by Simon Jenner
She’d certainly picked up. A snort of coke in the toilets, maybe?
“Clever girl,” Wilson said, bordering on the cheerful. “You two are the bait that will bring in Fisher. No pun intended,” he added. A joke from Wilson - John’s world tilted a little further. “I have a private detective friend who has just retired. He has a small office in Twickenham. You will take over the agency. John will be the proprietor and Savannah his employee.”
Wilson too? What had Johnson been saying? It can’t have been a dressing down, that’s for sure.
Savannah was almost trembling with excitement, unable to stay still in her seat, eyes eager and back to full disclosure mode. Her mood swings were impossible to predict. Maybe she was schizophrenic. John didn’t know whether to be happy or scared. He watched in wonder, head in his hands as questions leapt from her lips.
“So how will he find us? Will you be waiting with your high-powered rifle to blow his brains out when we give you a signal? What sort of signal will it be? Should I flick my hair back? No, I might do that accidentally. What if I open a particular drawer of my desk? I will have a desk, won’t I?”
Savannah was all but bouncing in her chair. John would not have been surprised, given the enthusiasm with which she threw out the questions, if she had asked for a gun.
The shorter agent’s mouth wavered on a smile as he threw a red European passport spinning across the table at John.
“From now on you are Ethan Justice, private detective.”
John picked up the passport and flicked straight to the photograph page. It was him all right, complete with compulsory miserable passport face. Where had they got the picture? He could not remember it being taken. The name, how long would he be stuck with that?
“Where’s mine?” complained Savannah, pouting.
“We had this blank in stock but there was no time to establish a new identity for you,” Johnson said. “Besides, you have your passport and John didn’t. We didn’t want to break into Adelaine House.”
Savannah folded her arms and looked around the room. The disappointment had sapped her nervous energy which John reckoned was a good thing. She was up and down like a yoyo and she had thought he was crazy?
“You know where my parents live?” John asked, glad that his family had not been dragged into his mess. His mum would have needed therapy for months.
“There’s not a thing we don’t know about you two,” confirmed Johnson.
“But Ethan Justice for Christ’s sake?”
“It’s the last of our batch. There were no choices. We’ll make sure we order some more before you stab anyone else with a toothbrush.” The agent paused for a breath. “Just make sure you practise the signature when you get a minute.”
“Sounds like a perfect name for a private detective,” Wilson said.
“In Toyland maybe,” John snapped. “Johnson, can I speak to you in private, please?”
Johnson looked to his left at Wilson. Wilson nodded.
“Sure, we’ll go into the corner office,” Johnson offered.
Both men got up, leaving a sulking Savannah and a smirking Wilson behind.
*
John closed the door of the corner office behind him and immediately laid into the unsuspecting agent who was peering through the telescope. “I have two questions.”
“Go on.”
“Firstly, if Earthguard has the gun, then there’s no chance Fisher can get to it.”
“That’s not a question.”
“The question is why do we all have to risk our lives to catch one man?”
“Because we have to clean up the mess or I lose my job. The gun and Fisher must be disposed of.”
“That’s your mess. Why do we have to clean it up? What if I just walk out the front door?” Another question leapt into John’s head. John tapped the agent’s shoulder and Johnson turned around. “You mean the gun isn’t destroyed yet?”
“That’s three more questions,” the agent said, putting his hand on John’s shoulder and pulling him closer. “You have to help clean up because I say so and you can’t walk out because you wouldn’t make it to the front door.”
John grabbed the agent’s hand and pulled it from his shoulder. “I thought as much. And the gun?”
“Do you know how to safely dispose of a live nuclear reactor? The gun is like a used battery, you can’t chuck it in a dustbin or a bonfire. It’s in a safe place only Wilson and I know about. Now is that it?”
John refused to let the tall man intimidate him. If he was going to risk his life then he wanted answers to his questions.
“No. What the hell is up with Wilson?”
Johnson returned his eye to the telescope. “What do you mean?”
John marched over to where Johnson stood.
The agent’s eye stayed put. “The two of you have the most unreadable, expressionless, corpse-like faces I’ve ever seen. Wilson is suddenly telling jokes and I could swear that he was smiling in there. Something’s up and I want to know what it is.”
“I reckon he’s got a soft spot for your Savannah.”
“You mean he’s got the hots for her?”
Johnson took his eye from the telescope and turned to John but looked past him at his partner in the main office.
“Wilson, that old son of a bitch, I don’t think so. He’s been through a lot lately. I think he just needs someone to talk to.”
“But can you trust him?”
“Let me worry about Wilson. You should worry about Miss Jones. If it wasn’t for her pupils looking normal, you’d think she’d shot something in her veins during her visit to the bathroom.”
So Johnson had suspected drugs too.
“She is kind of spaced out at the moment,” agreed John, noticing for the first time there were no pictures or mementoes on the walls or desk of the corner office. All removed as per protocol, he assumed. He looked over to the other office where Savannah and Wilson were deep in conversation. What he’d give to be a fly on that wall?
