A Choice of Evils Read online

  I gave a vague account of how life was for me. I told her about the new novel. It was coming along nicely I reported. It was a good job my mind was not a window she could see through. My business with Dr Ahmed and the intrigues of my recent tribulations would spoil the magic of our relationship. She knew I had been a rascal and had collided with the police occasionally, but not that I had stolen from the rich and famous over the years. No. It was always better to heed the golden rule. Say nothing to change nothing. I led the conversation back to her and told her how beautiful I thought she was. But that part was true.

  For a while we sat, talked and stargazed. Our trance was broken by the 10 chimes of the carriage clock. To coincide with that, the phone rang. It was Danny the dipper. He had the pass. Could I meet him in the morning at 10.am at Surrey Quays tube station? It was just a short walk from my house.

  I could hear Sharon in the bathroom upstairs cleaning her teeth. I went up after hearing her move into the bedroom. I detected a faint smell of Anai’s Anai’s fragrance. It was a perfume she knew I liked on her. I went through the ritual of my own ablutions taking care to clean my teeth and freshen up what was a joy to behold. Then I retraced Sharon’s steps into the bedroom. She lay naked as I took my place beside her. Our lips and tongues went in search of the signals that mattered. We explored, tasted and teased until we came face to face. Then as nature intended, I entered her warm wet inviting pussy as she arched her back to meet me. In a synchronised rhythm, we maintained our drive until like an erupting volcano, we both exploded into a heavenly oblivion. After the moans of fulfilment had abated, we lay in silence spent from the forces of need.

  Sleep came quietly as our bodies locked together in a delicious perspiration. What dreams took place remained a secret between us as the hours swept past into morning.

  7

  I had set the micky mouse clock for 8.am. He came to life with his usual burst of laughter. Sharon was lying on her back with both ends of a pillow curled over her ears to shut him out. I stabbed the off button to silence him. That bought me a kiss.

  We both left the nest in all our naked glory and showered together. The usual toast and coffee was on the agenda. It didn’t take long to demolish it. A hug, kiss and the promise of a phone call marked the end of her visit. We went through the usual ritual at the door before she left and went off to work. I started getting my day together.

  I checked the post box. There were some bills to pay and this reminded me to ensure Danny the dippers £100 was in my pocket. I next called at the paper shop before arriving at Surrey Quays station. My adopted dog friend was waiting for a Good Samaritan. It had to be me.

  Danny was waiting all too innocently when I got there for 10.30.am. He had probably been eyeing up a victim to pickpocket. As usual, he was sharply dressed in suit and tie with a grin spread over his face when he saw me. We shook hands like long lost friends.

  Oblivious to the commuters, he gave me the pass in return for the money. Now he wanted to sell me a watch which somebody had dropped into his hand from their wrist. The 18ct gold Rolex gleamed in the morning light. It was not the sort of thing I wanted to wear on my wrist. I suggested he tried Two Tone Tony a publican, who was known to buy dodgy items like jewellery and watches. He could sort a price out with him. That said, we went our separate ways.

  On my way home I phoned Peter the pen from a call box and made a meeting for 3.30 in the afternoon. It fitted in with my plans to visit the Ahmed and Bruce homes to check on the recorders I had concealed there. Whatever I would learn from the tapes it would tell me something I had never known before.

  Once I had the forged pass back from Peter, I would be able to get into Bruce’s laboratory. There was surely some place in the building I could hide until the workers had left for the day. Then I would have the whole night to examine and locate Bruce’s Lab. The XP42 formula was in a red bound file according to Ahmed. It was constantly referred to during various parts of certain experiments that went on there, he told me. No one scientist knew the complete composition of the formula except Dr Bruce who was solely responsible for its safety and security. It made sense that as it was an on-going experiment, it would be in his lab or at his home. For the next few hours, I typed out some more pages of my novel until it was time to meet Peter the pen. Shortly after this, I was out my door, into the car to meet him at the Warrior pub in Lower road, Rotherhithe.

