Arbitrage

by Colette Kebell

  ‘Here,’ said Splinter asking him to approach the wall. ‘Put the left ankle to the jamb. That’s right. And now lean against the wall, knee, shoulder, and cheek.’ The boy did as ordered, staying with the left side of his body in contact with the wall.

  ‘And now try to lift the right leg.’

  Chaz made as much effort as he could, but he soon realised there was no way. In that position all the weight was on his right leg, he couldn’t move it despite the efforts. ‘I give up!’ he said finally.

  ‘A free beer and an old trick taught. Not bad for a two-minute job,’ said Splinter.

  He just finished the sentence when they heard a knock at the suite door. As a precaution, Hank hid files and paperwork on the table while Domino walked toward the door.

  Steve was a six-footer, short brown hair and wore a made to measure suit from a tailor in Bond Street. He kept with him a dark brown leather briefcase and was accompanied by a slightly overweight man, personable, with grey hair and with a pair of black plastic glasses.

  Steve introduced Logan and made him sit on the couch.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Mr Logan,’ said Splinter in an affable tone, while serving a shot of whisky to the newcomer. ‘We have a deal we’d like to discuss with you.’

  ‘I don’t drink anymore,’ said Logan pushing away the glass in front of him. ‘You could make an appointment; I was told it was an emergency, a testament …’ he said looking Steve directly in the eye. It was clear that he had lied to him.

  ‘I’m sorry if we had to resort to a little subterfuge to get your attention,’ continued Splinter, ‘but actually we are interested in some of the financial skills you have shown in the past.’

  It was clear to Logan to what they were referring to. It was about his work at Saunders, Whitehall & Passmore, the financial tricks he had learned over years of practice, the fact he had been in jail. It didn’t matter if they had eventually acknowledged his innocence, twenty years of prison over his head were a reality, whoever knew would doubt him.

  ‘I haven’t done these things for years, I have a job, and I don’t want any trouble,’ he said looking around the room as if to seek an ally, which he didn’t find.

  ‘We’re not asking to make it a regular occurrence. It will be only once. We’re interested in your knowledge and old contacts you could possibly restore,’ said Splinter, ‘obviously you will be rewarded handsomely.’

  Logan knew exactly what they wanted, they were interested in his old bag of tricks, from his years in the financial sector.

  He listened to what they had to offer.

  CHAPTER 19

  For a moment after she entered her apartment, Amelia was troubled.

  This is stupid, she thought. Anders was as beautiful as a god, but she knew nothing about him really. She’d never done anything like this before.

  ‘Would you like something to drink?’ she asked not knowing how to dispel the swirl of conflicting emotions that promised to leave her paralysed in the middle of the room.

  ‘A fruit juice,’ said Anders, ‘it’s not even dinner time.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. A juice.’ Damn, thought Amelia, now he’ll think I’m an alcoholic.

  She walked to the kitchen and poured the juice into two glasses; for good measure, she added a dash of vodka to her own. And then yet another.

  Shit, Amelia, do you really want to take him to bed? Just like that, without thinking about it for a minute? She tried to shake off the sudden fatigue that was gripping her by gulping some more vodka straight from the bottle. It wasn’t physical fatigue, but rather mental. Created by years of quarrels with her family, differences of opinions; from a job she loved but that at the same time held her captive. What was the point of making money if she had to live the same life, day after day, unchanged? Divorces, trusts, mortgages, after a few years they all looked the same, as the clients had started to resemble each other, all worried about the same thing, the same miseries and misfortunes. Each day at the office brought Amelia joy and sorrow at the same time. She loved the independence and hated the repetition; her life had reached that kind of bottom. Repeating the same gestures, passing the same paperwork day in and day out. The only distraction, Logan’s sense of humour, which made the days less mundane. If it weren’t for Logan, she would have lost it a long time ago.

  Hell, she said to herself, you only live once; and so, with a new determination inside her, she headed toward the living room, where Anders pretended to be interested in certain abstract paintings on the wall next to the balcony.

