Operation DOUBLEPAYBACK

by Jack Freeman

  “And I am to stay here and mind the shop, I suppose?”

  “Well, that would be best, if you don’t mind. Alan is ok but don’t like leaving him in control too long, really”

  “Ok then. Have fun.”

  Azar was unsure what to feel about this development. On the one hand, Max had been getting irritating with his ramblings about Zen Buddhism and his general impracticality, so a break would be welcome. On the other hand she did not like the idea of him having fun without her. Who knows what he might get up to? Then again, she had been having a lot of intrusive thoughts about Jack Johnson. The operations on the island of San Sergio, in LA and in Mayfair to rescue Max had all been strong bonding events with Jack and this, she felt, was the basis of an attraction which she had not verbalised to anyone but which was growing in intensity.

  Max flew up to Edinburgh the next day. As the plane circled Turnhouse Airport, Max saw that a pall of coal smoke hung over the city. It wasn’t known as “Auld Reekie” for no reason. He had booked in to the same hotel as Lola, the North British hotel, which was a soot blackened landmark above the main railway station, Waverley. The Conference was in the McEwan Hall in the Old Town, near the University and started the next day.

  Lola was already established in a luxury suite in the hotel and when Max arrived at Reception there was a note asking him to call by her room, where she would be resting that afternoon. He dropped his bags in his room and clutching a bottle of Talisker malt whisky went to her door. His knock was almost immediately answered by a call of “Come in, baby!”

  Max went in and Lola, nude under an open dressing gown, ran over and began to kiss and hug him. Something about this girl got Max instantly and strongly excited.

  “Mmm..don’t say anything Max, just do it..,” whispered Lola, while pressing her head into his neck and pushing her hands down his back. Max followed instructions and pushed her backwards onto the bed and fell on her. Climax for both was rapid, simultaneous and explosive.

  “Sorry about that honey,” he said hoarsely, “I guess I just had to have you right away. It’s been a while.”

  “Don’t be sorry! Sometimes quick, hard and dirty is just right and that was, believe me. Just thinking about how you did it there has got me coming again. Next time, let’s have a slow one. Ok?.”

  “Sure thing, baby. Next time it’ll be real slow. Now let’s have some of this Scotch.”

  Max ordered room service for dinner a deux. They tried haggis and an order of smoked salmon and toast in case haggis proved too challenging. Both agreed the highly seasoned dish of blood, oatmeal and chopped offal in a sheep’s stomach was interesting, but not for everyday consumption. However, it did go well with whisky and that was a big plus.

  Next morning, after a substantial Scottish breakfast of bacon, eggs, black pudding, tomatoes and mushrooms, all fried in beef fat, he left Lola to her film festival work. As he walked over the North Bridge in a drizzling rain from Princes Street towards the Old Town area and the Conference, he became aware of a man with a limp among the crowds on the other side of the road who looked somehow familiar. The man did not appear to be attending to Max and soon disappeared down a narrow alley known as a “vennel” between high tenement buildings. Max decided to ignore the unknown limping man as just that: an unknown probably innocent stranger.

  At the Conference, William Burroughs spoke on censorship. He was against it, not too surprisingly. Proceedings were livened up by a naked girl being wheeled on stage in a wheelbarrow to the accompaniment of bagpipes.

  “Now, things are picking up” thought Max. He was enjoying the event which celebrated the growing counter-culture and greatly annoyed Edinburgh’s staid majority. After the day’s proceedings, Max joined other delegates in a nearby smoke filled pub, the Captain’s Arms, in which two Scottish authors, representing new and old generations, Alexander Trocchi and Hugh McDiarmid, were having a ferocious argument. McDiarmid for the older group called the younger Trocchi “cosmopolitan scum” and in turn was called a “parochial bigot”. Locals supping on McEwans Export Ale and small whiskies joined in, suggesting both men were arty poofs and shouldn’t be in a working man’s boozer anyway. Max restored peace by buying drinks all round and the adversaries agreed to differ and turned to discussing the sins of publishers, literary agents and critics.

