Good Deed Bad Deed : A Novel Mystery

by Marcia Morgan

  Alone in their beds, imaginations ran rampant. Ben had resisted time and again, wondering if it were the right moment but then deciding there would be a better one. The waiting had become torture. The more time he spent in her company, the more he wanted her. Ana felt a sexual energy between them, but previous experience kept her from being overt in her signals to Ben. Both were aware that danger could be an aphrodisiac, and that when removed from that danger the attraction could diffuse, showing its lack of substance. Being burned by past relationships had made them cautious. Yet Ana realized that too much caution could be like missing the train to an idyllic destination. She truly hoped that Ben would at least buy a ticket.

  * * *

  Lyle Brett’s face revealed a dire need for sleep. He was pale, drawn, and licked his lips nervously as he scanned the flat’s sitting room to ensure it was tidy. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he zipped the jacket of his black velour athletic suit and prepared to leave. This casual look was a grand departure from the business suits that always seemed slightly too small. Also absent was the stiff demeanor he was known to present at his place of employment. Lyle was sliding into middle age and was no doubt the least athletic person ever to don such attire. But it did do him the favor of adding a few pounds to his spindly frame.

  He collected the mobile phone and keys from the hall table, checked his appearance in the mirror mounted above, and made a hasty exit. Once on the street he decided against using public transport and stepped toward the curb to wave down a taxi that had most conveniently happened along. He slid into the back seat, not noticing the driver glance in his rear-view mirror and then stifle a snigger. Lyle gave the address of his destination and the man maneuvered into traffic. The afternoon rush was underway and caused him to check his watch constantly then mutter to himself. When they arrived at the building, he discourteously tossed the fare over the seat and got out as fast as he could.

  As he slammed the door the driver leaned across and shouted, “Wanker!”

  He ignored the affront and entered the building, briskly taking the stairs to the second floor. Number 2C was at the end of the hall and he knocked in rapid succession. A large man opened the door—at least he seemed large to Lyle, who was of much smaller stature. The man scowled at him and pointed out his tardiness.

  “Traffic and a stupid driver,” he said by way of excuse. He puffed himself up then added, “You do know that I’m the one who’s heading up this project? A little respect if you please.”

  The man grunted and turned away, stepping back into the flat as he said under his breath, “Royal prat.”

  Lyle had never been good at making friends or a good impression—just the opposite. How he had obtained his position of responsibility was a mystery to his co-workers. His presence could clear a room, change a mood, or put people off him for a variety of reasons. It was unlikely he could ever inspire loyalty, or more so, love. One or another of those with whom he made contact on a daily basis wondered how a man could end up isolating himself so efficiently.

  He followed the other man through a short entryway into a small sitting room that seemed to be all there was to the flat. The room was stark and contained only a table, four chairs, and an electric heater. The wood floor held a shabby rug, and an L-shaped counter in one corner of the room served as a kitchen. A closed door on the opposite wall must have led to a bedroom. Without a single lamp in the room any illumination required would have to come from the glass dome light in the ceiling. Waiting at the table were two other men, one of whom he had never met. Although the fellow was seated, he could tell he was short and stocky. He sported a shabby plaid Tam O’Shanter, cocked to one side. The choice of cap and his kinky red beard advertised a Scottish heritage.

  Lyle had never before seen the man who opened the door, nor did he make an effort to introduce himself. Linus had arranged the meeting place, and whether he had involved this man in their business was a question he intended to ask immediately. The man definitely had a sour temperament, but the most important thing Lyle had to learn was whether or not he could be trusted. He made an effort to be subtle while glancing sideways to visually scrutinize him. He was bulky, head to toe, and stood with his arms crossed, legs slightly apart, staring across the room at nothing. The coarse black hair on his face was less a beard than it was a sign of his laziness with regard to shaving. He wore a brown vest, baggy jeans, and ratty slippers. Considering his footwear, Lyle figured the flat must be his. He would have a private word with his associate as soon as they were finished—find out what he was up to with this Neanderthal.

