The Trusted Professions - Chapter 13

We had a few contacts in what you might call the ?seedy underbelly? of London, a few ex-cons that we?d come across in the course of a few of our cases. We even got a few of them in for an oblique interview. But they were all what you might call ?bruisers?. If we wanted them to beat the crap out of some guy, they would have been excellent. Even if we wanted them to beat someone to death I suppose they wouldn?t have been averse to it if the price was right. But they were as dumb as two pigshit planks. They had no finesse. We didn?t want Colmes beaten to death in some alley. That means murder, and murderers get found out, particularly if they murder celebrities. And if you put these guys into a Police cell it would take a decent interrogator about two minutes to outsmart them, break them down and lead them back to us. Which was not an option. Above all else we needed to be kept above and beyond reproach. I made that condition very clear to Jez when we spoke the day after I?d agreed. I didn?t mind if the bastard died, and I didn?t mind financially benefiting from that death. But I wanted no part of it.

It?s like, did you ever see that Twilight Zone episode where like, there?s this couple, yeah? And they?re financially struggling and stuff, and one day this dude shows up in a suit and gives them this little box with a button on it, and he says to them that all they have to do is press this button, on the box, and somewhere out there, someone, some random distant relative that they?ve never met will die, and they?ll inherit fifty thousand dollars, or some amount like that. And they?re like: ?Well what?s the catch?? and he says there is no catch. All they need to do is press the button, and they get the money. And he gives them a few days to think about it, and they talk it over, and pull their hair out, and think it?s a prank, and the husband even pries open the box to see what?s inside, and it?s just empty, there?s no transmitter or anything. So they?re like, well, sure, we?ll press it. And they press the button, and the guy in the suit shows up the next morning, and gives them the money, and says he?s sorry to inform them that some distant relative they?ve never heard of has died. And then he takes the little box and starts to walk out. And the husband?s like: ?Where are you going?? and the man says: ?I?m going to go and give this box to someone else, and tell them that if they press the button, some distant relative they?ve never met will die, and they?ll inherit fifty thousand dollars.? And that?s the end of the episode. Did you ever see that one?

No

Oh. Well, that?s I wanted it to be like- like we just had to push the button and collect the money. But first we had to find the button. Or, the dude in the suit, at least.

I follow the analogy. I think.

So we spent like, I dunno, a week looking around, sort of gingerly investigating all these fucking geezers with no necks, half of them were strung out on drugs, or were even impossible to interview, y?know, they were so damned cagey. We?d be like:

?So would you be averse to hurting someone for money??

?Who?s asking??

?We are.?

?What?s in it for you??

?We?re just tying to ascertain if your services in that area are purchasable.?

?Maybe they are, maybe they?re not. Depends who it is, innit??

?Well we?d need it to be anyone we designate.?

?Well at the end of the day it?s all about details, innit gennelmen??

Fucking idiots like that- they could talk to you for hours without ever once answering a question with an actual answer, as opposed to another question. Small fish in a big pond with an over-inflated sense of their own place in the scheme of things. We couldn?t possibly reveal to one of those shit-brained blocks of wood who the target was- then no amount of money would be enough to keep them shut up. We needed a professional. Someone who could make it look like an accident. Someone who knew what they were doing, and could disappear after the job was done. An assassin. But where the hell, and how the hell, do you find a professional killer?

I hadn?t seen Max for most of the week- I?d been working and she had too. Since we?d had the meeting with Keri Colmes, Max had stopped seeing Saul. He called her several times daily, but she?d deactivated her secondary cell and the messages just ran straight to the digital answering machine in our office, becoming ever more frantic, sometimes even angry that she wasn?t returning his calls. Keri hadn?t instructed us to deliver the material we?d gathered on him to Gillette, so we didn?t. We assumed it was something of a moot point, now. Shame, really- all that work wasted. Still, given what I knew of Gillette, Saul and Max (and yes, it still hurt to think of them together. Still does, really, which makes no fucking sense), things couldn?t have been too great between Saul and his mistress. You don?t go from someone like Max to someone like Gillette without noticing the difference, I?m sure.

Anyway, we?d arranged to meet on Sunday, I took her out to dinner. She showed up this absolutely ridiculously huge pink ball gown, totally inappropriate for?anywhere on earth. Even at a ball it would have seemed ostentatious. I just laughed and we shrugged off all the stares people gave us as we were seated at Le Chere in Convent Garden, too wrapped up in each other to really care about what others might think.

?I thought you said to dress nice??

?It is nice. You look as beautiful as I?ve ever seen you.?

?Ooh, he?s smooth, in?he?? she said, touching my cheek lightly with her satin-gloved fingers.

