Chapter 30 – The Years of the “Mouse” (Part 2/2)

Following on from part 1, while the sale of these flats was going through, I received a call.

"Gazoo?"

"Yes???....."

" I am Lukas..."
Lukas ???

"What can I do for you… .Lukas?"

"Mouse owes me €90,000"

"I do not know anything about that nor do I want to. Mouse is just a client of my real estate company."

"But you, Gazoo, are selling 5 flats for him and I want you to give me €90,000 when you get paid!"

This was not a request. His voice was cold and clear despite a heavy, east European accent.

"You need to speak to Mouse about this. I myself will not be receiving the money from the sale. I understand that will be a bank transaction, not a cash one"

"I have spoken to Mouse and he has promised to pay me as soon as the sale goes through"

"OK... so you deal with him. I am just the estate agent"

"You make sure I get paid Gazoo, ...... or you will have to answer to me!"

There was no mistaking the threat.
Though I was to receive a hefty commission for the sale, from the purchaser as it happened and had been agreed, I was only in charge of splitting the commission between my (furniture) friend Juan and one more as yet unknown person. Mouse would tell me who that was once everything had been sealed, signed and delivered.

But it was a disturbing call nonetheless. In my business dealings with Mouse since the mobile phones incident I was strictly acting as an agent in the buying and selling of property for him and several of his business acquaintances. I purposely avoided social invitations from Mouse, despite a continuing friendship. His parties at the notorious "Selecta Club" were legendary for three things: champagne, women and that they lasted anywhere from 3 days to a week.

No, I was no saint, but I guess in choosing my "sins" .... how shall I put this.... I had learnt to be best guided by greater discretion, and in any case, I was into my second marriage which I was determined to make work.

Mouse called me later that same day to let me know the transaction would be completed and signed in Madrid. He insisted that I attend and had booked me a room at the Ritz so I could stay the night. I asked him about this Lukas guy, but Mouse shrugged it off assuring me he would explain it in Madrid where he would also introduce me to some other friends of his, business contacts he assured me would be very profitable connections.

A couple of days later I drove up to the Ritz in Madrid. Once there, during a sumptuous dinner where water was the least popular drink, Mouse magnanimously presented me with a gift for having achieved this and other sales.

Some of his business friends were there, as well as French Billy, the official owner of the flats and his new, far-too-young fiancé, Greta.
Why do I mention Greta?

She stood just over 6-ft, plus heels, platinum blonde hair, Wonder Woman eyes, blood red lips and a silicone enhanced body she barely covered with a white silk almost-dress. Definitely a showstopper of a woman, a Red Sonja/Brigitte Nielsen look-alike and I was asked to sit by her side, Billy on the other and to my left, Mouse as "Master of Ceremony".

During a lull in the conversations, and after tearing myself away from almost ogling Greta .... who enjoy being ogled anyway ... I quietly asked Mouse about Lukas.

"Do not worry about him, Gazoo. I will pay him as soon as I get my hands on the cash"

"Who is he anyway?"

"He is ...or rather, he was a colonel in the Stasi once. He had valuable contacts in Eastern Europe where I made some good business and I know I owe him that money."

A colonel in the Stasi, the previous East German Secret Police ... a pussycat he certainly could not be. But as long as the matter was settled between them, I tried to convince myself I could avoid him.
Then Mouse tapped his champagne flute for silence. He turned to me and said:

"Gazoo, to show you my appreciation everything you have done, I have had this made specially for you"

Mouse brought out a magnificent, if a tad gaudy, men's chunky ring. White gold with a 5-carat black diamond topping it!

"I have had the diamond cut in the shape of a kippah (a skull cap as worn by orthodox Jews) so you could appreciate it even more!"  Mouse exuded magnanimously.
Approval all around the table!

I was speechless.

I was embarrassed.

And……. I was shit scared!

This unnecessary gift convinced me it was time to cut and run. I had turned a blind eye to what was possibly behind all the financing of property that Mouse had been putting my way. I rationalized that as long as I kept to the buying and selling of property for him and his associates, my part was legal ..... as indeed it was. Compliance in those days was unheard of, especially in Spain. I was happy to take my commission on each transaction just as any other estate agent did. But either fear or better judgement made me realise that once I accepted more than just the commission, once I accepted this obviously very expensive and personalised ring, I would be ensnared inexplicably by the dark side!

It was in a moment of enlightenment, almost an epiphany, that I turned to him and quietly explained:

"Mouse, this is too much. I cannot accept it although I am hugely grateful for this beautiful ring. As you know, I have taken an oath never to wear jewellery and I would be unable to use this. I do not want to offend you, but I cannot take this ring."

