A Choice of Evils Read online

  It was not often I doubted my own ability. As a thief, I had overcome some near impossible challenges in the past. Experience was something you never lost, even though I had been retired for the past ten years. Now I was at it again and greed and need often exchanged hats, so to speak. Old habits die hard – if the price was right. I didn’t need to get involved in this saga. I had been doing very well as a writer for a living and just the thought of it all took me to the scotch bottle. I poured myself a large one.

  Time was getting on again. The carriage clock chimes reminded me to phone Peter for another pass. He was on his way to bed when I called but we agreed on a price as usual. A meeting was arranged for 10am in the morning after I had collected the Bruce photos from the chemist. After midday tomorrow, the rest of the day was mine. My thoughts turned to Susan.

  By 11.30 I was in bed trying to plot out the next part of my novel. I was able to embellish aspects of my recent activities in my story. Yet it was not difficult trying to separate fiction from facts in real life. Sleep stole quietly over me as the night disappeared.

  Next morning, I was greeted by mouse in the usual way. I let him carry on laughing for a while so as not to fall asleep again. A look out the window gave me an idea what the day would be like. There was no sign of rain but it looked crisp and cold. A need for the bathroom and a cup of coffee had me out of bed to make ready some breakfast and perform my usual routine.

  A mental preamble of the day’s plans seemed easy enough. Collect photos, meet Peter. Get him to do me an invoice for the flowers and another pass. The thought that I was on a day count down to the end of the month would keep me on my toes. But with Susan at the back of my mind, our meeting at 8.30 was something to look forward to.

  The news on the radio was dismal. Wars around the world and royal family squabbles preceded a report that the pope was on his knees away from Rome, kissing the tarmac in a foreign land. What did anyone ever have to show for all the prayers offered? I wondered. Maybe I was being a bit cynical. There were forces for good and bad in the world but where did I fit in? All I knew was that I had to get that formula. It was fast becoming my passport to sanity. I switched off the radio. There was enough bad news in my head without filling it up with more.

  I needed to get out of the house. My post box was empty. But I then noticed a black rover car parked suspiciously close to mine. There was no sign of a driver or occupants in it. I always parked in that spot so I could see my car from my house. As there were no houses nearby where I parked, I wondered where the driver could have gone too. Was I just being over suspicious or was it coincidence maybe? I lingered for a few minutes hoping that someone would drive the car away. Nobody came. I decided to walk to the shops and passed the car without a glance.

  It was a fresh morning as I strolled along. My thoughts nagged me about the car. A look back towards it saw nothing unusual. In the paper shop, I made a fool of myself having arrived without any money. I took one on credit. On the way back home, I noticed that the rover car had gone. That was within a space of 15 minutes. It troubled me, even though I had no good reason why it should. It was only a car. Perhaps I was getting too paranoid, I thought.

  Back home, I killed time reading until I knew the chemist would be open. Two hours later, I was there collecting the photos, then I met Peter at Surrey Quays and discussed the terms of our business. He would phone me as soon as the new pass and the invoice were ready, he said. It was all sorted and done before midday.

  When I arrived home the answerphone was blinking a message. There were two. Perhaps Susan had called. No. It was the beautiful Aisha. She had been thinking about me and she would phone again, she had said. The second call was blank. Though I could tell someone was listening on the line. The faint slam of a car door caught my attention followed by silence. I played it again to confirm what I had heard. Was it somebody wanting to know if I was in? Ahmed would have left a message. The slam of that car door? The black rover car? Was there a connection? I made for the scotch bottle. I was in need of a tonic.

  Something made look around my sitting room. It was just a feeling. Call it instinct if you like, but I felt uncomfortable about it. Could anyone have been in while I was at the paper shop? My eyes scanned over the furniture, cupboards, pictures, TV and everything I could see. I examined my front door lock. There were some scratches on the brass key hole. But that was probably due to my fumbling with the keys on opening the door myself or was it?

