As I approached the service lane I saw that Richard had got into the Aston and was moving away slowly in the opposite direction to me. This was a relief. No need to hurry any more. The tracking device would enable me to follow him at my own pace and there was nowhere to hide. I jogged up the service lane, unlocked the small Ford and got in. Immediately I opened the laptop and clicked on the tracking device tab. The unit was working perfectly. As I got to the end of the service lane I noticed that the Aston was stopped at the traffic lights indicating that it was turning right up Southwall Road. I slipped in and ended up four or five cars behind it.
As the lights changed, we all moved off at a sedate pace up Southwall Road. I could see him easily and occasionally glanced at the dot on the screen of the laptop to my left to confirm this. There was no way he could speed off in central London traffic. We travelled up Southwall Road for three kilometres when Richard took a right towards Notting Hill Underground Station. Craning my neck I noticed the Aston take a left into a side road not 500m from the station. I needed to follow but a London double decker bus had come up the lane to my left and was blocking my turning. Fuck. A look to the screen on my left confirmed it. The blue flashing dot was moving slowly down the side road and I was stuck. The DJ on the radio was still trying to cheer up his listeners and was playing Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves. This angered me, and in my frustration I turned it off roughly.
Eventually the bus moved on and I was able to turn left. I glanced at the screen and saw that the Aston was stationary a few hundred yards ahead. I needed to pass it to see if Richard was still in the car or had moved off in the same direction on foot. He was sitting in the driver’s seat talking on his mobile phone as I passed him. 40 metres ahead, on the opposite side of the road, was a free parking. I took it, stopped the motor and immediately adjusted the rear view mirror to see what he was doing. He was still on the phone. Feeling pleased about the tracking device and my success at following him, I sat back and watched. After two minutes he finished his conversation, got out of the car with his bag, and started walking up the pavement towards the main road from where we had come. Time to move.
I closed the laptop, bagged it quickly, got out, locked up and followed on the opposite side of the road. He was walking with a sense of purpose now. A lot faster than he had been earlier in the day. At the main road, he took a left and carried on up towards Notting Hill station. Fifty metres before the station he turned left into what looked like a shop but turned out to be a restaurant wine bar called Da Vinci's. I imagined he was probably off to meet some friends for lunch.
I gave him time to settle into his environment before I made my entrance. Notting Hill was bustling as usual. There were even tourists braving the weather. They stuck out a mile with their curious excited faces. I took a deep breath and pushed the doors open into the wine bar. The doors needed some oil and squeaked as they opened.
The warm air smelled of good food. It was Italian themed with chequered table cloths and there was acoustic guitar music playing through hidden speakers. There were murals of Leonardo's paintings on the walls. I made a beeline for the bar. A plump Australian girl smiled from behind the counter and asked me what I would have. I ordered a Löwenbräu. I took a seat by the bar and looked around the establishment. Richard was sitting ten metres from me on my right at a table near the window. He was alone and was on his cell phone again. His face looked strained, he appeared stressed, nervous. The bag he had been carrying was at his feet. His right leg was vibrating and the fingers on his left hand were drumming on the table top. A waitress approached him with what looked like a scotch and ice. He looked up briefly at her and smiled as she put the drink on the table. Seeing he was busy she motioned that she would come back later and left him to his conversation. This was not the Richard I had seen the previous day, relaxed, cheerful, and going about his leisurely business with a smile. Girlfriend trouble perhaps?
After he had finished his conversation he pocketed his phone, crossed his left leg over the right, stretched his arms and looked around. I quickly looked at the bar. When I felt his eyes were no longer in my direction I turned to watch him again. He had made an effort to relax but was still stressing about something. The right leg was still vibrating and he was attacking the scotch with a vengeance. In what must have been two minutes, he had finished his drink. He turned and motioned with the empty glass towards the bar that he was ready for another. Presently the new drink arrived and I sat and watched again. In the bush war I had been trained to spot certain characteristics of people who are acting suspiciously, nervously, or erratically. He was definitely uncomfortable. The vibrating leg had stopped but the drumming of his fingers continued and he was glancing out of the large window onto the street expectantly. If it was going to be a lunch with friends it would be an uncomfortable one for sure.
I drank deep of the Löwenbräu savouring the cold bitterness in my throat. I was relaxed and enjoying myself today. For some reason this particular job had fired up my enthusiasm again. Probably the ten grand. I opened my bag, removed a writing pad and started making some simple notes.
Time, location, behaviour etc. Then Richard received another call on his cell phone. This time he glanced out the window to the left and right as he spoke and I could just hear him saying,
“Ok, ok, bye.”
