"We really need to be friends," Pedro said in between puffs of his cigarette, which he’d picked up while John had been talking.
John couldn't speak for a moment, but after a few seconds, he finally found his voice. "Is this some kind of a trick?" he stammered.
Pedro leaned forward, getting far too close for comfort as he whispered in his ear, "Nothing of the sort."
John recoiled away from him, taking a step back. “Look, I know you’re being difficult with me, but can we just drop it?”
Pedro smirked at him as John took a moment to think. He was beginning to run out of options. He knew that Pedro wasn't a nice person, but if he were to accept that Pedro could change, then maybe he would change as well? John knew he just had to accept the way it was, no matter how much he didn’t want to do it.
Just then, the phone started to ring. Pedro stared at him, then at the phone, then back at him before asking, "Is there anything else?"
John carefully lowered his hands to his knees. "If you don't pick up, you'll never get any business." The phone stopped ringing, and Pedro made a face, stabbing the cigarette in the ashtray as he let out a mortified growl. John stepped back in surprise, and during the stunned silence, the door to the office opened and a woman stepped in. John thought this would be a good opportunity to make a scene in front of his clients, but he decided it just wasn’t worth it; the conversation had zapped all of his energy.
"Take a seat, I’ll be with you in a minute," Pedro called out to her.
John was still standing by Pedro's side, throwing quick glances over his shoulder at the woman.
"John, I’ll see you later."
The woman stood frozen to the spot, her fidgeting hands giving away her nerves. She was staring at Pedro with a look of desperation in her eyes.
"Forgive me," she whispered, grabbing Pedro’s hands as she spoke. "I've been to the police, they won’t do anything. It was all part of this drug culture," she said. “Look, my son, he's caught up in it too."
Pedro saw the frustration on her face. "This lowlife might have to learn things the hard way." He glanced at John, nodding at him in a way that made it clear: they were done here.
John slipped out of the room, his gaze remaining on the woman until Pedro closed the door behind him.
Later that day, Pedro was standing directly in front of the school, staring at the open space in front of the building. You could see the deals being done: it was evident by their dark, shallow eye sockets and fidgety behaviour that they had drug habits.
Pedro was sitting in the café opposite, pretending to read a newspaper while he studied the various faces. As he did so, he could feel the eyes of the dozen or so patrons on him – there was a hard edge to the cafe and its clientele. Pedro had been able to sense it immediately.
For the next hour, he took his time and watched the men and women who stopped by to visit the dealers, the practiced manoeuvres of quiet hands exchanging things under the tables. The pusher across the street was short and fat, and he wore dirty jeans with a long black coat. Pedro watched a few more transactions take place before standing up and placing some cash on the table. Leaving the cafe, he approached the man outside with a smile on his face.
"What can I do for you?" the dealer asked, while taking a drag from his cigarette.
Pedro nodded at him briefly, rubbing his palms on his trousers, continuing to fake nervousness.
The man began to mumble a short list of his drugs and his prices, but Pedro stopped him mid-sentence. “Let’s walk over there,” Pedro said, pointing at a nearby alleyway. The man agreed, grinding his cigarette butt under his heel.
Once in the alley, Pedro winked at the man and said, "I'm not a druggie. So, I'll make this simple for you: if you try and push your shit in this area again, they’ll find you swinging from the rafters of that basement you live in on Tottenham Court Road. Do I make myself clear?"
Without warning, Pedro spun around to the left, a short metal pipe clutched firmly in his right hand. He swung it with such force that it broke the man's chin.
"So, do I make myself clear?" he asked again as he watched the drug dealer cower on the floor.
"Yeah," he spluttered, through the blood that was now pouring down his face and neck.
Pedro smiled. Things were going in the right direction, and he was on course to expand his business. In a big way.
Chapter 20
She was almost there. The industrial estate was a maze, but she had no difficulty finding the place she was looking for. She parked her Ford, got out, and forged a path through the crowd who were waiting for the fish-and-chip shop to open.
Opening the office door, she asked for Pedro, and he turned, folding his forearms across the top of his expensive high-backed leather chair. It swirled to the left until his weight settled.
She was a very tasteful-looking woman, at least in her mid-forties. She wore a tight, black, short skirt and a revealing white blouse, and she smiled in a way that made you look at her twice. She was here for a job interview and she clearly knew how to impress. Pedro couldn’t take his eyes off her as she raised her hand to her face and brushed back her long, black, wavy hair.
"So nice to meet you. Welcome to my office."
"Thank you," she said, smiling at him warmly.
"Have a seat. Can I get you a glass of water?"
"Please."
She looked around the small office, finishing her survey at approximately the same time that Pedro poured them both a glass of water. Her eyes zeroed in on the old-looking leather briefcase on his desk.
"So, Sue, can you tell me what experience you have? I’ve read your CV and I saw there was a gap of nearly six months, so I’d like you to run me through the details."
After a conversation about a well-known pop star whom she’d recently had arrested for a drug-related crime, she went on to explain that the pop star had been set up by someone on the police force.