  In the other chair was his associate, Linus Finch, the unkempt man with the smelly jacket who had been a part of both efforts to kidnap Ben. He sat drumming his fingers on the table and looking from face to face. Finally he said, “Any beer around here? A pint would go down easy about now.”

  Lyle was quick to respond. “This isn’t a pub. We’re here to get things organized, and I mean organized down to the last minute—no contingency unprepared for.” One empty chair remained, but he didn’t sit and instead began to pace around the table as he spoke. “The paperwork has been submitted. We have the woman right where we want her. She had no choice but to be quiet and acquiesce.” He stopped pacing and finally sat down at the table. “Time is not on our side. Let’s hear what you have lined up for the transfer.”

  Linus Finch turned to his companion and asked, “Well, Fergus, did you find some lads you can trust?”

  * * *

  It had been less than a week since Fergus MacDonald made Linus Finch’s acquaintance. He had done nothing more than start an ordinary pub conversation with Linus while they stood at the bar enjoying a pint. One thing led to another, and with the help of alcohol he had revealed his history of skating just over the line where the law was concerned. He had been ‘inside’ a couple of times—nothing violent, just one break-in and a con that involved a high stakes card game. Although he treated it as a joke, he confided that he was lucky to be alive after the latter. Linus had suggested they order another pint, but Fergus declined, saying he had to meet a friend. He dug into his pants pocket several times for enough change to pay for his drink, but when tossing it on the counter he came up short.

  Linus pulled a fiver out of his pocket and handed it to the barman. “No worries, mate, this one’s on me.”

  Fergus’ objections fell on deaf ears, and he decided just to say thank you and let it go. Further conversation told Linus that this likeable man was in sore need of a break. In a hushed voice Linus bragged in general terms about his current involvement in a very ‘profitable job.’ He then asked Fergus if he would be interested in taking part—but only peripherally. There was no way Linus would give up any part of his share in the expected value. After all, he’d just paid a whopping £4 for the bloke’s pint.

  Fergus tipped his cap to Linus in appreciation and said, “You’re a Godsend, mate. I’m in.” He paused before adding, “But I don’t do violence. Never have. But I can be a quite acceptable ‘dogsbody.’” They shook hands quickly before Linus scribbled his mobile number on a napkin, giving it to Fergus, who did the same.

  * * *

  Since that night, both men had been engaged separately in preparations and had only spoken by phone, this meeting being the first time they had seen each other since their encounter in the pub. Having been called upon to give his report, Fergus pulled a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket. He carefully smoothed it out on the table without saying anything.

  Lyle said, “Sometime this year, if you don’t mind.” Fergus looked him in the eye and held his tongue while the dressing-down continued. “Did you or did you not find some strong lads who don’t ask questions?”

  “Aye—yes. No worries on that front. There be plenty of young chaps out of work and resorting to a bit of shady this or that.”

  “Remember, they are to know nothing except where to report and what to do. If any one of them asks questions, get rid of him.”

 
“What do you mean—get rid of him? If you mean what I think you mean, I’d want no part of that.”

  “Don’t be a fool. I meant pay him something and run him off.” He paused then added, “A threat of some kind might be a good idea. We don’t want some young lad going goodie-goodie at our expense.”

  “Ah… umm… that reminds me. I’m going to need some sort of advance for expenses. I’m a bit strapped at the moment. Those lads want something up front if they’re to be on standby.”

  “All right, all right,” Lyle said, obviously annoyed. “But you should have thought to ask Lenny. He handles the purse for such things. Or did I forget to give you his number? He couldn’t make it today. Other business.”

  They all settled back in their seats and said nothing. The buzzing of a fly drew their eyes to the ceiling, where it flew quickly into the light fixture and fell instantly, joining the accumulation of dead insects already there.

