The Platinum Pirate: The Island Connection, #8

By Graham Hamer

A fight outside a restaurant turns nasty and the odds are stacked against Joseph Adebayo. As his attackers flee the scene, a valuable haul of platinum goes missing and, for some of the thieves, events begin to spiral out of control. The only person who stays calm and collected is the skipper of a local fishing boat. But then Al Callow is a cool customer and he has two beautiful women on his side. Neither of them are averse to using their bodily charms to get what they want, and Al is happy to help out. But what of the Australian twins, Bruce and Craig? What part are they destined to play in this deadly game? You’ll only find out by reading The Platinum Pirate

• Language: English
• Publisher: Graham Hamer
• Release date: Oct 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546976141

Book preview

THE PLATINUM PIRATE

Copyright © 2017 Graham Hamer

Graham Hamer has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author.

Book cover design by Bruno Cavellec, Copyright © Bruno Cavellec 2017. Image used and published according to the licence granted by the artist.

All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Except in the case of commonly accepted historical or geographical facts, any resemblance to events, localities, actual persons - living or dead - or history of any person is entirely coincidental.

Find out more about the author and his other books at

http://www.graham-hamer.com

DEDICATION

––––––––

This book is dedicated to a branch of my family who I have only just discovered, thanks to their persistence. There was a whole tribe out there that I never knew about.

Here’s to ‘the gang, the whole gang, and nothing but the gang.’

––––––––

My cousin Joyce who is far too young for her age.

My second cousins, Linda and Pam who wear much better than I do.

Linda’s husband, Vernon and Pam’s soulmate Miles

Linda and Vernon’s daughters, Helen and Vicky

Helen’s husband, Mike, and children Charlie and Leonie

Pam’s children Jamie and Carly

Jamie’s fiancee, Maria

Carly’s husband, Tim and their children Adam and Oliver

Who did I miss?

Are there any more ‘Hamers’ keeping their heads down?

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As I do so often, I find myself acknowledging the debt I owe to Bruno Cavellec for his inspirational covers, and to Nadine Sgoura for putting her sharpened pencil to such good use. Thanks guys. You rock! But then you already know that.

And a big thank you to Gina Marquita Fiserova for her valuable input about how to improve the original manuscript. The story is leaner, fitter and better for her input.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Graham Hamer was born a few years before Queen Elizabeth came to the British throne (the second Queen Elizabeth, that is). One event was televised, one wasn’t. His own event happened somewhere between England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales on a funny little island where the cats have no tails and the occasional witch still gets rolled down a steep hill in a spiked barrel. He left the Isle of Man to get a life. He got one. He went back to his island. You’ll find him there now if you know where to look.

Accountant, pig-herder (briefly), businessman, business analyst, web site builder – hell, writing’s more fun.

Find out more about the author and his other books at:

http://www.graham-hamer.com/

or make friends and interact at:

https://www.facebook.com/fgrahamhamer/

THE PLATINUM PIRATE is the eighth book in the ‘Island Connection’ series.

The following books by Graham Hamer are also available or will be published shortly

Chasing Paper

Walking on Water

THE ISLAND CONNECTION

Under the Rock - Island Connection 1

Out of the Window - Island Connection 2

On Whom the Axe Falls - Island Connection 3

China in Her Hand - Island Connection 4

Devil’s Helmet - Island Connection 5

The Vicar’s Lot - Island Connection 6

Chicken Rock - Island Connection 7

The Platinum Pirate - Island Connection 8

Picasso's Secret – Island Connection 9

THE FRENCH COLLECTION

Web of Tangled Blood – French Collection 1

Cenotaph for the Living - French Collection 2

You can find out more about the author and his books at

http://www.graham-hamer.com

CHAPTER ONE

Tyler snarled, For God’s sake, woman, can’t you do anything right?

The waitress blushed and fumbled with the plate.

Joseph Adebayo, a solidly-built black man, sat opposite Tyler and stared at him with disdain. When the young man stared back, Joseph made no attempt to avert his eyes. Why are you being so obnoxious to her? he asked.

Because I hate mediocrity. That’s what’s wrong with the bloody Isle of Man – bloody mediocrity. No-one can do anything right. They’re not trained.

The Isle of Man is no different to anywhere else in Britain, Joseph said. The girl is doing her best and, apart from one small mistake when she arrived with the starters, she’s served us well all evening.

That’s bullshit, Tyler snapped. That waitress is shaking like a Parkinson’s sufferer. I often dine in Michelin-starred London restaurants where service is impeccable and the waiters have been trained to proper standards.

