Southend U3A

May 2023

Friend Or Foe - Lynn Gale

Ezra Foe was an extremely skilled manipulator. As the only boy in a large family, his mother indulged his every need. From an early age, he learned that screaming always got him what he wanted, and he had a loud scream.

‘For heaven’s sake, stop that infernal noise!’ All Joseph Foe wanted after a long shift at the plastics factory was a hot dinner, a couple of bottles of beer, and to check over his football pools. ‘Our numbers will come up one day,’ he told his wife.

By the time Ezra was eleven, the polite, articulate boy was the teacher’s favourite and always finished top of the class on tests. Then, one day after school, he was cornered by the class bullies, arriving home with a cut lip and torn shirt. He vowed this would not happen again. He made a deal with the Jenson twins, well-built and handy in a fight, cigarettes and an occasional bottle of beer stolen from his father in return for protection. They served him well for the next couple of years until Sam Jenson began to demand money for their services.

A few days later, a letter was delivered to the head of the school.

Dear Mrs Mann, After making arrangements to visit your school, we were shocked to notice two similar-looking boys in school uniform smoking, drinking and swearing behind the bike sheds. I do not believe this is the right environment for my children, so, therefore, have decided to send them elsewhere.

It was signed by a Mr F. Billington.

The Jenson twins were waiting behind the bike sheds. Two cigarettes and a box of matches were conveniently left on an old tree stump. ‘Wonder who uses this place?’ Sam handed one to his twin and lit them up.

‘Who cares.’ Dan Jenson was admiring his perfectly formed smoke ring when a crunch of broken glass behind them made them spin around. They came face to face with Mrs Mann and her assistant. Their father was called to the school, a sergeant in the army. He would not listen to excuses and took them home. Eventually, the Jenson twins were sent to a boarding school in Scotland.

In the corner of the garden, Ezra used his father’s lighter to ignite a sheet of paper. He smiled as he watched the page of F. Billington’s signatures curl up, disintegrate into ash and float away.

By eighteen, Ezra was working in a bank call centre; his manner and willingness to learn soon earned him a promotion, running a team in the fraud department. Realising how easy it was to manipulate people, he set up a mini office in his bedroom. He spent hours convincing people that their accounts had been compromised and they needed to move their savings to a secure account while checks were performed. Delighted at how quickly he could amass easy money, he decided this was how he would become a millionaire. Amassing a small fortune spread over several accounts, he moved into a luxury apartment by the riv

er. A Land Rover Discovery outside, all the latest tech and a wardrobe of designer clothes completed his transformation into the world of the super-rich. His mother bragged to anyone who would listen to her how successful her only son had become.

Ezra hired an office in a trendy new block in the city and hired a team of like-minded people with promises of high wages and big bonuses. Infinite Enterprises raked in thousands of pounds selling useless insurance policies. A tip-off from one of his ex-colleagues in the fraud department that they were investigating the Company meant a quick shutdown of business. A dawn raid revealed an empty room strewn with remnants of takeaway meals, used cups and several newspapers, the headlines announcing three bodies had been found along the M1.

Unicorn Adventure Holidays came next; an air B and B in Chelsea suited this con. The promise of a safari holiday with jeeps with a designated tour guide in Zimbabwe proved tempting to many, as hundreds paid upfront and information on their once-in-a-lifetime holiday would arrive within fourteen days. The Company vanished before the complaints came in.

Ezra sighed as he sat on his balcony, basking in the warm September sun. He sipped his whole-bean coffee, delivered to his door by a guy on a bike, sweating to ensure it arrived hot. Ezra tipped him a ten-pound note, smiling at the look of gratitude on the rider’s face. He flicked through the newspaper; nothing good was going on, he thought: stabbings, a riot and a scathing article about police incompetence as more bodies had been found. The so-called Friend killer, as one of the victims told colleagues they were meeting a friend on the day they disappeared. The only clue they had, were signs of a strong sedative in their bodies.

Ezra now ran six pop-up offices with his most trustworthy people in charge, known as the crew. With several million spread over multiple bank accounts, life was good. Soon he would settle down in his chateau and vineyards he was having built in the south of France.

It all changed three weeks later when Ezra and his crew attempted an audacious sting against a billionaire businessman. As millions were digitally transferred to an offshore account, the businessman, as Ezra soon found out, was the notorious Big Frankie, one of the top crime bosses in Europe, who vowed revenge on Ezra, his family and his crew. The money was hastily returned, but the damage was done. Big Frankie never forgave or forgot. ‘It’s a matter of pride,’ he told Ezra when he contacted him to beg forgiveness. ‘I can’t be seen to be taken for a fool.’

Ezra knew he had to disappear for a while. His family and crew were safe, but his life was in danger. A forged passport and a suitcase full of money were prepared. He arranged passage on a cargo ship leaving Liverpool in two days. Not knowing whether his flat was being watched, he could not risk using one of his vehicles or calling a taxi. Slipping out of his apartment just after midnight, he began to walk. As he reached the slip road leading to the M6, the sun was appearing over the horizon and impatient drivers determined to beat the rush hour traffic sped past. He stood with his thumb raised waiting for one to stop. He was tempted to phone for a taxi, when a pale blue Honda screeched to a halt. He picked up his case and ran up to the window, surprised when he saw the driver was young, blonde and beautiful.

‘Liverpool?’ he asked in expectation.

‘Sure,’ she smiled. ‘Jump in.’

Ezra climbed into the car, put the seat belt on and placed the case at his feet. He sighed, on his way and with such delightful company for the next few hours, who knows, they might become good friends. ‘You’re brave,’ he laughed. ‘How do you know I’m not a serial killer? He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his leg; looking down, he saw the syringe in her hand.

‘Now, what’s the chance of two of us being in the same car?’ she said.

Those were the last words he heard as his world began to darken.