  Linus was the first to speak. “Well, if that’s it then. I’m off to the pub for that pint. Care to join me Fergus?”

  Before Fergus could answer, Lyle got up quickly and said, “You had better not let your love of a pint interfere with what I require of you. I want to see the trucks tomorrow—early. Keep your phone on you while you’re gone. You’d better hope they look professional… and official.”

  “I told you, my mate is just out of the nick. Did four years for his trouble. One of the best at performing cosmetic surgery on the occasional high-end ‘motor.’ Fearing the boss wasn’t convinced he embellished further. “He could paint the royal seal on a plumber’s lorry, and the queen would climb right in.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll see them tomorrow and then be the judge.”

  * * *

  Lenny Jordan reached into his pocket and fumbled with the Euros he had exchanged at the airport. He paid the driver then got out and grabbed his large bag from the back seat. The cab left him standing on the narrow sidewalk checking his phone for messages and scanning house numbers. Just to his left, set back from the noisy street, a small derelict house sat in the middle of an oversized lot. It was surrounded by dead grass and lay some distance from the adjacent houses. Patches of dingy white stucco had peeled away, exposing the underlying brick and mortar. A roof of chipped and missing tiles completed the sad picture. At the front were a few scraggly shrubs with plastic grocery bags tangled in the brown foliage. The cracked cement walkway to the front door nurtured a proliferation of weeds, and a lone beer can had been dropped in the dirt beside the tiny porch.

  He picked up the bulky duffle and approached the entrance. Once on the porch he tried to open the paint-chipped door with the key he had been given. It wouldn’t give, so he applied the heft of a shoulder. It broke loose, flew open and banged the wall. Only having arrived in Pamplona early that morning, he had been in a time crunch and was forced to rent the tiny house sight unseen, based on the description given by the agent he had found, courtesy of the rental car clerk. He now intended to look it over and get things ready for its use. The main room was dank and somber, with trash having been swept into one corner. The combined odors of mustiness and spoiled food hung in the air. The room was devoid of any furniture other than a few folding chairs, a futon frame with dingy-looking pad, a table and small refrigerator—its white color obscured by dark smudges and dried food. Cockroaches scurried across the dirty counter that held only a hotplate and open microwave. Mildew rimmed the edges of the chipped porcelain sink, and rust had accumulated where the faucet was slowly dripping brown-tinged water.

  As he looked into the few cupboards on the wall, he wondered how long he might have to stay in the awful place and made up his mind he wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. He wandered through an archway into what looked to be the bedroom and found nothing but two old mattresses on the floor and a cot folded up in one corner. The only window was covered from the outside with wrought iron grill work, as were the windows at the front of the house. He noted that as a lucky coincidence. A thin and tattered curtain partially covered the window. Trash had been swept to one corner in this room as well.

  Lenny peered into the small bathroom, which was as dirty as the rest of the place, except that he could see rat droppings on the tile floor and in the small sink. The toilet was badly stained, and he pushed down the handle, glad to find it in working order. The window had been nailed shut, and in one corner there was a drain in the floor. A lime-encrusted showerhead dripped rust colored water into a puddle surrounded by a trail of ants. But regardless of how cheaply he had rented the place, the presence of rats was the last straw. Lenny decided that regardless of the house’s purpose, it had to be cleaned before his guests arrived and he was forced to stay there. Any concern was for his comfort alone, and time was short.

  Anxious to get out of there, he quickly stuffed the duffle into the back of the only closet. He locked the front door and strode a couple of blocks to the nearest bar, all the while wondering who could have lived in those conditions. The establishment’s interior was cool and rather dark, its general appearance worn and faded. A thin haze of cigarette smoke obscured the patrons and gave the whole scene a shadowy feel. He ordered a beer and settled himself at a corner table near the restroom. From that spot he could observe everything and everyone.

