by Nick Albert
He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and a short while into the journey he became aware that he was ravenously hungry. If he was dining alone, Stone preferred to eat at home, but he knew that he was running short of supplies, so just outside Braintree Town, he stopped at a large supermarket to stock up.
Like many men, Eric treated shopping as a necessary chore. One that was best completed with maximum speed and efficiency. Today he was feeling starved for company, and so he took his time. Wondering aimlessly around the store with his trolley, he selected items almost at random, or when his growling stomach told him to. He was just considering treating himself to a sticky Danish bun, when a silky voice behind him whispered into his ear.
“A moment on the lips, and a lifetime on the hips!”
Stone turned to see who had spoken and stopped dead. He was utterly dumbfounded. The voice belonged to Linda Smart, the beautiful woman that he had rescued in the pub car park. Yet again, he found himself staring open-mouthed and lost for words. Linda squinted and gave him a suspicious look.
“I hope you aren’t stalking me, Stone — Eric Stone?”
“Err… NO! Err… I live near here,” Stone stammered, slightly panicked. However, Linda Smart gave him a bright smile and a light punch on the chest.
“Relax, hero. I’m just joshing with you!”
“Oh…Good… Err... Hi! How are you?”
Linda spoke to the side, like an actor talking to someone off-stage.
“Not a great conversationalist. But cute.” She smiled again and answered his question, mocking gently. “I am fine Eric, how are you?”
Stone could not help but smile.
“I’m feeling much better for seeing you today.”
Linda spoke to the side again.
“He’s getting the hang now.” Then she looked at him again. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I am doing here?”
Stone was pleased with the opportunity to prolong the conversation.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live near Sawbridgeworth, but I was over here looking for a place to rent so I can expand my business. I was on my way home and I decided I was hungry…” She waved her hand at the basket by her feet. “So I stopped for some shopping.”
“Well it’s lovely to see you again…” Stone mumbled self-consciously.
Linda rolled her eyes dramatically and then spoke off-stage again.
“Oh no, he’s losing it! Perhaps he’ll redeem himself by asking me out.” She turned and nailed Stone with a wide smile and her stunning emerald green eyes. Stone took a deep breath, smiled and dived in with both feet.
“Linda Smart, will you go out with me?”
Her smile broadened noticeably.
“I thought you would never ask! I’m starving. Let’s pay for this, and then get something to eat. OK?”
Stone’s heart danced a little jig inside his chest.
“Good idea, but it’s still a little early for a restaurant. What do you like to eat?”
“Anything vegetarian, and I’m ravenous!”
“Ha!” he laughed. “Me too.”
She bit her lip and regarded him cautiously.
“As long as you promise to be a gentleman, how about we go to your place and I cook a meal?”
“That would be wonderful!” Stone said, smiling like an idiot. “I’ll buy some wine.”
***
At the Wrecking Crew’s headquarters, The Fixer was waiting for a telephone call. It was a call he had been expecting, ever since he had heard about Rathbone’s suicide. It was not a call he was looking forward to receiving. He was not worried about what the caller was about to say; his organisation had become so powerful these days, that he seldom feared anyone. The Fixer simply hated admitting defeat. Even though the work of the wrecking crew had been exemplary throughout, in the end, the Charles Rathbone contract had been an unmitigated disaster. Apologising to the jumped up little arsehole that had given them the contract would be a new experience for The Fixer, and he was not going to enjoy it.
The Fixer had a name, just an ordinary name that had once belonged to an ordinary kid, but he preferred the title because it epitomised everything that he had become. As a schoolboy, diminutive, polite, and quiet, The Fixer had been an easy target for bullies — and for a while, his life had been quite unpleasant. The only child of wealthy academic parents, he always had money in his pocket, at least until the bullies got to him.
Then one day he had the foresight to offer to pay the bullies money, if they didn’t hit him. They were happy with this arrangement and for a while, there was an uneasy truce. However, a few days later The Fixer had an epiphany when he stumbled across the word ‘Mercenary’ in a book. The next day he paid two slightly larger boys to beat up the school bullies. Very soon, those same bullies were paying money to him.
The Fixer realised that whenever there was a job to do, there was always someone prepared to do it, either for a price, or a favour. He soon discovered that he had a talent for putting the job and the mercenary together, to meet the needs of his customers. At school, he ran the bullies, and provided protection for the weak rich kids. Later, at University, he supplied drugs and prostitutes in exchange for course work and exam results. When he left University, he had a business degree and three vital pieces of information that would form the bedrock of his business. First, successful businessmen surround themselves with talented but greedy people. Second, there is always more money to be made on the wrong side of the law. Third, the best crooks are never caught, because they make sure that the trail of breadcrumbs, can never lead directly to their feet.
