A Choice of Evils Read online

  I sat and thought about yesterday’s agreement with Dr Ahmed and what I could do with an extra £100.000.00. I would have to make sure there were no mistakes. My carriage clock chimed for 10.30am and I needed to occupy myself for a while to clear my head and let the ideas come in. The best way to do that was to type some more of the novel I was writing so after a visit to the bathroom and a coffee, I got stuck in.

  As always when writing I became fully absorbed in developing the plot. The hours rolled by often past midnight. Once more a day had gone. It wasn’t the hunger pains that brought me to a stop. The thought that I was coming out of retirement to do a ‘job’ reminded me. I was thinking like a thief again. Sleep brought those thoughts to a halt as I crashed out in bed and sank into oblivion. Where ever my dreams took me that night, Dr Ahmed, the money, and the formula were in my mind when I awoke the next morning.

  3

  As usual I awoke at 7am. My carriage clock in the sitting room chimed alongside the hilarious laugh of my micky mouse clock. A thump down on the alarm button soon stopped his merry cackle. For a moment I stared at the eternal grin on mouse’s face. ‘Seven o’clock and all is well’ said a moving graphic on its face. That was always a nice thought to start the day with.

  A visit to the bathroom while the kettle boiled was part of my morning ritual and a look out of my window did nothing for my choice of clothes. It was raining. Some toast, marmalade and coffee were my prerequisites as I listened to the radio news. After this it was out to the paper shop then return to see what was in my post box. My routine was the same every day. But now it was not one of writing for leisure so much, but rather making a real life plot happen.

  As I munched through my breakfast, I read over the scrap of paper with Dr Ahmed’s telephone number on and dialled the numbers. ‘Please leave a message after the bleep tone’ said a voice. It intrigued me where the answerphone was located. A quick call to the operator soon taught me it was in the Barbican area of London. More enquiries informed me it was in an office complex housing a hundred answerphones. Dr Ahmed’s number was in the name of a Dr Stephens. It was obvious then that he did not want to advertise his name. But then would any thief do that?

  There was much then that I wanted to know about Ahmed’s former colleague Dr Bruce too. Where he lived, worked now and where he played so to speak. Above all, where he kept the XP42 formula? No doubt Dr Ahmed would furnish me with most of the details. But my first step was to collect the £50 grand down payment and get my plan rolling. A time, date and place were needed. I had just the idea. A visit to the London zoo was a good meeting place, I thought.

  It was the perfect place as it was enclosed and would be easy to spot any mischief that came in with him as I would meet him on the inside of the turnstile entrance. My companion would be my digital camera. I could not be certain yet that I would not be double crossed. I was not so green to believe that Ahmed’s word was his bond. But I could see how important this formula was to the scientific community and rivalry was always a competition that brought out the worst in people. Everybody had a price. A retired thief like me would not be noticed on the missing list, I pondered!

  The bench by the first toilet on the left as you came into the zoo entrance would be fine. I would meet him there. We could blend into the crowds as we walked and talked. With the information about Dr Bruce and the down payment, it was up to me to make the happening.

  Having decided on the zoo, I rang the number and left my message. The meeting would take place on Monday 1st February at 12 noon. On top of this, I would arrange to have myself photographed with him at the zoo. Flash gun Terry was just the man for that. He made his living taking instant photos of the London tourists. A £50 note would see him right. I rang him to pin him down for the day. ‘You know me Jack’ he told me. ‘Anything legit for a pound note, that’s me.’ Cheeky bastard, I thought. He was more crooked than I was. But I knew he would be there on the day.

  I didn’t often use my car especially if I was having a drink but I was going to need it a lot for the events to come. It would be an interesting week to see what Dr Bruce got up to in his spare time. Everybody had a life outside their work so with these thoughts in mind, I decided to give my old cherished ford sierra a good going over.

  It soon fired into life. The oil, petrol and water needed topping up and I soon attended to that at Surrey Quays service station. I bought a new film memory card for Terry there too. It was a part of my deal with him.

