered, because your nipper's been saying things about...'

'I know.  I've warned him.'

'I could make it happen, you know.  That old woman, for instance.  If you want her bins set on fire, a brick through the window...'

'It's okay, Wayne.’

‘I know people, mate.  You know I do.  If you want the frighteners put on her.  Or if you want that little girl.  You remember old Nobby, don’t you?  He got a thing about kids, the sick fuck.  If you want me to send him round…’

‘I never said I wanted that to happen, Wayne.  Seriously.  I didn’t.'

‘Glad to hear it, Sharky.  Horrible, isn’t it?  Sick?  Makes you heave just thinking about it.  We’re both parents.  If anything happened to our kids, we’d want to kill whoever done it, wouldn’t we?  Fancy even threatening something like that.’ 

‘I told you, I didn’t!’ 

'You sure you didn't?'

'Of course not!  It’s disgusting.’  Finn sounded revolted.  ‘Anyway, if anything happens to any of them, I'll be the first one the police come after.'

Wayne Reynolds smiled grimly.  Nigel Finn really was a slimy piece of work.  His short-lived remorse was all about self-preservation.  Wayne decided to make him pay for that.

'You're right, mate,’ he said, as if concerned for his old associate. ‘I'd go further than that.  I'd say you'd be the only one the police come after.'

'I would.'

'So you really need to make sure nothing happens to any of them, don't you?'  Wayne grasped his shoulder.  'And I can make sure nothing happens to them.'

When Sally Archer had dropped into the pub the previous weekend, after overhearing a disturbing conversation at a gig in the village, she had asked Wayne only if he knew anything about a loan shark by the name of Finn.  Sally's idea had been to get her funny little pet detective to help rustle up some evidence against the bloke, once old Fishy Pike was fit for action again.  Wayne admitted he had heard of Sharky Finn, but it would have been a shame to spoil his friendship with Sally and her family by telling her that they went way back and had met in prison as little more than kids.  Far better, then, to deal with the problem himself and, in the process, do something else for the less fortunate in his community.  After all, that was Wayne's way.

Wayne Reynolds waited patiently while Nigel Finn went back into his nicely-decorated house to fetch something.  He waved to the kids in the car.  He couldn't see if they waved back.  Nigel Finn couldn't see if they waved back, or even who else might be in the car.  There might be villains, happy to terrorise children and old people for money.  Alternatively, there might be the junior members of House Reynolds, a pretty terrifying prospect in itself, if the journey home was as slow as the one down here. 

Wayne tucked the wad of notes into his inside breast pocket.

'Now get the fuck off my property!' growled Finn.  He slammed the front door.

'And a very Merry Christmas to you too, Sharky,' Wayne replied.

Wayne hadn't counted the money, but he was confident there was enough for the deposit on a place suitable for that homeless woman separated from her kids who he'd spoken to when he'd done another good deed Thursday night, helping out at the night shelter with Sally and Daniel.  Once again, Wayne felt that odd glow of pride and satisfaction which went with being one of the good guys. 

'Right kids,' he said, getting back into the car.  'Time to go and see Santa Claus.'