Authors: Joe Thompson-Swift
It began with a cabaret of dancing girls. They roared into life on the now floodlit stage. Their sequinned uniforms shimmered as their legs lifted in military file, from left to right leaving little to the imagination as the music played on. The whole show was designed to get the audience in the mood for what was to come.
The lamb cutlets, spinach and baby potatoes were delicious. A magician entertained us in between two solo singing spots. This was followed by an extroverted comedian, who relished digging out some shy participants to take the butt of his jokes. It was fun, as more wine flowed and dancing completed the final touch of the evening.
Bodies touched as the music played the old favourites. Smiles of promises beamed from the dance floor as partners gestured with their bodies beneath a floral display of rotating lights. My hands found their way around Susan’s buttocks and she responded with a squeeze to my thighs. She had signalled that the time was right so we left the dance floor and made for a waiting taxi outside. Thirty minutes later we were back to my house. But then something caught my eye. The interior light of my car was on.
Susan was already in the bathroom as I shouted up to her. I needed to check it out. On arrival at the vehicle I saw nothing to indicate a forced entry had been made. The door handles were locked. Under the glare of the street lights, I bent to inspect the door locks. There were no traces that the car locks had been tampered with. I just knew that someone not wanting to steal a car or radio had to have another reason for wanting to get inside. Then it hit me! Of course it had to be a bug! But I was not going to be searching for that at 2 o’clock in the morning. Susan was waiting indoors for me. Already I was suspecting that someone was probably watching me from behind a door or a curtain. Whoever it was, they had tipped me off by leaving the light on. There was no reason for Ahmed to want to be in my car. There just had to be another interested party independent of him. I felt uncomfortable standing there and could see Susan watching from the window. I needed an explanation for the 20 minutes I had been away.
She was at the door when I arrived. A pensive look on her face told me she knew something was wrong. ‘It’s ok,’ I told her. ‘I thought that someone had broken into my car and left the interior light on, but I guess I had forgotten to close the door properly.’ She searched my eyes for confirmation and that was the last thing I wanted her to do. For at the back of my mind was the awful thought that someone was watching me from somewhere else?
Susan threw her arms around me and sucked at my lips for a moment, until the spark of sensuality returned. Her tongue darted in and out in oral intercourse. It was enough to absorb the disturbances running around in my head. On my way to the bathroom, she headed for the bedroom with a sweetie bag in her hand. I knew she wanted to play. In haste I returned, to find her lying naked on the bed. Some mellow music of Bach was playing in the background. My clothes dropped to the floor. The tiger had returned with the roar of a lion.
Eyes met. Fingers touched. Hands explored. Lips kissed. Bodies moved. Heat teased our flesh. Tongues found the tingles and gently licked out rhythms of pleasure until control was lost. Our bolts had been shot and all that remained was the sap. We lay as one, primed for action, rebuilding our strength.
For a few minutes we lay together, until a look of mischief danced in her eyes. She reached to pass me her favourite lipstick. She wanted me to pretend I was Cezanne, a post Victorian artiste. I was to use the lipstick as a brush to colour in the nipples of her warm full protruding breasts. She lay with her eyes closed as I worked upon them until they stood erect like succulent fruits. Then as she sensed Cezanne’s satisfied approval, Susan presented herself, with legs apart, exposing her pink soft labia on guard to her flower of Venus. With gentle delicate strokes, I enhanced the pinkness to her favourite colour. Then with moaning shudders she responded with unmistakeable request, as I watched the small moving hood ride back and forth over her swollen clitoris. My fingers busied until she was red and stiff as a bullet. ‘Oh, Cezanne, Cezanne. Send me to the gods.’ she cried. Thus with the abandon of a warrior, I projected my spear into her and locked her to me with amorous exhilaration. Soon after, we reached our destination of euphoria, and then melted together as if we had become extinct. The last thing I remember was a kiss and a whisper that the gods were pleased. Sleep came quickly.
Morning came quickly, just like the night had disappeared. I cut short mouse’s laugh for 7am. A return to sleep claimed my will to get out of bed. Some two hours later my eyes opened to see Susan awake with a smile on her face. She pushed a jelly baby sweet into my mouth. It was the next best thing to a baby she could give me, she said. That was always the way she completed her visit. She smiled. I smiled. Just then the phone rang. It was Peter the pen. He had been up with the sparrows, he told me. The new pass and invoice were ready so a meeting at The Warrior Pub for midday was arranged.
