Tommy Gee's Long Weekend

By Graham Hamer

One year after borrowing a healthy sum of money from the Eastern European mob, Tommy Gee and his girlfriend Vicki decide to spend a long weekend in London, looking for antiques, enjoying the sights, and catching up with Tommy's old school friend, Andy.

 

Saturday morning starts well, but the afternoon goes rapidly downhill. Vicki is kidnapped and Tommy is persuaded to undertake 'a little service' for a middle-eastern man, in return for Vicki's safety.

 

Things go from bad to worse, as often seems to be the case where Tommy Gee is concerned. An explosion that leaves behind almost 150 dead bodies is not Tommy's fault, but it looks that way. He is, after all, a magnet for chaos and the unpredictable.

 

Oddball, Saxon and Harry from the secret agency known as N2K are authorised to use any means to find the source of the explosion. Tommy, being a professional blaster, becomes the prime suspect – and now he's on the run, with only his friend Andy to turn to.

 

Meanwhile, Vicki finds herself locked in a disused workshop, guarded by a man-mountain with a limited vocabulary and an even more limited capacity to think. Vicki is a resourceful lady, but she feels powerless to improve her situation.

 

This book contains a little strong language, quite a lot of unnecessary violence, a sprinkling of gratuitous sex, a series of implausible situations, and a good dose of irreverent British humour. If you enjoy a gripping plot, thrilling action, and characters you can feel, then sit back and hold on tight. Tommy Gee has come to town.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Graham Hamer
• Release date: Oct 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201041908

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Tommy Gee stretched across the king-size hotel bed and yawned. Vicki said, Time to get your arse moving, big boy. Another day has arrived if you hadn’t noticed. She let the towel fall to the floor but kept her back towards Tommy. As she pulled on her knickers, Tommy got a good view of the heart-shaped tattoo on her left buttock. He’d never asked her why it was there. Everybody had their own story to tell.

Vicki turned her head and glanced over her shoulder at him. Come on dozy. Portobello Road this morning to see if we can find any little treasures. Saturday is always their busy day. Borough Market for lunch with your old mate. And London Eye this afternoon.

Yeah, well don’t forget we’re visiting some of the micro-breweries on the Bermondsey beer mile this evening, Tommy added, fascinated as always by the tempting gentle contours of his girlfriend’s body, which had already begun to elicit heavenly thoughts.

Only if you shift yourself. Vicki replied. Her bra was one of those half-cup underwired jobs, which she slid on and then did some adjusting. Tommy watched, fascinated, as she’d intended he should. It was a show - temptation, seduction, enticement. Vicki was aware of the effect and glanced over her shoulder at him again. As long as Tommy was still interested, she knew their relationship was sound. Judging from the look on Tommy’s face, all was well.

For his part, Tommy loved Vicki Williams. He’d loved her every single day of the twelve months they’d been together. She was balanced and fun to be with. And the pair were already talking about what adventures they might have together in the future. When you discuss the future together, it’s because you have a future together.

Having come into some money that wasn’t exactly theirs, Tommy and Vicki could afford to have fun away from the regular humdrum of life once in a while. And this London trip was special since the pair shared the same birthday and would both be twenty-nine tomorrow - Sunday. They both agreed that their room at the Mountbatten Hotel near Covent Garden was the most luxurious one they’d stopped in during a year of exploring posh hotels. Four poster bed, marbled bathroom as big as an aeroplane hangar, jacuzzi bath big enough to play water polo in, great food, more history tied up in the building than any American could ever begin to understand.

Tommy pushed back the duvet and slid from the bed. He picked up the towel that Vicki had let drop and wrapped it round his waist, then he leaned towards her and offered her a kiss. She laughed and pushed him away. Go brush your teeth first. You’ve got night breath. You smell like Muffin after she’s been licking her arse. Muffin was their chocolate-coloured Labrador who had adopted one of their friends while they had a few days away.

Tommy chuckled and headed for the bathroom. There was something enchanting and captivating about his young lady. In fact, there was a heck of a lot enchanting and captivating about his young lady. A mix of vulnerability, intelligence, and strength that was rare and acted like a magnet, drawing him in. And something hidden. An inner tenacity that assured him she could look after herself when needed.

As he brushed his teeth prior to taking a shower, Tommy recalled how, when he first met Vicki, he had been struck by the contrast between her well-proportioned body and her attractive but unremarkable face. She wasn’t ugly, not by any stretch of the imagination, but she just wouldn’t stand out in a crowd of actresses and super-models. You could pass her in the street without thinking, ‘Jesus Christ will you take a look at that’. While she had a twinkle in her eyes, that captivated anybody she aimed it at, and a smile that could light up any room, Vicki’s prettiness came from somewhere much deeper. It was an inner elegance that Tommy loved, and that drew him to her like iron filings to a magnet. He’d had lots of girlfriends before Vicki, but none of them had ever displayed that graceful, generous inner soul. And she was hot as the hinges of hell in bed, which was a distinct bonus.

