Firewall (16 page)

I went into the toilet. I'd been right, the bathroom was part of the kitchen, partitioned off by a bit of plasterboard so the landlord could claim more rooms and charge more for people to live here. I sat on the pot and counted out six grand from the dollars. I was about to shove it in my pocket when I decided to calm down a bit and put two grand back in the bag. Pulling the flush, I came out talking.

"All I know is that it's an easy job. But I need you, Tom, and if you're honest, you need the money as much as I do. Look, this is what I want to do for you."

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the four grand, making sure I rolled it with my other hand to make it look and sound extra attractive.

He tried hard to stop himself looking at it. Even this amount could probably change his life.

"This is how I'm getting paid, U.S. dollars. Here's four grand. Take it; it's a gift. Pay your bills, whatever you want. What more can I say? I'm going to go and do the job anyway. If you're coming with me, though, I need to know today. I can't fuck about."

If he didn't give me a yes by this evening it would be horoscope time.

He'd still get paid; he just wouldn't enjoy the work so much.

He fingered the money and had to split it in half to get it into his jean pockets. He tried to put a serious business expression on his face. It wasn't working. "Nice one. Thanks, Nick, thanks a lot."

Whatever happened he could have the money. It made me feel good, and with everything else going down the tubes in my life, I needed that.

But I needed to make sure he didn't fuck up with it and let it be traced back to me. "Don't go to the bank to change it or make a deposit, they'll think you're a drug dealer. Especially with an address round here."

His smile broadened.

"Take it to a few currency exchanges. The rates will be shit, but there you go. Have a nice day out. Hire a taxi; you can afford it.

Just don't change any more than three hundred dollars at a time. Oh, and for fuck's sake buy yourself a warm coat."

He looked up and the grin turned into a laugh as he did his cockerel impression. It stopped just as quickly at the sound of a key going into the door lock.

"Shit, it's Janice. Don't say jack. Promise me, Nick."

He stood up and made sure his sweatshirt was covering the two bulges in his cargos. I joined him and we waited in front of the fire as if the Queen was about to visit.

She opened the door, felt the heat and looked straight at Tom, ignoring me completely. "Have you picked up the laundry?" Heading towards the kitchen, she started throwing off her brown coat.

Tom grimaced an apology at me as he replied, "Oh, er nah, it wasn't ready, the driers were broken. I'm going to pick it up in a minute.

This is Nick. He's the one that called, you know, this morning."

She threw her coat onto the arm of the sofa, looking at me. I gave a smile and said, "Hello, nice to meet you."

"Hello," she grunted, "you found him then?" and disappeared into the kitchen.

Janice was mid-twenties, not unattractive, not attractive, just sort of ordinary. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, slightly longer than Tom's. It wasn't exactly greasy, but had that not-washed-today look.

She was also wearing just a bit too much makeup, and there was a line around her chin where it stopped.

I sat back down, but Tom stayed standing by the fire, not really knowing what to say to me about his obnoxious girlfriend. In the kitchen, cupboard doors were banged as she made her presence felt.

She came back into the living room with a candy bar and a can of Coke.

Pushing the coat onto the floor she plonked herself on the sofa next to me, pulled the foil off the chocolate, opened the can and started attacking both. The noise of her drinking would have made a thirsty bricklayer proud. Between gulps she pointed at the mantel. "Tom, pass me the cards."

He did as he was told. We both watched as she pulled out a lipstick from her coat pocket and threw it on her lips. Then, while she slurped and munched, she kissed the remaining blank cards.

She looked up, and stared at me for a few moments, then turned to Tom.

"Pass me the rest."

He picked up a large envelope near the fire and passed it over, red with embarrassment.

Pouring the white cards onto the floor she started to reapply the red stuff and kiss away. The signing was obviously done later, during a gentler moment.

We weren't going to get any more talking done. It was time for me to leave.

"Thanks for the tea, Tom, I think I'll be off now. Nice to meet you'

Janice She nodded, not bothering to look up.

Tom looked nervously at me, then at Janice's head. As I got to my feet and picked up the bag, he blurted, "Tell you what, I'll walk down with you, I've got to collect the laundry anyway."