For more than twenty years, The Fixer ran a lucrative business specialising in theft, extortion, prostitution, and violence for hire. Then, a little over ten years ago, he was approached by some businessmen, and a politician. They wanted him to lean on a union official who was causing problems with a new contract for the military. By pure luck, The Fixer discovered that he already had the tools to leverage the situation. The union official had some unusual sexual tastes that were regularly satisfied by one of the male prostitutes in The Fixer’s employ. With the threat to publicly wreck the man’s life, the union official backed down and The Fixer took the opportunity to move his business, now renamed ‘The Wrecking Crew’ to the next level.
Since that day, the Wrecking Crew had never taken on a contract that it could not successfully complete, and it had never failed to complete any contract. At least until Charles Rathbone had blown his own brains out with a shotgun. The Fixer sat glumly at his desk and waited. Finally, at 6pm the telephone on his direct line started to ring. He recognised the number from the caller ID, but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the desk as he counted the rings and recited his favourite motto.
“One, two, three, four, make them sweat a little more. Five, six, seven, eight, it always pays to make them wait.” Finally, he picked up the phone. “Yes?”
The man’s voice at the other end of the line was famous enough to be instantly recognisable. Today he whispered urgently, as if he were in a hurry and concerned about being overheard.
“It’s me. What the hell happened?”
“I believe that he put a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger,” The Fixer answered calmly and with barely concealed sarcasm.
“I know that, I’m not an idiot!” the caller hissed, “How did it happen? I thought your people were watching him.”
“My people were watching him. They had him covered from the instant he arrived back from America, until the moment he walked into his house.”
“Christ, what a mess!” the caller growled, “I can’t believe this has happened.”
The Fixer said nothing. He had learned a long time ago not to offer up information unless it was specifically requested by a client. After thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence, the caller spoke again.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes, I am still here.”
“Well?”
“Well what?” The Fixer remained deliberately obtuse.
“What do you mean, ‘Well what?’” the caller snapped, “Why didn’t your bunch of trained monkeys spot that this was going to happen?”
The Fixer closed his eyes and drew a deep breath in an effort to control his growing anger.
“You will recall that I recommended the surveillance on Charles Rathbone should include video in his home, along with data mining to examine the period before we acquired the contract. Such actions would surely have revealed his medical problems, and the possibility of suicide, long before the event. Unfortunately you set a strict budget for this contract, and despite my repeated warnings about the lack of important data, you were unwilling to provide additional funding.”
The Fixer spoke more forcefully to emphasise his point.
“In this business, you get what you pay for. My team delivered everything that you requested. We successfully falsified the reports from Afghanistan, and planted the child pornography evidence on his computer. We watched him as much as was possible, within the available budget, and we arranged for him to be arrested on evidence that would have destroyed his credibility. I can assure you that the Wrecking Crew will not be held responsible for something that was outside of our control.”
“So you’re saying that it was my fault?”
The Fixer smiled at the turnaround.
“In a word — yes.”
There was a long pause as the caller processed the accusation.
“Christ! Holy Christ, what a mess! And all that money — my backers are going to fucking kill me!”
The Fixer, seeing an opportunity to regain the moral high ground, continued in a conciliatory tone of voice.
“You shouldn’t feel bad about this, you know. Sometimes suicides are almost impossible to predict. In some circumstances they are just the result of a fleeting thought — a sudden moment of madness. That could easily be the case with Rathbone. Someone like him, someone who has suffered such dreadful physical and emotional trauma, becomes momentarily unhinged and unpredictably takes his own life.”
The Fixer offered the drowning man a final olive branch.
“Perhaps, even you couldn’t have seen this coming.”
The caller let out an audible sigh of relief.
“Yes, yes, I think you’re right! Of course, no one could have predicted this, it just happened. He could just as easily have stepped in front of a bus. They must see that, it’s just one of those things…not my fault at all.”
The Fixer smiled like a shark.
“I am entirely confident that your backers will agree. You should have nothing to worry about.” He changed to a more business-like tone of voice. “Obviously this tragedy terminates our contract. My secretary has prepared the final accounts. I believe that there may be a small refund due. Shall we deliver it in cash in the usual manner?”
“A refund, really?” the caller’s voice brightened instantly at the prospect of receiving an untraceable envelope containing someone else’s cash. “That would be splendid!”
The Fixer smiled wryly as he ended the call.
SIX
“Thank you. That was a delicious meal,” Stone said as he leaned forward with the wine bottle. “Can I top up your glass?”
“Mmm…Yes, please.”
When they had arrived at Stone’s house, like a cat scrutinising its new home, Linda had boldly begun an intimate inspection of the property. Curious, Stone had watched silently as she moved from room to room, flicking through his books, examining photographs and scanning his CD collection. She even opened his draws and cupboards, and inspected the contents of his bathroom cabinet. Occasionally Linda would look at him over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief, openly daring him to challenge her right to invade his privacy. After fully ten minutes of this wordless intimate inspection, they returned to the kitchen. There Linda turned a full circle, with her arms outstretched, like a child enjoying cool rain on a hot day. Finally, she smiled and spoke.