She lived in that world all the time -outside the stream, you see- and it was fun for me to dip my toes into it for an evening. We made idle chit-chat for a while. She talked in superfluities, just?things on the surface. I realized, when you added up all the time we had spent together, that I had talked to her for hours and hours in total, and still didn?t really know much about her. What she?d wanted to be when she was little, what her favourite songs were, what she thought of her parents, real and imaginary. Maybe that?s all you need to know. Maybe that?s all there was.

After we?d finished dinner and were eating some cheese and crackers as a dessert, she asked about the case. We were tucked away in a fairly remote corner of the restaurant -presumably by the nervous maitre d?- so I didn?t feel overly worried about discussing the case, as long as we spoke in generalities.

?Well, we never sent the footage to Gillette, so you can stop worrying about having to see your blurred-out face on national TV.?

?Oh,? she feigned disappointment, ?I thought that would be rather fun. I always wondered what I looked like all blurry.?

?Try looking in a mirror when you?re drunk.?

?I just might do that.? As if to underline her intent, she downed her glass of red wine in one pull and then shook it at me to pour some more.

?So since then, it?s kind of hit something of an impasse.? I said, filling her glass and topping up mine.

?How do you mean??

?Well, since we?ve taken the ah,? I gave her a meaningful look ?second assignment, we?re at a bit of a dead end in terms of, ah, how to carry it out, exactly.?

?No ideas, huh??

?We?re just having trouble tracking down someone to carry it out for us.?

?Oh! Really?? She looked surprised. ?I know someone who could do that.?

?You know someone??

?Sure. They?re a client.?

?And you?how do you know what he?that he does that??

?My clients tell me most everything, after a while.? She winked. I felt a bit ill.

?So you?ve?? I knew I was going to regret asking this, ?slept with him??

She laughed. ?God, no. You really are a territorial wee thing, aren?t you? I only screw a handful of my clients. Most of them just want to enact some kind of kinky fantasy they have. It?s usually sexual in nature, but doesn?t always involve sex.?

?Really.? I felt oddly relieved. ?So what?s this guy?s fantasy??

?Sorry cowboy,? she tapped her nose and winked at me, ?patient-doctor privilege.? I?m sure nothing she could have told me would have outstripped my imagination after she told me that.

?Well, we?d be keen to have an interview with him.?

?When did I say it was a he??

?It?s a woman??

?No. I was just pointing out the gender bias in your assumption that it was a man.?

?Cute. Is he trustworthy??

?My client?? She gave me an incredulous look. ?Oh, they?re trustworthy. Don?t worry about that.?

?So can you set up a meet??

?Sure, I?ll send him a message. Hey!? She sat up sharply in her chair and looked excited. ?Do you want to go dancing??

?Dancing??

?Yeah, dancing.?

?I gave up dancing a few years ago.?

?What do you mean, you gave up dancing?!?

?I gave it up.?

?Why?!?

?Some mate filmed me dancing with his cameraphone and showed it to me. I looked terrible. Now whenever I try to dance I see that footage in my head and I can?t dance anymore.?

?That?s ridiculous. What?s the point of being alive if you don?t dance??

?I dunno. Sex??

?Dancing is sex. And you won?t be getting any unless you dance with me. Now come on- I know a great little club in Soho.? She grabbed my hand and pulled me from the table.

Once she was in the club, she moved like quicksilver in water, forming great arcs around me with her body as she flowed from one song to the next, eyes closed, face in rapture. I could have been a pillar. I could have been having an epileptic fit and no-one would have noticed. With her on the dancefloor, no-one would have been looking at anything else.

Max had arranged for the meet to take place at the office a few days later. I?d half expected Keri Colmes to call us before then and say she wanted to call the whole deal off, but she never did. Me and Jez were sitting about the office, rearranging casefiles, when a man opened the door and stepped in. He was dressed in a suit, with a black shirt and black silk tie. He was extremely tall, well over six feet, but apart from that feature he was fairly nondescript. He had short-cropped hair and olive coloured skin, like he?d seen more sun than you?d normally expect to see in London. He may have had a slight limp, or maybe just one leg slightly longer than the other. He carried a thin black briefcase with a moulded silver handle.

?Hi,? I said, extending my hand to him ?you must be Max?s friend.?

He looked down at my hand, but did not take it.

?Let?s go into that office back there.? He spoke in a flat, oddly unaccented voice. If I had to place an accent, I?d have said American, but then I?ve always kind of thought of American as the generic accent, anyway. Bloody TV imports.

He stepped past me and into our back office, then stood at the door, waiting for us. Jez and I walked into the office after him and he shut the door behind us. We all sat down.

?I?ve been made to understand you have a proposal for me.? He said in his odd, toneless voice.

We started to begin our oblique descent into asking if he would be willing to kill for money.

?The first thing we need to establish is if you have any prior experience in?? Jez began, but the tall man cut him off immediately.

?I?m afraid I?ll be unable to answer any detailed questions regarding my history or experience. Max has outlined the basic proposal for me. You need someone killed. You need someone discreet and professional to do it, discreetly and professionally. You may have my assurance that I have experience, and can carry out the task you require. I hope,? his eyes glinted coldly ?you don?t require a demonstration.?