  Before long, a middle-aged woman came out of the restroom carrying a bucket and mop. Her long black hair was tied back with a scarf and she had the weary expression of one for whom life has been a disappointment. The shabby dress and shoes seemed to confirm that luck had passed her by. She put down the bucket and mop then wiped her hands on the brightly printed apron she was wearing. She noticed Lenny staring at her and proceeded to utter several expletives of disapproval. Since he didn’t speak Spanish, the effect was minimal. Undeterred, he slid out of his chair and approached her. It soon became obvious that she didn’t speak English, although her wide-eyed stare at his tattooed head could have accounted for her lack of response. A patron sitting at the bar saw that the conversation was at an impasse and offered to translate.

  Lenny made a monetary offer to the woman, via the translator—one so generous that she was unlikely to refuse. Her first reaction was shock and disgust. Before the patron could clarify what he wanted, the woman had misinterpreted his offer as a proposal for sexual favors. The patron, who was evidently not accomplished at Spanish, tried again and began to do better. Continuing the translation process, he was honest with her about the severe condition of the house, but she assured him she was used to dirty work, hard work. She accepted the job, was given the address, and then she held up four fingers—her way of saying she could be there by four o’clock that afternoon. Lenny handed her the key, and through the patron-interpreter told her to do just as she was told. Then he asked her name.

  She nodded her head toward Lenny and said, “Annunciata—Annunciata Domingo. Encantada de conocerte.”

  He told Lenny that she was pleased to meet him, but Lenny failed to return a similar polite response, simply grunting before returning to his beer. As she picked up her cleaning tools he called after her and told her to buy rattraps. The interpreter at the bar turned his head and repeated the request in Spanish. She nodded her head and walked through to the back of the bar and out of sight. He wondered if he had offered her too much money for the job, then realized that considering the state of the place, it was probably not enough. Lenny gulped down the rest of his beer and got up to leave. He emerged from the dark smoky room into blinding sunlight and had a sudden thought that she might just keep his money and not show up to clean the house. He laughed to himself, realizing that was more like something he would do. There were no taxis in sight and he was annoyed that he had not decided to drive himself in the rental car. He walked two blocks to a busier street and was soon able to hail a cab.

  Back in his hotel room he flopped on the bed and began to organize his thoughts for the next step to be carried out. Without the success of tomorrow’s assignment everything would fall apart. After an hour or
so he got up and rummaged through his suitcase, pulling out a few items of clothing that he then stuffed into a small duffle. He tossed in a few toiletries, zipped it up and placed it by the door. He was ready. All he had to do after tomorrow’s job was to wait for Linus to fetch Gareth from the airport.

  * * *

  Annunciata stopped wringing the mop for a moment and slowly straightened her body. She reached behind to dig knuckles into her tight and fatigued back muscles. After the short pause she continued through the list of cleaning duties for her job at the bar. She wondered how things could get so disgusting within the few days that elapsed between her cleaning shifts. Her actions were automatic. She had many years of cleaning behind her and it had put food on the table for her four children. There were many days when she would shake her head, wondering how and why life as a widow had cast her into this menial role. Memories of childhood dreams had become too heavy as the years passed. She took comfort in her robust health and told herself that few women could work at such a pace. However, she could not escape the reality of her age. There would be a day when she would wake up and find that the toll on her body had been too great.

  The extra job came to her so unexpectedly that she had worked as fast as possible in order keep her promise to be there by four o’clock. The last chore finished, she found a canvas bag in the bar’s storage closet, and after checking to be sure no one was watching she began to fill it with rags, bleach and a scrub brush. Her shift was not quite over, and she didn’t want to be seen leaving early. She gathered her personal belongings and with a bag in each hand left quietly through the back door of the bar. She looked up and down the alley for the bar owner’s car, but it wasn’t there. Although she had already worked three jobs that day and had started at dawn, she was thankful for the opportunity to make a little more money from the rude man in the bar. She hoped it was a legitimate offer and also hoped he would not be there while she was cleaning. Everything about him made her uneasy.