We didn't speak as we walked down the stairs. I knew what I wanted to say, but what was the point? Someone calling your girlfriend an obnoxious dog wouldn't exactly induce you to go away with him.

As we walked back toward All Saints Road, he stammered, "It's not her, you know, Juicy Lucy. She gets a tenner for every two hundred. This week it's Lucy, I think next week it's Gina again. I help her out." He rubbed his chin. "I have to shave though, otherwise I leave stubble marks in the lipstick. "We have piles of dirty underwear in the bedroom. A guy drops them off on a Thursday."

I couldn't help but laugh at the picture of him in front of the fire, kissing cards and packing underwear for the country's crotch sniffers.

His head went back into cockerel mode. "Yeah, well, like I said, it's only until the money comes in. They're really keen Activision, the Tomb Raiderlot, all the big boys-I'm just about to hit it big time, know what I mean?"

"Yes I do, Tom." I knew exactly.

I gave it one more try once we'd turned the corner into All Saints and Janice couldn't see us if she looked out. I stopped and faced him outside a window full of faucets, waste pipes, and assorted plumber's shit.

"Tom, think about this seriously. I'm not going to do anything that's not kosher. I'm too old for that sort of stuff. All I want to do is make some money, the same as you. I need you with me, but I must know by tonight if you're up for it."

He was looking at the sidewalk, shoulders slumped. "Yeah. But you know…" The cold was starting to get to him. I didn't know whether he didn't have a coat because they hadn't kissed enough cards or if he was just too stupid to remember to put one on.

We got to Westbourne Park Road, a main drag. I wanted a taxi so I stood on the corner. He stood next to me, shifting from one foot to the other. I put a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, mate, go and change some money and think about it, and we'll meet up tonight, all right?"

I started looking for cabs as he nodded at the sidewalk again. "I'll call you about sevenish and we'll have a drink, okay?"

A yellow light appeared in the gloom and I stuck out my hand. The cab stopped and the diesel engine chugged away, but not as fast as the meter.

Tom was still stooped, hands dug deep in his pockets, shivering. I talked to the top of his head. "Tom, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Think hard about it."

The top of his head moved in what I took to be another nod.

I couldn't stand his shivering any more and unzipped my jacket. "For fuck's sake, put this thing on, will you?" He protested feebly, then returned my grin as he took the coat. At least I could see his face now.

"Once-in-a-lifetime, mate." I got into the taxi, asked for Marble Arch and turned to close the door and pull down the window.

Tom was just finishing zipping up. "Hey, Nick, fuck it. Why not, I'm up for it." The cockerel had returned.

I didn't want to show how pleased I was. "That's good. I'll call you tonight with the details. We have to leave tomorrow. Is that okay?

You got a passport?"

"No probs."

"Excellent. Remember," I pointed to his wad, "there's plenty more where that came from. One week, maybe two, who knows?"

I put my thumb to my ear and little finger to my mouth to mime a call.

"Tonight at seven."

He did the same. "Nice one."

"Tom, one last thing. You have a credit card?"

"Er, yeah. Why's that?"

"I haven't got mine. You might have to pay for the tickets, but don't worry, I'll give you the cash before we go."

I didn't give him time to think too much about that one. As the taxi pulled away I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, and I had a sneaking suspicion that Tom wouldn't be sharing his newfound wealth with Janice. I knew I wouldn't if I was him.

After giving the cab driver a new drop-off point, I bought myself a blue ski jacket on Oxford Street, and went to a drugstore for some bits and pieces I'd need for the DLB (dead letter box), so I could leave our details with Liv. Before E4 spotted me at the apartment, I'd thought Liv wanting to use a DLB just to hand over some flight details was a bit paranoid. But now I knew it was essential. If E4 were on to her, I didn't want any more contact with her in the U.K. The last thing I needed was for Lynn to have a picture of that on his desk. The shit would be so high I'd never be able to dig myself out.

