Writing for Fun
January 2017
Ice Cold – An expensive glass of whisky - Pete Norman
Harry Cooper turned the bottle over in his hand allowing the cold white glass to roll across his palm. He read the words on the label. ‘The Glenlivet’ was familiar and appealing, but the ‘XXV’ was something entirely new to him, however, the box had already spelled it out: ‘Twenty Five Years Of Age’.
The label on the box described the contents as ‘A premium single malt whisky finished in individually selected Oloroso-sherry soaked oak butts, imparting a nutty spiciness. An intense and opulent amber elixir, dark chocolate and sweet cinnamon notes mingle with the scents of dried sultanas.’ It sounded irresistible.
Frank had done well, for a change. When he had said he was doing a Hypermarket run Harry had asked him to bring back an expensive bottle of whisky and that was exactly what he had got. He knew that it was not the most expensive bottle of whisky in the world, because such things were well beyond Harry’s means – the current world top price of 6.4 million dollars for a bottle was only for the likes of Bankers and the top footballers.
Of course, Frank had brought back much more than an expensive bottle of whisky, the Transit had been full to the roof with cigarettes, tobacco, booze . . . and two scruffy Syrian refugees.
The amber nectar within the bottle was calling to him to pull the cork and immerse himself in a glass of pure extravagance but the sun was not yet over the yard-arm and Harry was a firm believer that to drink before that hallowed time marked you as an alcoholic and that he most certainly was not . . . yet.
He carefully slid the bottle back inside its wooden box and placed it on the coffee table out of reach – away from temptation – for now at any rate.
To take his mind off it he picked up the paper and turned to the Sports page.
The knock on the door was firm and demanding. His usual visitors had been trained to ring the bell and he was not expecting visitors today, so he sat for a moment contemplating the potential threat before he rose. He checked that the baseball bat was still in place concealed just within the front door, peered through the spy-hole . . . and confirmed his worst suspicions.
The man outside was in his late forties, slim and tall, his black hair meticulously swept back, Dirty Harry style, but that was where the resemblance ended. The silver grey suit was not from the High Street, nor were the sleek brown shoes; Harry could recognise quality when he saw it. This was not your average Met CID, this man was serious shit.
He opened the door. ‘Good morning, Detective Chief Inspector and what does the Specialist Crime Directorate want with me today?’
DCI Ron Greenwood smiled. It was the hard, cold, ruthless smile of a predator. ‘Why, Harry, that’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?’
Harry opened the door fully and stepped back – there was never any future in arguing with the likes of him on the doorstep, you had to follow the protocol.
The DCI wandered through into the lounge looking round with professional interest. The imposing structure of Tower Bridge filled the huge picture window. ‘Didn’t expect to find you at Butlers Wharf, Harry. Come up in the world a little haven’t we?’
‘A man’s gotta live somewhere.’
The officer turned towards the table and picked up the wooden box. ‘And twenty five year old Glenlivet . . . expensive tastes like these need serious funding.’
‘Exactly what are you implying?’
The DCI patted the settee and asked, ‘May I?’ He sat without waiting for an answer. Harry positioned himself in the chair opposite and waited for the inevitable.
‘Of course, a handful of ice would go a long way . . .’
‘Look, that heist was nothing to do with me. I’ve told you I’ve left that life behind for good, I’m a reputable businessman now. That more than pays for the comfortable lifestyle I deserve in my old age.’
Greenwood said, ‘I suggest you look up the word ‘reputable’ in the dictionary, Harry, it might just surprise you.’
Harry snapped, ‘What do you want?’
‘What do I want?’ The DCI leaned forwards and spread his hands. ‘Why, I would like you to assist me with my enquiries into a two million pound diamond heist, of course.’
‘But that would be wasting your time, officer, and wasting police time is still a criminal offence, I am sure.’
Greenwood laughed. ‘If I had thought I would be wasting my time then I would not be here, would I?’
Unfortunately Harry knew the man was right – an officer of his calibre would send the cannon fodder out to make enquiries first unless he was absolutely certain of his facts and the fact that he was here at the outset did not bode well at all. His only hope was to maintain the poker face and bluff his way through, but he could almost smell the stale odour of Belmarsh Prison.
‘You would have no objection to me having a little look around, would you?’
‘What? Do you think that if I had done the job I would be stupid enough to keep the stash here?’
‘What I do think is that you are too careful a man to trust anything to the vagaries of criminal allegiances.’
Harry knew it was a waste of time, but again, protocol required it. ‘When you have a warrant then you can look wherever you like – but not before.’
Greenwood smiled and reached into his inside pocket.
Harry knew there was no point in reading the warrant, this man would never bluff on such an important issue; he waved his hand dismissively.
The DCI made a short radio transmission and within minutes there was another officious knock on the door.
There were only three of them but they made like a crowd and swarmed literally everywhere, nothing was sacred, nothing whatsoever was overlooked. Throughout the procedure the DCI wandered around the room casually picking up things and replacing them almost at random, but Harry knew that all this was a front, that the officer’s sole purpose was to study Harry’s own reactions and he struggled to keep the expression of innocent indignation on his face, although he knew that all of this was probably wasted on such a consummate professional.
The DCI resumed his seat and reached out for the bottle of whisky. ‘You might at least offer an old friend a drink while we wait.’
Harry shook his head. ‘I’ll make you a coffee if you want, but you can keep your hands off the good stuff.’
It was more than an hour later when the search team finally gave up and left empty handed. There was no sign of emotion on the DCI’s face but Harry was certain he was devastated. He tried desperately not to let the self satisfaction show on his own as he led the officer to the door.
As he stepped over the threshold Greenwood suddenly spun around, his eyes searching Harry’s face for the slightest sign of weakness, but Harry was too good for that, he had been here before and he was not about to lose the race at the last hurdle.
All alone at last he sank into his chair and allowed his nerves to settle. He would call Frank over later to run a sweep over the flat for new bugs, but right now he needed a drink . . . and the sun was most definitely over the yard-arm now.
He selected a heavy lead crystal glass and opened the box. The cork slid out with a satisfying pop and he poured a decent measure into the glass. He savoured the aroma for a few moments and then carried the glass to the fridge. He usually took his whisky neat but just this once he decided that ‘on the rocks’ was more appropriate and he dropped two ice cubes into the glass.
The first sip was room temperature, just as he liked it and the superb spirit slipped down his throat with an explosion of taste and just the merest hint of fire.
The second sip was slightly cooler and slightly less potent. Some say this is the only way to release the whole flavour, but Harry was not usually an advocate of this theory.
The third sip was cold and the dilution effect was beginning to take hold, but when your glass contains such an expensive drink then such allowances had to be made.
As he reached the bottom of the glass it had totally melted and there were just two tiny pieces of ice left. Harry carefully swallowed the last of the whisky and reached in with his fingers and retrieved the small pieces of ice. He held them up to the light and they flashed with brilliance.
He smiled. The ice trays were both full and the overflow filled two large plastic bags in the freezer.