Low Profile by Nick Oldham

‘Gooey-gooey’. Flynn sneered, but was unable to bring himself to correct Costain. The correct pronunciation was ‘Wee-wee’, so there wasn’t much to choose between the two in terms of hilarity.
    â€˜We passed that twenty minutes ago,’ Flynn said.
    â€˜I know – but we were too far out to see it … now I want to see it, OK?’
    He spun
Faye
around with more panache than necessary and headed back south. He knew the beach of GuiGui was fine, powdery sand and quite magnificent, but could only be reached on foot or by boat. It was often deserted but he knew some tourists made deals with fishing boats to be dropped off and picked up, and in high summer there were regular boat trips to GuiGui from Puerto Rico. Flynn had done the journey a few times and had always remembered to warn people of the tides in this particular stretch of coastline. They could be fast, high and lethal to the unwary.
    Costain rummaged through his rucksack and came out with a pair of powerful looking binoculars. He then sat on the fighting chair, clamped the glasses to his eyes and began surveying the cliffs and bays as Flynn steered
Faye
in closer.
    â€˜So what did a million quid feel like?’ Costain probed, shouting above the sound of the engines and the splash of the sea.
    Flynn sighed, did not respond.
    â€˜Bought you this boat, ey?’ he said cheekily. ‘A life in the sun.’
    Flynn’s throat began to constrict.
    â€˜Oh, sorry,’ Costain said. He lowered the glasses and rotated the fighting chair. ‘Never proved, was it? Never proved that you and your partner nicked a mill from a drugs baron and then, funnily enough, both left the cops. He fuckin’ disappeared, didn’t he? But here you are, livin’ the life of Riley. Whatchado? Squabble over the money, then kill him? Is he buried up in those mountains – down a deep gully?’ Costain teased harshly.
    Flynn remained stony silent.
    Costain shook his head, amused, and returned to scanning the shoreline with the glasses. The door to the stateroom slid open and Costain’s bedraggled girlfriend appeared, leaning against the door jamb. She looked as though she had just woken from a night on the town. Pretty dreadful.
    â€˜How are you feeling?’ Flynn asked.
    â€˜Bit better.’
    The boat rose, then rolled on a swell. She held on to the door. Flynn saw her throat rise and fall as she seemed to swallow something that tasted quite unpleasant. She shook her head and retreated quickly backwards, crashing the door closed.
    Flynn stealthily slid the throttle open a touch more. He heard the change in the drumbeat of the engine, but Costain did not, nor did he note the very slight increase in speed. Flynn now wanted to spend as little time as possible in the company of this obnoxious man and his puking lady friend, but he had to speed up with subtlety. His curiosity about what Costain was up to had now waned and he didn’t care any longer.
    He glanced at Costain, who had the binos stuck to his eyes. Flynn gave the throttle another gentle touch, and smiled.
    Although the Canary Islands were known for their all-year-round sun and did not really have a tourist off-season as such, there were times when the pace lulled and the tail end of September was one of those times – that gap between high summer and the half-term holidays in mid-October. Gran Canaria was close to its best at this time of year, Flynn thought. Some of the fierce heat had gone out of the sun and it was a time when the more discerning traveller came to the island. The knock-on effect of that was that on weekdays there were fewer pleasure and tourist boats plying around the waters, and on that particular morning Flynn had hardly seen any others.
    â€˜Bit closer,’ Costain urged. They were not far now from GuiGui, at a point north of the beach where the almost perpendicular cliffs hit the sea. Flynn adjusted
Faye
’s nose. ‘And