A Choice of Evils Page 8

  ‘You did not hear my question Jack.’ I looked at him intently. I wished he would stop calling me Jack. ‘I heard you,’ I answered. ‘Do you want me to spell it out for you? It is not turning out as simple as I thought it would be. I know exactly where the formula is. But I told you I have to do things my way. It all costs money.’

  ‘Of course, of course, but time is of the essence. There will be others who want this formula too and I want the advantage of getting it first. You are being well paid.’ he stated crisply.

  We now moved onto the meat displays and stopped again. I stared at the frozen packs of lamb and beef all neatly cut, measured and priced. Ahmed looked at me. ‘How perfectly prepared the meat is. I doubt these once graceful creatures could ever imagine such an earthly demise?’ Our eyes looked into each other’s. It was a power stare. My instinct interpreted his remarks as a veiled threat. Fuck you, you bastard, I thought. He then picked up a shoulder of lamb to inspect its price label. ‘You see, everything has a price,’ he whispered. Then at the top end of the aisle, I saw him! It was Ahmed’s shadow from the zoo also seen in the photographs. A fleeting look passed between us then he was gone.

  Warning bells rang in my head. I was getting a little more paranoid and needed to be told this was all unreal. I had an uncanny feeling that Ahmed knew I had suspected his motives. But neither of us was saying. His psychology and semantics with words were subliminally designed to intimidate me.

  I looked at the leg of lamb in his hands. There was power and menace in his grip of it. He smiled at me then broke the silence. ‘It is such a heartless world we live in. We must draw our own conclusions about life. I’m sure we have a meeting of minds? Does it matter if I am a bastard? Think of the money and what it could do for you.’

  He was certainly a cool calculating person. Not a feather of his composure left him as he spoke. I had not the slightest doubt that the meat in his hands was a message for me. On replacing it, his hand gave me a pat on my back. ‘I knew a professional thief like you could be depended upon. Let us remain amicable about it all. The formula can mean nothing to you but is everything to me. He stretched the word ‘everything’ out with emphasis. There was no doubt that his oblique reference to the word was designed to render me psychologically subjective. Emotions of rage, hate and resentment curdled inside me towards this parody of evil. I wanted to bash his nose in but yet not create a hornet’s nest of troubles which I didn’t need. ‘You will have the formula,’ I told him. ‘As you say, it means nothing to me.’ He tilted his head and smiled flatly. ‘Good. Then perhaps now you will allow me to treat you to a fish supper? The haddock looked rather nice on the slab Jack. Would you like some of that?’

  Christ! I really wanted to smack him right between the eyes. I shook my head. All I wanted was to get away from him and Tesco’s. What I wanted was a large scotch.

  We exchanged glances. ‘I will wait to hear from you then, Jack.’ Again I nodded hearing myself say yes. He gave me another pat on my back as he moved away leaving me staring at the fish. I left in another direction. The smell of freshly baked bread drifted towards me as I passed by the bakery. It did nothing for my appetite.

  Once outside, I heard six bells chime on a church clock. There was no need to rush home. My meeting with the weasel was not until 9.30pm. The evening darkness seemed hostile while the oncoming rain was somehow refreshing. I felt a great combustion of energy to be purged as I milled my steps in the walk back home. Like a robot, I trudged on in the knowledge that I had become an unwitting contender in a conspiracy for a death formula.

  10

  As I approached my house, it seemed I was oblivious to pedestrians and cars that passed me by. Only the laud honking of a car horn prevented me from an accident as I crossed the road. My thoughts were preoccupied with the past hours revelations.

  Indoors, I made straight for the scotch bottle and poured myself a large one. A quick gulp sent a fireball into my stomach helping to quell the queasy feelings inside. My memory at the fish counter brought back vivid pictures of the entire meeting as I knew my instincts about Ahmed were valid ones. I think he knew that I knew his story for wanting the formula was a fabrication of the truth. He knew his double talk was working on me. Psychological terrorism had its place, especially when a thief like me was compromised. He knew I could not go to the police for fear of arrest. Neither could I tell Dr Bruce for the same reasons. It was crystal clear that his ingenious plan was a well thought out strategy from the start. Right now, I didn’t know if I was angrier with him or myself. Thus I cursed myself for the greed of easy money so I accepted that I had brought this whole messy saga upon myself, lock, stock and barrel!