  A walk into the shopping centre brought me a few hello’s nods and winks as I bought the items I needed. Most of the people I knew were on the fringes of crime or involved in it in some way. But it was none of my business they were looking for a wilful opportunity to pick a pocket or two. Some knew a little of my history, but my knowing could never be their doing. They were the petty types who lived on a hand to mouth existence known as the sausage and chip brigade. But life was full of choices. Why have sausage when you could have steak!

  Back outside, my dusty car needed a wash. It was not good to be seen driving a dirty car in the city. Dirty car equalled dirty person. Maybe the sort who was up to no good the police might think. So a car wash would eliminate that excuse to stop me. As I came out the car wash, I stood back to admire the face lift. With a smart suit on I would look the business when driving around.

  Before going home, my next stop was at Italian Tony’s the barber. A trim, shampoo and a dirty story, was just the job to sharpen up my perceptions. Tony knew how to talk his way into a customer’s pocket. You wouldn’t know until you walked out with a bottle of expensive scalp conditioner, and then ask yourself why you had bought it. Every customer was a potential victim. I had enough bottles at home to play chess with. But I guess everyone was entitled to earn a living. We all differed in our own ways. On arriving home, I added my latest bottle to my collection. A refund at 10% would come near to £100. Tony was on to a good thing. But then so was I.

  Inside the house, the green light on the answerphone was blinking. I pressed the recall button. One wrong number apology sounded like the voice on the second message. It was Dr Ahmed. He had received the details I had left him. ‘I can confirm the arrangements’ was all he said. It was short but good to hear the meeting was on at the zoo. There were no anxieties to trouble me over the next few days until the 1st February so I could relax until then. A night out with Aisha would tune up my biological rhythms.

  As I looked out of my window, I smiled at a snapshot of childhood. Three young boys were peeing onto an empty drinks can. Their amber streams were competing to see who could move it the furthest along the pavement. An old lady crossed over the road away from them while a passing dog copied them against a tree but that didn’t move. It seemed a small contribution to the light rain.

  I telephoned Aisha at the London Park hotel.She had just got out of a bath, she told me and it was a lovely coincidence I had phoned her. She had been thinking about me and was debating to ring me herself. Could I pick her up at 7pm? We could have a night out with afters to come she seemed to imply. I was amazed she still remembered me. I thought our chance meeting would be no more than a one night stand. Promise was in the air. Aisha knew what she wanted and so did I.

  My carriage clock chimed six bells. It was time to shower and put clean sheets on the bed. I had remembered the smell of her perfumed body on the sheets at the hotel. Everything about her was feminine and every crevice of her body oozed with a wild musky fragrance that excited my primitive urges. Her perspirations were like an aphrodisiac that I found irresistible. Like the smell of her pink peach pussy.

  As the power shower cooled my ardour, I towelled and splashed on my usual Paco Rabane eu de toilet. I remembered her approval of it when we first met. She liked that.

  By 7oc’ I was out the house and into my car. There was still a mild drizzle but the evening was warm with it. My casual clothes were smart enough to denote I shopped at a River Island designer store and a fold of money was good insurance I could pay my way
for the evening. Thirty minutes later, I was meeting Aisha in the foyer of the London Park hotel again.

  She was dressed to kill. Her hips walked her towards me as her v cut top displayed her prized possessions and a short navy skirt exposed her olive skinned thighs. It was impossible not to stare and she knew it. Her face blossomed into a happy smile. She had it all with looks, intelligence, and style. We exchanged a kiss. ‘You are going to show me some of your beautiful London?’ she asked. ‘With pleasure sweet flower,’ I answered. ‘Come this way.’

  The evening was looking good. Our first stop was to be a favourite pub over at the East End of London. You were always certain of a good laugh with the resident comedians. A few drinks there to start with and then to a theatre show in the city followed by a nice meal. So away we went with the intention of having a good time.