  Into the kitchen, my eyes searched for disturbances again but I was unsure what I was looking for. In the bedroom, I looked around for any signs of obvious clues but could not remember how I had left things. Back to the telephone, I examined the base knowing it was a good place to hide a bug yet everything seemed ok. There was nothing to justify my suspicions. Was I just being paranoid? Who would want to bug me other than the intelligence services? Surely they would have pulled me by now? I told myself I was imagining things. I was spooking myself.

  I checked where I had hidden all the photos taken at the zoo. They were with the tapes stuffed down the side of my settee and they were still there. I could find nothing to support the possibility that someone had been in my house. Yet again, I had been in a position to say that about myself in the past, when I had been in people’s houses. Forget it, I told myself.

  Over a slug of scotch, I shrugged off the idea. At least I wanted to convince myself that thoughts were not facts. I examined the photos from the chemist. The close ups of Bruce had turned out really good. Also the one inch square miniature I had asked for was perfect too. It would be a couple more days before Dave the weasel got in touch, but then everything would come together. At least that’s how I believed it would be.

  My meeting with Susan this evening would be a welcome diversion. She was game for a laugh and enjoyed playing games with lip sticks and jelly babies. What I needed now was space filler. It was a chance to do some more typing on the novel. I had nearly reached half away and I was glad when I got past that point.

  Getting myself in the right frame of mind, it was easy to get back into my stride. Somehow, the recent paranoia helped me to imagine where the plot was leading me. Some of my reality fitted in just nicely and my fingers were soon tapping away into the afternoon. I don’t remember stopping before I heard the carriage clock chime 6 bells. That was it. I had done enough to make my back ache and want to move. Another eight pages were added to my manuscript. It was time for a dip in the shower before making my way downtown to meet Susan. An hour later, I was ready to leave home when my taxi arrived at 8pm with the sound of a honking horn.

  It was only a twenty minutes journey to the restaurant cutting down the back streets. The cab arrived in good time to see Susan wearing a low cut pastel pink dress, holding an evening bag by the entrance doors. Her long golden hair flowed down her back and I could see she was turning a few heads as people made their way in. I was soon at her side leading the way.

  It was almost a twilight atmosphere as we sat at table overlooking the River Thames. Candles burned, while the lights shone dimly on the stage. Susan smiled approvingly as a waiter came and poured two glasses of red wine. Tables were filling up quickly while an air of expectation hung over the place.

  We went through the preliminaries of conversation. How nice she looked. How were the trips to faraway places? She enjoyed being an air stewardess and her living expenses were low compared to mine. There was plenty of perks too, she said. How about me? What was I up too? The new novel was coming on fine. I was under pressure from the publishers. But things were going well. All the excitement in my life took place in the books, I told her. Except when I was with her, I added. Susan smiled. Our knees touched under the table. We said all the right things. Now the show was starting.

  It began with a cabaret of dancing girls. They roared into life on the now floodlit stage. Their sequinned uniforms shimmered as their legs lifted in military file, from left to right leaving little to the imagination as the music played on. The whole sho
w was designed to get the audience in the mood for what was to come.

  The lamb cutlets, spinach and baby potatoes were delicious. A magician entertained us in between two solo singing spots. This was followed by an extroverted comedian, who relished digging out some shy participants to take the butt of his jokes. It was fun, as more wine flowed and dancing completed the final touch of the evening.

  Bodies touched as the music played the old favourites. Smiles of promises beamed from the dance floor as partners gestured with their bodies beneath a floral display of rotating lights. My hands found their way around Susan’s buttocks and she responded with a squeeze to my thighs. She had signalled that the time was right so we left the dance floor and made for a waiting taxi outside. Thirty minutes later we were back to my house. But then something caught my eye. The interior light of my car was on.