  After closing time, which was at the puritanically early hour of 10 p.m., Max joined a small party at a nearby flat which Trocchi was renting. Max phoned Lola at the hotel and invited her to join the party at Trocchi’s place. More beer and whisky were drunk and parcels of fish and chips were brought in as yet more heated debates broke out on the directions literature should take. About 1.30 a.m., Trocchi began shooting up openly with heroin and Max decided it was time for him and Lola to split. Max and Lola walked a little unsteadily back to the North British hotel. A sea fog, called a haar locally, had descended on the city and added to the feeling of solitude and emptiness of the city. Pausing on the North Bridge they looked over the parapet and could just make out the lights coming through the glass roof of Waverley Railway station far below. They then glimpsed back the way they had come. The bridge seemed deserted but suddenly they saw the blurred outline of a limping man who seemed to be following their footsteps. He was close but not yet clearly visible in the fog which had been rendered orange by the new street lights.

  As the limping man came still closer, at last Max recognised him. Garcia! Max braced himself for action. He had no gun or weapon this time so surprise would have to suffice. Garcia didn’t seem to notice that Max had recognised him as he steadily approached Max and Lola.

  “Wait there Lola, I got to get rid of this guy,” said Max.

  Lola stood completely still and gaped as Max suddenly ran up to Garcia and before Garcia could react, hugged him tightly.

  “I said I would hug you next time I saw you. Can you believe it? Uh-huh, I feel you have a gun in there. It’s not just that you’re pleased to see me, you little weasel. How come you followed me here?”

  “I’ve been watching you for a while, weeks and weeks. Your tradecraft is so rusty you didn’t notice. I should have bumped you off ages ago, but I got to liking the surveillance game. The bosses were paying me a daily rate so there was no rush. There’s good money from the new Trujillo’s crowd for your head. Bringing it back in a box of ice would be good, worth a big bonus, but not it’s necessary for the basic reward…”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen. We’re going to finish this now.” Max hoisted the smaller struggling man up to the edge of the parapet. Garcia tried ineffectually to head butt Max and with more success kicked at Max’s legs.

  “It’s a long way down. It’ll be quick, quicker than you deserve. Adios, amigo,” saying which Max began pushing Garcia over the edge. Using both arms, Garcia then grabbed Max by the neck and pulled him into his chest. “If I go, you come too, gringo pig!” he yelled. He then began squeezing Max’s neck in an unrelenting stranglehold as Max edged him nearer the void between the bridge and the railway station far below. Max felt himself being pulled up off his feet and being scraped gradually up the rough edge of the parapet. He began to feel faint and dizzy from lack of oxygen. A final heave and Garcia was just balanced on the edge. On the verge of passing out, Max worked his right arm free from under Garcia’s thighs and punched Garcia hard in the cojones. Garcia screamed and reflexively clutching his injured testicles, let go of Max and plunged over the edge. Max jumped up to look over the ledge and saw Garcia tumble and disappear in the foggy air before crashing loudly through the glass roof of the station over 100 feet below, while Lola screamed and screamed. Just hope there’s no-one below, thought Max, waiting for the last train to Auchtermuchty.

  “Quiet, Lola, quiet, for God’s sake, keep it down…I had to do it. It was him or me or us even. He wouldn’t have left you as a witness, that’s for sure. ”

  They then set off quickly for the hotel at the end of the still deserted bridge. On the way Max swore Lola to secrec
y and explained briefly about Garcia and the Trujillo affair.

  As they entered Lola’s room, she suddenly froze and grabbing Max’s arm, said “Something’s not right here. It’s like in the Dr No film tonight, somebody’s been in the room when we were out, maybe they’re still here?”

  Max checked all round. The room was empty, but a pair of Lola’s red silk lace trimmed under pants were lying on the floor by the bed, soaked in semen.

  “Jesus,” said Max, picking up the underpants with two fingers and holding them at a distance, “Probably that freak, Garcia, got in here some how and left his calling card. Dirty bastard.”

  Lola shivered at the thought of Garcia in her room, doing disgusting things with her underwear. She phoned reception and arranged to change room right away, explaining that a bad smell had got into the room, somehow.

  “That’s enough excitement for one day, Max. I am going to take a hand full of sleeping pills and hope the whole business will be like a bad dream and be all gone when I wake up eventually, whenever that may be.”

