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Ch. 01. You Never Forget Your First.

Tod Ford looked on from his usual vantage point as the get-along mix of young Turks and guys from other eastern European nations worked their afternoon shifts at Conham Car Wash.

It was an open secret that the young guys came to the UK for a ‘holiday’ and were retained for employment by the six Turkish brothers Yilmaz.

Conham, a small town near Manchester Airport, known as ‘Little Turkey’, was the acknowledged and uncontested turf of the Yilmaz brothers. It was an open secret, too, that the viable businesses they ran were also fronts for money laundering and the fencing of stolen goods.

The six Yilmaz brothers were all in their twenties. Tod Ford thought of them as likeable rogues. They were good-looking, charismatic guys. They all looked very much alike and sported the same feathered-at-the-back hairstyle, barbered by Ali, known locally as ‘Ali Barber’.

Emir was the kingpin brother. Emir ran Conham Car Wash. Bora ran Bora’s Bookmakers. Mert ran Mert’s Mini-Mart & Off Licence. Kerem ran Kerem’s Kebabs and Cafe. Hassan ran Hassan’s Taxi & Travel. Ali ran Ali’s Barbers – his speciality the ‘Badboy’ hairstyle favoured by the six brothers.

Tod Ford had noticed that the six Yilmaz brothers had a common trait. Tod wondered if others were aware of the oddity – this familial tendency. Their common quirk was that the six always went barefoot in backless white Crocs, and they would habitually rest the ball of their foot on the open heel and wiggle their toes before resting their bare sole on a wall or a vehicle or whatever might be convenient and leaning leisurely back to make a call on their mobile phone.

Conham Car Wash was open 7 a.m. – 7 p.m. Monday – Saturday. Emir charged a standard price of £5 for a car and £6 for a van.

Emir’s workers lived on-site in the sixteen converted shipping containers at the back of the premises, which were the living quarters of the car wash workers and also the employees of Emir’s five brothers. The sixteen shipping containers were stacked in four four-high towers, with access to the upper three by a zigzag ladderway. Tod mused that there would be a fine view of Conham and the surrounding area from the improvised perspex windows of those four uppermost converted dwellings. Other locals complained of a blot on the landscape.

Tod Ford had just turned eighteen. Tod, who had poor school grades, was due to leave full-time education for some humdrum dead-end job but had opted instead to enrol on a Government-funded three-year online study at the behest of his parents. The clincher had been their offer of free room and board at home and a monthly allowance of £200.

Tod planned to do his online study in the evenings – he had other ideas for his daytime activities. Tod wanted a full-time, all-day occupation. And if his plan panned out – his ‘business proposal’ to Emir – Tom was sure he would get it. Tod believed his now finalised and finessed offer was too good to refuse. All that Tod needed now was the courage to put it to Emir.

Tod watched Emir’s employees wash his customers’ cars and vans at the six wash stations, working alone or as an organised team under a ‘Captain’. The midsummer sun gleamed on their tanned, water-splashed legs and flip-flop feet. Tod had heard that about half of the lads were Turks, and the remainder came from Albania, Bulgaria and Romania. And Tod had learned that these car washers had it cushy by relative standards. They worked a five-day week, six hours a day, either on the early 7 a.m. – 1 p.m. shift or the late 1 p.m. – 7 p.m. shift. The lads seemed happy enough in their work, singing along to the pop songs on their blaring ghetto blaster. Tod mused that it must be a lucrative business for Emir. There was always a moving queue of cars and vans – Emir’s cash register must ring nonstop. It was 5:30 p.m. on Friday, and two lines of vehicles awaited their signal to a vacant wash station by a Captain.

Tod then refocused on the canopied yard at the side, facing Emir’s backroom office. Here, van drivers could pay half-price if they self-washed their vehicle, but they would still get a receipt from Emir for £6. Many van drivers took up the money-saving option – and back-pocketed the price difference of £3.

Tod had learned the routine by observation from his vantage point. Wet the van with the jetwash, take a bucket of soapy water to work around the vehicle with the long-handled soft-bristled brush for the bodywork and the sponge for the stubborn areas, use the short-handled stiff-bristled brush to scrub the wheels, use the stepladders to do the roof – then rinse off with the jetwash. Tod reckoned he could wash a van in eight minutes.

Tod’s principal interest, though, was White Van Man.

Tod struggled to put an apt label on his growing and, by now, unshakable interest in White Van Man. Fixation? Obsession? Compulsion? Preoccupation? The most befitting word he could come up with was: ‘Infatuation’. Tod couldn’t bring them to mind, but he was sure there were a couple of better descriptors to pigeonhole his peculiar proclivity.

