The worst part was that he’d got it right. He’d sat there all week, watching as the three screens on his desk, full of reds and greens and flashing numbers, played out a symphony of his composing. No, no – that wasn’t it. It was like one of those massive domino displays, where someone painstakingly lays out the pieces and then from one teeny, tiny nudge they all fall in a perfectly choreographed sequence. The money had flown out of the companies affected by the data loss, causing the whole market to tumble as the tide was sucked out. Then, once the initial wave of panic had passed, much of it had flown back in again, the incoming tide lifting the unaffected competitors. It wasn’t a crash as such, because while some shares were tanking, others thrived. It was a thing of beauty – terrible beauty – and it was all Matt’s work. What had Miller said? That he had an eye for weakness. She’d been right. He’d made hundreds of millions for the people who were holding a gun to his sister’s head, and he had the irrational craving for someone, anyone, to notice. But there was nobody he could call. Miller and her people were all over his phone lines, his PC – everything. His office and home were surely bugged. He was a prisoner in his own life and there was no escape. They were everywhere and there was nothing he could do other than exactly what they wanted. Or Jennie would be killed. What tortured him more than anything was the idea that, after these deals were closed, they wouldn’t need him or Lanark Lane Investments again. It hadn’t been openly stated, but this was clearly going to be the last massive pay-off. After the dust had settled on this, someone would come looking. A small, detached part of Matt’s lizard brain had run the numbers from their perspective. Once this was done, Matt and Brad were not just expendable, they were unacceptable risk. Matt was past caring about himself, and he couldn’t give any less of a fuck about Brad and his whiny boiled balls, but Jennie… Dear God in heaven, he had to save Jennie.
Matt heard a noise from the cubicle beside him and sat up a bit straighter. He’d thought he was alone. Come to think of it, that cubicle had an out-of-order notice on it, didn’t it? Before he had time to process that thought, Matt jumped in surprise. In the corner of his eye, he felt sure he’d seen a face – a bearded face, looking down on him from over the partition wall. But when he looked properly, it was gone. Maybe it was God, looking down on him in judgement.
Then the bearded man shouldered the stall door in and Matt realised he wasn’t God at all. Whatever the large guy with the wonky eye was, he was not celestial. There was a smell of booze and Mexican spices on his breath.
Before Matt could make a noise, the man had his hand wrapped tightly around his throat and was pressing him up against the wall. As you’d expect from a high-end office building such as this one, the bathroom stalls were larger than average. Still, as the man who wasn’t God slammed the stall door closed behind him, there was precious little room in there for the three of them: Matt, this man and this man’s wild, demented anger. His face was two inches from Matt’s as he spoke, his crazed eyes the stuff of nightmares.
“Howerya, Matt, nice to finally meet you. I’m a friend of Amy’s. You remember her? The woman you framed for murder because, thanks to you, she knows that a certain terrorist attack isn’t what it appears?”
“Please, I—”
“I strongly – and I mean strongly – suggest the rest of that sentence prominently features the word ‘sorry’. Thanks to you, that poor girl has had a fecking shite week.” The man pushed his face even closer. “In all honesty, I’m not your biggest fan myself.”
Matt tried to speak but the man’s hand was wrapped too tightly around his throat. He dismissed the idea of trying to fight back in any way. Nothing about this man indicated that that would go well.
“I’m going to…”
The man stopped speaking as the door to the restroom opened and a whistling presence entered. It was Jimmy – or whistling Jimmy, as everyone called him. The man spent his life whistling tunelessly to himself. It was an annoying habit he himself acknowledged and apologised for repeatedly. He just whistled away, the happiest son of a bitch you’ve ever met in your damn life. They’d had to give him a desk on his own at the far end of the office, because the trading team complained about the whistling. There had also been a stapler-throwing incident which had needed to be dealt with. As it happened, being the company’s compliance officer, it did make sense for Jimmy to sit apart anyway. He was supposed to be separate from the traders, as it was his job to verify all they did. This had given him the other nickname he had, the one Charlie had come up with, which only he, Matt and Brad had shared. Rubber Jimmy. So called because he was happy to rubber-stamp anything they put in front of him. It had been a long and exhaustive interview process, finding someone who was bad at their job in just the right way.