"I had an issue with one of my colleagues. Balls had been in the force for twenty years – that wasn't his real name, but it was what they all called him. His real name was Bradley Dowler. His most prominent feature was a hooded brow, that I once heard described as being ‘hung like a cliff over a pair of cold black eyes’. He scared people.”
Pedro took a swig of his water, chewed on his bottom lip for a second, and then in a quite voice asked, "So what happened?"
"I exposed him, and life became difficult. The other lads gave me a hard time, so I quit."
"Were a lot of people upset about what happened?"
"Of course. I learned a long time ago, Pedro, that you can't control what people say or do."
As they continued to talk, Pedro and Sue started to hit it off, and he was more than impressed. An hour later, he found that he really couldn’t fault her. Sue’s manner was both chatty and enthusiastic, and it was clear that she was a very intelligent woman.
She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them as she asked him, "What is your core business?"
"At the moment I’m doing little bits of work for the newspapers; mainly finding people, really. We don't check our watches or what day it is – we just get the job done. You know how it is… just because it's Sunday doesn't mean our enemies take the day off."
"Very true," Sue said.
Pedro unbuttoned his suit jacket, took it off, and draped it over the back of his leather office chair. He clasped his hands in front of his chin and seemed to consider where he should start. Inhaling sharply, he asked, "How are you when things get rough?"
"If you mean do I get sick at the sight of blood while on a crime scene, you don't need to worry about that; I've seen enough bodies in my time."
Pedro was keen to make contacts within the police to help him achieve what he had come to London for, and for this he needed to recruit Sue West. She was good at her job, and she had risen quickly through the ranks of the Metropolitan Police, both in spite of the fact that she was a woman and because she was a woman. Political pressures had ushered i
n the brave new age of women in positions of command, and Sue knew there were still plenty of misogynists around who thought the only reason she'd made it was that the bosses had had to reach their quota. She ignored all the whispers, focused on her job, and took comfort in the fact that she still had some friends who knew she was qualified and had earned her position.
"As I said, don't worry about me. I'm used to being in the middle of it." She smiled, and so did Pedro – this was exactly what he needed.
Her new role was to be forensic investigator. It was common for the Metropolitan Police to employ independent companies to help with forensics, albeit purely in the photographic area, and some cases required independent forensic advice. This was an excellent opportunity for Pedro to ease his way into the back rooms of the police, and to try to find as much information as he could about any key figures in the force.
Yes, Sue West would be perfect.
***
John was just about to enter the M3 when he realised that he’d left his keys at Pedro’s office, so he continued on the roundabout and doubled back on himself. Traffic was light on the way back, and he got there in record time.
As he rushed up the stairs, he spotted the shadows of two people through the frosted glass of the door – it looked like they were huddled over, talking. John’s mind was still trying to make sense of the events that had brought him here, as well as the one question he still couldn’t answer: who could he trust?
The desire to flee is not always wise, he told himself, as he took a deep breath and opened the door. He stood there with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and he cracked a smile as he quietly said, "Sorry to interrupt. I left my keys here."
Pedro nodded, as if the interruption hadn’t rattled him in the slightest. "John, this is Sue. Sue, John."
"Really nice to meet you," Sue said, smiling at the newcomer.
“John just started working here today,” Pedro said pointedly.
Pedro had spent a lifetime observing people, and John wondered if Pedro had noticed something about her that had caught his eye. It was nothing drastic, just the way she stared. John watched her carefully for a minute, and her expression never changed, not even once, not even when he looked directly into her eyes.
She seemed to have decided not to talk – she just nodded and smiled a lot as she listened to John and Pedro. She then continued the conversation she’d been having with Pedro earlier.
It turned out that she kept a notebook; John noticed Pedro's eyes as she ran her finger down the list of names and contacts. She raised her right eyebrow a fraction, just enough to make her point. John laughed.
"We were just about to have lunch," Pedro said. "Why don’t you join us?"
"I’m a professional," she said, "I never mix business with pleasure."
"Golden rule?" Pedro asked mockingly.
A slight smile tugged wistfully at the corners of her lips as she wondered what Pedro would be like in bed – of course, that would never happen; she had to remain professional.
If she’d known how scientifically he was analysing her, she'd have got up and walked away right there and then. None of the women he’d dated had lasted. Maybe he was the problem; he just didn’t have the urge to shop around, or make a concerted effort. Life seemed too short.
Sensing the tension in the room, John turned to Pedro. “I can’t do lunch either; things to do, people to see.” With that, he nodded at Sue and turned to leave.
"See you tomorrow!" Pedro called out to him as he closed the door.
The next day, Pedro called John on the telephone.
“I have a job for you.”
"Please will you leave me alone?” asked John, getting a little desperate now. “If I help you…” he trailed off, sighing. “Actually, what is it you want me to do?"
"I just want you to sit in restaurants."
He paused, trying to get his head around the statement. "So you want me to eavesdrop?" He’d almost been hoping Pedro wanted him to do clerical work in the office, help with filing and answering the phones. Of course, that was too good to be true.