Joseph smiled a sad smile. She’s shaking because you’ve frightened her. And as far as dining in Michelin-starred London restaurants you’d be paying inflated prices for the privilege. The whole meal here would only buy you a starter in a Michelin restaurant.

You get what you pay for, the third diner, said. Quite honestly, if I wasn’t so hungry I would have sent my steak back. I asked for rare and it comes out blue. It needed another thirty seconds on each side. But if I had sent it back they would have spat on it and kicked it round the kitchen floor first, yeah.

Joseph shook his head. That’s outrageous. The Bay View is the best restaurant on the island. If your steak was a fraction overcooked, they would have cooked you another one. Their quality of both food and service is exceptional.

I guess that depends on whether or not you’ve ever experienced proper service and fine dining, Tyler said. I don’t suppose you’d know much about that.

Joseph took a deep breath. Mr Tyler, I invited you here this evening to discuss a possible investment opportunity. I thought that a Saturday evening with a pleasant meal in nice surroundings would be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other better before discussing business. I can see now that we are not at all suited to go into business together. I suggest we drink our coffees, shake hands and move on.

Tyler glared at him before responding. You have some fucking cheek, Abebanyo—

Adebayo. Joseph Adebayo.

Yes, whatever.

You should think of changing your name to something more British, the third diner said, with a sneer.

Joseph sighed and rubbed his eyes with the base of his hands. It was a long time since he had come across such blatant racism. And I suppose I should I change my skin colour too?

Wouldn’t do any harm, Tyler sniggered, nudging his friend. You people come over here with all your primitive ways and think we should adapt to your way of doing things. You need to accept that we have no intention of letting you lot change the status quo. We know what standards to expect and demand only the best.

A flash of anger passed across Joseph’s face, though he battled to disguise it. For a couple of kids who are still wet behind the ears, he said, it sounds like you’ve done a whole lot of demanding. I pity your parents having to suffer your ignorance and your arrogance.

Tyler stood and his chair toppled backwards onto the carpeted floor. Fuck you, black boy! he shouted. I don’t have to take that sort of crap from a bloody immigrant like you.

The gentle background chatter of the restaurant stopped and heads turned towards the source of the commotion. A tall, tanned man with a healthy lived-in face strode from the bar near the restaurant entrance and reception. Hjalmar Linnekar placed his arm in front of Tyler who appeared ready to launch himself at Joseph. Calm down, Hjalmar said. What’s the problem?

The problem is this black bastard here, thinks he can insult us for no reason.

Hjalmar shook his head. His voice was quiet but full of meaning. Mr Adebayo is a valued customer of this restaurant and I take exception to your racist remarks. I’m inviting you to leave now before I call the police.

And I’m inviting you to fuck off. Who are you anyway?

I’m Hjalmar Linnekar. I’m the owner of this restaurant.

Unnoticed, the third diner had crept behind Hjalmar with clear intent in his body language and his eyes. Joseph stood up, pointed at him and said, Don’t even think about it. You two look like you’ve not only been born with silver spoons in your mouths, but have never managed to get past the spoon-fed stage in life. I think Mr Linnekar and I could handle you both if we had to. Why don’t you just do as Mr Linnekar suggests and leave while I pay the bill? You will have both gained a free meal, so you won’t need to ask for extra pocket money from your parents this week.

Tyler stared pure black hatred at Joseph. After several second’s hesitation, he wheeled round and stormed from the room. His friend flashed his middle finger at Joseph and followed.

Sorry about that, Joseph said.

Not your fault, Hjalmar replied, righting the chair that Tyler had knocked over. Can I offer you a drink?

I reckon I owe you one.

I think not. Tammy, your waitress, was just telling me how rude those two have been all evening. I gather you defended her against them on more than one occasion?

She was doing just fine. Those two are just arrogant little pricks. Someone gave me Nicholas Tyler’s name, but it seems it was not a good referral. I thought he might be interested in an investment opportunity, but he’s just a loud, spoilt kid.

Hjalmar laughed. That’s not Nicholas Tyler. Nicholas Tyler is a regular client and we know him well. The person who you just bought a meal for is Mark Tyler, his son. Maybe the boy answered the phone and accepted your invitation as a wind up. His father is the money man. He’s sharp and has his finger in a lot of pies.

Joseph smiled. I wondered when he turned up if I had the right person. That one can’t be much older than twenty-two or -three.