Susan did her ablutions while I made ready for some breakfast. She was out and dressed while my turn came for the bathroom and fifteen minutes later we were sitting by the window munching our way through the toast. She had lots of shopping to do with her friend Charmaine she had said, but we would meet again on Thursday before her leave was finished. The carriage clock chimed for 10.30 as her taxi arrived. At the door we kissed goodbye until the next time and then she was gone.
The business in hand came back to mind. I was half expecting a call from Dave the weasel. Friday could well be the day I visited the safe deposit boxes at Barclays bank. A haunch told me to ring the sisters Lisa and Laura to be on standby.
You can call it telepathy if you like, but no sooner had I thought about those when the phone rang. It was Dave the weasel. His voice was loud, clear and confidant. ‘I have it, Jack.’ He said. ‘Just tell me where to meet and I will be there.’
‘Well, why not this evening?’ I asked him. ‘How about the Farrier’s pub at 9.30 in Lower Road?’ Dave jumped at the proposal. I knew he was keen to collect the balance of his payment. ‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘I will have the drinks ready for you this time.’ I agreed to meet him there.
Next I phoned Lisa and Laura and made arrangements to meet them on Friday morning at 10am sharp. That only left me to collect the pass and invoice from Peter the pen, and then I would do my scam with flowers at the Research Lab in the afternoon. Once I had Bruce’s signature, it would be easy to put it on the pass myself. Things were clicking into place. Friday would see Dr Bruce away at Porton Down for the weekend, so there would be no chance of me meeting him at his bank.
Time was moving on towards midday. It would not take long to get to The Warrior Pub. I was soon out into the car and had the engine started when I noticed a very faint smell of perfume. It was just a hint but not one that I could put a name too. The last time I had used the car was four days ago. It was not a perfume anyone I knew used. Yet it was real enough. Once again, I thought back to yesterday when the interior car light was found on. A quick look around inside revealed no signs of interference. Was my car bugged? That canny feeling I was being watched came over me. There was nothing I could do even if I was. Yet the smell of the perfume rattled me. Had some unknown female been in my car? Why? The show had to go on. I had things to do.
The traffic was no problem as I drove off to The Warrior and I was just in time to see Peter going in as I parked outside. There was not much of a lunch time crowd either, which suited me fine as I would be able to see who was around me without it being too obvious I was looking. Peter spotted me immediately as I caught the barmaid’s eye. It was of course Lager for him and scotch for me. Right away the gent’s toilet became our office where I examined the pass and invoice. They were excellent forgeries. There was no doubt Peter was a wizard at his game so I paid him his money and we left separately to return to the bar.
As usual we spoke about everything and nothing that was of interest. All Peter wanted to know was when the next bit of business was likely to be. I was playing things by ear, I told him. I could only leave him with a promise that his talents would not go to waste. I declined his invitation for another drink as I had to go to the florist. We agreed to keep in touch. A nice bunch of flowers with a card should do the trick with Dr Bruce.
It was a short walk to the local flower shop where I chose a lovely spray of mixed flowers. I had the florist write out a card saying they had come from a belated Valentine’s admirer and I lifted a brown overall florists coat on the way out. It was embossed with their name upon it. That was a bonus. I arrived at the Research Lab in a wig and glasses where I performed the scam and had got Bruce’s signature on the invoice for the flowers. It wall over and done in twenty minutes.
Back in the car, I knew what I was going to do as soon as I got back home. Being careful not to invite unwanted attention from passing police cars, I cut through the back streets, avoiding the Old Kent Road which I knew to be a favourite ambush spot for them. Half an hour later I was indoors fitting the passport photo alongside Bruce’s signature transferred from the invoice. It certainly looked very good. This evening I would be collecting the password details from Dave the weasel and everything was now set up for my visit to the bank on Friday.
