After looking after his busy restaurants for the next few days, all John wanted to do was go home and rest. He was daydreaming and nearly falling asleep on the chair in his office when he was interrupted by a gentle tapping on his door. It sounded hesitant, from someone respectful – someone reluctant to disturb him, unlike Edward upon his arrival.
All the same, because his line of thinking was broken, there was a second round of tapping. Sighing loudly, he got up and pushed his chair backwards with such force it caught on a temporary cable on the floor and nearly toppled over. He flung the door open.
There, in the hallway, stood Pedro.
"What?" John growled.
"Have you forgotten that you are coming to the dance studio?"
"I'm sorry,” he sighed, “I totally forgot. What? You think I did it on purpose?"
"Of course not," Pedro replied.
"Anyway, I can't see the point of watching a dance. Why do you need me to come?"
Over the years, John had realised that it was easier to comply with orders, but it still got him thinking a little as it all seemed a bit strange. This person he had been treading very carefully with over the last five or so years had a hidden passion? Call it his intuition or whatever, but one thing was for sure: this was not Pedro, or at least not the Pedro he knew.
It was a spring day – John would later remember it as it was the first day of the month that there was no rain – and in a sort of strange way, there was a feeling of good vibes in the air. A good mood. When Pedro was happy, everyone was happy.
"John, listen. When I was a child I used to love to dance like this. My love of dance started when I was young. I wasn't a good dancer, but my mother was amazing."
The polite conversation carried on for a minute or so and was only stopped by Pedro glancing at his watch every few seconds.
"I can’t imagine you as a dancer, but I suppose it explains your personality," noted John.
"What?"
John shook his head. "Nothing. Just give me a minute, okay? I’ll see you downstairs."
"I'll wait in the car," Pedro told him.
They arrived at the studio on time, climbed two flights of stairs, and pushed open the brass door. As you entered, you could feel the vibe of the Latin sound swaying through the air, the whoosh of bodies moving around you. There were a couple of old ladies in the corner nodding their heads along to the music, and John and Pedro took seats nearby.
John glanced towards the parlour, which was partially concealed by a red velvet drape. Pedro could hear the sounds of the piano, and a young woman singing while a couple rehearsed a dance. The room was spacious; it had once been a small gym. Over on the other side of the room the dancers all took their partners. It was so tense, and yet relaxing, just to watch. Their hands remained joined, so tightly clasped, as they turned their heads at exactly the same time to the sound of the violin. There was a constant hum coming from the ceiling fan, adding to the atmosphere of the sound of the music.
"So everyone, listen," Rosa, the instructor, said. "A good dancer is one who transmits a feeling of the music to his or her partner." Rosa was a short, slim, and very sexy girl – she had that Latino look.
The class continued, and John and Pedro watched in fascination – everyone was so good, and the beat was so infectious, it was incredible to see.
Soon John realised that the class was about to come to an end, and that it was time to leave. Standing by the exit, a redhead introduced herself as Anne and tried to engage Pedro in conversation, asking whether he was there to dance. She seemed a bit keen, but all the while, Pedro could only think of that other girl, the short girl in charge, with her dark long black hair. John noticed that Pedro had kept his eyes on her throughout the class.
"Look, I'm going to get off now. See you later," John said.
"Yeah, John. I'm going to stay a bit longer," said Pedro, staring at the woman.
* * *
Outside the office, there were a couple of elderly women talking at the bottom of the steps, and when John said good afternoon, they both looked up and smiled, while nodding insincerely at the same time.
John walked across the concrete-and-weed car park and climbed into his car. He had to collect some paperwork from Pedro's accountant and then the plan was to meet him later.
After waiting for what appeared to be an eternity in the crappy waiting room, with its dirty windows and bent plastic seats, the papers were finally ready, and he stood up to leave. As he walked out of the office, the bakery next door was getting its powdered sugar delivered, funnelled into the cellar by the barrel-full as if it were cement. He stood and stared at it for a while, fascinated.
He met Pedro an hour later in the bar – an Irish bar in a not-so-Irish place – and gave him his papers. The bartender, a big bearded guy, grinned when he saw them come in and poured them both whiskeys.
"What's up with you?" Pedro asked. "You look a bit nervous."
John huddled over his glass. I need to sit here and drink a few more, John said to himself, while out loud, saying: "Just been one of those stressful days." Then, after a pause: "And Pedro, I don't always get why you make these unpredictable decisions."
Pedro told him not to worry. "I had several agendas when I asked you to meet me today, but one of them is certainly for the two of us to be friends again."
"Give me an example," John said.
"Oh, for God's sake," Pedro said, raising his hands in protest. “This is not a debating contest. You know exactly what I mean."
After a few more minutes of awkward conversation, Pedro put his coat back on, saying he was running late. Neatly folding his newspaper, he left it on the bar top with his empty glass, a five-pound tip tucked underneath it. Afterwards, John realised that they were spending more time in the bar than they needed to, and that it was becoming a bit of a bad habit.
"Look, John, I'll see you in the morning," Pedro said, before rushing out.
