Body and Soul

by Roddy Murray

  "How serious is that?" asked Blaine, "And how are the guards?"

  "The British one is fine, just a sore jaw and damaged pride but Claude was seriously assaulted with a toilet roll holder."

  There was a pause as Blaine stifled a laugh.

  "It was a very heavy metal toilet roll holder and split his skull," clarified Bobby. "We've managed to deal with it here with all the medical staff we had on site. I've sent the Scottish guard home as he was a bit hazy about what actually happened. We need to move carefully till we find the donor again in case he is struggling to adjust. After all it has been quite a leap for everyone and we had hoped to monitor him for some time to come before helping him to readjust and settle down. Dan suggests we move to the hotel in Glasgow now and stay there till he's found. We'll take our security boys too as a precaution. Best get your stuff together so we can leave straight away."

  Blaine did as he was told and packed some basics for the hotel. He realised quickly that none of the clothes he had left in the apartment fitted him properly anymore. The tops were tight on his new shoulders and hung loose over the toned muscles of his stomach. The trousers were ridiculously loose around his waist with the belts unable to close tightly enough to be of any use. Reluctantly he concluded that he would have to make do with Frank's taste in clothes for the journey but he resolved to send out from the hotel to get a replacement tweed jacket and some cords at the first opportunity.

  When he was ready he made his way to Bobby's office as arranged and, along with Bobby, Dan and Nick the minder they made their way through a back entrance to a Range Rover with very dark windows which was waiting for them there. Nick got in and drove and Blaine noticed the large man in the passenger seat had his head covered in bandages and seemed to be heavily sedated.

  "That must be Claude," he thought. "I wouldn't like to be in the donor’s shoes if he catches up with him." He shivered a bit when he realised that the donor only had Blaine’s old physique at his disposal now. "Run, fat boy, run." he thought, and chuckled to himself.

  They travelled largely in silence from the Nebus Biosciences plant to Glasgow. The Sat-Nav spoke more than any of the passengers. They turned off the M8 just before the Kingston Bridge and headed underneath it towards the newly developed riverside district. The Range Rover pulled up smoothly at The Crowne Plaza and they all got out except Nick who headed off to park the vehicle.

  Bobby sorted out the rooms with reception who were expecting them, although the Polish receptionist kept looking at Claude's bandaged head. Some of the bandages had traces of blood showing through. When Bobby emphasised that he was Dr Bartleman she relaxed visibly.

  The group took the lift to the three rooms which had been booked together on the second top floor. Claude checked the first bedroom and ushered them in. He checked the other two and returned giving Dan a thumbs up sign. Blaine wasn't sure what Claude had expected to find but it looked like he had worked with Dan on a regular basis and was going through his usual routine. Probably as much as anything to prove the attack on his head had not had any lasting effect.

  Claude took a chair from the room and positioned himself outside in the corridor.

  "Is all this necessary?" Blaine asked.

  "Not really," replied Dan, "but I think Claude is going overboard to regain our respect. Coming second best to a toilet roll holder wielded by an overweight businessman will take some time to come to terms with."

  Dan laughed in a rather unkind way which suggested he had little sympathy with the poor man.

  "I suggest we all settle into our rooms. I have some people looking for our donor in some of his old haunts and we can bring him in for further observation once they find him. In the meantime enjoy the views of Glasgow and whatever shitty little river that is out there until we can get back to civilisation. If you want some proper clothes Blaine, here's the number of a good concierge service in town my PA found for me. I suggest we reconvene here at six tonight and then go for dinner."

  Bobby looked exhausted from what had obviously been a sleepless night and Blaine’s hangover had not fully gone away so they headed off to their respective rooms to recover in their separate ways.

  When Blaine had showered and had a nap he found himself again wanting a drink, which was strange. Not just a hair of the dog type desire. He wanted to get down to the bar and start another session. This was most unusual. He normally went days without having anything to drink and when he did he drank sparingly. Maybe it was just a temporary side effect of the transfer. But he found himself thinking again about flooring the night guard at Nebus Bioscience and decided he better watch out for any signs of new and dangerous habits. In the meantime though, a little something from the mini-bar would do no harm.

  Shortly before 6.30 the three men met up again in Dan's room. Blaine had received a delivery of new clothes and had dressed in a pair of cords and a Tweed jacket which looked surprisingly like the one he had left behind in Room A on his old self. He felt better for wearing it but also for a rest and a shower. It had taken a bit of getting used to cleaning a new body but it emphasised to him his new found health and strength. Hopefully Delores would be suitably impressed too.

  Dan was working away at the desk in his room when the other two arrived and didn't look up till he had dealt with a number of emails and finished a long and detailed phone call to his PA in the States. Eventually he looked up.

  "We know the donor has been back to his house in Ayr and recovered his passport. Our people must have just missed him. It's a pity because we had hoped to use the passport to get you out of the country, Blaine. Fortunately some of our official connections are organising a replacement one so that Frank Chisholm can officially travel to the States where he will disappear off the radar. At that point we can re-introduce you as Blaine McCoard. Fitter, slimmer and healthier perhaps but Blaine none the less. Ready to take up the overall reins at Nebus holdings, on promotion."