He hung up, took a deep draw of his whiskey and looked towards the door. I carried on with my notes, feeling his eyes, sensing his apprehension. After a few seconds I heard the doors squeak behind me. Two tall dark haired men had passed behind me and were making their way towards Richard's table. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Richard stand up and shake their hands while offering them a seat. The three men sat down now. I turned slightly to my right, doodling on the pad all the while and had a look. The two men who had come to meet him were of Asian origin. They both wore black leather jackets, had fairly long, but well-cut, jet black hair which appeared to be full of wet look gel. Both the men were chewing gum vigorously. Their eyes were wide and were darting around the room. They too were extremely nervous. Something is going down here for sure, I thought, this is no social occasion. I had to be careful not to catch one of their looks, but I was good at that. I had had ten years of marriage.
The waitress made her way to the table to offer drinks. The Indian man closest to me raised his hand as if to refuse for both of them. He seemed to be the one in charge. Richard too declined another drink. It was then I noticed the other Asian man hand a shoulder bag to his boss. It was identical to Richard’s bag. The man closest to me nodded at his sidekick who then stood up and made his way behind me towards the door. I heard it squeak as he left and felt a brief rush of freezing air on my back. Now there were two. Quickly I removed my cellphone, turned it off, and pretended to make a call. I held the phone in my right hand and turned slightly towards them, making animated conversation with no one. Both of the bags were now on the floor and within seconds I saw the switch take place. The Asian man pushed his bag towards Richard using his right foot under the table, and at exactly the same time Richard did the same. If I had been much closer I might have missed it because the chequered table cloth hung quite low around the table and would have obscured my vision. I was lucky. Within a minute, both men stood up and shook hands. The Asian man quickly grabbed the bag, slung it around his shoulder and left the premises. Richard was seated again. He appeared to be deep in thought for a minute before picking up the switched bag, standing up and approaching the bar. I could not see him as there was a fake marble pillar between us, but I did see a large thin hand handing a £20 note to the waitress behind the bar.
She looked at the note with wide smiling eyes then looked up at Richard, obviously thanking him for the large tip. I saw the long bony forefinger of Richard's right hand tap the watch on his left wrist. He was making his excuses and was planning to leave, I was certain of this. He then walked directly behind me and out of the squeaking doors onto the busy street. I felt the hairs stand up
on the back of my neck. The two men had been decidedly sleazy-looking characters. What are you up to Richie boy? I thought as I killed the last of the beer. I had to make a quick decision. Was I to follow him or was I to track him on the laptop. I chose to sit a while and take in what I had just seen. I would open the computer and pretend to do some work and see where he was going using the tracking program. The smiley Australian girl came up to me.
“Would you like another one sir?”
“Yes thanks, I'll have another.” I replied. The beer arrived as I opened the laptop. There was no one behind me so I watched the flashing blue light on the map. It was still in exactly the same place it had been when we parked. What was it that just happened here? I thought, as I sipped my drink. Drugs? Diamonds? Gold? Cash? Guns? The bags had appeared to both have been fairly heavy and full. Gareth Lewer-Allen was right. His son was indeed up to something. Something very likely illegal and possibly dangerous. I savoured the moment. Why couldn't all my jobs be like this one? All thoughts of cheating husbands and insurance scams were gone from my mind now. I was totally engrossed in this new job and I was enjoying every minute of it. After three or four minutes the flashing blue light on the screen of the laptop started moving back up the side road we had both driven down. He had done a U turn. At the crossroads he turned right, tracing the route we had both taken earlier. It looked like he was on his way home. Fifteen minutes later Richard pulled into his usual parking spot outside Grimsby Mansions. Still watching the screen I nodded as I realised that he probably could do with a lie down after that tense little meeting. Now I had to decide what to do with the rest of the day. I finished my drink, packed my computer, paid and left the wine bar.
Having been so engrossed in thought and watching the tracking programme, I hadn’t noticed the weather had changed. The snow that had fallen had turned into brown slush, and there was a light steady rain falling. As I walked, I tried to remember the last time I had seen sunshine. It had been so long now I had forgotten. Finally I made it to the rental car and gratefully threw my bag inside. My hands were aching with cold so the first job was to fire up the heater and then check the tracking program to see if Richard had moved.
His car was still parked outside his flat. Good. My plan was to go back there to sit and watch. I did a quick U turn and made my way back the way I had come. The traffic had become heavier since I had arrived, and being deep in thought I had forgotten to switch on the radio. The little Ford was now five cars behind the traffic lights that turned left into Southwall Road. Idly, I watched a group of people that had just made the pedestrian crossing and were walking on the pavement towards me on the left. All were huddled into warm coats and walking swiftly except for one.
He looked about 30 years old. He wore a loose fitting army surplus jacket that was far too big for him, and dirty, faded jeans. He had long blonde straggly hair and an untidy beard. More importantly he seemed to be looking straight at me, as if he had singled me out from the hundreds of motorists in the immediate vicinity. I glanced away for a second, but then looked back. There was no doubting it. His eyes were wide with intent and seemed to be locked into mine like a laser beam. He was now ten metres away and started walking faster than the rest of the group. I quickly glanced into my rear view mirror to see if there was something behind me which might have alarmed or incensed him. There was nothing except a queue of nondescript cars like mine. Now he was five metres away, and starting to run. I could see his bright blue bloodshot eyes staring madly into mine.
