by Asher, Adele
“Hello?” said Nick.
“Hi,” I replied. “So I’ve thought about your offer.”
“And?”
‘I’ve decided to accept.”
“Okay. Great.”
“So what now?”
“I’ll get the paperwork done and try and get you released.”
“Well if you could hurry up I’d be terribly grateful.”
“See you later,” he replied.
I was returned once more to my cell. After an hour or so the detective arrived with a displeased look on his face.
“It seems you have some influential friends,” he said disappointed that I wasn’t going to be banged up for life.
I smiled at him as he gestured me out of the cell and then followed him to the front desk where Nick Salinger was filling out paperwork.
“She’s all yours now,” the detective told him. “Good luck.”
I hugged Nick and gave him a kiss on the cheek to the disapproving look of the detective and desk-jockey paper monkey.
“He won’t need luck,” I told them with a cheeky wink.
Nick handed the papers over and the desk jockey handed him the bag with the pistol in it.
“You’re free to go,” they told me. “Stay out of trouble,”
Nick gestured me to the door and we went outside.
“You’re my new hero now,” I told Nick. He didn’t respond.
He was clearly the strong silent type.
How exciting.
He led me over to a black Supercharged Range Rover Sport that had been tuned by Overfinch. At least he had a nice car. He unlocked the doors with the remote and opened the door for me.
“Aren’t you just the perfect gentleman,” I purred at him.
“That depends on the lady,” he responded.
“Do tell me more…” I said as I climbed in.
Nick closed the door behind me and got in the drivers side. I was in a good mood and probably would have leapt on him and man-raped him at that point but since I hadn’t had a shower or brushed my teeth and felt an utter scrubber I didn’t want to spoil a first impression. Nick fired up the throaty V8 and we finally departed Hackney.
“Nice car,” I told him.
“Thank you,” he replied.
“Does it have an ejector seat?”
“No.”
“Rocket launchers?”
“No.”
“Laser guided machine guns?”
“No.”
“Invisible camouflage?”
“No.”
“Smoke screen?”
“No.”
“What does it have?”
“Its got electric windows, air-con, sat-nav and a CD player.”
“So it’s just a normal Range Rover then?”
“Not entirely. It’s B6 armoured.”
“Am I in danger?”
“Only from me,” he told me with a cheeky smile.
“Oooh. So where do we start?”
“Your place.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Yes. We know everything there is to know about you now.”
“I bet you don’t.”
“I bet we do.”
“Well, I bet you don’t know what colour knickers I’m wearing.”
“That’s not really the purpose of the Intelligence Service.”
“There you go, you don’t know everything,” I said.
He was quiet for a moment.
“What colour knickers are you wearing?” he asked curious.
“You naughty boy,” I winked at him. “What makes you think I’m wearing any…” I added with a suggestive pout.
He smiled and shook his head.
We arrived in Cadogan Gardens outside my apartment. I was hugely relieved because more than anything I just wanted to lie in a bubble bath for about two hours and put my pyjamas on. There was an estate agents board nailed to the front railings - which surprised me since I wasn’t aware any of my neighbours were planning to move.
“This is me. You’ve been so delightful I might even cook you dinner,” I said.
Nick opened the door for me and I led him into the hallway.
“Nice place,” he remarked admiring the décor.
“I think so.”
We went to the lift. Even though I only lived on the first floor having been in my Loubi heels for two days solid I didn’t feel like enduring the pain of the stairs. I took out my keys and tried to open the door but the key would not turn in the lock.
“You have the right key?” Nick asked as I struggled with the lock.
“Of course,” I told him then I noticed the shiny new Yale that had clearly been replaced from the original, much more worn one. “Someone’s changed the lock. Who would do that?”
“Johnny?” suggested Nick.
I gave the door a push but it was no use, it was firmly shut.
“Can’t you kick it in or something?” I asked him.
He shook his head.
“We don’t do that. Besides it’s solid oak. You’d need a elephant to take it down.”
Nick took out some sort of Swiss army knife of lock picks and fiddled with it then put it in the lock, twisted it a little and opened the door.
“Remind me to never break up with you,” I told him. “You’d just be able to keep coming back to steal my underwear.”
“What makes you think I would want to steal your underwear?”
“You look the sort of guy who likes to keep a girls knickers in his glove-box.”
“Really?”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
“Oh. How disappointing.”
“Do you want me to?”
“Only if they are my knickers.”
“Well make sure they are clean. I’m not a Japanese salary man.”
We went into the apartment and I immediately noticed all the hallways furniture and art was missing.
“I’ve been burgled!” I told Nick and went through the living room.
To my utter horror and shock the entire room was completely empty down to the light bulbs. All my years of collecting furnishings and art had been cleared out in less than two days. I went through to my bedroom which was equally empty and threw open my wardrobe.