Now I had some spare time to write some more of my novel as inspiration came over me. I pounded my typewriter as the story flowed onto the pages until the afternoon passed into evening. When next I looked out of the window it was dark. Street and car lights had replaced the daylight and 7 o’clock reminded me how hungry I was. Now the phone was ringing. It was a nice surprise to hear Aisha’s voice. She happened to be nearby at Surrey Quays shopping centre and had been thinking about me. Could she come over? Crikey! This was tricky, I thought, as I had a meeting with Dave in two hours’ time. If I made an excuse then I may never see her again. Memories came flooding back and sent a signal to my crutch. ‘Sure Aisha,’ I told her. ‘Why not call around, you know where I live. But I have to go out for a while at 9pm.’ She was quite amicable about that and was now on her way she told me. I was one lucky bastard, I told myself. I knew who I was sleeping with tonight.
Aisha arrived at 7.30 with shopping bag in hand. There was no denying she was a very pretty woman and we quickly shared a lingering kiss before she revealed the tantalising curves of her body after her coat came off. Her eyes flashed me a knowing smile. She had been souvenir hunting, she told me, and wanted to add me to her permanent collection. I was more than flattered that a beautiful young woman like her was really attracted to a rough old chap like me. It didn’t make sense. But who knows what turns anyone on? Yes, it had to be my Tom Jones lookalike image I convinced myself. My brown curly hair and flashing white teeth must count for something! Aisha wasn’t wasting any time to tell me she would wait for me here until I returned from my meeting. What could I say? My brain was now in my prick. She would be something nice to return home to I told her. Promise was in the air.
For the next two hours we talked and teased until the carriage clock chimes quelled the heat that was bubbling between us. I had half an hour to get to the Farrier’s pub. I left Aisha with a kiss and watching a fruity video about what other couples got up to. Dave’s grand was in my pocket.
I found him snuggled into a corner of the bar as I walked in. A grin spread over his face when he saw me.
‘Here you are Jack,’ he beamed. ‘This one’s on me.’ He slid a large scotch towards me as I sat next to him. His cigarette smoke curdled from the burning weed between his fingers as he blew out a stream of it towards a display of roasted peanuts. He seemed somehow different today. Then I noticed he had had a haircut and was wearing a new black leather coat.
‘I see you’ve treated yourself then?’ I enquired.’Yeah. Your bit of business was a life saver. I was beginning to forget what money could do for me,’ he grinned.
‘Then let’s hope our little transaction brings us some mutual benefits’ I told him.
‘Yep.’ he smiled. ‘My pockets have some good news for you. Of course it wasn’t easy, but then it’s not what you know but who you know, which makes the world go around eh?’ I nodded, as we touched our drink glasses together.
The ‘barmaid’ was a barman that I knew. At least, it was not difficult to determine that. A limp wristed pale faced young man pouted his red lips in our direction as we picked up the menus. Dave’s rugged hard baked face must have seemed threatening, for no sooner had I indicated to order a meal when a look of uncertainty showed in the young man’s eyes.
‘It’s ok Nigel’ I assured him. He doesn’t bite. He always looks like that and would rather step over a fly than squash it.’
A relieved look spread over the young man’s face. ‘Oh my god!’ He gasped. ‘I thought I was up against a homophobic. But it’s not his fault if he looks like that,’ he replied cheekily. Dave grinned. I knew he had heard it all before. I placed the orders for steaks, veg and fries. Nigel rejoiced in his little remark about the rump steaks with his sense of humour. An exaggerated walk saw him disappear to place our orders as we moved to a table already prepared for diners.
Music from a juke box drowned over the pub conversations. It was a well-used watering hole (this pub) and popular with the locals and passing trade. It was an easy place to talk without standing out in a crowd. Dave lit another cigarette and was ready to give me the details. I tuned my ears in as he passed over a piece of paper.
‘This is the authorised blank pass slip for access to the vaults. You can see the details on it refer to the depository. All you have to do is fill in the name, address and client number. I take it that your Dr Bruce is the name in question?’ He queried.
I smiled. ‘Maybe,’ I replied. It was obvious he already knew that anyway. ‘OK’ he continued, ‘Then as that was the name my contact gave me, his deposit box number is DBX147 and his password is SNAKETWIST. You will need the pass slip to show the depository guard. On giving him the pass, he will check your box number against the password on his computer then let you in. That’s it. OK?’