Stray Bullet (15 page)

Jack opened the heavy door of the Bentley as the boot of the vehicle quietly glided open. He wasted no time in removing his two cases and placed them down by the driver side door. Lucio had not climbed out of the car but instead lowered his window.

“Jack, if you need anything call me.”
He passed Jack a note with a telephone number. Jack looked at the piece of paper.

“You not coming in old friend?” he quizzed. He had expected Lucio at least to join him for a few hours.

“No, not this time Jack. Call me when it’s done.” Lucio’s window glided up slowly until it was sealed closed. He gave Jack a nod of friendship before turning back to the wheel and manoeuvring the Bentley full circle and back out of the drive.

Jack stood for a moment, took stock of his surroundings and, picking up his cases, moved on towards the front door. He shuffled the key ring full of keys for various doors and closets around the house. It took him a few moments to recall which of them Lucio had held out to him and would fit the front door of his childhood home.

He mustered a reminiscent smile as memories flowed back of past youthful nights when he had fumbled around, drunk and high, attempting to gain access to his house. Those drunken nights were now long past and this night he would seek only two things, one large night cap followed by several hours sleep.

It was four days before the planned hit. He would need to be fully rested before the job, but he would also take the opportunity of this trip to pay a visit to his lawyer’s office. He had received a call that had unnerved him before leaving the US. A call that related to family matters, private business which had been playing on his mind and he needed to urgently attend to. But for the time being, no business could keep him from his bed.

Jack Shaw lay in his comfortable four poster bed the next morning, he could hear the familiar sounds of robins chirping away in the garden. Blue tits also fluttered around the trees, calling out to each other, and every now and again their tunes would be drowned out by the familiar dark call of a predatory owl. It was light but still early and Jack did not want to waste any time during his relatively brief trip.  He pulled back the bed covers with his right arm and lay still for a moment, allowing the cool air of the bedroom to act as a bodily alarm.  It sent his warm flesh into a brief period of shock, goose pimples appeared across his well-tanned body.

He sat up and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands before heading across to the bathroom. He stood staring deep in the mirror that hung above the sink, the face of an assassin staring back. He experienced a brief moment of déjà vu, one of many on this trip. However, this was of a quite real memory, a recollection of a similar moment many years ago, a moment on the day Lucio had called, the day that his life had changed for ever.

Eventually, he turned away and head to the shower. He rotated the large brass taps and climbed in to the cubicle that would incarcerate him for the next few minutes. The glassy doors surrounding him quickly steamed up and his body experienced the thermal reversal as his blood returned to the outer reaches of his soul. He picked up his razor and began removing the thick stubble that had amassed during his lengthy trip.

“Ahh!” he cursed aloud as the razor failed to glide over a small part of his neck but instead removed a layer of skin. The piping hot water swirling around his feet gained a momentary red tint as his body briefly expelled blood in disgust at his clumsy behaviour.  He glanced down and cursed but quickly resumed the task until his face was smooth and he finally felt refreshed. He reached out of the cubicle for a towel before returning to the bedroom.

For a moment he thought he sensed a smell of toasting bread in the air,
another déjà vu?
  He shook his head and dismissed the thought as wishful thinking. Taking an old pair of slacks from the wardrobe he began to dress, comforted by the fact that his body could still seamlessly fit into this ageing garment. He had an appointment which had his mind preoccupied.

Jack always slept with his bedroom door deliberately ajar. He had always liked it that way as it increased the airflow within the room. It also served to remove any element of surprise for those wishing to approach quietly while thinking him to be asleep. He had been a light sleeper for the majority of his life but the jetlag produced by the twenty four hours travelling, coupled with a large night cap the previous evening, had enabled him to manage a comfortable and unusually deep sleep.

Suddenly, disturbed by an unfamiliar noise coming from the hallway downstairs, Jack stood bolt upright like a soldier on parade. He manoeuvred quietly until his back was tight against the bedroom wall, blinking slowly as a thousand thoughts rushed through his head. He waited, squinting his eyes in an attempt to tune his senses past the silence and on to anything more sinister that might signal an intruder’s presence.  He could hear muffled movements as though somebody was climbing the carpeted staircase. His relaxed mood of a few minutes previous instantly gave way as the mind-set of The Phoenix
instinctively
took over.  Staring across at the dresser where his nearest weapon of choice would be, he realised he would not have time to reach out without alarming the intruder to his own whereabouts.

He attempted to search beyond the room through the crack of the door but could not manage a clear view of the staircase. With nothing to hand and still only half dressed he silently began removing his thin leather belt strap.

His mind was racing. His only option was to use the leather belt as a weapon to buy him some time so he could make it over to the dresser and retrieve the hand gun. As his mind calculated the possibilities of what might happen next, the door swung open and without a moments delay he lunged forward.