On a sudden whim, and with a mouthful of toothpaste, Tommy ran into the bedroom. He grabbed Vicki, who was still in her underwear, and kissed her fast and deep, revelling in her full, sensual lips. He knew it would cost him a thump on the arm but he didn’t care. He just wanted to stare deep into her emerald eyes. He recalled reading that only two percent of the population on earth had green eyes. They were as rare as hen’s teeth, and something of a treasure. God knows, he wanted to treasure her. Vicki’s eyes, he felt, belonged to the most alluring personality on the planet, and a year ago, Tommy had been captured by a beauty that many wouldn’t even notice. Not a fashionable beauty found on the cover of a glossy magazine, but a more interesting, still waters, kind that drew him into the inner depths of her soul with an ease that he had never experienced with anybody else.

As Tommy forced a toothpaste-laden kiss on her, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her into a ballroom position. Then he tangoed them, mouth-to-mouth, round the bedroom until he stubbed his toe and lost the towel. He hopped away bare-arsed and cursing as Vicki squealed, then dissolved into laughter. She chased him back into the bathroom and rinsed the toothpaste from her mouth. Tommy stood grinning as she grabbed a towel to dry her face. He stopped grinning when she used the towel to flick at his exposed private parts. Careful with the crown jewels, he laughed, dodging the corner of the towel as he shielded himself with his hands. You might need them again tonight.

And so I shall, Vicki said, dropping the towel and stepping forward to give him the thump on the arm that he had earned. Now get a shower and get yourself clean.

Did I ever tell you about being caught bollock naked by the police on the main road in Hunstanton, after having a shower? Tommy asked.

Vicki shook her head, sending her gentle waves of hair swaying across her shoulders.

I was doing naughty things with the lady of the manor. She was young and she was a looker. But when her old man came home and found us both at it in the shower, I had to do a runner and left my car keys upstairs on the bedside table. The old bill found me running half a mile up the road, dripping wet, and in just a pair of pink slippers and a tartan deerstalker. My wedding tackle was swinging about like church bells.

Vicki chortled with laughter. You’re making it up.

I’m not, honest. On my baby’s eyesight.

I might believe you if you had a baby.

Okay, I swear on my sister’s honesty it’s a fact.

Your sister? What Naomi? She’s a professional bloody pickpocket, Tommy. How can you swear on her honesty?

Tommy laughed, leaned into the cubicle and turned on the shower. Okay, I lied, but only about the slippers. The rest is true.

What the hell were you doing wearing a tartan deerstalker in the shower?

I wasn’t. As I headed out of the door at full speed with his bloody lordship five steps behind me, I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I grabbed at anything near to hand to cover my privates, and it just happened to be his deerstalker. He’d been out hunting all day.

So you weren’t wearing the deerstalker on your head when the police stopped you then?

No, I was clutching it to my meat and two veg to stop them oscillating so much.

Vicki burst out laughing. And what did they do when they found you?

You mean after they’d stopped taking the piss? They took me back to the manor house and negotiated the retrieval of my clothes and my car keys. Told me to keep my dick zipped up in future. Seems I wasn’t the first bloke that Lord Styleman Le Strange had caught pleasuring his young status-symbol wife. His Lordship told me to stuff the deerstalker up my jacksie. He didn’t fancy putting it back on his head after I had wrapped it round my tallywacker.

Hardly surprising, Vicki chuckled. You’re a prat, Tommy Gee. But you’re now my prat, so get showered and we’ll go down and have breakfast. We have a full day ahead of us.

Tommy stepped closer and fondled her breast. He gave her his best begging face - one that he’d learnt by watching Muffin, his dog. Don’t we just have time for a little loving? I’ve brushed my teeth now.

No, we don’t Tommy. Vicki glanced at her watch. We don’t have all day if we want to do everything we planned.

Oh, go on.

Vicki sighed, like a drama school professional, but allowing some room for manoeuvre. It would have to be a choice between nookie and breakfast, she said.

Unfair. I’m sure we have time for both.

I’m pretty sure we don’t.

Tommy took hold of the other breast. I’d love to take it upon myself as a great personal responsibility to show you how.

Vicki took a deep breath and sighed again. If we do, there’s to be no lingering. We need to get on. Her suggestive tone would have made a monk give up his vows and burn his sackcloth habit. But Tommy had a head start - he’d taken no vows and he was wearing no clothes. He leaned behind her and unhooked her bra as she reached down between his legs and led him back into the bedroom.

CHAPTER TWO

Downstairs in the hotel lobby, Tariq Qureshi checked the time and kept watch on the lifts. It was half-past eight when the couple emerged, giggling, and strode to the dining room. They were back in less than twenty minutes.