My entire collection of clothes and even worse - my priceless collection of sixty pairs of Loubi’s, most of which were limited editions were gone with the exception of my modified asteroid heels which I had killed Vladimir with.
Nick came to join me. It was obvious this was more than a burglary. This was Johnny. The ruthless bastard had cleaned out my entire apartment.
“It’s your apartment up for sale. I called. The agent is coming over,” Nick told me.
I couldn’t even find the words. I wasn’t angry at this point. Just horrified and distraught that everything in my entire home was gone. I burst into tears and forgetting for a moment the fact I smelt like a vagrant I turned to Nick and plunged my face into his chest and wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I could. He wrapped his arms around me and stroked my hair, which was comforting.
“I can’t believe he has done this! All my bloody shoes!” I sobbed pitifully.
Nick took my face between his hands and wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.
“Hey, come on. It’s only stuff. We’re going to get all this sorted out and then just think how much fun you are going to have buying it all over again,” he told me softly.
I could have married him on the spot at that point, the best thing you can ever tell a girl who devotes a large proportion of her time to retail therapy on the sudden loss of her prized trinkets is to look on the bright side of life by being able to do it all over again. I nodded. He was right. Johnny would pay for his treachery with his life while I would spend the next two years in retail nirvana. I managed a small smile to let Nick know his words were appreciated then gave him the much more delightful reward of his first passionate kiss which seemed to surprise him.
>
“That’s the spirit,” he told me quite bashfully.
I don’t think he was used to being romantically assaulted by pretty girls. It would be a delightful new experience for him, I would see to it. I dropped my bottom lip into a pout and frowned as I looked around my naked room.
“Well I can’t cook you dinner now. Or make you coffee. Or seduce you and take you to bed.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“It bloody is.”
“I don’t want to be rude. But you need to take a shower,” he said politely.
“I know. I was planning two hours in a bubble bath with you giving me a back massage. So much for that. I bet the bastard has even stolen my rubber duck.”
I looked around and frowned.
“Where’s Foxy?”
“Who?”
“My baby. I thought you said you knew everything?”
“You have a child?”
“No, my baby. Foxy. My long crested Chihuahua,” I said as I realised Johnny had clearly had him away as well.
God only knows what the brute had done to Foxy. Let him loose on the street, taken him to Battersea, sold him to a Korean fast food outlet or, God forbid, given the poor darling to that bitch Charlotte.
Dejected I returned to Nick who stood behind me and wrapped his arms around me to comfort me. I sighed.
“Well if poor Foxy is gone you are going to have to give me a real baby now. You realise that?”
“We just met!” he said in surprise not sure if I was joking or not.
“What does that matter? You said you already knew everything about me. In which case you should already be in love with me.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I don’t expect I will ever know anything about you given your line of work. Look at how Johnny turned out.”
Nick cradled me in his arms.
“I’m not Johnny.”
“Thank God for that. He’s a thieving dog-napping shoe- stealing bastard.”
“So you can ask me anything.”
“Really?”
“Anything.”
“Okay. Are you married?”
“No.”
“Are you gay?”
“No.”
“Do you take a shower every day?”
“Yes. Twice a day.”
“Do you wear clean underpants every day?”
“Yes.”
“Are you capable of having a sustainable long-term relationship without cheating?”
“Yes.”
I paused for a moment.
“Can you make me happy?”
Nick waited before answering.
“I can’t promise I can make you happy always but I know I would do anything I could to try and make you happy.”
That was a good answer. He was honest. In reality he would probably make me cry a lot, hate him some days and mostly annoy me. That’s the standard operating procedure for all men. But any man who claims he can make you happy is a liar. What you want is a man who can try and make you happy to the best of his limited abilities given his gender deficiencies and inability to understand the heart of a woman.
“That’s good enough.”
“Did I pass?”
“You passed. We get married next week.”
He laughed.
“You think I’m joking. At my age finding a decent bachelor is hard, you have to hang on to them when you find one. You’re rare enough that I could auction you at Sothebys,” I said.
“You might need to do that given your financial predicament.”
“No chance. You’re priceless. I’m locking you in my bedroom and never letting you out.”
The estate agent suddenly appeared and looked at us.
“How did you get in here?” he asked.
“I used my key! It is my apartment,” I said instinctively. “Well – never mind. Who the bloody hell are you?”
“I’m Bertie. The agent. You must be Mr. Smith I presume. The gentleman who called me? How did you get in?”
“I told you! It’s my bloody apartment! Where do you get it off putting it on the market you bloody pirate!” I said to him annoyed.
The agent frowned and checked the paperwork on his clipboard.
“I think there must have been some mistake. We took agents instructions from a gentleman. A Mr. Van Sant. He provided all the proper credentials.”
He rifled through his folder.
“You’re telling me Johnny put my apartment up for sale? Where’s all my furniture?”