“I like it! It’s perfect — very you.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes…very you.”
“How so?”
“Did you know you can learn more about someone by looking around their house, than you can in six months of dates and dances?”
“Go on,” Stone said cautiously.
“Well…For example, looking at your post on the hall table tells me that you are single. There was nothing addressed to a wife or housemate. From your photographs I can see that you have never been married or widowed and that, although you seem to have had some very pretty girlfriends, you do not appear to be attached at the moment.” She looked at him and cocked an eyebrow, inviting a response.
“Correct — carry on,” Stone said with renewed interest.
“The house is clean and tidy, and that tells me you have self-respect — or a cleaning lady, but after looking in your bathroom cabinet I suspect the former. Your due bills are pinned to a corkboard, so I know you are orderly, but your CD’s are in a mess, proving that you are not anally retentive!”
“Ah! You got me!” Stone laughed, enjoying the game. Linda carried on enthusiastically.
“The file of paid bills tells me that you are honest, and the fact that you have let me wonder around here freely, suggests that you are a trusting person — and that means you are also someone who can be trusted. The trophies tell me that you are a black belt karate champion, and the fact that they are hidden at the back of your wardrobe suggests that you are self-confident, but without an excess of ego. I see no karate kit or training equipment, or even papers relating to employment, so I would guess that your kit is at a dojo, where you also have an office, because that is your business.”
She turned to face him, her green eyes blazing with challenge and excitement.
“How am I doing?”
“Wow! Spot on so far,” he said smiling, anything else?”
“You have lots of books, and they’re all well-thumbed, so you obviously like to read. There are some history books, the complete works of William Shakespeare, and several biographies, but happily none by vacuous celebrities. Mostly they are thrillers that feature a clear baddie and an avenging angel type of hero. No violent horror, or ‘Shades of Grey’, that tells me that although you enjoy escapism you also have a good moral compass.
“Your trophies are all for various styles of martial arts that focus on self-defence, so I suspect that you were the target of bullies as a child, or perhaps knew someone else that was. In either event, I think that you strongly dislike such injustice. Put that along with what you did for me the other day, and I can see someone who will take a righteous stand to defend the innocent. Of course, that is just a wild guess,” she added with heavy sarcasm.
Stone held up his hands in mock defeat.
“Guilty as charged, your Honour.”
Linda smiled and carried on.
“Clearly you live well and have sufficient money. Nevertheless, most of your books were purchased second-hand from charity shops and, along with your other possessions, that you treat them with respect. That suggests that you worked hard to achieve your success and value your money accordingly.”
Stone acknowledged her continuing accuracy with a slight tip of his head. Linda moved closer and put her hand gently on his arm.
“On a more serious point, although you’re wearing casual clothes, your shoes are formal and well-polished, probably to go with the black suit that is hanging in the rear of your car.” She spoke more softly, her eyes suddenly full of concern. “I think that you’ve just been to a funeral, and that you stopped at your dojo to change. Perhaps you went there to work out, and get rid of some frustration. However, you were so distracted that you forgot to take a change of shoes. You’re a vivid and happy person Eric Stone, but there’s a deep sadness in your eyes. I believe that you’ve just buried someone very close.”
She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his waist, and hugged him h
ard.
“I am truly sorry for your loss.”
Linda was a few inches shorter than he was, with the top of her head barely reaching his chin. Stone willingly accepted her offer of comfort, linking his arms around her shoulders and resting his cheek on her head. Her soft blonde hair smelled of green apples and coconut. They stood moulded together, unmoving for almost a minute, before Stone took a deep breath and gently broke the embrace.
“He was my best friend, he took his own life.”
Linda involuntarily covered her mouth with her hands.
“Oh my God! How awful! Suicide seems like such a wretched waste, such a desperate act. That poor man. Do you know what happened?”
“Apparently he had an inoperable brain cancer. He was a brave man, a war hero, but he didn’t want to endure the kind of death that was going to follow. So he went home last week, took out his shotgun and…”
Linda shook her head sadly.
“I suppose it’s understandable, especially if he was terminal. I’m sure that a lot of people…wait a minute! Last week…was he that Democracy guy?”
“Yes,” Stone nodded gravely. “His name was Charles Rathbone. He was my friend.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“Tell me about him, how did you two meet?”
“He walked into my dojo one day,” Stone smiled at the recollection, “or should I say limped? He had lost part of his leg in Afghanistan and he wanted my help to get back on his feet — so to speak. Someone had recommended me. I was sceptical at first, but he was so determined I eventually gave in.”
“And you became friends?”
“Charles was a really affable guy, but I was drawn to him because he was just so determined. He had this incredible tenacity; physically, emotionally and politically. Perhaps he was the most ‘true’ person I have ever met. You couldn’t help but like and respect someone like that. In the dojo, I have never seen anyone push themselves as hard as he did. He would work until his stump was bleeding. In the end I had to turn out the lights to make him stop!