  Susan was already in the bathroom as I shouted up to her. I needed to check it out. On arrival at the vehicle I saw nothing to indicate a forced entry had been made. The door handles were locked. Under the glare of the street lights, I bent to inspect the door locks. There were no traces that the car locks had been tampered with. I just knew that someone not wanting to steal a car or radio had to have another reason for wanting to get inside. Then it hit me! Of course it had to be a bug! But I was not going to be searching for that at 2 o’clock in the morning. Susan was waiting indoors for me. Already I was suspecting that someone was probably watching me from behind a door or a curtain. Whoever it was, they had tipped me off by leaving the light on. There was no reason for Ahmed to want to be in my car. There just had to be another interested party independent of him. I felt uncomfortable standing there and could see Susan watching from the window. I needed an explanation for the 20 minutes I had been away.

  She was at the door when I arrived. A pensive look on her face told me she knew something was wrong. ‘It’s ok,’ I told her. ‘I thought that someone had broken into my car and left the interior light on, but I guess I had forgotten to close the door properly.’ She searched my eyes for confirmation and that was the last thing I wanted her to do. For at the back of my mind was the awful thought that someone was watching me from somewhere else?

  Susan threw her arms around me and sucked at my lips for a moment, until the spark of sensuality returned. Her tongue darted in and out in oral intercourse. It was enough to absorb the disturbances running around in my head. On my way to the bathroom, she headed for the bedroom with a sweetie bag in her hand. I knew she wanted to play. In haste I returned, to find her lying naked on the bed. Some mellow music of Bach was playing in the background. My clothes dropped to the floor. The tiger had returned with the roar of a lion.

  Eyes met. Fingers touched. Hands explored. Lips kissed. Bodies moved. Heat teased our flesh. Tongues found the tingles and gently licked out rhythms of pleasure until control was lost. Our bolts had been shot and all that remained was the sap. We lay as one, primed for action, rebuilding our strength.

  For a few minutes we lay together, until a look of mischief danced in her eyes. She reached to pass me her favourite lipstick. She wanted me to pretend I was Cezanne, a post Victorian artiste. I was to use the lipstick as a brush to colour in the nipples of her warm full protruding breasts. She lay with her eyes closed as I worked upon them until they stood erect like succulent fruits. Then as she sensed Cezanne’s satisfied approval, Susan presented herself, with legs apart, exposing her pink soft labia on guard to her flower of Venus. With gentle delicate strokes, I enhanced the pinkness to her favourite colour. Then with moaning shudders she responded with unmistakeable request, as I watched the small moving hood ride back and forth over her swollen clitoris. My fingers busied until she was red and stiff as a bullet. ‘Oh, Cezanne, Cezanne. Send me to the gods.’ she cried. Thus with the abandon of a warrior, I projected my spear into her and locked her to me with amorous exhilaration. Soon after, we reached our destination of euphoria, and then melted together as if we had become extinct. The last thing I remember was a kiss and a whisper that the gods were pleased. Sleep came quickly.

  11

  Morning came quickly, just like the night had disappeared. I cut short mouse’s laugh for 7am. A return to sleep claimed my will to get out of bed. Some two hours later my eyes opened to see Susan awake with a smile on her face. She pushed a jelly baby sweet into my mouth. It was the next best thing to a baby she could give me, she said. That was always the way she completed her visit. She smiled. I smiled. Just then the phone rang. It was Peter the pen. He had been up with the sparrows, he told me. The new pass and invoice were ready so a meeting at The Warrior Pub for midday was arranged.

  Susan did her ablutions while I made ready for some breakfast. She was out and dressed while my turn came for the bathroom and fifteen minutes later we were sitting by the window munching our way through the toast. She had lots of shopping to do with her friend Charmaine she had said, but we would meet again on Thursday before her leave was finished. The carriage clock chimed for 10.30 as her taxi arrived. At the door we kissed goodbye until the next time and then she was gone.

  The business in hand came back to mind. I was half expecting a call from Dave the weasel. Friday could well be the day I visited the safe deposit boxes at Barclays bank. A haunch told me to ring the sisters Lisa and Laura to be on standby.