“He asked us to instruct a house clearance firm. They emptied the place this morning.”
“If you really want to have sex with me then you’ll make him talk,” I whispered in Nick’s ear.
Nick didn’t need asking twice. He let me go, walked over and grabbed the clipboard off Bertie roughly. He was so macho it gave me goosebumps.
“I say old chap, steady on!” Bertie said in surprise.
Nick scowled at him which got me even more excited. He could be so forceful and manly.
Nick flicked through the paperwork angrily.
“You have contact details for him?” he asked Bertie.
“Possibly at the office.”
“I want them.”
“I’m sorry, client confidentiality,” said Bertie.
Nick looked annoyed.
“We can do this the easy way. Or the way that involves you going home crying and getting therapy,” said Nick.
“I really can’t!” replied Bertie.
Nick held out the clipboard for me. I skipped over to relieve him of it, excited to be action-mans sexy sidekick P.A. As soon as I had taken it and with a seemingly single action Nick shot a leg behind agent Bertie’s legs, with his arm he pushed him backwards so he fell to the floor, grabbing his collar as he fell with his left arm he took his pistol out with his right. By the time agent Bertie was on the floor Nick had his pistol pointed at the centre of his forehead.
It was terribly exciting. For me at least. But not for Bertie.
“You are going to tell me everything I want to know or things will start to go very badly for you Bertie,” Nick told him.
Bertie’s bottom lip quivered.
“Who are you?”
“Someone you want to co-operate with.”
“Mmkay. What do you want from me?”
“Firstly I want to know where the ladie’s furniture and belongings are, second I want all the contact details for your vendor and third you aren’t going to show anyone around or sell this apartment.”
“But that’s my job!” Bertie protested.
“Not any more Bert. Now you work for me and my friend Mr. Beretta. And you don’t want to upset Mr. Beretta or he is likely to do something to you that will give you a nasty physical impediment.”
“Okay,” whimpered Bertie.
“If you sell this apartment Bertie. I’ll kill you.”
Bertie looked terrified. On the cold delivery of Nick’s final threat a damp patch appeared around Bertie’s crotch before a small puddle of piss formed underneath him. Nick shook his head in disgust.
“Tsk tsk tsk. Dirty Bertie!” I told him disapprovingly although I can’t say I blame him.
Despite having been somewhat of a handy assassin I didn’t ever manage to deliver the chilling menace that Nick seemed to possess. Being with Nick I would actually feel safe to use the London Underground. Even visiting somewhere exotic like Clapham.
“Okay. I’ll do everything you say. Please don’t hurt me!” Bertie sobbed.
“As long as you co-operate you have my word. Although you’re an estate agent so you probably don’t want to push your luck,” Nick smiled and released him. “Get up Bertie. And clean that mess up. You’ll stain the parquet. And get on the phone Bertie. Time is money.”
Bertie got up and hobbled to the bathroom. I tilted my head to a side in an endearing manner and gave my new hero a smile.
“Very effective. Would you really shoot hi
m?”
“No. That would be illegal. But he doesn’t know that. Although he is an estate agent so rules are made to be broken.”
I looked through the paperwork on Bertie’s clipboard.
“He’s sold all my belongings to some house clearance outfit in Battersea. Cheeky sod sold the whole lot for less than my shoes are worth.” I read through the inventory list. “No mention of Foxy though,” I looked at the estate agents papers. “My apartment is held by an offshore trust, he’s forged the trustee signature to have it transferred to a new holding company in the British Virgin Islands.” I shrugged my shoulders. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“Find Johnny and get it back,” replied Nick.
Bertie returned from the bathroom, he had obviously attempted to clean up his accident but made things worse. His suit trousers were even wetter than when he had pissed himself. He handed Nick a piece of paper.
“This is everything we have. These are the contact details.”
Nick studied them and then handed it to me.
“He’s staying at my house on Lake Geneva,” I told Nick as I checked the address. “He has obviously stolen that as well the scoundrel.”
Nick smiled and patted Bertie on the back.
“You’ve been very helpful. You can fuck off now,” Nick told him. Bertie nodded nervously and scurried away. “And don’t bother calling the police. If you do I’ll find you!” he yelled after him. Nick looked thoughtful. “We better at least get your clothes back. You can’t run around in your party dress for the rest of the week.”
Nick held out his hand, I took it and he gave it a gentle squeeze.
If there was one good thing that had come out of the whole sorry debacle, I had finally found a man whose hand was worth being squeezed by.
Chapter 6
WE LEFT in Nick’s car and headed over to the house clearance companies address on an industrial estate in Battersea. My mood had at least improved since Nick’s detective skills had solicited some decent leads. God only knows how I would have managed without him but then I would have still been locked up and probably ended up in Holloway.
“So tell me about you? The things I don’t know,” he asked me as he fiddled with the stereo.
“What do you want to know?” I replied.