  She handed him the glass and drank hers in one gulp. Her companion raised an eyebrow. Amelia laid the glass on a small table next to her and grabbed Ander’s jacket, she pulled him toward her, kissing him hungrily. Neither of them expected this sudden change of events, not yet, but neither showed any sign of second thoughts. Anders lifted her from the ground and embraced her with his powerful arms. They continued to kiss each other all the way up to the bedroom, trying to undress each other without ever losing contact. Once they reached the room, Anders dragged her onto the bed and started to undress her. They were slow gestures, measured, but Amelia wouldn’t have any of it. She grabbed him by the neck dragging him towards herself. They rolled on the bed, and the man took the lead once again, this time with increased passion. Kissing her neck, her lips while his hands were seeking a gap between the underwear. Amelia girthed him with her own legs, so as not to give him a chance to escape.

  They made love in that darkened room and then again. Amelia had not felt so alive in years, and Anders was about as far from a life in a law firm as she could imagine. She paused to contemplate the muscular body, the tattoos on his arms that narrated a story unknown to her. She admired the contrast of that black on the white skin, a stylised falcon just below the chest muscles, a tiger coming down along his arm as if to bite into the forearm. They made those arms look even stronger. She would have liked to have seen those he had on his back, she’d briefly glimpsed them in the twilight of the room while they made love, but Anders was sleeping. She got up after a while that seemed endless to her and went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

  ****

  ‘They are still in the apartment,’ croaked a voice on the radio.

  ‘Roger.’ Margot was thinking about what options she had in front of her. They could force the door, go in and get it over with it once and for all. A robbery gone wrong, the hosts surprised the thieves, and it all ended in tragedy. No, it wouldn’t be enough. First Amelia was not alone, and that guy who she’d brought with her to the apartment reeked of trouble from a mile away. There would be a struggle, they would leave traces. ‘Are the microphones working?’ she asked as if awakened from her thoughts, ‘I cannot hear a damn thing.’

  ‘The lovebirds were busy for a while and went at it hard until recently. I guess now they’re playing the rest of the warrior,’ said another voice that Margot recognised as Kaleb, a former legionnaire who, on this occasion, was stationed on the rooftop opposite the apartment.

  ‘OK, keep your eyes open. No matter what they do. If they say anything, even whispering, if they go to the bathroom, if they put their fingers up their noses, I do want to know.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘Kaleb, have you got a good view of the apartment?’ said another voice.

  ‘Good enough. The bedroom has the curtains drawn, I saw only shadows until recently. The rest is illuminated. Wait … The woman just walked into the kitchen. She is opening a cupboard. She takes a cup for coffee. She is naked and has a pair of juicy tits.’

  Margot cursed herself for asking to be given every single detail. The voice continued, ‘She is preparing an instant coffee. A spoonful of sugar. Are you sure that we need to get rid of her? She is quite pretty, a waste.’

  ‘Kaleb, try to do your job,’ said Margot crossly.

  ‘Roger. She is coming back into the living room. I’ve lost visual. It’s up to you, Yuri.’

  ‘They are not talking, all I h
ear is indistinct rustling.’

  ‘What are we going to do, boss?’ said a voice on the radio.

  ‘We wait,’ answered Margot.

  ****

  Amelia sat down in the armchair in the bedroom and pulled her legs against her body, keeping the piping hot coffee between both hands. She sipped slowly and she watched Anders’ body. There was a time when she’d wanted to get a tattoo. It was during a holiday in Cyprus and some friends, some of them a bit tipsy, had decided to take the plunge. She would have liked a butterfly on her back or somewhere else it wouldn’t be easily seen. The guy who ran the store told her to be cautious, against his own interest, tattoos are for a lifetime, you can’t remove them when you’re tired of them, he said. There wasn’t much difference with the sorrows of life, thought Amelia at that moment, even those remained indelibly etched in people’s memory, maybe even in a more permanent way than tattoos. Pain could change lives, transform them. A tattoo wouldn’t be too dissimilar. But when the man made her try the needle, without ink, just to see what she would be subjected to, she changed her mind.