  From somewhere in the mists of memory came an old saying, ‘To run is not to hide and to hide is not to see!’ If I upped and left, where would I go? Everything my life stood for was right here. What about Aisha, Sharon and Louise? Then there was Susan, a regular girlfriend I had not seen for months. But that was because she was an air stewardess. Memories of her too filtered through my thoughts. Maybe I should give her a call? Perhaps a reunion for old times’ sake would take my mind off the predicament I was in. Yes, that’s what I would do after I had poured myself another scotch. Now I was beginning to mellow out but I needed to remain temperate for my meeting with Dave the weasel at the Blacksmiths arms.

  ‘Hello. Is Susan home? It’s Jack here.’ I queried the voice at the other end. I knew it was her flat mate, Charmaine. She was a bubbly woman. ‘Boy, will she be pleased you phoned!’ she answered. ‘She lost her diary with your number in it. She’s asleep just now. It’s the jet lag from her flight from Saudi Arabia. Can she call you back?’ I gave her my number and threw in a compliment of how sexy her voice was. I suggested that maybe she was Susan? But that didn’t go down too well. I left a message for her to call me before midnight. I was sure to be home by then.

  It was now 8.45pm. Time I made my way to the pub and Dave. I had already written the key numbers on a piece of paper before calling a taxi as I didn’t want to chance driving the car back. A few drinks with the weasel and I would be over the limit. The thought of being arrested for drunk driving would open up a hornets nest to other things. Ten minutes later there was a taxi outside my door. I knew the weasels hungry fingers would want to count his down payment of £1.000 which was in my pocket. Tomorrow afternoon would see me collect the keys from Doc for a £100.

  In the cab, I suffered the gabble of the driver who informed me his last customer had done a runner. I got the impression he sought confirmation I was not about to do the same. I earned a smile from his face as we arrived at the Blacksmiths arms. That cost me £5 including a tip. Sure, we all had to earn a living.

  Inside the pub, I was met by the expectant smiling but haggard face of Dave the weasel. For once he was offering to buy me a drink as I pulled up a stool beside him. His tattered leather coat positively looked decomposing on his back while his bright white shirt salvaged a measure of his dignity. I looked at his tobacco stained yellow teeth but was careful not to expose my disgust.

  The barmaid held out her small smooth hand as Dave counted through his change. Of course his generosity was too good to be true as he was short of two pounds to pay for the drinks. He turned to me in askance knowing I would make good the difference. ‘It’s the thought that counts,’ he told me. It was my turn to smile. I guess you couldn’t help liking the audacity in him. The barmaid smiled too.

  ‘Are you ordering a meal sir?’ she queried, looking from left to right of us. He knew I was at his mercy, so I invited him to see the menu as I nodded to the barmaid. ‘Gee. You must have read my mind Jack,’ he smiled. ‘If only I could.’ I remarked. Two steaks, fries and salads were ordered as I paid yet another bill.

  He sent a puff of smoke in the direction of the barmaid’s bottom as she went to convey the order. You could tell he was feeling good in himself but this was probably because he knew I had a grand in my pocket for him. It was obvious he would also have to grease somebody
’s palm to get the information I wanted. ‘Cheers Jack.’ he said raising his glass. Dave plunged his red nose into his drink like it was a life giving substance. Then he blasted me with a stream of smoke making me gag a little turning my head away.

  His fingers drummed out a tattoo on the side of his glass as I studied his reflection through the optic mirrors. His mind was turning over what the genesis of his usage might be at this meeting. ‘It’s big stuff huh?’ he enquired. Whatever way you looked at him, he was always going to be a part time policeman. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ I answered. The barmaid called our table. ‘I’ll tell you what I need after we’ve eaten our meal.’ I added. ‘Sure Jack. Sure.’ he mumbled.

  With table and meal ready, the weasel’s eyes looked hungrily over the food. He was soon munching contentedly without speaking. That suited me as I didn’t want to see what lived in his mouth.