Tod Ford wanted to wash White Van Man’s van for him.

But tuzla escort Tod wanted something in return from White Van Man.

***

Tod Ford thought white vans were the most magnificent vehicles on the road and, by extension, their drivers were homage-worthy people.

Tod thought the sleek lines of white vans were elegant, stylish and majestic, imbuing their drivers with an air of the maverick and cavalier.

And Tod thought White Van Man was a special breed of person: streetwise and ever vigilant for any possibility of self-advantage.

And the day some weeks ago when Tod Ford had seen a white Mercedes Sprinter van parked at the kerb, the driver, a study of insouciance with his feet propped up on the dashboard with the grubby heel of one white-socked foot eased free of his ratty trainer as he enjoyed his bacon sandwich – that was the day the seed of his ‘infatuation’ was sown with White Van Man.

Something had just clicked in Tod’s brain. Tod was frozen to the spot, mesmerised at the sight. So much so that White Van Man eventually frowned down at him from behind his copy of The Sun.

It had seemed uncanny to Tod Ford that the last three letters of the Sprinter van’s registration were WSM – for white-socked man. The bright light of enlightenment had shone in Tod’s head: White-socked man in his white commercial van.

That was the day Tod Ford had his ‘Big Idea’.

If Tod offered to wash White Van Man’s beautiful Sprinter, would White Van Man permit him to kiss the bottom of the grubby heel of his white-socked foot in homage? Tod thought of it as not so much a reward but as a gracious honour bestowed upon him for humble services rendered.

It was probably for the best that Tod never got to ask.

White Van Man had rolled his driver’s window down and shouted at Tod. “Hey – you! What are you looking at? Why are you staring at my foot?”

Tod had responded, “You have a beautiful van, sir. I would love to wash it for you.”

White Van Man had said, “Go away – you idiot!”

Tod replied, “Sir, I admire your insouciance.”

White Van Man had said, “What?”

Tod said, “Sir, you are a maverick and a cavalier.”

White Van Man had said, “Get lost – you nutter!”

Tod had responded, “Sir, your van is magnificent: elegant, stylish and majestic – and, by extension, you are homage-worthy.”

White Van Man had shouted back, “Dickhead – I told you to go away and get lost! So – will you sod off? Or should I get out of my van and kick your arse?”

Tod said, “Yes, sir. No, sir. And have a good day!”

Since that day, Tod had worked on putting some meat on the bones of his Big Idea. And now, he believed he had a viable – no, irresistible – offer to interest Emir Yilmaz.

And since that day, Tod Ford had looked through the windscreens of approaching white vans, hoping to see the dashboard-propped white-socked soles of any co-occupants. And on occasion – Tod had.

Tod always wondered if the White Van Men who noticed him looking at them somehow knew what he was thinking – and what he was hoping to see.

Tod Ford would not have been surprised.

You just never knew – with White Van Man!

***

Tod Ford was living at home rent-free and drawing on The Bank of Mum and Dad, enrolled on some bullshit Government-funded three-year online course – while White Van Man oiled the wheels of the UK economy.

Tod wanted to even things up a bit with White Van Man.

The heat had been building all day, and the late afternoon was warm. The weather had been warm for some weeks and, like many Mancunians who were unused to long spells of hot weather, Tod had got used to wearing shorts and no underwear.

Tod watched the flag blowing in the warm wind from the flagpole on the Conham Car Wash roof – the flag of Turkey, also displayed from the flagpoles of the other five Yilmaz brother businesses.

Tod knew he had to make his move now. It was now or never. Tod knew he would not be able to pluck up the courage again. Tod had to go over there, into Conham Car Wash, right now, and ask to speak to Emir.

Tod approached the dusky-complexioned, attractive young woman sitting at the cash register. Tod knew she was Irma, the Turkish wife of Emir.

Tod said, “Can I speak to Mr Yilmaz?”

Irma gave Tod the once over and dismissed him as unimportant. Irma said, “Emir is a busy man. What is it about? Do you want a job in the car wash? If so, you can apply to me. You can work your hours to suit yourself. I will pay you half the minimum wage rate, cash in hand. And you can start work immediately, working under a team leader – or Captain. But I warn you now. Do not get off on the wrong foot with me.”

Tod said, “Thank you, but it is not that, exactly. And, with respect, I would prefer to see Mr. Yilmaz in person. The matter is somewhat delicate.”

Irma said, “And I said that you can speak to me. I told you, my husband Emir is a busy man. And he keeps no secrets from me – ‘delicate’ or otherwise. You understand? What you tell Emir, he will tell me. So you would do better not to waste pendik escort any more of my time. Now – one last chance. Tell me what you want – or you can sling your hook.”