"That’s right."
"On who?"
"Doesn’t matter at the moment."
"Can I be the judge of that?" John asked sarcastically.
Pedro cleared his throat, his mind working fast. "If our relationship is going to work, I need you to understand certain things. When I tell you I want something to happen and I want it to happen immediately, it needs to happen."
John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He cleared his throat and pushed his chair back a few inches, resisting the urge to just slam the telephone down.
“I understand, but there are certain complications."
"You don't need to worry about any complications, just do want I say.” He paused, and John could hear him sighing. “You know what, John? You need to get off your high horse. You're not the only one who I look after here. You need to listen to me."
"Do I now?"
"You made a deal with me a long time ago and now I'm saving your ass – that is something you should never forget. If you’re willing to step back and take an honest look at this relationship, you'll understand that it has been a very beneficial one for both of us. If you're not willing to do that, then let's end this thing right now, and trust me on this: a week from now, you'll be in a cell."
John couldn't remain silent for another second, and when he replied, his voice was razor sharp. "Oh, for Christ’s sake!" He wanted to growl, to really let rip with a chest-vibrating, rib-cracking growl. Then he wanted to tackle Pedro and rub his face in the dirt – perhaps he’d do just that when he was next in the office. The all-knowing attitude – as if he could read everything about John – was irritating the hell out of him.
The next time John was in the office, Pedro acted as if it was no big deal, and the sheer stupidity of it all meant that John was tempted not to go through with it. What Pedro wanted him to do was to spy, there was no way to sugar-coat it. Spying. A crime that carried a long jail sentence. He asked again why Pedro wanted him to do it but just got back an earful of harsh words, none of which really answered his question.
John stared blankly at the desk for a minute, images of what he wanted him to do flashing through his mind. What Pedro was saying implied something pretty sick, and it worried him.
John was messing about with the zip on his jacket, zipping it part way up, then down, then back up again as he thought.
"Are you listening, John?" Pedro asked, impatience in his voice.
John glanced up from what he was doing and nodded. Before Pedro could say anything else, the phone rang and he took the call. John watched the emotions play across his face as he spoke to whoever was on the other end. It was a brief conversation, but it was clearly important.
When Pedro ended the call, he looked up with regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I’ve got to go. I have a meeting with a man called Samuel."
John was surprised to hear the frustration in his voice. It was as though he had a split personality, with one side of him working behind the scenes. He really didn’t know which Pedro was the real Pedro, and that worried him. It worried him a lot.
"John, I don't think you take me seriously enough, so I'll say no more. I am losing faith in you. I'll call you soon." And with that, he left.
Chapter 21
John had been refusing to think of his reaction to Pedro’s ‘request’ as anything other than a little curiosity, and he suddenly wanted a drink, very badly. He never normally reacted to stress this way.
Shit. Shit. He took a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts in order. Still uneasy about the whole situation, he’d decided to make some enquiries and find out a bit more about Pedro, but so far he was getting nowhere: it was as if this person did not exist and had no identity. When he’d met Pedro, Argentina was at war with Great Britain. Could this be the reason he was here, for a revenge attack? But if that were true, then who was he after?
Wanting to get
out of the office, John had gone for a walk and had ended up at a local bookstore. While he was there he thought he’d look up reference books about leaders and dictators, but he was having trouble finding what he wanted.
After taking a lot of subtle but deep breaths, he made eye contact with the young man behind the counter who, when asked, nodded, said "Yes Sir," and then led him to the shelf where they were located.
Taking down some of the books, John pulled out a notepad and pen and started to take notes. After a while, he noticed that the young assistant was still loitering, apparently keen to say something. John looked up at him.
"We close at four," he finally said.
John nodded, before focusing back on the books. He wasn't even sure what he was searching for; maybe he thought he was going to find Pedro’s name and photograph in a book. But then it occurred to him that Pedro probably wasn’t his real name – it could be absolutely anything. He had no idea where to start, and he could feel the desperation building up inside him.
The young staff member lit a cigarette and headed towards him with a glint of purpose in his eyes, telling him, "We are closed now."
John squinted up at him. "Smoking'll kill you."
The young man just rolled his eyes and looked the other way.
Weird, John thought, before throwing him a skeptical look and walking out of the shop. Finding the nearest phone booth, he called his answering service – it sounded like he'd become pretty popular: two new messages. Well, it was more than he usually got. The first was from Pedro telling him they needed to meet again, which he deleted right away. His wife, Sonia, had left the second message. She was calling to let him know that the dinner party had been confirmed, and would he "please not throw a fit?" He owed her, but he wasn't sure he owed her quite that much. At the last dinner party they’d attended he’d been rude to her friend, and it had ended up with her going nuts – she’d never liked him, so it was a mutual feeling, but still… it hadn’t gone down well with Sonia. John slammed the receiver back into the cradle, shot a quick look at his watch, and winced. Actually, he thought, I've only got ten minutes to get to the office.
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