  We reached the pub in time to hear Bad Breath Brady pouring out his nightly dose of blue jokes to make your eyes water. He also liked to dig people out of the audience to embarrass them with some rude jokes, but he gave us all a good laugh which put us in the right mood for the evening.

  From there we left for the West End. A seedy little theatre tucked away in a back street offered a bawdy production of the Guys and Dolls show. Imagination wasn’t called for as the visual acts were the real thing. Nothing was barred. A full house sounded a rousing applause at the end as smiling faces from both sexes twittered with delight. Furtive gropes soon disappeared as the auditorium lights came on and respectable smiles returned to their owners. It was eyes down as we walked out with the crowd. I was amazed that Aisha seemed to take it all in her stride especially watching the explicit acts. I wondered what she did for fun back home in the Middle East.

  A meal at the Viceroy tandoori ended the evening with a few drinks. Her knee knocked against mine under the table while the waiter hovered for a service tip. Some Indian music played in the background as we finished and left in good shape to make our way home.

  Back at my house, Aisha teased me with her pink tongue as I came out of the bathroom. Her fallen skirt and bra lay on the carpet beside her as my arms reached out to embrace her warm exotic body. Our lips locked together before we peeled off our remaining clothes and made it to the bedroom. Then like two apes on heat, we ate into each other like forbidden fruit. A combination of lust, alcohol, passion and need, brought out the animal between us. It was a euphoric experience as our orgasms exploded us into a state of oblivion. Every nerve was satisfied as we melted into each other’s body.

  Sleep came quietly leaving us unaware that the carriage clock had swept past eight hours into morning and a rude awakening came from micky mouse as his cajoling laugh filled the bedroom on the stroke of eight o clock. Aisha gave me a knowing smile. It was time to live another day. After a coffee, a kiss and a promise, she left to make her own way back to her hotel. Now the fun was over for the time being.

  There was nothing in my post box to shout about. Two payment demands and a royalty cheque from my publishers cancelled each other out. But with the money I had coming it was peanuts compared to this.

  The business in hand returned to mind. There were a few days before the 1st February when my meeting with Ahmed would take place at the zoo. I mulled over some ideas as Frank Sinatra sang ‘My Way’ on my stereo. The lyrics suited me just fine. My way was how I liked to do things too.

  Today there were three things I needed to do. The first was to start covering my back against Ahmed. He knew an awful lot about me from my autobiography, but I knew very little about him. I needed to build up my own portfolio as insurance in case anything happened to me after he had the formula. The man who could help me to do that was Dave the weasel.

  He was an ex-sergeant, who volunteered retirement from the Metropolitan police force. He had no option but to retire. It was either that or the sack. There was more alcohol in his body than blood. Giving evidence in courts, often found him wanting for a memory as too many of the ‘guiltiest’ got off while the innocent went to prison. Dave the weasel always had a money problem. Contributions for the pub trade were always welcome in return for information from him. He still had his contacts in the police force and was able to maintain ‘unwritten co-operation’ by virtue of what he knew about his fellow mortals. ‘That’s the way life is’ he told me on many occasions. I left a message on his answerphone to get in touch as I knew he would.

  I had decided to place some listening devices in the homes of Ahmed and Bruce. I needed to learn as much as possible about them both. What better than to hear it from themselves. I knew just the place to get them from, having used them before, when plotting up on an obscenely rich person who had more money than sense. When I was an active thief, I had gone to extreme lengths to avoid meeting my benefactors. ‘Raffles’ was what they called me amongst other names! The little transmitter bugs were very helpful in making things possible. Now they would come in handy again.

  A quick cup of coffee and I was on my way to Spymaster electronics. They had every conceivable listening device you could think of. They were in the business of only answering questions, not asking them. Perhaps that’s why business was so good. It wasn’t long before I arrived and explained what purposes I needed them for. Guarantees were guaranteed with more guarantees that the ones I had just bought were the very best.