Tod was beginning to wonder who was the true ruler of Conham Car Wash. What was the saying? ‘Behind every great man, there is an even greater woman’? Well, Tod thought Irma was great: a great beauty.

Tod could not bring himself to tell Irma why he was there – even though she would find out soon enough from Emir. Tod sighed. He had not factored this in. Tod had not foreseen that Irma might be his unwitting stumbling block – if she knew his intentions, she would certainly not stand in his way. All of his carefully thought-out detailed planning had come to nothing. Tod would not achieve his goal: to usefully serve and to humbly tribute White Van Man. Tod sighed in heartfelt disappointment. Tod said, “I am very sorry to have bothered you, Mrs. Yilmaz. I’ll sling my hook.”

Tod was turning to go, but Irma Yilmaz grabbed Tod’s sleeve, flashed her eyes and said, “Wait! Oh – if you are so insistent! Well – this had better be good! I have better things to do than run around after the likes of you! Wait here. I will see if Emir will spare you a moment of his valuable time.”

Irma opened the door to Emir’s backroom office and went inside. A moment later, Irma returned but did not resume her seat at her cash register. Irma said, “You can thank me. I have persuaded my husband, Emir, to spare you a minute of his precious time. Come!”

Tod said, “Yes, Mrs. Yilmaz – and thank you!”

Irma told Tod to follow her to Emir’s backroom office. Following her, Tod noticed Irma had great legs and that her bare heels popped free of her loose-fitting black leather flats as she walked, showing glimpses of her milk chocolate-coloured soles. Irma opened the office door and gestured for Tod to precede her inside.

Irma now folded her arms, bent one leg at the knee to pop her heel and said, “Emir, this is the guy with a ‘delicate matter’ to discuss with you.”

Emir was wearing the red shorts and shirt of the Turkey football team.

Turkey were playing against Greece tomorrow evening in Istanbul. This fixture was always a big game for both countries – but this time, it was for qualification to next year’s Finals of the World Cup. Turkey and Greece had both finished third in their respective qualifying group and made the play-off draw for the best of the third-place finishers. The draw had pitched them together to play their two-leg decider. The first leg was tomorrow in Istanbul, the second leg on the following Saturday in Athens.

Tod saw that Emir’s tanned legs were short and muscular as he sat with his feet propped up on his desk with his ankles crossed, the bare heel of his upper foot tapping against the open heel of his white Croc. Tod thought that Emir did not look particularly busy. Emir was looking through his backroom office window into the yard, where a White Van Man was washing his vehicle – a VW Transporter – for the half-price self-wash deal.

Emir said, “Thank you, Irma.”

Irma looked at Tod, her dark eyes flashing at him, and then she flounced out of Emir’s office.

Emir withdrew his feet from the top of his desk and walked to the whitewashed wall, which afforded a clear view of the yard. Tod noticed a darkened football-size smudge on the whitewashed wall behind Emir, about three feet above the industrial-carpeted floor – and suddenly understood how it got there. Tod’s intuition proved right as he watched Emir slide the ball of his left foot to the heel of his backless white Croc, wiggle his toes, raise his bare sole to the football-size discolouration on the wall behind him and lean leisurely back.

Emir looked at Tod and pointed to his watch. Emir said, “I am a busy man. I was about to make an important phone call. You have one minute to tell me what this is about.”

Tod looked through Emir’s backroom office window to the canopied yard and pointed his finger at the guy now jetwash-rinsing his vehicle. Tod said, “It is about him – White Van Man.”

Emir had told Tod he had one minute to explain himself. But Emir did not remove the sole of his foot from the sweat-begrimed patch of wall as, for ten minutes, he listened open-mouthed to what Tod had to say to him.

Emir said, “Tod – you said your name is Tod? Tod, I tell people I am a man of the world – but I mean this world! What planet are you on?”

Tod said, “Mr. Yilmaz, am I to understand you are not interested in my business proposal? That I will work in the canopied yard for you for no pay? That I will take no rest breaks? That I will eat lunch and drink my flask of tea while I work? Seven a.m. to seven p.m. Monday to Saturday? For three years?”

Emir finally removed his bare sole from the wall and returned his foot to his backless white Croc. Emir said, “Did I say that – heh? Did I say that?”

Tod said, “No, sir, Mr. Yilmaz.”

Emir resumed the seat at his desk and propped up his feet as before, ankles crossed, and the bare heel of his uppermost foot tapping against the heel of his maltepe escort backless white Croc. Emir studied Tod, his dark eyes cunning and calculating. Had the cops sent this fellow here to trap him? No – not even the cops could not come up with something this crazy.