  “Ok, baby, can’t blame you there. I’ll come get you in a few hours, around noon, it’s tomorrow, already.”

  They kissed and parted. Max went back to his room and decided to phone Jack Johnson while drinking a good slug of the Talisker. He put a call through to MAYfair 1376 and a sleep dulled Jack was brought to the phone at the Company’s London station.

  “Hi Jack. Max here. Guess what? I’ve had to deal with Garcia tonight. I had to kill him. Well, I hope I killed him. I last saw him falling about 100 feet through a glass roof so that should do it. Just hoping that’s the end of that vendetta. It was easier dealing with the Sovs. They didn’t get so personal about things. He had been stalking me. Nothing better to do I guess. Well, he did say the Trujillo-istas had put a good price on my head so there was a business angle. Maybe more creeps out there after me. But things will probably go quiet for a while. That’s the way these jerks usually work.”

  “Ok, Max. Hope you can keep it all hushed and deniable. My spies tell me you’ve been fooling around up there. A certain Lola is implicated, I hear. You better be very careful with that young lady. She could be bad news, especially if Azar gets wind of this. Then you’ll have more than Ali to worry about.”

  “Jesus, you know all my secrets I guess. Did you know about Garcia being up here?”

  “Yeah, I even know some of your secrets that you don’t know I know. One of our guys was keeping an eye on you all the while. He says you handled things fine. Impressive, even.”

  Later that day the local papers in Edinburgh reported a strange suicide committed by an unknown man who had flung himself off the North Bridge, gone through the glass roof of Waverley Station and landed on the main Edinburgh to Inverness railway line. The man was said to be of Latin American appearance but had no identifying documents. That he was carrying a gun was unreported as local police did not want to alarm the citizenry with the thought of suicidal foreign gunmen roaming the city.

  After a brief nap Max stopped by Lola’s room late in the morning. She was again, nude, under a bathrobe, which opened up as the door closed behind Max.

  “Wow, I had a terrible dream about you killing a guy last night. I shouldn’t take those pills on top of the booze.”

  “That’s right babe, it was just a bad dream. Forget about it. It’s all over now.”

  “Good. And now there’s time, before I have to start my travels again this afternoon, for that slow one we talked about,” said Lola. She let her robe fall off.

  “Now, lets see how long you can make it last. That’s your challenge for today,” she whispered.

  “We’ll see what we can do, baby,” replied Max hoarsely.

  Early that afternoon, Max phoned Azar at their flat from his hotel room.

  “Hi honey, it’s me. Just to say it’s all going well here. I calmed a bust up between two crazy writer guys you probably never heard of, called Trocchi and McDiarmid in a local pub last night, so that was a contribution to world peace and love. But I had a problem later on. That creep Garcia showed up and tried to wreak vengeance on me but I dealt with him. Oh yeah, I did hug Garcia like I said I would. He was stalking me, believe it or not. I don’t know if it will make the London papers, but he didn’t survive our get together, which is yet another contribution to a better world. So, you can sleep a bit easier. I know I will. Garcia’s billed as a suicide, so it’s case closed. I’ll be back tonight.”

  Azar gasped and said “God! Well done! That Garcia was haunting me and I’m fantastically relieved that you’ve got rid of him. There’s been nothing on the news about it here. Oh! Better go, now. There’s a delivery man at the shop door. See you soon.”

  Azar put the phone down and turned to Jack who was loosely tied to the bed frame with silk stockings somewhat as she had fantasised. She took a sip of champagne and took a long dark Belgian chocolate into her mouth, sucking on it slowly until it dissolved and was swallowed with full sensual attention to the rich taste.

  “That was you know who,” she said, between further sips of Dom Perignon, “He’s had an encounter with Garcia in Edinburgh and finished him off, thank God. So, that’s good. Now, you must never say anything about our get together here, like this, to Max or anyone. Maybe it’s a one off or maybe it’s something we do when Max is away somewhere. Not sure, yet. We’ll see. Anyway, I’m glad you agreed to come to me like this. You’re every bit as good in bed as I imagined. I have heard some men are funny about cheating on their friends but not you it seems.”