  She saw at least five of tattoos on Anders’ body, all large ones. Who knew what drove people to go through all that pain?

  She took another sip of coffee while checking messages on her mobile phone. She read a couple of texts from Logan and then she cancelled them immediately. She ignored another. She snapped a photo of Anders’ sleeping face and then got up, and with light steps,she put on some sportswear. Anders was fast asleep and rather than sitting in the lounge doing nothing, she decided to go for a jog. She had skipped her morning routine for a few days and she missed it. Running was one of her favourite sport since she gave up Judo a couple of yours before. Half an hour to run three miles, she wouldn’t try to break her personal record that morning.

  The brisk wind enveloped her as soon as she stepped outside, making her shiver for a moment. She ran towards the beach, finding her rhythm.

  When she returned home, Anders was preparing breakfast. After a quick shower, she joined him at the kitchen table.

  ‘Do you have a kitesurfing lesson today?’

  ‘The course ends this afternoon, why?’

  ‘Nothing. There’s a brisk wind and I might tag along. I guess there will be a few people out there today, and I want to ensure you don’t end up in Devon.’

  ‘No chance of that. The boss said I don’t need the kid training kit anymore and he’s cutting me lose today.’

  ‘So, you are a natural, after all.’

  They spent the morning wandering around town and in the afternoon they went to the beach where a few people were already assembling. Amelia exchanged a few words with the kitesurfing instructor, a long-term friend who gave her permission to take Anders for a spin.

  ‘We are heading east,’ she said to her companion, who was busy checking their kit was in order. They sailed away few minutes later.

  ‘Just follow me and don’t attempt to do anything stupid.’

  Amelia loved the feeling of freedom she got every time she was surfing. Riding freely on the waves, being taken away by the wind but at the same time being in control, being able to change direction, steering as she pleased. If she only could steer her life in whatever direction she pleased …

  Anders was doing well. He wasn’t elegant in his movement but he was effective, and thanks to his muscular build and possibly an innate sense of balance, he was able to stay close to Amelia.

  They stopped on the long beach of East Blatchington to catch their breath.

  ‘This is the life!’ said Anders, laying down on the pebble beach. A couple of fishermen not too far away looked at them with curiosity.

  ‘Am I not keeping you away from your responsibilities?’ asked Amelia.

  ‘What, modelling? No way! I still have a reasonable amount of cash and this is what I do. Work and then enjoy life at my own pace.’

  ‘So, no plans of settling?’ asked Amelia cautiously.

  Anders talked about his dream of setting up something in the south of France, being somewhere by the beach all day and it one day at a time. Maybe a bistro, maybe renting out jet skis.

  ‘I was aiming for a flock of sheep in the Welsh mountains but I think your dream is far better.’ They laughed.

  ‘Here, let’s take a selfie.’ Amelia took out her phone from a plastic bag and took a snap of herself and Anders. She sent the picture to Logan with the caption ‘On holiday! You should try it sometimes, it is FUN!’

  ‘Shall we head back?’ asked Amelia half an hour later.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  They spent the following few days together kitesurfing, sightseeing, getting to know each other, and making love, unaware they were under surveillance.

  ****

  Amelia couldn’t sleep. She got out of bed end picked up the envelope that Logan has given her few days earlier.

  There was little light to read in the room and turning on the lamp near the armchair could have disturbed Anders. She decided to put a robe on and head for the living room. The couch was a little old, not in line with the modern style of her apartment, but Amelia was reluctant to change it. It was a grey cloth couch, worn in several points on the seat and armrests. She’d bought it years before while still a student and she’d spent days and nights studying on it. The first significant purchase she’d made with her own money from doing odd jobs and she couldn’t bear to part with it, but maybe one day she would have it reupholstered.