Who was the other one with him?

I’ve no idea. I only invited Tyler, but he brought the other guy along. He introduced him just as Tommy.

Pair of nasty little brats, Hjalmar said.

Well I reckon I just blew it. If daddy finds out I got his son kicked out of the best restaurant on the Isle of Man, he’ll fall out of his pram.

Hjalmar studied the tall black man. What size investment are you looking for?

Upwards of two million.

Let’s go through to the bar and I’ll buy you that drink. I’m always on the lookout for sound investments and I like the way you stood up for my waitress and didn’t back down when Tyler was getting annoyed.

Are you serious? Joseph said, raising his eyebrows.

Second thoughts, let’s head upstairs to my apartment, Hjalmar said. It looks like our remaining customers are close to finishing so the staff will be clearing up soon. It will be more private upstairs and we can enjoy a nightcap with a view over the bay. If the proposal is sound, the money is available.

As Joseph and Hjalmar left the restaurant and the diners’ conversations resumed, two men at a nearby table turned away from the minor fracas and looked out through the large windows as the last of the evening light left the sky.

I never get tired of watching the sun rise or set over the sea, one of them said. I know it happens every morning and evening but, you know, just like the prints on your fingers, there are no two sunrises or sunsets alike. He looked at the other man, Are you listening to me Craig, or am I just chuntering to my bloody self over here?

Craig looked up. Whaddya say?

I said no two sunrises or sunsets are alike.

No shit Sherlock. Tell me something I don’t know.

Hard to know where to start, Bruce said

Craig and Bruce Herbert were twins and it showed. They were Australian, and that showed too when they spoke. For all of their thirty four years, there had been no substantial facial differences between them until two years ago. That was when Craig had acquired a four inch scar on his cheek, leading from his ear to his chin. Even now, both of them sported designer stubble and crew cuts that had come from the same hairdressing catalogue.

That little knob with the big mouth is Nicholas Tyler’s son, Craig said with a deep, throaty voice as though he were on the verge of laryngitis. Arrogant little twat. I fancy kicking the shit out of him some day soon.

Best wait till the job’s over, Bruce replied. No point muddying the waters beforehand. Have you heard from Al yet whether he has a date?

It’ll be soon, but I don’t know when. What do you make of that Stan Clague guy?

Not a lot, mate. He’s got those shifty bloody eyes like he can’t look you straight in the face.

Well he’s bloody cross-eyed, you drongo. Course he can’t look at you straight. His whole bloody face is as obvious as a car horn in a churchyard.

Bruce laughed. What was the name of that Pommie comedian back in the 1970’s? He played Igor in that Mel Brooks' film that was on TV the other night.

Young Frankenstein?

Yeah, that one. The guy was called Marty something.

Marty Feldman. Hey, you’re right: that Stan Clague looks just like bloody Marty Feldman, all bulbous eyes and that. The guy made a fortune out of looking stupid.

Well, for sure, Stan Clague isn’t going to get rich with his looks. On the other hand, we should all come off okay if this job works out with Al Callow. Apart from what we’ve picked up from working for him on occasions, what’s your impression of him, Craig?

I'm sorry, I don't do impressions. My training is in psychiatry.

Fuck off, you galah, I’m being serious. Come on, what do we know about him? You’re the suspicious one, but you seem to be laid back when it comes to Al.

I feel about the same as you, Bruce. He runs his old fishing boat out of Peel and is happy to pay us cash for a day’s work every now and then. But it’s clear he’s into anything that’ll put a couple of dollars in his pocket. I don’t totally trust him because, like you say, I don’t totally trust anybody.

What, not even me?

Least of all a dunny rat like you. On the other hand, I quite like the guy. He’s happy to earn a dishonest crust, but I get the feeling he’s someone you could rely on if you were in a tight corner and the odds were against you. What about you? What’s your gut reaction?

About the same. I wish he’d tell us more about the job though. Every time I ask, he says he’d rather keep the details to himself for the moment. All I know is that we are going to knock off something of value and we’ll get £250,000 each. That’s a hell of a payout if it comes off. He reckons he chooses his people carefully but expects total loyalty out of them. Can’t say I feel the same way about his wife Paula though.

Yeah, she’s the one who should have shifty eyes like Stan Clague. She’s a good lookin’ Sheila but there’s something about her that doesn’t quite gel. I’m not quite sure what it is.

Bruce drained his glass and glanced at Craig. She came on to me the other day and didn’t like it when I said no.