Me and Jez took a few moments to process this information. It seemed like he had the advantage on us. He could be anyone. He could be a crazy with delusions of grandeur who juts happened to talk a good talk. I decided to plow ahead.

?The target we have in mind is extremely high profile. We?d be reluctant to release his name without some form of assurance.?

The man regarded us for a moment, then leant back into his chair, but not at an angle. He was strangely stiff.

?You gentlemen are in dangerous territory. You?re out of your depth. Which isn?t a problem, everyone gets out of their depth from time to time, that?s when you learn how to swim. So I?m going to give you some gentle advice: There are no guarantees at this level of the game. No assurances. Not a great deal of trust, but enough to get by. Some degree of honour, I suppose. So I?ll tell you how this will go. You tell me the target. I name a price. You pay. The target dies. That?s all there is to it. Sure, I could just take your money, but who knows- maybe one day you?ll learn how to swim, and you?ll come swimming after me. I doubt it, but not enough to screw over clients. Now do you have a serious proposal for me, or are you simply wasting my time??

He didn?t say any of this in anger, I should add. He continued to speak in the calm monotonous voice of someone who has explained something a million times before. Jez picked up my thread- if his gut was saying what my gut was saying, he knew this guy was serious.

?We have a proposal.?

The tall man smiled. ?A name??

?Saul Colmes.?

One dark eyebrow lifted. ?You were not exaggerating about his profile. That?ll make it more difficult. If it was someone at your social level,? he glanced back and forth between Jez and I, ?you could knock on their front door, shoot them twice in the head at point blank range and walk away. Easiest thing in the world.? A shiver ran down my spine. I was not enjoying this meeting, not one damned bit. ?High profile targets require a bit more distance.?

?What do you suggest?? Jez asked. I was too busy staring numbly into space.

?My preferred method is the sniper rifle. Take the shot from four blocks away, by the time the body hits the floor you?re packed up and gone. Clean. No follow-up.?

Jez shuffled in his chair. ?We were thinking of something a bit more?discreet. Something not so obvious as murder.?

The tall man cocked his head in a way that reminded me of Max, then straightened it again. ?I understand. There are two discreet methods I?ve employed before. The first is an automotive accident, which as I?m sure you know is not an unknown way for a celebrity to pass away. Unfortunately these in no way guarantee success, as no matter what method you employ, all such accidents are survivable.?

?What is the second alternative??

?Poison. Placed in food or wine, a fast-acting reactive could trigger a heart attack - I believe the target is of an advanced age?? We both nodded. ?Perfect. The serum could be absorbed into the body?s normal processes within half an hour, leaving no trace for the authorities. For all intents and purposes he will have died of natural causes. Even if he were to survive the initial attack, which is certainly likely, he?d no doubt be hospitalized, where he?d be a sitting duck, all too easy to dispatch with proximate cause.?

Jez nodded solemnly. ?That sounds like the ticket.? I was sweating profusely at this stage, but don?t remember much about what I was actually thinking. Nothing, probably. Just like I had with Max, I was trying to portion it away into a separate compartment in my mind. ?Do you have access to that kind of poison??

?Of course.?

?Then that?s what we should go for.?

?Okay. I?ll stake out the target, and work up a strategy for delivering the poison to him.?

?Great. We have some material on him if you need it.?

The tall man held up his hands. ?I?d prefer to work without prejudice.?

?Okay. About price??

?Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.?

?We were thinking more along the lines of??

?Not negotiable. Plus expenses.?

?Sure. Sure.? Jez nodded nervously.

?Excellent.? He stood, unfolding out of his chair. ?Get the money ready. I?ll be in touch.? We both stood also. The tall man regarded us both for a moment, then held his hand out towards us. Jez grasped it.

?Thanks for meeting with us, Mr?? he paused, waiting for a name.

Without letting go of the handshake, the man spoke again, in the same lazy monotone:

?I gave you men a bit of advice before. Now I will give you another piece, and pay close attention to it: This meeting never occurred. You?ve never met me. I don?t care what is dangled in front of you, I don?t care how long someone threatens to lock you away for, I don?t care if you?re tortured. You never met me. If you mention my existence, I will kill you. I don?t say this as a threat or a declaration of intention, simply as a piece of advice. I take it we understand each other??

?Yes sir.? Jez nodded again, the back of his hand turning white from the force of the tall man?s grip, which was then released.

?Excellent. I think we can do business together, gentlemen. Good day.?

He left the room noiselessly. Jez turned to me with an open-mouthed, exasperated expression on his face.

?We?re on the roller-coaster now, buddy-now. I?ll call Keri Colmes and tell her the good news.?

I was hit by a wave of nausea unlike anything I?ve ever felt before. I dropped to my knees and vomited all over the carpet.