I booked the flights from a phone box, and they held them in Tom's name. I'd get him to pay for them with his credit card at the airport tomorrow; now that Davidson was history, I had no choice. No one needed to know that Nick Stone was leaving the country. I wondered if Tom was still being monitored, now that he was a known subversive, but decided I'd have to take that risk. There wasn't time to do anything about it.

With my new coat to keep me warm I decided I'd walk it to the DLB she'd given me. It wasn't that far away.

Fighting my way through the Saturday shopping frenzy I eventually made the 200 yards or so to Oxford Circus. The BBC studios in Portland Place were in front of me on the right. I stayed on the opposite sidewalk and headed for the Langham Hilton.

About hundred and fifty feet short of the hotel I walked under some scaffolding. Beneath it were two old-style red telephone booths.

In the windows of each were maybe twenty calling cards, held in position by fun tac. The authorities would be around at some point today to clean them out, but they'd be restocked an hour later.

I went into the left-hand booth and saw Susie Gee's card three quarters of the way up, facing Oxford Circus. She looked very sultry, on all fours and kissing the air. At the same time as I peeled her off the glass I got out a large black marker pen and scored a line down the window.

Folding Susie into my pocket I moved on toward the hotel. It was a bit premature to leave the DLB loaded sign, but I wasn't expecting any problems.

With my bag in hand I walked through the hotel's revolving doors, which had been started for me by a guy dressed in a green three-quarter length tunic and something that looked like a cross between a turban and a beret on his head. He looked a right nerd.

The interior of the Langham was very plush, and very full of businessmen and wealthy-looking tourists. It was Indian the med with the Chukka Bar to my left as I walked into the marble reception area.

Liv's instructions were perfect. To the right and up a few steps was the reception desk, and ahead of me was a restaurant-cum tea room. My destination, however, was the basement.

Down below was every bit as plush as above. Temperature controlled and soft-carpeted, it housed the conference rooms and business center.

Standing on an easel outside the George Room, a black felt board with white press-on letters announced, "Management 2000 welcomes our conference guests." Passing it and two wall phones that I would be coming back to, I headed for the rest rooms.

Opposite the rest room doors were more phones, a cloakroom and a table rigged up with tea, coffee, and cookies. Sitting ready to serve was a black guy and a white woman talking in that shifty tone that you just know means they're dissing the management. As soon as they saw me, they gave me their corporate smiles; I smiled back and headed for the men's room.

Sitting down in one of the stalls, I took out a little plastic pillbox from my drugstore bag, the sort that people use to hold their day's supply of vitamins, along with a pack of adhesive-backed Velcro patches. I stuck both a female and a male patch onto the pillbox just in case she'd fucked up on what side to use; it would be embarrassing if it didn't stick.

Inside the pillbox went a small scrap of paper with my message: "Arriving 1515 12th." That was all that she needed to know.

Putting the drugstore bag back in my pocket and checking that the two little squares of Velcro were secure, I came out of the toilet, smiled again at the two people in the cloakroom, turned right and went back to the first two telephones I'd passed.

They were positioned quite low down the wall, for the convenience of users in wheelchairs. I put the bag between my legs and shuffled a chair up closer to the phone. Liv had chosen well: not too busy, no video cameras about, and a reason to be there.

As I sat down, I got out a coin and Susie's card, picked up the phone, and dialed, wondering if Janice and Tom had done any lipstick cards for her lately. I wanted the display to show money being used up; otherwise it would look suspicious if anyone passed and saw that I'd been there a few minutes and was only pretending to make a call. It was a small detail, but they count.

I used my right hand to keep the phone to my ear, waiting for Susie, and felt under the wooden veneer shelf below it with my left. In the far corner, there should be a large patch of Velcro that Liv had put there.

As I fumbled about, the doors to the George Room opened behind me and out surged a stream of Management 2000 delegates.

As I listened to the ringing tone, I watched the herd move to their grazing area by the cloakroom. A young woman in her twenties sat on the chair next to me and put a coin in the box.

An aggressive Chinese woman answered me. "Hello?"

I could hear my fellow caller tap out her number as I replied.

"Susie?"

"No, you wait."