With a belt end wrapped around each hand he took the intruder from behind and pulled the ends tight around their neck. There was a crash as a tray fell to the ground, pieces of china bounced silently off the carpet then collided together loudly before coming to rest, spraying brown liquid across the light coloured carpet. Jack and his intruder now bonded together by the leather strap, both struggling they fell to the ground in a blink of the eye, the intruder letting out a high pitched moan as they cushioned Jack’s landing.  Jack clearly held the upper hand, his body pressing firmly on top of theirs as the belt strap tightened around their neck. Jack took his first chance to see the face of the intruder and then immediately loosened his grip on the belt.  Startled, he lifted his head, his body still embraced against theirs.

“Lee… What the hell are you doing here?” His tone one of frustration and remorse. He looked down at her terrified face and hesitated momentarily, though her eyes were reddened and full of tears, the years had not diminished her beauty.

“I miss you…” she whispered. He released the belt slightly from her neck and gently brushed his hand over her hair.
I loved you once, I thought of marrying you once,
He thought. She took a deep breath and felt relieved that she was in the hands of her once client and lover and she felt safe.

“Why Lee? Why the hell are you here?” Her eyes were apologetic but inviting at the same time. She thought this nightmare would turn into an evening of passion like the many they had shared so often in the past. Her sweets lips aroused and ready but all he could hear and focus on were the parting words of the Don, his father in law. The words echoed inside his head.
You will appear like a ghost and slip away like you were never there. There must be no witnesses my son.

He wanted her so much but knew the correct thing to do was obey the orders.

“Lee, you should have learned never to visit people without an invitation.” The sweetness in her eyes was replaced by a tear.

He continued, “I’m so sorry.”

Without further hesitation
The Phoenix resumed his grip on the belt.

A solitary tear escaped from the corner of his eye. Falling silently it landed on the cheek of his intruder and past lover. Two tears, his and hers, joined as if in one last symbolic embrace. As the final gasps of breath fought their way from her body, Jack Shaw lowered his face down to hers and kissed her goodbye.

Harvey Walters had been sitting with his mother in the plush London offices for over half an hour. On their arrival
, they had walked up to the reception from street level and been asked to sit in the waiting area.

The plush reception area bore more resemblance to that of a hotel rather than a lawyer’s office; with its large Chesterfield sofas surrounding solid wood coffee tables. Portraits of partners past and present adorned the walls.

Before announcing their arrival to the main offices, the receptionist served them with fresh filtered coffee. The reception itself appeared all but empty other than for the receptionist’s tip tapping on a keyboard signifying she had returned to her work station behind the tall reception counter.

“This is ridiculous,” whispered Harvey to his mother some twenty minutes into their wait, not wanting the receptionist to overhear his comment.

Jessica looked across at him over the rim of her reading glasses and smiled. She had her head buried in a ‘Country Life’
that had been left on the table amongst a precisely fanned selection of magazines, magazines deemed good enough for
Houghton and Harrow
clientele.

Jessica felt rather privileged to have the latest issue in her hands rather than the usual old donated copy that she had been used to at her doctor and dentist’s receptions. She was perfectly comfortable and in no hurry to move. Given the surroundings and the polite staff of the office, she might have stayed the entire morning. Her ease would have pleased the office designers immensely. They had worked their designs revision after revision only one year previously before arriving at one that would deliver an atmosphere suitable for the law firm’s employees and clientele. Harvey clearly did not feel the same sense of ease, but had other things on his mind.

He got up and began pacing. An oil painting caught his eye and he decided to examine it closer. Standing before the portrait, he looked up at the pompous individual who appeared from every angle to be glaring back at him.

Unnerved by the clever artistry, he began observing some of the other portraits of other individuals of similar pomp and attire.  From one end of the wall he made his way down the entire row of portraiture until he was back at the entrance doors and underneath Mr Francis Houghton, co-founder of the Houghton and Harrow partnership.

Pausing below each portrait, Harvey had seen the same illusion embedded within the eyes of the subjects. The artist had immortalised these figures perfectly. He wondered if the employees found it unnerving having the ghosts of past employers watching each time they walked the length of the corridor or left their desks for a break. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

Reading the plaques outlining the internally acclaimed importance of each individual, Harvey realised he was outside of his comfort zone.  These individuals lived in a world alien to Harvey’s normal life. He noted the lack of women among the paintings, a sure sign of the historical female discrimination during the early days of the law firm’s existence. Harvey wasn’t aware that he was thinking out loud and as he had stood under each portrait had labelled each individual with a comical yet deliberately demeaning name. Jessica, now fully engrossed in her magazine, was not paying attention to his remarks although the odd giggle from behind the reception counter suggested that his thoughts weren’t being wasted.

A door opened down the narrow carpeted corridor beyond the reception counter and Harvey’s attention became diverted. The figure of a heavy set man, documents buried under his arm, appeared briefly but made his way in the opposite direction to what Harvey guessed might have been the partnership’s board room. Before his direction had become clear, Harvey had forced a smile, looking after him hopefully but, this was not Mr Jones, who was in a different office attempting unsuccessfully to track down the third party invited to the meeting that had been arranged for that morning.