Tommy and Vicki caught a taxi to Portobello Road, the huge outdoor market selling second-hand goods, clothing, household essentials, fruit, vegetables and lots of other stuff but, above all, antiques. Tariq Qureshi followed in his car and tracked them as they mooched round the stalls. Tommy and Vicki lived in a quaint village called Hough, just outside Crewe in Cheshire. They had bought an old Tudor house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, using some of the money they had acquired after their adventure a year earlier. Tommy took on a tiny mortgage for the sake of appearance and paid the balance in cash. Now, he and Vicki would often visit auction rooms looking for stuff that suited the character of the building. Portobello Road was an expedition they had both been looking forward to.

Vicki’s enthusiasm was contagious as they scoured through the rare and not-so-rare delights that the stall-holders had to offer. Fake horse brasses from Bangladesh got cast aside as they rummaged for genuine antiques at the right prices. At one stall, the stall-holder still had wooden crates and boxes that he hadn’t unpacked. Vicki pawed through them, squealing with delight at each new discovery. Tommy stood back, smiling, and muttered, Crazy as a bag of squirrels, to himself.

At lunch time, they caught a cab back to their hotel to drop off their purchases, then another taxi took them to Borough Market, just south of London Bridge. If they hadn’t lost time with a bit of loving before breakfast, they could have walked there and enjoyed the early Autumn air. But they’d arranged to meet Tommy’s friend at twelve o’clock and, given the choice between walking and nookie, Tommy was happy to pay for a taxi.

Borough Market was a series of wholesale and retail market halls in Southwark. It was one of the largest and oldest food markets in London, with a market on the site dating back to at least the 12th century. Stretching over a vast area, west of Southward Cathedral, the market was one of the most renowned in London for artisan prepared food, and fresh organic produce. The 15,000 square meter site featured a diverse range of structures and open spaces traversed in places by railway viaducts. It was made up of a series of vast warehouses constructed of well-preserved and refurbished ornamental ironwork. Borough Market was a riot of colours, smells and human engagement. The traders - a vast repository of culinary knowledge - were only too happy to share their expertise with shoppers, or else just pass the time of day. A babble of voices filled the air - made up of the chefs, food writers, campaigners and teachers who helped make the Market’s cookery demonstrations, publications, public debates, and educational programmes so well regarded.

Vicki was happy to visit the market. She wasn’t fanatical, but she was keen on organic food. She held the view that there were enough pollutants in everyday ingredients to kill a horse, so why eat them if there were fresh alternatives? Muffin, their Labrador, disagreed with her on a point of principle. Muffin was quite partial to a Sausage McMuffin with Egg, and had never been known to question its provenance. A side of chips was always welcome too if anybody had too many. Muffin had perfected her sad-eye look, so it wasn’t often that she didn’t manage to convince her humans to leave her some.

Tommy’s old friend, Andy Miller had said he would meet Tommy and Vicki at a stall called Arabica. Tommy checked the map on the display near to where the taxi had dropped them off on Stoney Street. Arabica was about fifty metres away on the left, perched under a Victorian railway arch at the Rochester Walk entrance. Sure enough, a tall, muscular man with hair cut short was leaning against the brick wall nearby.

Tommy was medium height, fair short-cropped hair, deep brown eyes and a body that most guys could have if only they would stop smoking and drinking beer long enough. Tommy had been selected as a football hopeful until a shattered knee curtailed his playing. Now he blew things up for a living, though he had also spent a couple of years in Pinewood Studios, learning how to be a stunt man - which is how we shattered his knee in the first place. Despite all that, he was what the female of the species would call ‘tasty’.

Andy towered over him. He seemed too tall to fit into a submarine, but a submariner was what he was. He was on extended leave due to a near-drowning incident in a deep-water training pool when a panicking cadet had held him under. His lungs hadn’t yet achieved a full recovery. Tommy recalled him as round-faced boy at school. Always ready with a cheeky grin and a quick quip. The two guys shared man hugs and a slap on the back. Andy reserved a more considered hug for Vicki whom he had never met until now. You guys okay with Middle Eastern and Mediterranean food? he asked. If so, Arabica does great grub, but if you prefer, we can go deeper into the market and find something else.

Tommy nodded and said, I’m fine with Mediterranean. What about you, Vicki?

I’ve never tried it. Is it very spicy?

It doesn’t have to be, Andy said. Let’s take a look.

They walked to the front of the stall where everything was stacked high but protected by a glass screen. Arabica had started at Borough Market a good 20 years earlier, armed with little more than a cool box, a trestle table and a small range of Middle Eastern meze and Lebanese street food. And they had retained their market roots, showcasing a plethora of fresh dips, salads, savoury Mediterranean pastries, baklava and Turkish delights. Meat eaters could feast on their famous halal chicken shawarma, sliced to order, while vegetarians and vegans could enjoy fresh-cooked falafel wraps with crunchy pickles, salad and tahini sauce.