  Like most of my contacts he was bang on time. He had his face stuck into a newspaper as I approached him. He was a different character to Danny. He was small, thin and wispy in fact almost delicate. His big brown eyes darted everywhere. Unless you knew him, he could have been a fragile bank clerk having a quiet drink while mother wasn’t looking. But in truth, he was highly intelligent and methodical in his habits let alone his forgeries.

  It was a pint of lager for Peter and a scotch for me before I handed the stolen pass over to him and he went to examine in the gents toilets. Back at our table, he told me it was easy to copy. He could have it done in 48 hours and we could meet up again at the Warrior tomorrow evening. It was all so simple. He had something I wanted and I had something he wanted. Cash! That’s what made the world go around. Cash!

  It was an economic meeting with simple small talk. Or should I say, I made all the small talk while Peter just listened. He was not a man of many words and it was time to buy him another drink and excuse myself for other business.

  Back in my car, I drove off for Willifield Road, Golders Green as my first stop. I had not forgotten my tools and micro light torch. It was now approaching the build-up to rush hour traffic as I ferried myself through the Old Kent Road traffic towards North London. It looked like it was going to be like one of those barmy evenings on the road.

  It took me a good hour to get there and was almost dark at 5pm which suited my intentions. I soon found a tidy parking spot up the road from the house. For a few minutes I scanned around to see if everything looked right. It did. Then I checked I had the replacement tapes, torch, screwdriver and penknife. It was a habit of mine to do that. Willifield Road was quiet. It seemed just the sort of place that a scientist like Dr Bruce would live.

  Satisfied my timing was right, I made my way to the location. This time I went quickly around the back in a circle to the front door again. There were no lights on so I performed my ritual of the ring and knock exercise. Of course there was no answer but you could never be sure. I liked to work with the odds in my favour.

  The extension ladder was where it had been previously left by the shed. I soon had it up in place by the window. Within a minute I was up at the window and gently eased it open to climb in and step onto the bedroom carpet. My first thoughts were to look around for a safe or see if there might be a copy of the formula somewhere. It was a forlorn hope as there was neither. I ensured my enquiry had disturbed nothing and climbed back out of the window.

  It was easy to exchange the tapes from the recorder under the conservatory eave. After I had it back in place I checked the window was shut properly then put back the ladder where I had found it. Shortly after, I was back in my car again driving to Ahmed’s house in Notting Hill. Now I was just part of the evening traffic. It was almost 6pm and in half an hour I would be at Lyndon Gardens.

  My timing was just right to see a car just leaving the handy parking space where I had parked before. I quickly did my preliminary observations to ensure things looked right and made my way to Ahmed’s house. As before, I swiftly circled the back then to the front door again. There were no signs of life or lights as I rang the bell. No answer invited me returning to the back of the house. It was always a good feeling when a sash window slid open easily which it did. My legs were soon over the sill to land both feet on the carpet. With the torch, I crept around doing a meticulous search like I had done in Bruce’s house. It was curiosity that got the better of me. I was not looking for anything to steal but I was troubled by the sparse furnishings in such a large house. It didn’t seem right, but conscious of the time,
I was soon up into the attic retrieving the recorder from under the water tank and changing the tapes. Having done that, I quickly left the house exactly as I had found it. A few minutes later, I was driving home; very keen to learn what conversations took place in the households of Ahmed and Bruce.

  I arrived home in time to hear the carriage clock chiming for 7.30.pm. After pouring myself a scotch, I fitted the tapes into my playback recorder and listened in the quietness to whatever I was about to hear.