  She opened the envelope and began to read a letter handwritten by Albert Romanov. Romanov was like an uncle to her. As she read, her apprehension grew, grasping the pit of her stomach. She had seen many things as a lawyer, but this was above all the others. Amelia was sipping a now lukewarm coffee and re-read the letter many times and was about to start again when she felt two hands grasp her shoulders. For a moment she felt lost, and she jumped.

  ‘Sorry, did I scare you? What are you reading?’ asked Anders from behind her shoulders.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Amelia folding up the letter.

  ‘Well, we’ve got time.’ He walked around the sofa and sat next to her. Luckily, he is wearing his underpants, she thought. I don’t have the energy or desire right now to make love again. She reflected for a moment and then unfolded the letter again. Romanov filled the gap her father had left during the years she’d grown up. She called him “uncle” even though she knew he wasn’t her real uncle. He was the person she went to when she needed advice and the one who gave her the chance to be who she was today. During those years, he had become a mentor, a dear friend, and a confident. But also the fatherly presence she had needed.

  ‘It’s from an old family friend. He died recently after being shot. And he stole ten million pounds from the bank I’m supposed to take possession of.’

  ‘Damn. What’s he doing, giving it back to you?’

  ‘Not quite. Romanov knew that there was bad blood between my father and me, so he is giving me a chance to destroy the damn bank,’ said Amelia, thinking again about the contents of the letter.

  ‘You don’t look like a happy heiress, right now. What happened between you and your father?’

  ‘We have never gotten along. The only love of his life was money. For which, he ignored family and affections. My sister was perhaps the only one in the family he had truly loved.’

  Amelia told of how her father rarely showed up at home, and those rare times, in her memory, he was never in a good mood. Of how her mother had endured one betrayal after another: secretaries, clients, and even prostitutes.

  Bruno Mortcombe was a bastard who didn’t care about anything or anybody but himself. He was married to an Italian who worked for a local museum and who had become enchanted by his strong jaw, his determination as a businessman, and the sense of risk that oozed from him. She knew she would be marrying a jerk and somehow maybe she’d accepted the challenge, trying to ride the tiger and tame it.

  But the years passed, and Bruno Mortcombe rarely bothered the famil
y. Get rich, by any means possible, was his passion. And be a skirt-chaser.

  The arrival of Carla had not helped to reinvigorate the shaky marriage, and maybe it had worsened it. Several years later, when Amelia was in her early teens, her parents quarrelled worse than usual, maybe about the umpteenth of her father’s escapades; the fight lasted for hours, her mother threatening divorce and her father threatening to take their daughters and throw her out on the street. It was later when everything seemed quieter, and the sisters were in bed when the house resounded with the shot of a pistol. A single shot, loud, almost like one of those of firecrackers that kids threw out on the streets in the days around New Year’s Eve. The girls were kept in their room, a maid kept them company until someone was able to reach the nanny by phone. The lights of police cars and an ambulance were clearly visible through the window through to Amelia, the younger of the two, it quickly became clear that a tragedy had just happened. She just wanted the body covered with a white sheet, that they were loading in the ambulance, to belong to Bruno Mortcombe.

  From their room, they could hear the voices of people and policemen who walked around the house. It was only much later that peace returned. But neither of the girls managed to get to sleep, despite the presence of the nanny. The next day other policemen visited her father, and maybe Amelia saw a large envelope changing hands between her father and a police officer. Only later, many years later, she grasped the significance of that gesture.

  According to the report, it was a suicide, but Amelia knew that even if that had been the case, it had been her father who pushed her in that direction. Their already fragile relationship with their remaining parent, typical of early adolescence, was hopelessly compromised.

  Amelia finished university and was looking for a job when Albert Romanov, an old family friend, proposed to her the deal of the century. To buy the studio where she now worked and keep the existing customers, for a reasonable price. She obtained a loan from a bank, thanks to Romanov. Then he introduced her to Logan, who also began working in the studio. After some time passed trying to keep the business afloat, tightening their belts and not paying themselves a real salary, thanks to Ryan Logan’s financial skills, eventually they had made it.