“You’re the detective, Mr Justice,” Johnson said. “You keep an eye on her and make it work. When I’m not around, keep an eye on both of them. You and I might be the only sane ones left.”
“Great,” mumbled John, feeling anything but sane. “Ethan Justice... You’ve got to be joking.”
“Do I look like the joking kind?”
John looked back at the face that observed him. It was a countenance with complete detachment. There was life in the eyes but no movement, depth or emotion. This was not the face of the man who had offered him half-decent relationship advice. Not an occasional facial muscle twitch or telling flicker that would be present in ... well ... everyone else, was to be seen.
Johnson could like, hate or be indifferent towards him and John would never know. If the need or justification arose, this man could risk his life to save John or equally put a bullet in John’s brain. In either scenario the agent’s expression would be identical, like he was watering the plants on a lazy Sunday morning. The thought was deeply disconcerting. Did he look like the joking kind?
“No. You don’t,” John said. “Not at all.”
20: Sunday 25th September, 17:05
Finally, the sun is shining but I’m stuck in this goddamn hotel room. The wind has dropped. My radiator has turned itself on. I could be in a hut in the Sahara desert. Things are not going my way. It is fast becoming evening and in two hours’ time the light will disappear along with my chances of picking up the trail of Jones or Varushkin.
My phone rings as if to challenge my negativity. ‘Simply the Best’ by Tina Turner echoes around the room. I am already bored with the new ringtone. It is my paid informant from the Ritz. He had refused to give his name in case I reported him. I had been in no position to argue.
“Talk to me,” I say.
“Two massive blokes were at reception when Jones checked out.”
“Was she alone?”
“How do I know you’re with the police?” he asks.
/>
“Because if you don’t start talking, I’m going to nick you.”
“She was with some young bloke.”
“Did he have a limp or speak with a Russian accent?”
“No. He spoke well. No accent. Wealthy student I’d guess.”
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is that all you got?”
“I’m risking my neck to give you this for a measly fifty...”
I hang up the call. Her companion must be Mr Anorak. I can’t just sit here and wait for the phone to ring. Everyone on the streets is looking for Jones and Varushkin and so far I’ve got nothing. Varushkin has a pronounced limp. How hard can it be to find a Russian with a limp for God’s sake? They must have gone to ground. I put out my cigarette. The ashtray is overflowing. I clench my fists into balls. I grab the phone and call Sasha. She picks up after three rings.
“Hello.”
“Sasha, it’s me.”
“I’m at work. I told you not to call me until after seven.”
I squeeze my fists harder. Does she really work on Sundays? The question remains unasked. I don’t need negativity right now. I need comfort. “Things aren’t going too well. I just wanted to talk.”
“Call me back after seven.” She lowers her voice. “There are people here.”
Her whispers stroke my ear and stir my lust. I can’t help myself.
“Can you put your hand in your skirt without being seen?”
The call ends.
I stand up and throw the phone onto the bed. I take two steps towards the bathroom wall. I pull my right fist back behind my head. I scream as I let my punch go with every ounce of pent up frustration in my body and mind. My knuckles crunch through two layers of plasterboard and a two by four inch piece of timber. Pieces of plasterboard explode into the air before falling to the floor, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. I suck up the pain and hold it in. My mind clears. I will not be stopped.
*
The Earthguard agents had relocated John and Savannah to a small safe house in Hammersmith, close to the tube line. They were to stay there until Monday morning, at which time they would take up their new identities at Justice Investigations. Every five minutes or so the two up two down, cramped residence would shake on its very foundations as a train rattled by. Savannah thought all the terraced houses on the run-down street must have been built with rubber bricks.
In the lounge the agents were preparing to leave. Johnson threw an envelope onto the green two-seater sofa which, other than a small rectangular dining table with two chairs and an old portable television set on a wooden stool, was the only furniture in the room.
“If you want to paw each other I suggest you do it silently or press the top button twice, and twice again when you’ve finished. We’ll be busy and so won’t be listening most of the time. If there’s an emergency unscrew and hold down the bottom button for five seconds.”
“Where will you be?” Savannah asked. She did not want to lose their protection and more importantly she did not want to be left alone with Smith. It was easy to ignore him with the agents around, but once they departed, she did not relish the stilted conversations to come. Why hadn’t she been given a new identity? It was like all the focus was on Smith.
With Christos out of the picture, it was no longer her battle. The way things were with Smith had scratched the lustre from her involvement. She wanted to help and part of her relished the anticipation of tomorrow and the danger it would bring, but right now she wished she could take a bath and sleep until the morning light.
“I got a call from SAS headquarters. We’re going over there to question the commanding officer of Fisher’s squadron and any other soldiers who might be able to help. In the morning I have arranged to meet with experts who will destroy the gun as I watch.” Johnson turned to face the front door and was about to take a step.
“You won’t be nearby when we act as bait in Twickenham?”
“No, but Wilson will be taking good care of you from the second office.”