Not like you to turn down totty, Craig replied, even if she looks like she might just be the wrong side of forty.

Wrong side of forty’s okay with me. I’m all for a bit of MILF, mate, but there’s something about her that doesn’t feel right.

You can say that again. Al Callow’s the boss and you don’t screw the boss’ wife unless you want him stroppy as a cut snake.

Well Al seems to be having a root with that Carla, who’s always hanging around. So he’s not exactly being loyal to his missus, is he?

Even so, you don’t go stoking Mrs Callow when Mr Callow is paying the wages. Even if she is a good looking piece of totty.

I didn’t, Craig. She was putting it out, but I told her I had other things to do. She wasn’t best pleased. Had a face like a dropped pie when I said it.

No bloody wonder if you just told her you had other things to do. You’re as subtle as a fart in a lift, aren’t you, Bruce?

Yeah, well if it had been that Carla coming onto me, I don’t think I’d have said no. She makes my eyeballs itch.

Craig smiled. She’s a looker, isn’t she? How old do you reckon she is?

Mid-thirties, I would say. Maybe she’s a bit older, but with those rounded hooters, that user-friendly bubble butt, and the old sultry come-and-get it looks, I could have a naughty with her any day. Might even let you watch!

Craig laughed and pushed back his chair. Just going to siphon the python. Get another couple of beers in, will you? I’ve got a mouth like the bottom of a cockatoo's cage.

Outside, Mark Tyler kicked the door panel of Joseph’s white Nissan Qashqai, leaving a deep dent in the bodywork. His friend, Tommy Thornton, pulled a knife from his pocket and gouged the bonnet. He laughed as he punctured all four tyres. That’ll teach the loud-mouthed black bastard, he said as he wrenched off a wing mirror.

Mark Tyler grunted. Not yet, it doesn’t. We’re going to wait here Tommy and we’re going to kick the shit out of him. He won’t be so fucking brave when he’s on his own.

"You sure about that, Mark? He’s a big ugly bastard, yeah.

He’ll be even uglier if we get behind him while he’s examining the damage to his car. See if you can find something nice and heavy to hit him with.

While Tommy went in search of a weapon, Mark Tyler kicked in the headlights on Joseph’s car.

Bay View Restaurant perched on one of the two headlands that overlooked the two mile crescent of Douglas Bay. From the outside, The Bay View was a large rectangular building which held little aesthetic appeal. Its only contribution to architectural merit was a range of long windows extending across the whole frontage. From the inside, however, the windows allowed for a stunning view over the sweep of the bay. It was a view that was particularly captivating on a pleasant late-summer evening such as this.

The building was situated on a steep hillside. Immediately below the restaurant, at the bottom of a precipitous grass bank, ran tram tracks that accommodated historic electric trams, much loved by the tourists. During the summer, the trams ran between Douglas, the island’s capital, and arrived 25km further north in Ramsey. Adjacent and running parallel to the tram tracks was a wide road. Like the tram tracks, this followed the rocky coast towards the picturesque village of Laxey.

To reach the entrance of Bay View Restaurant, it was necessary to turn off the coastal road, across the tram tracks, and onto a smaller road that hairpinned back up the slope. After a short uphill climb, diners arrived at the handful of parking places where Mark Tyler and his friend Tommy were busy vandalising Joseph’s car. It was a six metre near-vertical descent onto the tram tracks below. There was nothing more than a low wooden fence to stop cars from rolling over the edge. For that reason, drivers took care not to imbibe too much of the Bay View Restaurant’s selection of fine wines. But the low fence and the high bank suited the two young men’s purpose. When they had finished with his car they stepped over the fence and lay in the grass on the sloping verge waiting for Joseph to appear.

Their wait was longer than they had anticipated. The final diners had left at least half an hour before and the pair were about to give up and go home when Joseph and Hjalmar stepped out of the building and shook hands. Hjalmar turned to go back into the restaurant when he heard Joseph’s Oh bloody hell, just look at this.

Hjalmar wheeled round. Under one of the restaurant’s outside lights, the damage to Joseph’s car was obvious. Ah, Jesus, it’s those two stupid pricks. I’ll go and call the police. He turned on his heel and strode back into the reception area.

Joseph let out a sigh as he stooped to examine one of the front tyres. That’s when the first blow hit him on the back with the force of a pile driver. Tommy had discovered a short length of scaffold tube holding up a trellis in one of the nearby gardens. He applied it a second time to Joseph’s back as