  Some distant background music filled in the silence between us as I strained to maintain a good composure. But within me was a restlessness that would not go away. Behind my mask were the ghosts of Ahmed and his shadow evoking the memories of our meeting?The truth was I felt uncomfortable about my secret activities which affected my appetite, so I pushed my unfinished meal away.

  Dave tut tutted sympathetically. ‘It would be a shame to waste it. Do you mind if I make a pig of myself?’ he smiled. ‘Go ahead I told him. I’ll visit the gents for a minute.’

  Inside the gent’s toilet, I sat in a cubicle to double check the grand I had brought for him and the paper with the bank deposit key numbers on it. On my way back I asked the barmaid to phone me a taxi noting the table displayed two clean plates as I sat down again. The weasel looked up inquisitively but I wasn’t really in the mood for preliminaries. I got straight down to business and passed him the money together with details of the banks and Bruce’s address and the key numbers. He soon became alert when he saw the money. I watched his face almost visibly making his financial calculations. Who he had to pay was none of my business as neither mine was his. ‘Can be done, Jack.’ he assured me. ‘Give me a few days and I’ll have all the details for you, ok?’ I nodded. ‘You get the rest when I’ve got what I want,’ I told him. His face creased into a smile as he buried the envelope down the front of his underpants. ‘Only a woman can find that!’ he quipped. I told him it would be a good idea if he went home now. For once he agreed. Shortly after, the taxi arrived and we both got in.

  Ten minutes later I arrived home to have another large scotch after leaving Dave to reach his own destination.

  It had just turned 11.45pm when the phone rang. It was Susan. The alcohol helped me to sound convivial but I was far from feeling that way. I knew I was 40/60 sober, but managed to hide my percolating anxieties. The good news was that Susan had a five day rest period and suggested we should spend some time of it together so we arranged to meet at the Downtown restaurant tomorrow evening. It was an all-inclusive price of £30 for a dinner, cabaret and dance and the restaurant was nicely perched on the edge of the Thames River. We flirted light-heartedly over the phone for a while to see if feelings had changed between us. They had not. She had been a longstanding girlfriend for some two years as well as Sharon but Aisha and Louise were really just passing ships in the night, but Susan was special. She had a thing about lipstick and jelly babies too. We were all for playing games. ‘I’ll bring them with me,‘ she said seductively. It was a nice thought knowing I would see her again soon, I thought, as we put the phone down.

  After I left the bathroom, I almost fell into bed.

  Next morning, mouse reminded me I had little to laugh about so I punched the button on his head. His silence greeted me with a blue sky. Today I needed to snoop on Dr Bruce with a telephoto lens camera. I had not forgotten I needed a close up picture of him for the sisters to work on. The picture could be taken from my car outside his house and this meant I had to leave almost right away to catch him leaving for work. After this, I had to meet Doc’ at the Battersea dogs home again. Time was of the essence.

  I was soon out of bed and skipped through my morning rituals to now be on my way to Golders Green. The traffic was in my favour as I weaved my way through to earn some anti-social gestures from other drivers. I knew Dr Bruce did not arrive at his Research Lab until 10am. So my one hour journey to arrive would coincide with him leaving his Willifield Road home.

  When I arrived, there was a readymade parking space a hundred yards from his house. I now rigged up my camera lens hidden behind a newspaper which I tested for position of a good picture. Fortunately it was fairly quiet here and perhaps too early for the curtain twitchers to be curious about a stationary car. My eyes peered over the top of my newspaper and I did not have to wait long. At 8.15am he came out of his house oblivious of my camera clicking away. I took four good pictures as he walked briefcase in hand to his BMW car.

  He was about 5 10 in height and roughly 90k in weight. His light brown hair was much shorter than mine and he wore black framed spectacles. An average looking man, I thought and I was sure my impersonation of him would not be a problem for Lisa and Laura the make-up artistes. As soon as I had the deposit box passwords from Dave the weasel, I could perform the necessary task at the bank. Now I reminded myself to change over Bruce’s tapes again in a few days as I drove away on seeing his car blend into the other traffic.

  Back at Surrey Quays I put the film into the chemist for developing to collect next day then went home. Some inspiration to type some more of my novel went slowly as writers mind block produced me just three and a half pages.

