Chameleon - A City of London Thriller

by J Jackson Bentley

  Bricko knew it was already too late for the rest of them but he smiled a mirthless smile and squeezed Jonty’s shoulder as he passed. Jonty placed his hand over Bricko’s and asked solemnly, “Brothers?” Bricko, looked into Jonty’s eyes and replied with a conviction he didn’t feel, “Always, Dog, Always!”

  The customised black Harley was heading away from the camp on a rutted farm track when Bricko heard the sirens a mile or so away. He looked at his watch.

  “Forty five minutes,” he said to himself. “That has to be some kind of record.” Two minutes later he was on the A34 and heading towards a lock up workshop on the outskirts of Newbury.

  ***

  Bricko pulled the Harley into the lock up workshop and closed the door. There was a lot to do if he wanted to keep one step ahead of the police, who by now would have Jonty and his gang in custody.

  The biker took off his jacket, pushed it into a large cloth laundry bag and sat on an old easy chair. He unfastened his boots, slipped them off and stood up. He was a good two inches shorter without the steps in the boots. Slipping out of his leather trousers and grubby black tee shirt, he revealed the webbing that held the bulky latex body suit in place. Relieved to be free of the constricting latex, he stuffed that, too, into the bag.

  Standing in front of the stainless steel sink the shorter, thinner biker adjusted the shaving mirror before reaching for a set of Wahl hairdressing shears. Setting the guard at number four, Bricko pushed the shears across his scalp from front to back until his long greasy hair lay on the black plastic sheet on the floor beneath his feet. With his hair sticking up in an impromptu crew cut no more than three quarters of an inch long, Bricko was beginning to disappear.

  The beard followed the long hair, and when he was clean shaven Bricko filled the sink with hot water and scrubbed every inch of exposed skin. It wasn’t as good as a shower but nonetheless it felt good to be clean. Looking into the mirror, he expected to see a different person, but he had forgotten something. The transformed biker leaned over the sink and popped out his contact lenses one at a time, and the ice blue eyes were back to their original green. Satisfied at the transformation, he smiled at his reflection and said out loud,

  “Welcome home, Max”.