A zip was unzipped and the tune meandered in a new direction, accompanied by the sound of liquid hitting porcelain.
A strangled groan escaped Matt’s lips, which resulted in the bearded man looking even more annoyed, a development Matt would not have thought possible.
The whistling stopped.
After a hesitant moment, Jimmy spoke. “Hey, everything alright in there?”
The bearded man glowered at Matt, who tried to form his face into apology. The hand around his throat was released and appeared in front of Matt’s face, making a talking motion.
“Hey, Jimmy.”
“Oh, hi, Matt. You OK, buddy?”
“Yeah. Sure. Bad tacos.”
“Ouch. Been there!” Jimmy even sounded cheerful when discussing severe dietary discomfort. A zip was re-zipped and Jimmy proceeded to wash his hands.
“You want me to hang around, give you some company?”
Matt and the bearded man shared a peculiar moment, oddly bonding over the sheer weirdness of a grown man offering to give another grown man moral support through a bowel movement.
“Erm, no,” said Matt. “I’m good thanks, Jimmy.”
“Okely dokely,” said Jimmy, tossing some paper towels into the bin. “Hang in there, buddy boy. Later, gator.”
And then the door swung open and closed, delivering whistling Jimmy back into a world he was all but utterly oblivious to.
The bearded man pointed in the direction of the door. “Who the fuck?”
Matt shook his head. “Don’t ask.”
The bearded man puffed his cheeks out. “This is a weird fecking country. Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah.” He slammed Matt back up against the cubicle wall. “I was going to beat the truth out of you.”
“Alright. Look, I’m really sorry. I never meant for Amy to get hurt. I fucked up. This whole thing, all of it, is my fault, and I’m so unbelievably fucking sorry.”
“You’re not yet, but you’re going to be…” The man stopped talking and tilted his head to the side. “Ah, for… Now what are you doing?”
“What?”
“You’re fecking crying. Stop with the – ara Jesus.”
He stepped back, tugged some sheets of toilet paper from the dispenser and handed them to Matt.
Matt took them, wiped his eyes and sat back on the toilet. “Sorry, I’m…”
“Alright, you can quit saying sorry now.”
“Sor— OK. Yes. Sorry – shit – sorry.”
“You need to make this right.”
Matt looked up at the man. “I know, but… how?”
“How? You need to tell the truth. Contact the authorities. Spill the beans on the bad guys.”
“I can’t.” Matt raised his hands as he saw the big man’s expression darken. “No. Listen. I would if I could. Honestly. I don’t care what happens to me, but they’ve got my sister.”
“What?”
“Jennie, my kid sister. She’s only twenty. Miller took her.”
“Who the feck is Miller?”
“I don’t know. Mrs Miller… that’s just a name I gave her, because she looks like… It doesn’t matter. The point is… Look, I know I know too much. These people, they don’t care about leaving bodies in their wake. Once they get th
eir money, I’m as good as dead after all that’s happened. I know it. They know it. I got too much on them. It’s why they took Jennie. They know I’ll do whatever they want to protect her.”
The man leaned back against the door and looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’ve been racking my brain,” continued Matt, “trying to come up with some way out of this.”
“So this whole thing is about money?”
Matt nodded. “A shit-ton of it. Miller described the fund as belonging to some people who formerly worked for the US government but are now ‘retiring from public service’ – her words. She joked about government pensions not being all that. They said, when they came to me, that they’d give me certain useful information, so I could invest their money and…”
“Fantastic. You’re running a pension fund for mass murderers. You must be really proud.”
“Look, I’ve made mistakes – so many God damn mistakes. More than anything, I want to try to make it right. But they got Jennie and I can’t do anything until she’s safe.”