  As the tape played, I identified Ahmed’s voice talking to somebody with an eastern accent. The conversation was socially convivial. Other calls followed about cars, relations, and enquiries about Iranian Embassy appointments. It was all seemingly innocent stuff. Then just as I was about to get disappointed, I heard a voice ask Ahmed if there was any developments? There was a slight pause before he answered. ‘We must not hurry him,’ he had replied. ‘He has the best incentive in the world. He will contact me as soon as he has it.’ The enquiring voice then sought reassurance. ‘He does not suspect anything?’ Ahmed replied, ‘No.’ Again the voice spoke, ‘Good. All our people are in place. Let us hope our wait is not long. Goodbye.’ Other social conversations followed that call as the playback finished. But now I was intrigued by what I had just heard. I would play it again after I had listed to the tape from Bruce’s house.

  Again, I tuned in my ears to listen into the conversations. The first call was a female. They obviously knew each other well and by all accounts had recently shared a bed. Now they were fixing a date for an evening out. The next two calls were about some airport plane arrivals. But the fourth call preceding two others of a domestic nature was an urgent request for Bruce to phone the MOD (Ministry of Defence) on an extension number.

  Once again, I played Ahmed’s tape and focussed on what I had heard. The voice had asked if I had suspected anything and ‘all our people are in place’…….’what people?’ I wondered. ‘What place?’ These sentiments were beginning to rattle me. Quite clearly, Ahmed had deceived me all along. Then there was Bruce’s link to the MOD? Was there more to this formula than what Ahmed had told me about? I had an uncanny feeling that what I had just heard on the tapes was not the language of a simple proposition. The voice obviously knew everything Ahmed had already told me! So why would I be minded to suspect anything different? My mind was now flashing a red alert. I had a feeling that I had been taken for a sucker somewhere along the line. Instinct told me I had talked myself into something much bigger than a simple gene cloning rivals ego!

  The scotch bottle caught my eye. I felt in need of a stiff drink. I didn’t like the sound of this. Maybe I could opt out by returning the money? Give Ahmed some excuses………have a heart attack………dammit! Greed had replaced need. It had all sounded so simple from the beginning. What if I told Ahmed the deal is off? But then either way, I would be someone who knew something he shouldn’t know! Then what?

  The implications unfolded in my mind as I slugged the scotch. Experience had given me a good instinct against unwelcome trouble. I was Mr Clever Dick wasn’t I? The guy who had kept out of trouble for 10 years but now, I felt I was walking straight back into it. Me! A retired thief.

  I got up to pace up and down the sitting room. What was the best line of defence? Attack of course! Attack whom? Forget it. The only way I could preserve my interests was to carry out the theft and avoid signalling my suspicions. I would have to get this dammed formula and check it out myself. That’s it. I decided that’s what I must do.

  Suddenly, I felt a wave of paranoia sweep over me. What if I was being watched? What if my phone was bugged? Jesus! What would happen when and if I handed over the formula? Would I get paid the rest of the money? And wouldn’t I still be someone who knew something they shouldn’t? It was beginning to feel creepy. What the hell was I doing agreeing to steal a British secret for the bloody Iranians? Of course I knew the reason. So did Ahmed. It was money. Lots of crispy money!

  Dwelling upon my uncertainties, I hit the scotch bottle heavily and eventually went to sleep.

  The next morning I awoke with a crick in my neck. My settee had been my bed fellow for the night and my head throbbed and throbbed like a banging drum. I stared at the empty scotch bottle on the carpet knowing why I was feeling the way I did just now then mobilised myself into the shower. The force of the water pummelled my body as it regenerated me with new life. Like an awakening zombie, I stood there emptied of thought as the water cascaded over me. Ten minutes later, the healing warmth of the water had revived my spirits a little as I slowly returned to feeling somewhat normal. As I consulted myself in the mirror, my eyes looked as if they had been awake all night while my body had been asleep. But some soothing eye Optrex would soon cure that, I thought.

  Just as I started to dress, mouse burst into his jubilant laugh. It was 7.am. On this occasion I felt like punching him on the nose. He sometimes affected me like that. Next it was on with the radio, kettle and toaster. It was raining heavily out on the streets.

  The news on the radio was depressing. An IRA bomb had exploded in central London. Casualties and property damage was reported. Then the usual interviews and on the spot reporters gave their accounts of gloom and doom about the economy followed by who was doing what to who in the royal family. The world seemed a mad place, yet it came quick to remind me that I was a part of the madness too.