This bloke is a fucking psycho. He started reaching into his inner jacket pocket to get something. My mind immediately went back to my army training, thinking he might be reaching for a weapon. Time seemed to slow down, every second felt like an hour as my body tensed up and my fists clenched around the steering wheel. It was a case of fight or flight, which for me had always ended in fight. I had to sit and watch him, there was not a lot else I could do. In the last two seconds of his berserk approach, I noticed that it wasn't a weapon he had pulled from the jacket but a small green book. A metre away from my car he lunged forward and dived onto my bonnet. I heard the brass buttons of his jacket squeak on the paintwork as his dirty left hand slammed the book to the windscreen, inches from my face. For a split second, I looked at the book. The front had a gilt cross and clearly beneath that were the words Holy Bible. My body was like a coiled spring now, and a red mist of rage clouded my vision. My teeth clenched as I glanced at him once more. I saw his right hand come to his mouth. He sucked on a rancid stained forefinger briefly, removed it, and made the sign of the cross on the centre of the windscreen, the saliva leaving its mark. All the while, his terrified, insane eyes, never blinking or leaving mine. That was it. Within half a second I had ripped the seatbelt from around me.
I threw open the door, and as I stood, I slammed my open right hand onto the frosty top of the Ford. It landed with a thunderous metallic bang which obviously scared him. He jumped back off the bonnet and onto the pavement.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing, you fucking freak?”
I snarled at him viciously. The spectacle had obviously scared the people around us and they stared wide-eyed at us both. Some rushed past trying to keep as far away as they could. Others turned around and walked swiftly in the other direction.
“Get the fuck out of here!” I shouted as he scrambled away.
The light had gone green now and I was still standing, watching him retreat. Some cars behind me whose drivers hadn’t seen the incident started hooting impatiently.
“Fuck off!” I shouted at them as well, and got back into the car.
Without putting on the seat belt, I sped off round the bend and into Southwall Road. Why me? I thought. What the fuck was all that about? I reached for my cigarettes and lit one as I drove. The nicotine had a calming effect. I realised that I might have over-reacted. London is full of disturbed people and I just happened to be on the receiving end of one today. I hadn't seen the red mist of rage for years now. I had seen it many, many times during the war in Africa and acted on it. I shook my head as I drew on the cigarette. Jason Green, you have to learn to control yourself, your anger problem will only get you into trouble.
As I made my way down Southwall Road I reflected that with so many millions of people living in London in such close quarters it only made sense that a certain percentage would be a bit loopy. The old rats in the cage experiment. Fuck, how true. I arrived fifteen minutes later and pulled into the service lane outside Grimsby Mansions. The Aston Martin was still parked in its usual place. The afternoon was getting darker by the minute now and all seemed quiet on the lane. I switched on the radio and relaxed. My mind went through the earlier events at the wine bar in Notting Hill. I was almost glad I didn't try to take a photograph. The two men who had come to meet Richard were extremely skittish and jumpy. I knew that Richard hadn’t noticed me in the small crowd that was there, so that was a good thing. I had to sit it out for now and do my job. If he moved I would follow and watch.
A full hour passed by, I relaxed and surfed the web a bit. I was trying to find a hacking tool to get into Richard’s email account. There were loads available but most were just amateur sites for kids. I persevered with the tools and the email address and came up with nothing. My phone vibrated in my pocket, it was a text message. It turned out to be from Tracy Summerfield.
“Hello Jason, this is Tracy Summerfield, I just wanted to thank you again for helping me out so quickly and efficiently, and also for being so kind and understanding, it meant a lot to me, so thank you!”
This was interesting. Interesting and unusual to hear from a client once the job was done. I typed in a reply to her.
“Hi Tracy, only doing my job, and sorry it wasn't better news. Look after yourself.”
My mind went back to her sitting on her couch in tears. For the first time in my career, I had felt genuine compassion for a client. Her feeble sobs, her surprising use of contemporary swear words, and her embrace as I lef
t her flat. I was suddenly jerked from my sentimental daydream by the sight of Richard Lewer-Allen leaving the front door of his building. My body tensed up as I realised he might walk in my direction, but I was instantly relieved to see him head once again for the silver Aston. Decision time was now. Should I follow him or should I wait and track him? I decided on the latter. As usual he made his way up the service lane in the opposite direction. I flicked the tracking program window up on the screen and watched. Briefly to my left I saw the sleek car pass me on Southwall Road. He then took a left and headed back toward Sloane Street station. Right Richard, let’s see what your next move is then. The streets were getting dark now. The lights in the shops on Southwall Road and some in Grimsby Mansions were being turned on. I glanced up at Richard's flat. There were no lights and no bluish tinge of a television to suggest anyone was there. This might be an opportunity to get inside the flat. Wait and see where he goes.
The Jason Green series Box Set Page 5