Vicki was a little overwhelmed with the choice and the exotic-sounding dishes. Until meeting Tommy her life in a sheltered town in Norfolk had not extended to so many urban choices. She glanced at Tommy, You order for me. You know what I like so I’ll leave it to you. I noticed a girls’ room over there so I’ll be back in a minute. She turned and left Tommy and Andy to discuss lunch. Tommy watched her walk away with some interest. He liked what he saw. Vicki was a little on the short side - just a shade over five feet four - but she filled out her green blouse and light blue jeans in a way that Tommy and most red-blooded men were happy to gaze at and allow their imaginations to run wild. Her wealth of thick burnished copper hair that stopped just after the collar of her blouse, glistened as it swayed to her step.

But that was the last Tommy saw of her because Vicki didn’t come back.

CHAPTER THREE

Tommy’s foot tapped out a staccato beat on the concrete floor. What the hell’s keeping them, Andy? How long does it take for someone to check out the women’s loos?

She’s coming back now, Andy said, glancing over Tommy’s shoulder.

Tommy swivelled on his stool and stood up as the uniformed woman approached. Sorry, sir, but there’s nobody in there answering to the name of Vicki. In fact, there’s only one person in there and she’s not in pain or in trouble. Neither is she stressed since she looks like she’s high on some illegal substance. I’ve checked all the cubicles, and they’re all empty. Your girlfriend must have come out while you were looking somewhere else. Borough Market is a big place – close to four acres - maybe she took a wrong turn and got confused. I’m sure if you hang on here, she’ll turn up in due course. Does she have a mobile phone? Have you tried ringing her?

Yes, but she’s not answering.

The security guard frowned and looked down at her feet. Did you have a disagreement at all before she went to the toilets?

Tommy shook his head. Everything was good. We seldom have rows.

I can vouch for that, Andy said. Vicki was in good humour. She left Tommy to choose something to eat for her and said she would be back shortly.

Well, be patient, and I’m sure she’ll be back looking embarrassed for keeping you waiting. The lady turned and walked away, speaking into her radiophone as she went.

What the hell do we do now? Tommy asked. Apprehension had risen in his gut like the mercury in a thermometer.

We wait a while longer, Andy replied, then if she still doesn’t show, we go looking for her.

For the moment, Tommy accepted his friend’s logic, though that would soon change. They perched on the blue covered stools outside Arabica while he tried Vicki’s phone again. But this time it didn’t even ring - like she’d maybe turned it off. He again called the hotel and asked them to put him through to their room in case, for some reason, Vicki had gone back to The Mountbatten. But once more the phone kept ringing with no response. After almost half an hour of impatient pacing in circles, Tommy said, Come on, Andy, let’s go looking. You take the Green Market while I do Three Crown Square, then we meet up back here in an hour and do The Market Kitchen and the restaurants together.

Andy nodded. They asked the staff at Arabica to keep an eye out for Vicki and tell her to stay here if she returned, then they set off in different directions. Tommy didn’t notice the swarthy man with slicked back hair who followed him, twenty paces behind.

An hour later, after a fruitless search, they were no further forward. Andy grabbed a quick sandwich to fill up, but Tommy had lost his appetite. Let’s go outside onto the streets and work our way round the outer perimeter, he said. Again, we can meet back here in a little while.

Andy nodded as he chewed. You go left and I’ll go right, he mumbled through a mouthful of pitta bread. See you back here shortly.

Do you mind helping me? Tommy asked.

Andy swallowed. Stupid bloody question, so I’m not going to bother to answer. See you back here in a bit.

Tommy set off around the perimeter of the market. It was a long way round and he kept his eyes wide open for any sign of Vicki. He wondered whether she might have popped into Southwark Cathedral, but discarded the thought since she would have had no reason to do so. After what seemed like forever, he approached his starting place. At some point he must have passed Andy going in the opposite direction, but he hadn’t noticed him. The streets were busy with tourists but the weather had turned from a pleasant Autumn day to an irritable and petulant early evening. It suited Tommy’s mood, which was sullen and miserable. Far from this morning’s initial excitement, with a day of exploration to look forward to, it now seemed dark all the time and London had become a place of despair. In Tommy’s mind, the streets seemed to clench their butt cheeks as people braced themselves for three months of freezing winter that hadn’t even arrived yet.

He spotted an alley on his left which he could duck down, saving him from walking all the way round the block to get back to Arabica. Tommy turned into it, stepping over a comatose drunk with an empty bottle of some cheap Spanish wine clasped to his chest like a baby. It was beginning to get dark, and the high brick walls either side of