  Blaine liked the sound of that. So that had been Dan's plan if all went well. Move him to the parent company and run it. That would make the transition from married family man to carefree partner of the most beautiful employee in Nebus much easier. Things were coming together nicely, he thought. Maybe a drink was in order.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Inside the station Frank peered round a corner where he could just see the reflection of the vehicle and waited till it drove away. When it did he waited another five minutes then hurried as best he could to his flat near the sea front. He quickly recovered the spare key from under the broken flower pot outside and let himself in. He moved cautiously at first just in case anyone on the Nebus payroll was waiting in the flat, but it was empty. Once he was sure of it he moved quicker, collecting some clothes, a hold-all and some washing and shaving kit. Finally he made his way to his bedroom and prised up one of the corner floorboards. Underneath was a bundle of ten pound notes totaling about £3,000 which he had kept from his boot camp sessions on the seafront. No need to tell the taxman about that. He reached further in to the gap where the floorboard had been until his hand felt the solid form of a pistol. It was a Browning 9 mm pistol, standard issue in the British army, when he had been in, for anyone who didn't carry a rifle. He had found it during his second trip to the Gulf and couldn't quite bring himself to hand it in. Had it been discovered in his kit at any time he would have been jailed forever, but by a combination of cunning and good luck he had managed to bring it home as a trophy. Now for the first time he thought he might actually need it. He popped it into the bag with everything else and looked round. He had no idea what lay ahead but coming back to this flat and enjoying Coronation Street again on his sofa seemed an unlikely outcome.

  He headed out of the flat as quickly and as quietly as he could and replaced the key under the plant pot out of sheer habit. His mind was racing now even if his new body couldn't quite keep up. He had to find Dr Bobby Bartleman and his team, track down his own body and make them reverse the whole routine. Sounded easy enough but getti
ng everyone together again beside all the kit to make it happen seemed a virtual impossibility. But Frank had decided that if that proved impossible he was going to sort out all the bastards responsible. Bobby, the old boy from Room A who was probably his uncle and, one way or another, this bodysnatching McCoard guy.

  He walked away from his flat and round a couple of corners to make sure he had not been followed. All of a sudden he was exhausted and knew he needed to rest. He flagged down a taxi and asked to be taken to the Premier Inn near the airport. The driver chatted away at first trying to start a conversation but soon gave up. Frank was too tired even to talk. At the hotel he paid the fare with far too much money but walked to reception without waiting for any change.

  "Thank you!" shouted the driver behind him and then under his breath, "you chatty bastard."

  Frank checked in and paid cash for the one night he planned to spend there. He waited impatiently as the receptionist tapped away on her computer and explained the usual housekeeping and safety points. When she had finally finished Frank grabbed the key from her hand and headed for the room. Once there and inside he collapsed on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

  He had not felt this tired since he was in the army and even then it had taken days of intensive exercise in the field to make him feel like this. Now a full day awake was enough. He would have brooded about it angrily but the need to sleep was too strong.

  In the morning he awoke and it took him a while to come to terms with both his surroundings and his predicament. As the truth of the situation dawned on him one piece at a time, his heart sank. He had slept well but still felt exhausted and unwell. His dreams had been troubled and vivid. Faces laughing at him while he lay helpless. Even in the dreams he was physically weak and unable to move properly.

  Now that he was awake he felt little better. This body was flabby, slow and dying. His hope of getting the whole process reversed was unrealistic. Even if he got everyone back to Nebus at gun point and started the process in train, he would be unconscious at some point and therefore completely vulnerable. He had thought he might get Paddy to help and watch his back but how could he convince him of what had happened? No, he was stuck in this dying body. His only realistic option was revenge. Revenge on all of those responsible for screwing up his life and stealing his healthy body. That meant Dr Bobby Bartleman, Dan Bartleman and McCoard. With a bit of luck Claude would get in the way too. If he took them all out he could at least die avenged. Chances were he would be dead before any subsequent trial could take place.

  With his decision made he headed for breakfast and found that he had a good appetite. He ordered a full fry up, having reasoned that that wouldn't be what killed him now and helped himself to cereal and orange juice for old times’ sake while he waited for the hot food to arrive.

  His mood had changed now and he was no longer depressed. Instead he felt the same resolve he had known in his younger days on operations and even way back doing P Company with the Parachute Regiment as a recruit. He had a plan. He had a mission and he was going to see it through whatever. At the end of it he would take his chances. God knows what the police would make of it, but that was their problem, not his.

  "Mad American business man guns down colleagues and British veteran." He almost laughed as he thought of the possible headlines.

  Breakfast arrived and the condemned man ate it heartily.

  Afterwards on the spur of the moment he rebooked his room for that night. It seemed to make sense to have somewhere to leave his things, such as they were and if by any chance he couldn't track any of the Americans down he would need somewhere to regroup and think through his next move. He showered in his room disgusted at the corpulent body he was trapped in. The experience didn't improve his mood any. Then he realised he had to put the same clothes back on again. The underwear he had brought from the flat would have stopped his circulation if he had tried to wear it. The socks fitted so at least that was something but he hated not having fresh clothes after a shower. He was going to make someone pay for this.