  My concentration was broken by a phone call from Doc’. Could I meet him at 2pm at the dog’s home? He sounded pleased with his work on the keys and that was good to hear for me. I was making progress. The carriage clock chimed one which left me an hour to get there.

  There was no problem with the traffic and parking was easy too. I liked meetings that were kept on time. As usual, Doc’ was there tapping his Reeboks outside the dogs home. We were soon part of the visitors looking around the kennels.

  Doc’ handed me the keys he had cut, then from his pocket pulled out a ‘clock housing’ on its own. ‘See this,’ he told me. ‘This is the same security lock that those keys were made for. They’re used for safe deposit boxes. Go ahead Jack, you try them?’ he invited. That was music to my ears. Doc’ grinned as I went through the motions. They fitted and worked perfectly. ‘I’ve cut them in such a way that I guarantee them to open any deposit box,’ he continued. A smug smile lit up his face. He was a clever so and so, I thought. I passed him his £100 with another twenty on top. I knew Doc’ had done a good job. Our business was complete. If there any more help needed I was to give him a call he said as we parted like old friends do.

  Also on my itinerary today were the change overs of the tapes at Ahmed’s and Bruce’s houses to be done this evening. I wanted a clear day tomorrow after collecting the films from the chemist and I needed to be in good form for my meeting with Susan. With that in mind, I drove home to collect my kit for the evening’s business.

  It was 5pm when I arrived and safely put away the deposit box keys until I needed them. Now with my thieving tools to hand, I was back in my car to do the journeys again stopping at Lyndon gardens, Notting Hill first. As I knew Ahmed’s house well now, I was in and out with tapes changed within minutes. Then I went off to Willifield Road, Golders Green to repeat the exercise again. It was now all done with me back home at 7.30pm.

  At home, I got straight into listening to the tapes hearing Ahmed’s first. The first few minutes of recording was taken up with issues of a domestic nature. Then what followed made me get up from my settee. Ahmed was being asked to deliver the ‘present’ within the next fourteen days as British Intelligence had been detected sniffing around the Embassy with parabolic listening devices. I had no idea when the time of this message was recorded. Was it conceivable that my meeting with Ahmed at Tesco’s was also under surveillance by the British Intelligence Service? I sat listening to Ah
med’s reply. ‘It’s all under control,’ he was saying. ‘I shall make it clear to him urgently.’ The voice hesitated then spoke again. ‘Our time is short. It is imperative that a resolution is concluded soon.’ A discussion about a duty roster then followed and finished the conversation.

  I moved to exchange the tapes and listened to Bruce’s one.

  On listening to his voice, it was clear that this was a man who chose his words carefully even talking about domestic things. First I listened to a pictorial description of an art auction he had attended. He was describing the refinements of a Canaletto painting then a conversation with a female turned into a promise of a candlelit dinner.

  I listened carefully to his voice and the tenets of his vocabulary. The only thing of interest was about his attendance at a MOD (Ministry Of Defence) meeting at Porton Down, Devon. It was public knowledge that this was a government establishment for chemical weapons research. His meeting was scheduled for the last week in March. That was ten days from today. I saw that as my opportunity for calling at the bank’s safety deposit boxes. My meeting with Dave and the sisters would fit in just nicely, I thought.

  In order to ensure my impersonation of Bruce was complete, I would ask Peter the pen to make me up another pass and I would put a reduced photo of Bruce on it. I would need his signature too so a bunch of flowers would be delivered for him to sign for at the Tropical Research Lab. It was easy to knock up an invoice for that. The flowers would purport to come from a belated valentine’s admirer and be seen as a light hearted frolic. But that would gain me his signature to use on the pass. This was a contingency measure in case I needed some identification other than my appearance at the bank. At least if I was challenged I would have something to show.

  There was no room for mistakes now. One mistake and I would become my own executioner. I knew what I was up against with Ahmed and the formula. If the British Intelligence Service got a whiff of what was going on, then it would be goodbye Jack and hello prison, or even worse. They were not sniffing around the Iranian Embassy for nothing, I pondered. The formula had to be in my hands by the end of this month.