John still couldn’t understand the sudden excitement in Pedro – he would lie awake at night, wondering if Pedro was just getting old and forgetful, which could mean that their mutual secret would just disappear. Somehow, however, he didn't think so. None of this made things any easier; it just dredged up the past.
It was nearly 9 a.m. and he was supposed to be at work. Grabbing his jacket and keys off the coffee table, he drove to the office, his foot itching to slam down on the gas pedal.
"You're late."
“Bullshit.” Then, “I didn't mean to say that, sorry – it just came out."
Pedro growled at him and told him not to be so disrespectful. "If you can't control your tongue, you should leave."
John could have thought of several creative ways to end the conversation, but he knew that Pedro would probably bite back, and he didn’t have the energy for that right now. "That's enough!" he said instead.
John thought to himself, One whisper to the right people that there is more to Pedro than they might think, and he would become the biggest pariah in his field. He would be ostracised by his colleagues and hated by every friend he's ever made over his professional career. To John he was just a man with a nice head of hair, thinning just enough to give him the seasoning of a man who had seen the world and who knew the differences between right and wrong. Unfortunately, insecurity came with the job, and John knew he would always be looking over his shoulder.
They had a lot on at the moment, and when a guy came into the office, John overheard Pedro saying, "We couldn't really take it on right now. We are too busy.”
After the guy had left, John asked Pedro what he wanted, as he knew they could have fitted him in somehow.
"Oh, it was definitely going to be a time-intensive case to take on. If I decided to, it would probably turn out nothing more than a girl who’d got mad with her parents and had run off with the money."
John told him that he had a bad feeling about today.
Pedro cleared his throat, looked over his shoulder, and asked, "What is it?"
"I don't know, it's just a bad feeling I'm getting."
"You might want to keep your feelings to yourself," Pedro suggested, clearly annoyed.
"That's why I usually keep my mouth shut."
Pedro sighed. "You ask too many questions, John. Maybe today you should give it a break – just sit there and listen for a change, and stop complaining about Edward."
Edward didn't know how he kept managing to show up during personal conversations between Pedro and John, but he'd done it again. He wasn't even halfway up the stairs when their voices reached him, and he could tell that both of them were fired up about something. He thought the knock on the door would be loud enough to bring Pedro to the door, but with the way those two were yelling, he wasn't surprised they missed his arrival.
He debated going back home, but decided against it when it occurred to him that John might be persuading Pedro to fire him. If that was the case, he wanted to get his two cents in.
He lifted his hand to knock again and then opened the screen door. The room immediately went quiet. John swivelled around in his chair, and the way the blood drained from Edward’s face, John knew he’d been standing outside like a jackass, listening to them argue. Edward shoved his hands deep into his pockets and got busy staring at his feet. John watched him, and he didn't miss the way he bit down on his bottom lip as if he was trying to hold something back. What, John didn’t know, but it was something, alright.
Pedro looked over at him. "Edward, just the man! Can you move those files back into the cupboard?"
Pedro smiled at Edward, then got back to studying some old paperwork. John noticed there was a long list of names, some of which were highlighted. He tried to look at the other papers but Pedro caught him looking and closed the file. He stood up to go and put the file back into his briefcase, and there it was under his chair, staring John right in the eye: Pedro’s diary.
John quickly bent down and grabbed it, then asked Pedro if there was much he wanted him to do as he couldn’t stay long that day.
"It doesn't matter now, it can wait until tomorrow," Pedro replied.
John nodded and left, wanting to get out of there as quickly as humanly possible.
John needed to telephone Sonia – desperate to spend a bit more time with her, he was hoping for a bit of a night out. He picked up the phone, shaking a tumbler filled with ice near the receiver so she could guess that he wanted to go out that night. “Hey Sonia, I'll be home at seven.”
It was a thirty-minute drive – straight west, down the M4. Once again the motorway was closed due to the usual road works, and the diversions through the new housing estate made him shiver a little: the sheer number of gaping dark houses that had never known inhabitants, or homes that had never known owners. The thirty-minute drive turned into an hour, then longer, and it was close to eight thirty when John finally pulled into the driveway. He unlocked the front door and dropped his keys on the mirror table in the hall.
"Well, well, well, guess who’s back?"
"I'm sorry. You're not angry, are you?" He sank down onto the couch and rested his head in his hands.
"I was, but now I'm not,” she said. “Let me set the scene: tonight is a really nice night, not too cold. Tonight you can actually walk to the High Street, and tonight is the opening of the new Italian restaurant. So why should I be angry?"
He hadn't eaten and his stomach was seriously protesting the lack of breakfast and lunch. And now it looked as though dinner was a pipe dream… He learned back into the couch and tried to get comfortable. Sonia stared at him – she was all dressed and ready to go.
"So let's go," she said eventually, sounding resigned.
He stood up, mumbling something in vague agreement before closing the door behind them. I have too much to think about at the moment, he thought to himself.