At this point I must tell you, dear reader, that I truly had sworn this, as you can read in a previous chapter. Ever since my father became terminally ill with cancer, I had divested myself of all the jewellery I used to wear. Six and half years of accompanying him to the Royal Marsden Hospital in London for treatment clarified my senses of what in life has true value and what has none.
In a nutshell……
"Whatever you can buy and sell has no ultimate value".
You cannot buy or sell health, family, love ..... get the picture?
Because Mouse knew of this, he accepted my rejection, grudgingly, and promptly placed ring on his own finger.
End of that very expensive ring, end of that conversation!

As the night wore on, I also rejected going to a famous and salacious nightclub with them all and went to my room. I needed to think about this ring incident. I had to get out of this business while I still could. Once this deal was done, I would close up the estate agency and also finish all further transactions with Mouse, despite our personal friendship and despite the obvious profit factor.

In the morning the title deeds were signed at the Ritz, in the presence of all parties, including the dodgy bank manager, equally dodgy lawyers from all sides and a rather pompous Notario, also no doubt playing for the dodgy team. After being assured by Mouse that I would receive the commission fee to be split up between Juan, French Billy (?? yes, he was the mysterious third part in the kick-back trade too!)  and myself over the next two or three days, I drove down from Madrid with Billy and Greta, who were continuously fondling like two carefree, randy teenagers on the back seat of the big S600 Merc I owned at the time. It was a rather distracting review mirror scene, but by then, I was too preoccupied thinking how to close down the business, to pay much attention to these second-hand lovers.

Some hours later I dropped them off at Greta's flat in Estepona Port and returned home.

That was the end of that, I thought, other than receiving and splitting the commission fee.

Yeah, right!

Two days later I got a call from Mouse.

"Gazoo, are you in the office?"

"Yes, Mouse"

" Stay there! A black Audi with Gib registration will arrive in two hours and deliver the €150,000 commission in cash. Make sure you are there!"

For €150,000 I would certainly be there!

This was a 3-way equal split, so I called Juan and French Billy and arranged to meet them the following day. Sure enough, the black Audi arrived, driven by two strangers dressed in matching black. They handed me a cardboard box and sped away.
I had never seen so much cash together!
Fifteen vacuum packed blocks of crispy new Euro notes ... quite a sight and a fitting farewell to my last "Dance with the Darkness" days ...... or so I thought! !

Just a few minutes later the door to my office burst open. A very dishevelled Greta rushed in slamming the door behind her.

"Gazoo ... Gazoo ... You have to save me!"

I would have wanted to do loads of things but saving her was not in my mental bucket list at that moment!

And at that moment, the phone rang.

"Gazoo!" It was Lukas.

"Yessss...?" I drawled, trying to sound like a cool Dick Tracey.

"Mouse has disappeared with all the money!"

"Disappea...."

"Shut up and listen!"

I did both.

"Billy has escaped to Morocco and that bitch Greta... when I find her, I will slice the silicone out of her boobs!"

"Hey, hey ... wait a minute Lukas...."

"Wait nothing! I know you must have master-minded the scam so as not to pay me!"

"Lukas what are you talking about, man?"

"You have received my money just now. In a Gib registered Audi (he actually quoted the number plate!) so I know you were behind it all the time."

"Lukas all I have received is the commission. Mouse confirmed to me he was paying you.... "

"No one can find Mouse. There is no one in his office nor his villa so you are going to pay me and I want my money now!"

"Relax Lukas .... give me a few hours to sort this out"

"So you can also disappear too?  ... No way!"

There I was, sitting in my office with a hysterical Greta gushing tears and tits  in front of me, a seriously threatening Lukas on the phone and a box with more cash than I had ever seen together in my life.

"Gazoo .... I know where you live. I know where to find your wife and your son. I will kill them both unless you give me the money today."

I realise even as I am writing this, this sounds very 007-ish.

I also realised that I was no 007.

I think I am a reasonable businessman and can negotiate as hard is the next man, but I also knew I was totally out of my league. Dealing with an ex-colonel of the very feared Stasi was never part of my curriculum. To this day I wonder how I was able to continue a conversation with a killer, comfort a Bridgette Nelson look-alike and still text Mouse on his very private number all at the same time.

Mouse texted back: "Give it to him. He is too dangerous. I will make it up to you. But he must take his gorillas away from my family"

Gorillas? What is this??? Jumanji???

"OK, Lukas. Where are you?"

"Estepona, outside Mouse's villa"

"I will meet you in an hour at the Estepona Pryca Supermarket, in the parking lot"

"In the Audi?"

"I have no Audi, Lukas. A blue Merc"

"One hour .... or I go to visit your wife and son in Gib...."

Greta had heard all this ... Her mascara and lipstick, what was left, had streaked her face in a Max Factor Camouflage pattern.

She then told me what had happened.