Silence filled the cubicle. Outside, the auto-wash system of the urinals whooshed.
The two men looked at each other for the longest time until, finally, the big man spoke. “So, if we were to get your sister to safety, you’d—”
“I’d do anything you asked,” interrupted Matt. “Anything. Please.” He reached forward and grabbed the hem of the big man’s overcoat. “I’ll do anything you want.”
He reached down and gently pushed Matt’s hands away. “That’s a dangerous thing to be telling a strange man in a toilet cubicle. Alright, so you’re their devious little prick. Let’s see if we can’t use that mind of yours against them. We’d best be quick, before anyone notices how long your shit is taking.”
Chapter Forty
“And that,” said Bunny, “is what we agreed to.”
He looked around nervously at the other three people assembled in Diller’s front room: Amy, Diller and Smithy, whom Bunny had invited due to his previously demonstrated flair for creative thinking. None of them seemed particularly happy, which was in stark contrast to the members of the animal kingdom beaming at Bunny from all four walls and the ceiling.
There was also a live member of the animal kingdom in the room: a Siberian husky that Bunny happened to know wasn’t Smithy’s – or at least it hadn’t been the first time he’d met him. On the upside, he bore very little resemblance to any of the members of Kiss. Bunny couldn’t see its face, which was buried in its nether regions, lapping away enthusiastically as it had been throughout the brief presentation Bunny had just given.
“If I may,” said Smithy. “I see a slight problem with your plan.”
“OK,” said Bunny. “What is it?”
“It is the entire lack of a plan.”
“I’ll admit, it’s a bit short on detail.”
“Short?” said Smithy. “I’m short. This shit is Peter Pan. As in, it doesn’t exist. What you have laid out is a set of circumstances, which is entirely different to a plan.”
“I thought,” said Diller, “the plan was, we got you in there and then you slap the guy around a bit until he agrees to help.”
“That was the plan,” admitted Bunny, “but then circumstances changed. I mean, in a way, this works out better for us.”
“Really?” said Amy. “How?”
“Well, we’ll know where he, and hopefully his sister, will be at a certain time, and if we can get his sister back, then, y’know, it’s all gravy.” Bunny gave a thumbs up and then quickly rethought it. Once he’d successfully exited the building on Park Avenue without being seen by the watching men, it had dawned on him that he may have been better off knocking Matt unconscious and taking him with him. It had been the sister stuff. He was aware he’d allowed that to knock him off plan, and now they were royally screwed. Again.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be the one to say it,” said Smithy, “but wouldn’t now be a good time to go to the authorities?”
“With what?” said Amy. “We don’t have anything. We can’t prove a damn thing. I can claim I heard a few words that sounded a bit like the target and prime suspect in a terrorist attack. The only people who have any idea I’m not completely making that up are” – she pointed at Bunny – “the invisible man with no name and a TV newsman who doesn’t want to admit knowing me, never mind that I gave him a really weak piece of evidence about a massive conspiracy.”
“Did you ring him again?” asked Bunny.
“I did. It took Diller and me an hour to find a working phone booth, but we got there eventually. His guy thinks it sounds very suspicious and he’s looking into Lanark Lane Investments, but like we said, we don’t have anything remotely close to evidence at the moment. Randall can’t report anything that wouldn’t lead to his company ending up in court, facing a defamation case they’ll lose.”
Bunny scratched at his beard. “Fair enough. And besides,” he said, turning to Smithy, “whoever the people behind this are, they’re linked into the security services or law enforcement or something. I saw the guy who tried to shoot me getting handed back his fecking gun and apologised to. If we go to the authorities, we have to assume it’ll get right back to them.”
“He’s right,” said Amy. “Believe me, I’ve done nothing but think this through again and again. The only way anyone will believe us is with a smoking gun, and that means getting Matt. Speaking of jerk-offs, is there any way you could stop your damn dog from doing that?”