  As I munched through the toast, I began to think of the things I had learnt from the tapes. There was no need to play them again as I had absorbed all the details. Neither was there any point in kicking myself over having made a bad decision. I had made my own bed and now would have to lay in it. My meeting with Peter the pen this evening came to mind. As soon as I had got the security pass I would search Bruce’s Lab thoroughly then hopefully find what I was looking for.

  Now the carriage clock was chiming 8 bells as I heard the click on my post box. The strong coffee and toast had lined my stomach. It was time for my walk to the paper shop. On my way out I checked my mail. A greeting card from Sharon said hello. Another from a bank manager told me my credit rating had gone up. But I never borrowed or indulged in overdrafts. What was mine was mine and nothing more. It was the way that I saw things even though ‘my way’ had often been paid for by other people’s money I had confiscated from the rich. As I saw it, the bank manager’s job was to exploit the poor. Well, they couldn’t have me. Besides, I was going to do very nicely – thank you. All being well!

  It was raining heavily as I stepped outside with my umbrella to walk to the shops. A car passed by the curb and sprayed me with some filthy water. That was all I needed to start the day. A cyclist rang his bell and grinned as he passed by. I hoped he would fall into a puddle on his way to work.

  The placards outside the shop screamed out the headlines about the war in Afghanistan, the economy and the royal family. I nearly stabbed someone with the umbrella tip as I lowered it to go inside. I got cursed for that and made haste to pay for my paper and head back home.

  My mind raced ahead of my feet but got me home soaked to the bone. Some coffee, fresh clothes and a switch to classical FM radio was therapeutic. I listened to Mozart’s piano concertos and envied the luck of the idle rich. A read through The Times paper brought me back to reality with the world. It was now fast approaching 10.30am and I had some hours to waste before my meeting with Peter the pen.

  From somewhere within came the inspiration to type some more of my novel. So at the typewriter, I pounded away the hours into the evening. A desire to eat brought my attention to the time. It was 7.30pm leaving me amazed where the hours had gone when I was typing. Another 6 pages had been added to my novel.

  Almost in a trance, I left home for my local tandoori and within minutes was sitting at table placing my order. My meeting with Peter the pen was for 10pm.

  The Indian waiter hovered over me awaiting my drink selection. I always drank lager beer with a curry meal so ordered my pint of Fosters. There were a lot of couples and some early piss
heads lining their stomachs for a late drinking session in the pubs. I called a ‘hello’ to two car thieves I knew. They were obviously celebrating some good fortune with two girls who would even be impressed with the price of kippers. Some Indian background music serenaded the customers while they ate.

  It was a good half hour before my meal arrived. Lamb madras with vegetable bahji and Palau rice. It was my usual combination with Nan bread. Exactly one and a half hours later, I was out the door bloated with a full belly.

  I passed my car deciding to walk to the Warrior pub and was surprised to see Louise out walking. She was a pretty woman who had said ‘hello’ to me at Surrey Quays shopping centre. She was out to have herself a drink she was saying. What a shame, I thought, as I was on my way to meet Peter the pen. It was nice to see her again and not wanting to lose out on a potential promise, I gave her my phone number as we walked together for a short while. After an invited kiss, we parted at the Warrior pub having told her I had some business to attend to. She quite understood and promised to phone me. I really liked her.

  Inside the pub, Peter was already there with his nose stuck into a newspaper at the bar. We exchanged a nod as I made contact with the barmaid’s eye. With our drinks in hand we made our way to a quiet corner table and got down to business. He passed me an envelope which I took to the gents and compared the forgery to the original. It was difficult to tell which was which. There would be no problems in passing through security with that. All I needed to do was put a plausible name and thumbnail photo on it. That was simple enough. I passed him the £150 as agreed. I could see he was pleased with that. Call me anytime, he invited. I liked Peter. He was very talented with his pens.