  “Well,” said Jack, dragging on a Lucky with his one free hand, “I guess my profession is all about deception and keeping secrets so don’t worry, I won’t be saying anything, ever, about this. I’ll put it in the Top Secret category, and that’s our highest security level. Good to hear about Max winning his bout with Garcia. I can tell you we had them both under watch so Max was never in real danger. Don’t tell him you know that, for God’s sake. He likes everyone to think it’s all his own work.

  But you know, hell, after all we’ve been though together, the three of us, maybe Max wouldn’t really mind us two being together this way. Maybe he’d be up for a threesome?” Jack was tempted to reveal all about Max and Lola but restrained himself. It would show he could not keep all secrets if he leaked about the Lola business and that would destroy Azar’s trust in him.

  “Hah, one of you two, at a time, is plenty for me, so I don’t think we’ll explore that any further,” said Azar with a laugh.

  Max and Lola left the North British hotel together just before one pm. Max was to fly home later that day but as he escorted Lola down to Waverly station where she was to board the Flying Scotsman train service to London, Max decided on impulse, to join her on the train.”

  “Hope that will be ok, babe?” Max asked.

  “Sure, that would be great. Just buy a ticket on board. First Class, naturally. It will set you back a tenner I think”

  “Think I can stand that. I’ll be back about when I’m supposed to be so won’t be suspiciously late or early.”

  The train was quiet and Max and Lola had a First Class compartment to themselves and had a twelve pound champagne lunch hamper delivered by the tartan trewed steward.

  “This is good,” said Max, opening up the hamper as the train picked up speed along the coast side line, “We’ve got little smoked grouse, salmon, capers, french bread, coleslaw, flasks of coffee, two Dom Ps and a half of whisky. Malt mind you.”

  “This should keep us going till afternoon tea,” laughed Lola.

  After lunch, Lola pulled the curtains on the compartment to have a nap. As the train sped though Yorkshire, Max made his way to the lavatory.

  Max re-entered the dark, curtained compartment and noticed Lola was slumped in an attitude of deep sleep while snoring softly. Next, he heard a loud crack and suddenly darkness fell.

  Max re-gained consciousness and found himself face down on the floor of the railway compartment in a small pool of blood. Loo
king up, he first saw a pair of vertiginous high heels and then long legs surrounded by black crepe, ending in pink silk panties. Lola!

  As he pulled himself up unsteadily, he saw, in what had been his seat, a tall, black haired man. It was Dr Finlay; a comatose Dr Finlay.

  “What the hell has happened here?” asked Max, staring at Finlay and then at Lola.

  “Well,” said Lola, “while you were out at the john, and I was dozing, this guy knocked, said “Steward” and came in. I thought he was here to clear up -.then I realised he wasn’t no steward. He stuck some chloroform on me and I conked out. When I came round, you were on the ground and this guy was kneeling over you, wielding a big syringe in the vicinity of your butt. He had under dosed me luckily. I grabbed the nearest bottle of Dom P from the basket and hit him as hard as I could on the back of the head. He pulled himself up, stunned, and I repeated the dose with another whack to the head and he ended up falling back and into your seat.”

  “Shit. Well, my head hurts like hell, so I guess he must have whacked me hard with something, probably something more purpose made than a Dom P bottle. I know this guy a bit. He is linked with Garcia. Let’s see how he is.”

  Max began checking Finlay’s breathing, pulse and temperature.

  “Uh Uh,” said Max, “ You don’t know your own strength, Lola. Or it was a lucky or unlucky blow, depending how you look at it, but Finlay is a goner, no pulse, no breathing and already cooling down. Probably a major haemorrhage in there. Don’t feel bad, he was asking for it.”

  “Whoa, I killed him you say. That’s a new thing for me. I never imagined I would or could do something like that. Funny thing is, it feels good. ”

  “Yeah, some people form a habit. You‘ll come down soon and get back to normal in a day or two. Lucky, I paid off the ticket guy to leave us alone for the rest of the trip. But I wasn’t thinking of it as a way of keeping a corpse quiet. Lucky too, the train is pretty empty. We’ll empty his pockets and see if we can dump him out the train, preferably inside a long tunnel or into a ditch as we pass by. We’ll keep the syringe, if it’s anything like the last dose he gave me it’s worth a sample. Better let the Company boffins have a look at some of it too.”