Smithy and Amy glared at each other. “He’s not my dog.”
“What are you, a dog-sitter?”
“No. I stole him.”
Amy threw her hands in the air. “Great. We’re bringing stolen goods to meetings now.”
“It’s either that or he starts barking at all the weird pictures on the wall again.” Smithy glanced at Diller. “No offence, Dill.” Then he looked back at Amy. “And besides, suspected murderers in glasshouses shouldn’t throw stones.”
“Alright,” said Bunny, stepping forward, “enough of that. Can we focus on the problem in hand, please? We know where they’ll be and when. We also know that this Mrs Miller and her lot are highly trained and heavily armed.”
“And they’ve got a sniper,” said Amy.
“What?” said Smithy and Diller in unison.
“Oh yeah,” said Bunny. “They do.”
The room fell into silence. Or at least what would’ve been silence, if not for the sound of a stolen dog enthusiastically fellating himself.
“Jesus Christ, Not Gene Simmons,” said Smithy. “Could you stop doing that?”
To everyone’s surprise, not least Smithy’s, Not Gene Simmons immediately did as instructed.
“Oh,” said Smithy, “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“First thing that’s gone right in a while,” said Bunny.
“Hey,” said Smithy, “I think you’ll find Lethal Weapon 2 worked pretty well.”
Bunny nodded. “No, it did. That was a great idea – and do thank Cheryl again for me. She was great.”
“Yeah, she is great,” said Smithy.
“She seems to think very highly of you. What’s going on there? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Smithy shrugged. “Look, she deserves better than a guy with no decent prospects, a stolen dog and a propensity for getting himself buried up to his neck in stupid shit. Case in point,” he said, holding his arms out wide.
“Fair enough.”
The room lapsed into silence as they each fell into contemplation of the problem.
Not Gene Simmons took a gander at his own nether regions again, then, noticing the four sets of eyes locked on him, decided against it.
Upstairs, they could hear Mrs James singing a song about young lovers in a warbling voice.
Diller cleared his throat. “I have an idea.”
“OK.”
“Great.”
“Good.”
“I’m…” He he
sitated. “Look, it’s probably really stupid.”
“It’s got to be better than the nothing we have so far,” said Amy.
“Go on, give it a lash,” said Bunny.
“There is no such thing as a bad idea,” said Smithy.
Diller then explained his idea.
When he’d finished, he looked around at the others. The only one that seemed excited was Not Gene Simmons.
“Yeah,” said Amy, “that definitely won’t work.”
“Sorry, Dill,” said Smithy, “but I take it back. That is a terrible idea.”
Bunny nodded. “Afraid so.”
Diller shrugged. “Well, worth a shot.”
They lapsed back into contemplative silence.
Over the next hour, they rehashed what they knew and took shots at pitching ideas, more often than not bailing halfway through their explanations as they realised why a plan definitely wouldn’t work.
After two hours, the best idea they had was Diller’s – mainly because it was the only idea.
For want of anything else to discuss, they discussed the many reasons why Diller’s idea definitely wouldn’t work.
An hour later, they’d worked through what they’d have to do if they were going to carry out Diller’s stupid idea, which they definitely weren’t doing.
An hour after that: “Look,” said Bunny, “we need to stop talking about Diller’s fecking stupid idea. It’ll not work.”
Another hour after that: “Look,” said Diller, “can we stop referring to it as Diller’s stupid idea.”
“It is pretty stupid though, Dill,” said Smithy.
“I know. That’s why I’m disowning it. I don’t want us to try it, fail and then have everyone blaming me afterwards.”
“That won’t happen,” said Amy in a kind voice.
“Yeah,” agreed Bunny. “Besides, the odds are very good that most of us would be dead, so you’ll be fine on that score.”
Bunny had meant it as a joke, but it had been too close to the truth.
The room lapsed into silence again.
Another hour later, due to the absence of any other form of plan, they were doing Diller’s stupid idea.
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