  After he had dressed he headed to reception and organised a taxi. Rather than take it all the way to Glasgow he had decided to take a train and buy himself some thinking time without some cheery cabby asking him inane questions all the way. The taxi took him straight to the station where he had been dropped off the night before. He bought a return ticket for Glasgow Central, hoping that he would only need it one way, and bought a copy of Men's Fitness. The irony of that purchase did not escape him. He knew he looked overweight and he was already feeling tired from the exertion of his basic morning so far. He climbed into the train with some effort and took a seat beside the window, checking that his gun was still safely in the pocket of his tweed jacket.

  The magazine remained unread on the journey to Glasgow and instead he looked out of the window at all the familiar places the train passed along the way. He couldn't help a feeling that he was seeing them all for the last time. There was finality to this journey. He started thinking to himself, "Farewell Prestwick, farewell Troon, Barrasie..." He had to admit it was difficult to believe he would ever miss Johnstone, but you never know.

  By the time the train arrived in Glasgow Central he was sufficiently recovered to have a coffee in the main station. He watched the people rush past towards or from trains and wondered what they were all rushing for. He had to admit rushing was beyond him now but he wanted to savour every part of this moment. Time seemed to have become more precious now that his was running out. He wouldn't rush today if he could avoid it. It might be his last day on earth for all he knew. He wanted it to be as full a day as possible.

  He knew from the conversation with Jim that that night at least one of the Bartleman family would be staying at The Crowne Plaza Hotel on the side of the river Clyde opposite the new BBC headquarters. There was no point getting there too early. No, he would have a wander round Glasgow city centre for old times’ sake. He exited the station onto Gordon Street and walked slowly to Buchanan Street. The area had been tarted up since his days as a kid being dragged around by his parents. It had even improved since he had the occasional wild night out here in his teens before joining the army. Somehow he had always liked Buchanan Street. It had changed a lot. It was now paved and fully pedestrianised. All the banks seemed to have shut and reopened as restaurants or pubs. He turned down towards Argyle Street and stopped when he reached the House of Fraser. This shop had always fascinated him as a child. It seemed you could buy anything there. He passed through the first door he came to and wandered about aimlessly through the different departments.

  In the men’s department a harassed young woman came up to him and asked: "Are you American?"

  He stared at her for a second unsure what and whether to answer.

  "It doesn't really matter. You look like an American. Can I ask you a favour?"

  Without waiting for an answer she led Frank over to a rail of men's tweed jackets.

  "Which one would you chose?"

  Frank looked at the seriously expensive jackets and suspected he wouldn't choose any of them but the girl was very pretty and he was distracted by that as usual. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could she said, "Bingo!" and picked up one almost identical to the one he was wearing. "If it suits you it'll suit him." With that she was off to the till to pay for it.

  Frank chuckled and continued his trip down memory lane. Frasers always went to town with their Christmas decorations and as a childhood treat he would be brought here to see them. It was just the tail end of summer so they were nowhere to be seen, but he could picture them clearly. No sign of Santa either, which formed part of the annual outing. Still, even if Santa had been there he couldn't have made Frank's current wish come true.

  After a full tour of the building he headed outside to Buchanan Street again. Feeling a little bit hungry he headed for Sloan’s, one of his old haunts as a young man. He was tired and felt it but he was also very hungry. He ordered a lunch of steak pie with veg
and chips and bought a pint of "heavy" to wash it down with. He looked around at all the business people in their smart suits and the shoppers and felt surprisingly calm. Despite everything that had happened to him over the last two days he was not his usual raging self. He had been able to rationalise his situation and decide on a way forward. Have a plan and stick to it, he found himself thinking. Having done so he was now calmly killing time until the person or persons booked into the Crowne Plazza were most likely to be there. He had decided to wait till about half past six or so and then go to the hotel and try and discover which room they were in. Beyond that he would have to play it by ear but with a gun in his hand to focus their minds.

  After lunch he had another few beers to use up more time. After five and some whiskies, he decided it would be a good idea to phone Paddy and tell him how grateful he was for everything he had done to help over the years. It was a rambling conversation during which Frank drunkenly cursed the bastards from Nebus for screwing him about but didn't go into any further detail.

  Paddy was having a bad day at work before the call and wasn't in any mood for a drunken Frank. It took him a moment to recognise the person at the end of the phone who seemed to have a strangely mixed up accent but when he did and after he had confirmed that Frank was finished in Edinburgh and was drunk as a skunk in Glasgow he terminated the call with two words.

  Frank would have felt hurt if he had been thinking more clearly. As it was, he smiled and thought to himself, "good old Paddy."

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The next time Frank looked at the clock in the pub he realised it was well after six. He checked the gun in his suit pocket and went outside to Argyle Street and flagged down a taxi.

  "Crowne Plaza," he slurred and slumped into the back seat.