Over dinner, the same questions came up time and time again, and afterwards, they slowly walked back holding hands, like lovers do. Her eyes shot to the clock tower across the road – it was nearly midnight. She smiled up at him, both of them finding the exact same things worth remembering. They had the same rhythm, the same wavelength – they simply clicked, and they knew each other inside out. He would just look at her reading in bed, laughing at nothing, and then his mouth would be on hers. It was their way of life, and it happened just like that when they got back to the house.
The next morning, he told Sonia about the strange man who’d been hanging around outside the pub as he drove home the night before. Two policemen had approached him with an end-of-shift weariness, and John had noticed that the man was thin, and that he had a dishonest look about him. For some reason he suddenly ran into the road and John’s car had very nearly hit him. Remembering the incident now, John sighed – he had to take a second to get his wobbling voice under control.
Later that day, Pedro called John and suggested that he wait outside the Latin dance studio with Edward. He asked him to follow Rosa and simply log everything she did, in case she wasn’t at the studio. Pedro also gave him her Queensway address and asked him to wait outside her house.
Reluctantly, John called Edward and arranged to meet him near where he lived. He drove into town, through his old estate, roaring past the street he used to live in, and as he parked, he saw Edward leaning against the doorway of a shop. Like a fly trapped in a corner, John thought. Okay, he didn't really like him, but he had no choice but to work with him.
Leaning against the railings at the bottom of the stairs, he called out to the boy. "Get in the car!"
"That's a nasty dent you've got in your door," Edward said by way of a greeting.
The remark made John think about the man who had run onto the road last night – there was no way he’d hit him. Reminding himself that he had to keep focused on the job, he lay down a few rules to Edward. "While we're watching, we must try to act normal," he told him. "And stop fucking mumbling."
Edward had that stupid grin on his face again, making John think – not for the first time – that the guy was a total nut job.
"I don't want to hear you speak yet; I'm still trying to figure out if you're worth the risk."
Edward was rolling his eyes while John was talking to him, and that pissed him off even more. In fact, John was fighting the urge to grind his face into the floor. They sat in silence for a few moments before he grabbed hold of him and pulled him towards his face, saying clearly, "I'm not trying to be a dickhead.” Then, "Alright, alright, let’s stop before this gets more stupid than it already is. Don't fuck with me."
This seemed to do the trick, as Edward nodded and said, "Yeah, John, fine with me. To be honest, I haven't been feeling all that well, and it's put me in a bad mood."
"Mood has nothing to do with this. This is serious shit, and while I know you made a deal with Pedro, you should open your mind to the possibility that you can get hurt."
Edward nodded, wisely saying nothing.
They drove towards number forty-five Queensway, and John looked around as he passed the houses. Pedro had told him that Rosa lived in an avenue – wasn't an avenue supposed to have trees? There wasn't one in sight. It was as if the local council had decided to ban anything with an inclination to turn green; most of the front gardens – small mean squares – had been concreted over. Grey was the only enduring colour, from the sky to the ground. Miserable.
He eventually parked his car and they trudged across the road so they could get a good view of her house. When Edward pushed open the low chain-link gate, a big German shepherd dog started to growl, and it took John just half a second to realise that Edward wasn’t comfortable.
He cursed and took an airborne Heisman step. "Sorry," he was breathing hard. "I'm working on it, but most dogs scare the hell out of me."
Edward wasn't a tall man. In fact, he was short, only coming up to John’s shoulder, but he held himself as though he were taller than he was. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Edward noticed John staring at him. "What?"
John shook h
is head, and they waited for a while in silence before a Hispanic girl – her hair in a long dark braid – and a black guy with the stance of a marine walked out of the block of flats. John was beginning to wonder if she was going to show, but Edward suggested they keep watching the door. Just then it opened, and she stepped out wearing her hat pulled down so it covered her ears. Her hair was also pulled back in a ponytail, making it hard to recognise her. It was 9.00 a.m.
They followed her down Queensway Road, waiting as she stopped at a second-hand shop. They noticed she was looking through an old record collection, before handing money over to the shopkeeper. John called Pedro and told him that there was nothing unusual about her day so far.
Later that day, Edward sat down with Pedro. John had dropped in to collect his keys and was caught off guard by a wave of loneliness – John didn't like the vibe he'd been getting from the two of them all weekend. Whenever he'd enter a room, hushed conversations would stop abruptly, making him paranoid and irritable.
Edward shook his head when John wasn't looking and Pedro grinned. Embarrassment was a multi-headed beast, and as Edward went through the motions, he swallowed up another wave of mortification. Still, he was keen to tell Pedro everything.
Edward shook his head, then spat out a curse. “I need to talk to you – to explain." He was beginning to wonder whether this was the best time to tell Pedro that he had seen John pocket his diary, but he knew he had to tell him.
Pedro stepped closer to him and lowered his voice. "This is not the time or the place to hash out your chicken shit ways. As far as I'm concerned, you are becoming a waste of time and space." The twinge Pedro felt as he watched hurt and embarrassment flood Edward’s features was the exact opposite of what he expected to experience. Edward’s hands fell away and he ran a hand over his mouth uncertainly.
The movement triggered something in Pedro's memory and he fought his rising shame. "Okay, let's start again."
"He's not a nice guy."
The Assassin's Keeper Page 22