French Billy, her paramour, was in bed with her, promising he would be leaving his wife in Marseille so their own romance would continue, once he received his share of the money, in Tangiers. He was getting a nice cut for acting as the owner of the flats which, as it turned out much later, he was not. He was the straw man in the deal.

This was Greta's storey.
They were in Greta's fat in Estepona Port

. Just as his sweet words were coming out of his mouth and she, Greta, was imagining a change of profession for herself, one where she could keep her clothes on all day, the door burst open! There stood two of the biggest men she had ever seen. As they were coming into her flat Billy grabbed what clothes he could and jumped out of the window, through the garden and on to the road, no doubt the very envy of the Roadrunner himself. Lukas's two bodyguards, roughed her up till they were sure she had no money and then, they too left. She knew where Billy was hiding. She wanted Billy’s money so they could run away together. Being vastly more experienced than I about that Nether World, she had packed with what little she could and came to me for Billy's share of the money.
I was not going to argue. Understanding the situation, I took Billy’s €50,000, placed it in a used shopping bag …. talk about recycling!...I gave her new clothes from my shop and hugged her goodbye. Even in that strange circumstance I realised that Lukas would have needed the better part of a couple of hours to extract all the silicone from her.

Though never to this extreme, I have been in several scrapes in my life and somehow or other, found an island of tranquillity within my mind which helped me function at a rational level, even within the irrationality of situations. Once such circumstances are over, I have always crumbled into a shameful mass of shaking and even tearful flesh, requiring immediate ablutions!

What I will tell you now is exactly how it happened and even today day, 20 or so years later, it all still amazes me. Sometimes I think I may have missed my calling in not applying to Hollywood for a career.
I wrapped the box with the money in that day’s issue of the SUR in English, placed it under the passenger seat of the Merc, and headed for Estepona. Definitely, I resolved, this will be the last chapter in my dealings with Mouse.
 I did wonder how Lukas would find me once there. We had never met, but he seems a very well-informed Colonel, no doubt his Stasi years had taught him a thing or two.

No sooner had I parked my car outside that supermarket when two, really big bulks of steroid-muscles-with-eyes approached. Did I say big? I am positive they would have struggled to get into the car had they wanted to. I later learnt from Mouse that they were the personal bodyguards of Lukas, both state-sponsored, Russian weightlifters. With one on each side of the car I was certainly not going to run away (much as I would have loved to). The front passenger door open and Lukas slipped into the car.
Lukas was the prototype of every evil gangster, bent policeman, cruel bastard that Hollywood had ever created. Pale skin, totally shaved head, all tattoos and hard sinews and the palest of blue eyes I have ever been looked through. You will not believe me if I tell you he also had a facial scar, as if he needed it to look more menacing, but he had!

With one smooth move, he pressed something hard and cold on my side, a very business-like gun!

"Where's the money, Gazoo?"

I swear to you, dear reader, that I must have been out of my mind to have replied:

"Hey, take that away, you are staining my shirt!"
The barrel of the well-oiled Beretta (?) had left a round stain on my new, white, silk shirt.

Lukas looked at me as if I was crazy, and to some extent I am certain I was.

"The money!"
Whatever you may say of Lukas, he was certainly a very focused person.

"Relax man, it is under your seat"

That was when he put the gun away finally.
No, not because of my idiotic bravado, but because he needed both hands to slide the box out.

"How much?"

"€90,000 all together." (I thought I’d keep the €10,000 difference – you do the maths – no point giving him more than what Mouse owed)

A man of few words by now, he opened the car door and started getting out.

"Lukas, Lukas ..." I called.

He turned: "What?"

"I want the newspaper back. I haven't read it yet"

Lukas looked at me as if I was mad, and I think I must have been. Stripping the newspaper away, he gave it to Mutt, (or was it Jeff?), who folded the SUR carefully and gave it back to me. As they walked away, the laxative of the situation kicked in and I barely made it into the supermarket toilets in time!

I must add that two weeks later, Mouse paid out the correct commissions for Juan and I, keeping his word fully.

I paid off Juan, with whom I still enjoy a warm friendship. We still reminisce about those wild days.

All the money I made through my business dealing with Mouse I later lost. Somehow, circumstances surrounded me over the next few years in which I had to use that money for zero returns …..  and that is poetic justice ….. or Karma …. or my just deserts.

Greta called me from Paris a few months later, to thank me and invite me to her wedding, no less, though not to Billy as it turned out. To this day I think she was still beautiful.

French Billy was found drowned in Morocco, I heard. I asked no questions. Was it Greta? Was it whoever was the real owner of the flats? Or was it an accident?

Mouse passed away a few years ago, peacefully in a Geneva hospital bed, alone and penniless.

That’s all till next chapter 😊