  When I arrived home my green light was flashing a message. My recall button delivered an a.s.a.p. call from Dave the weasel. He was waiting to hear from me. I rang him back for a meeting at the Clipper pub in Rotherhithe Street. He always talked better when he was well lubricated with drink. This evening would be ok, he confirmed.

  By 7pm I was on my way. The rain had stopped. It was a chilly evening and a good shot of whisky would warm me up. The pub was no more than ten minutes from where I lived. They served a good meal there too, and it was important to get a meal into the weasel’s stomach before the drink took over him.Otherwise you may as well be talking to a brick wall.

  I arrived to find him sat at the bar. His unshaven rugged face did nothing to hide the red end of his alcoholic nose. It had the stamp of a hard scotch drinker. I was glad I was not that bad being partial to some amber nectar myself. At forty, he had no problem convincing anybody he was sixty. His taste for clothes was preserved by a 1960 bell bottom trousers and a tan leather coat that even the Salvation Army would find hard to sell. Yet one thing about Dave was he always wore a clean white shirt. He nodded in recognition as I entered. We pumped out a handshake. With priority in mind, I invited him to a meal as I ordered the drinks.

  A pretty auburn haired barmaid showed off her gold bracelets and finger rings as she took my money. The weasel looked at her with nostalgic affection. She returned him a well-practised smile and turned to show her assets from behind. A grin spread over the weasels face as she returned with the drinks. It was a good start to the evening as we waited for the steaks to arrive.

  ‘Cheers Jack,’ he grinned. ‘It must be a year since I saw you last. But I never forget a face.’

  ‘Likewise Dave’ I responded. ‘How’s the world been treating you?’

  ‘Same old shit, just a different day. And you?’

  ‘Different days with different shit but it’s the variety that counts’ I smiled.

  His face creased into a smile. ‘Good’ he continued. ‘Then at least you’re spoilt for a choice. It’s more than I can say.’

  We clinked glasses then he lit up his cigarette. I didn’t smoke and hated the smell of the dammed stuff but I suffered the fumes on pain of gain. ‘I have a proposition for you,’ I told him. ‘I need some info on a couple of guys. There’s £200 in it for you.’ The weasels face expressed his interest. ‘I’m interested. Keep talking,’ he asked me. So I did.

  I avoided telling him the reasons why and made haste to induce him with a £100 down payment. This quickly disappeared into his pocket. All he wanted were the names and addresses of Ahmed and Bruce. I knew I would be in receipt of those details after my meeting with Ahmed. My plan would
be to meet up with Dave the morning after that had taken place. Then he could get the information I wanted. So it was no problem checking them out for me, he assured.

  With his fingers rubbing the £ notes in his trouser pocket, he told me what a nice fellow I was and that I should see him more often. The balance would be there on the day I told him. We drank to that as the waitress brought our meals to our table.

  Small talk and hard luck stories dominated our conversation. It seemed odd that we were both two disgraced members of society from different backgrounds talking like old friends. But I suppose in a way the rules were simple enough, he told me, the coppers job was to catch the thief and the thief’s job was not to get caught. Once you stepped over the lines all sorts of unwritten rules came into play. Thieves were a nuisance, he told me. He wished he had something to steal. Everything of value had been sold. Even his integrity! God was good on his benevolent days but he couldn’t remember when the last one was, aside from today, he smiled.

  Dave the weasel was a tough old character. Nothing seemed to bother him unduly. He was quite philosophical about his circumstances. ‘Who knows what is around the corner for any of us?’ He said. ‘An honest man today can be a crook tomorrow.’ I could not help but drink to that.

  Having enjoyed the meal we returned to the bar. Another cigarette puffed out his distress signals. With his other hand, he wrote on a piece of paper ‘Jack. 2nd Feb’. Clipper. 10pm’. I bought him a final drink to indicate my departure was imminent. I knew he would use his feet transport to get home. Or someone would pour him into a cab at closing time!

  ‘Well Dave here’s to your health,’ I told him.

  ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ he smiled sardonically, and then plunged his red nose into his whisky drink. It was time to leave him knowing he would find his way home.