  You can call it telepathy if you like, but no sooner had I thought about those when the phone rang. It was Dave the weasel. His voice was loud, clear and confidant. ‘I have it, Jack.’ He said. ‘Just tell me where to meet and I will be there.’

  ‘Well, why not this evening?’ I asked him. ‘How about the Farrier’s pub at 9.30 in Lower Road?’ Dave jumped at the proposal. I knew he was keen to collect the balance of his payment. ‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘I will have the drinks ready for you this time.’ I agreed to meet him there.

  Next I phoned Lisa and Laura and made arrangements to meet them on Friday morning at 10am sharp. That only left me to collect the pass and invoice from Peter the pen, and then I would do my scam with flowers at the Research Lab in the afternoon. Once I had Bruce’s signature, it would be easy to put it on the pass myself. Things were clicking into place. Friday would see Dr Bruce away at Porton Down for the weekend, so there would be no chance of me meeting him at his bank.

  Time was moving on towards midday. It would not take long to get to The Warrior Pub. I was soon out into the car and had the engine started when I noticed a very faint smell of perfume. It was just a hint but not one that I could put a name too. The last time I had used the car was four days ago. It was not a perfume anyone I knew used. Yet it was real enough. Once again, I thought back to yesterday when the interior car light was found on. A quick look around inside revealed no signs of interference. Was my car bugged? That canny feeling I was being watched came over me. There was nothing I could do even if I was. Yet the smell of the perfume rattled me. Had some unknown female been in my car? Why? The show had to go on. I had things to do.

  The traffic was no problem as I drove off to The Warrior and I was just in time to see Peter going in as I parked outside. There was not much of a lunch time crowd either, which suited me fine as I would be able to see who was around me without it being too obvious I was looking. Peter spotted me immediately as I caught the barmaid’s eye. It was of course Lager for him and scotch for me. Right away the gent’s toilet became our office where I examined the pass and invoice. They were excellent forgeries. There was no doubt Peter was a wizard at his game so I paid him his money and we left separately to return to the bar.

  As usual we spoke about everything and nothing that was of interest. All Peter wanted to know was when the next bit of business was likely to be. I was playing things by ear, I told him. I could only leave him with a promise that his talents would not go to waste. I declined his invitation for another drink as I had to go to the florist. We agreed to keep in touch. A nice bunch of flowers with a card should do the trick with Dr Bruce.

  It was a short walk to the local flower shop
where I chose a lovely spray of mixed flowers. I had the florist write out a card saying they had come from a belated Valentine’s admirer and I lifted a brown overall florists coat on the way out. It was embossed with their name upon it. That was a bonus. I arrived at the Research Lab in a wig and glasses where I performed the scam and had got Bruce’s signature on the invoice for the flowers. It wall over and done in twenty minutes.

  Back in the car, I knew what I was going to do as soon as I got back home. Being careful not to invite unwanted attention from passing police cars, I cut through the back streets, avoiding the Old Kent Road which I knew to be a favourite ambush spot for them. Half an hour later I was indoors fitting the passport photo alongside Bruce’s signature transferred from the invoice. It certainly looked very good. This evening I would be collecting the password details from Dave the weasel and everything was now set up for my visit to the bank on Friday.

  Now I had some spare time to write some more of my novel as inspiration came over me. I pounded my typewriter as the story flowed onto the pages until the afternoon passed into evening. When next I looked out of the window it was dark. Street and car lights had replaced the daylight and 7 o’clock reminded me how hungry I was. Now the phone was ringing. It was a nice surprise to hear Aisha’s voice. She happened to be nearby at Surrey Quays shopping centre and had been thinking about me. Could she come over? Crikey! This was tricky, I thought, as I had a meeting with Dave in two hours’ time. If I made an excuse then I may never see her again. Memories came flooding back and sent a signal to my crutch. ‘Sure Aisha,’ I told her. ‘Why not call around, you know where I live. But I have to go out for a while at 9pm.’ She was quite amicable about that and was now on her way she told me. I was one lucky bastard, I told myself. I knew who I was sleeping with tonight.