Emir said, “Let me see if I have got my head around what you told me. In a nutshell: Do you want me to foot-bitch you up to White Van Man?”

Tod said, “Mr. Yilmaz, sir, I am not sure I would use that terminology. But in essence – yes. But I want to earn the honour. And what better way could there be but to wash White Van Man’s dirty white van for him – as a three-year vocation? His tax pounds pay for my Government-funded three-year online Further Education course: Fields of Philosophy.”

Emir looked through his backroom office window to the yard and said, “A philosopher would have his work cut out trying to make sense of you, wouldn’t he? A three-year vocation? Bond yourself to me for three years of unpaid servitude? Twelve hours a day? Six days a week? To serve and honour White Van Man?”

Tod said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Yilmaz. That is it – in a nutshell. It is my quid pro quo to White Van Man.”

Emir said, “There are other car wash businesses – why did you pick mine?”

Tod said, “Mr. Yilmaz, sir, you have a reputation. I have heard you can make things happen. And your car wash operation is the largest for miles around. Van drivers come here in droves to your van-only facility to self-wash their vehicles in your canopied yard. It is the perfect set-up for them – well-equipped and roomy. So I thought my best chance to serve and pay tribute to White Van Man was through your facilitation.”

Emir said, “So, just to be clear. You say you want to spend your days in the yard, washing white vans, while the drivers sit idly in their cab and watch you? And then kiss the white-socked soles of the drivers’ feet for the privilege of letting you serve them and in tribute?”

Tod said, “Yes, Mr. Yilmaz: the driver and any other white-socked occupants of the white van who will allow me to honour them with my humble tribute. White Van Men are driving the country forward to prosperity, as it were – while I am their under-inflated tyre causing a money-draining drag. White Van Man is productive – while I am reductive. White Van Man’s foot is hard down on the accelerator pedal – and I am pulling on the handbrake. The industrial strivings of White Van Man are filling up the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s coffer – while I empty it.”

Emir said, “Yes, yes, quite. Now – tell me again about your proposed van washing schedule. And you said something about creating a website?”

Tod said, “I have seen the van washing process, Mr. Yilmaz. I know how it works – so I will hit the ground running. Working quickly and efficiently, I will wash six white vans per hour. I think a wash and rinse will take me about eight minutes, allowing about two minutes for my humble tribute and the transition to the next white van. And you could set up a website, to advertise and for online booking of your unbeatable new service. Mr. Yilmaz – imagine the demand! Instead of queueing, White Van Man can book ahead online – even days ahead – choosing a vacant ten-minute slot at a time to suit himself. And the beauty of it is that you can still issue your receipt for six pounds, and White Van Man can still back-pocket his three pounds for doing a self-wash – but he won’t have to! White Van Man can sit in his white van and take a break while I wash his superb vehicle for him! Mr. Yilmaz – don’t you see? Everyone is a winner!”

Emir said, “So, Tod – it’s ‘White-socked man in his white commercial van’. Eh? Hmm… six vans per hour equals seventy-two vans for a twelve-hour day. Over six days, it equates to four hundred and thirty-two vans. And your ten-minute time slot scheme for maximum convenience to White Van Man sounds workable. I could run the online side of the operation from here in my office on my laptop. Irma will help me set it up. We will have it ready to run and receive bookings by midday tomorrow. As you say, I should impress upon the drivers the importance of cancellations: to phone me to cancel and rebook or to delete their online appointment if they can’t make their ten-minute time slot for whatever reason. That will free up the time slot for another White Van Man to book online or who might phone in on spec – thereby minimising revenue loss. And yes, you are right again – supplying your devoted service exclusively to White Van Man six days a week during all opening hours would make me very popular with White Van Man. Time is money. And busy, hard-pressed van drivers and self-employed couriers on tight schedules and low rates don’t like sitting around waiting – because wasting time is losing money.”

Tod said, “I will confidently predict, Mr. Yilmaz, sir, that very few ten-minute time slots will go unbooked and that any cancelled bookings are quickly snapped up by White Van Men phoning in on spec or checking for availability on your website – so you should monitor it constantly. Word will get around the White Van Man community, and white-socked White Van Men for miles around will be phoning Conham Car Wash for a ten-minute slot to sit idly by in the self-wash yard – while I wash their van for them. And I am equally confident that many White Van Men will become regular customers or, at least, repeat customers, who will provide you with a steady income stream. So Mr. Yilmaz, sir, what do you say?”

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