She noticed that Wilson, who was standing close to her right side, had remained rooted to the spot. Clearly he was not so eager to leave. She also observed for the first time that the beefy agent was a few inches shorter than her.
“Where do you go to destroy something like that?”
This time Johnson swivelled to face Savannah. The words were monotone and carried no aggression. “What is it with you two and questions? If I don’t tell you, then you can’t tell anybody else. No matter how small a risk that might be, it’s a risk we can’t afford to take.”
Despite the emotionless delivery, the words themselves suggested annoyance and Savannah reeled like she had been pushed in the chest. Wilson placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry yourself, nobody will find you here. Just remember no phone calls, no going out and you’ll be back to your own life before you know it. There won’t be a weapon to fight over once it’s destroyed and if Fisher’s as desperate as his actions so far indicate, then we’ll pick him up by the end of tomorrow.”
“So how will you lure him in?”
Johnson looked at Wilson. “We really should go now.”
“Just a second,” Wilson said, his arm now around Savannah’s shoulders. She didn’t mind, it seemed kind of sweet, but John was giving her the strangest of looks. “As far as we know he is trying to get to us through you.”
“And John?”
“Well there’s no reason for us to suspect that he even knows who John is. He’s never met him and to our knowledge has only seen him from a distance in dark conditions. You, he knows by name.”
Of course, even though John and Fisher had locked horns twice they had never had a good look at each other. On the other hand, Fisher had become fully acquainted with her ex-pimp.
“Christos,” she said.
“Exactly. We’ll put the word out that you have been seen frequenting Justice Investigations in Twickenham. From what we can tell, Fisher has spent the last few weeks building up a network of contacts throughout the city who feed him information for sizeable cash pay-outs. If we play it right, it won’t take long before he sniffs you out.”
“Ugghhhh, that sounds disgusting.”
“I’ll be waiting in the back office so don’t you worry. I promise that nothing will happen to you.”
“Or John?” she asked, looking at John who was attempting to catch Johnson’s attention and failing. The tall man’s eyes were regarding Wilson thoughtfully, presumably willing him to shut up, hurry up or both.
Wilson shrugged. “Or John.”
“Come on, Wilson. Let’s move it,” Johnson said, opening the front door.
Wilson removed his arm from Savannah’s shoulders and gave her a comforting nod. She felt a little better as he joined Johnson, but, as the door closed behind them, the thought of being alone with John loomed ominously and she felt her stomach drop.
*
After two hours of silence, sitting side by side on the well-worn sofa, John could take no more. It was clear to him that Savannah had pressed up against the armrest to maximise the distance between them. He felt like a kid on his very first date, and it was driving him crazy. He pressed the top button of the Rolex Daytona twice in rapid succession. This conversation was not for anyone else’s consumption.
“I thought I’d be rubbish in bed,” he announced.
She turned and looked at John, suspicion etched on her face. “What are you talking about?” she snapped.
John shuffled up to her until their legs were almost touching and leaned towards her, looking into her beautiful eyes. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? The cold shoulder treatment?”
Savannah pressed further against the armrest and into the corner of the sofa. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar,” John said. Savannah looked straight ahead and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Listen, Savannah, I’ve only been with two women
in my life and I’m thirty-two years old. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Her eyes moved to meet John’s but her head barely turned. “And that’s a good reason to treat me like a whore?”
“It was the only thing I could think of to make you stop in time.”
Her head turned and she sat forward. They were face to face. “In time for what?”
“In time to stop me from making a complete fool of myself.”
Savannah wasn’t getting it, her movements were agitated like she couldn’t fathom his words and it was infuriating her. “You were with these two women sexually?”
John shivered and cringed. This was getting pretty personal now and he knew he could not retreat or insult his way out of it again. They had a whole night to get through and he wanted closure on his mammoth faux pas - one way or another.
Keep the answers short and don’t offer more information than asked for, he told himself. “Yes.”
“And you put it in the right place?”
Jesus Christ. His heart hammered in his chest and he couldn’t swallow despite the feeling that he desperately needed to. “Yes, as far as I know. With one girl...” God this was so difficult. Mark had been the only person he had ever talked to about this stuff.
“Yes? With one girl...?”
Spit it out, man, he chastised himself. “It was only once and with the second, who was over a year ago, it was a few times but always in the dark.”
“And these were prostitutes?”
Good God no, he thought. Mustn’t say that though - anything to do with prostitutes is a no-go area. Back to short answers. “No.” Damn his heart, it would not settle down, would not give him a break.
“Okay, so we’ve established that you’re not a virgin and that you know where to put it,” she said, her gaze intensifying.
John wanted to get up but felt physically restrained, as if bound by invisible ligatures. To not face the music would be a step backwards, and he had back peddled enough lately to last a lifetime. He placed both his hands, palms down, on his legs and they immediately began to sweat. He had no idea where to move them or what to say next. He kept them on his legs and said nothing. Savannah was toying with him, teaching him a lesson he knew he deserved. It was uncomfortable for him. She undoubtedly sensed his unease and was not going to let him off lightly.