Harvey looked across to his mother and shrugged. His impatient streak had been observed early on in life and the years had not mellowed him. But under the circumstances, Jessica decided that she would forego any further reading and intervene on her son’s behalf. She put her reading glasses back in their case and then called across to the receptionist. 

“Excuse me,” The noise of the typing ceased and a small blonde head appeared over the top of the reception counter.

“Can I help you, madam?” asked the young lady casting her beaming smile across in Harvey’s direction.

“Yes. Could you please ask Mr Jones if indeed we are going to have our meeting as it is getting rather late?” she said in a soft voice with a touch of sarcasm.

The young receptionist, unable to interpret the note of sarcasm, simply beamed a manufactured smile back to Jessica and replied,

“Of course,” before scurrying off down the corridor to the main offices.

“Do you think he has changed his mind?” Harvey asked his mother.

“Well, maybe his trip was cancelled or something.  Don’t worry, I am sure we will be informed shortly. After all, you don’t go to the trouble of organising a meeting at an office like this and then not show up, do you?”

Harvey looked around at his surroundings and, shrugging his shoulders once more, chose to sit back down. His backside hardly made contact with the sofa before the receptionist reappeared.

“Mr Jones will see you both now,” she said.  “If you would like to follow me please.” She smiled, turned and started down the corridor.  Both Jessica and Harvey rose and straightened their clothing before following on behind the girl who led them to Mr Jones’ office. She then returned to her own duties in reception.

On Harvey’s return from the US, Jessica had plucked up the courage to explain to him about his past. He was shocked to hear that his father hadn’t been at all as portrayed in his earlier years, but rather a man of money, a city slicker involved in many of London’s major mergers and acquisitions. Christian had made a good name for himself among colleagues for his tireless efforts in meeting the tight deadlines of highly complex deals and, unlike most of them, he had spent many a long evening working late in the office while his wife remained at home with their only son Jack.

Christian and Helen Shaw had chosen not to reside within the city, rather opting for the peace of the countryside, and on most days, Christian would commute back home to be with his wife.  In time, his successes at work afforded him the luxury of owning a modest apartment in Knightsbridge and as the years drew on he would spend more evenings there, rather than making the tiring commute back to his wife.

It was on one such fateful evening that Jessica had met Harvey’s father. She had made plans to be out for dinner with friends after which they planned to go on to the cinema. They had all lost track of time and, due to their effortless nattering, would have struggled to make the film at all if Jessica had not selflessly urged them to go on ahead and get their seats while she waited at the restaurant to pay the bill. She had fully intended to catch up with them at the cinema afterwards.

Waiting at the bar, she had begun regretting her selfless decision and as she wrestled her way through her fashionably large handbag to recover her purse, she began mumbling loudly about how late she was. A rather tall gentleman, who was impatiently waiting to order himself a drink, stood helplessly watching. He painstakingly witnessed her anxiety grow more intense as she struggled to achieve anything more than to stir the contents of the bag in circles like a naïve chef hoping to save time in a cooking process by the sole act of stirring raw ingredients quickly. Looking on, the gentleman waited until he could no longer bear to witness her agony and in an act of desperation to expedite the pouring of his own potion, feeling justified in his own mind as being for her own well-being, he decided; boldly, bravely and, onlookers may have suggested stupidly, to fatefully intervene.

She had been totally preoccupied with her search and was startled by the clutch of a man’s hands on her bag. Her initial reaction was to pull the bag away but the man had a steady grip and she looked up at him, her anxiety briefly turning to fear.

“How dare you?” she said looking up into his gaze and without thinking slapped him across the cheek. He paused but appeared undeterred even as the stinging sensation set in across his face. With each still holding one side of the bag, their eyes locked together and something unusual occurred. With both unsure of the intentions of the other, there appeared for several seconds to be a Mexican stand-off, neither flinching, both actually wanting to achieve the same goal.

Jessica felt an unjustified moment of regret. Confused and ashamed for lashing out, but with her bag still partly held by this stranger, she sized him up.

This is not the gaze of somebody about to do harm,
she thought.  The man’s actions were clearly out of the ordinary and unbecoming for a gentleman. Yet he was suited like a prince. He retained a warm smile regardless of the punishment his face had just endured. His strangely inviting eyes held her in a trance and, as she stuttered on for a few moments, she unconsciously and unwillingly was lured into releasing her grip on the bag.

“Allow me,” the man said in a soft but commanding tone, his eyes never leaving hers. Before Jessica had managed another word and without even setting eyes on her bag, the gentleman held out the bag in one hand and her purse in the other. Jessica was speechless. “I lose mine all of the time,” he joked, and as Jessica took the purse from him, he immediately put his hand on his face to feel the warmth of his abused cheek. “I think I deserved that. May I buy you a drink?” he further enquired.

Jessica, who hadn’t quite known what to say and had all but forgotten about her previous engagement, felt inexplicably drawn to this intriguing stranger and guilt ridden for lashing out at him. She coyly accepted the invitation, and that, in a nutshell, was all she had explained to Harvey.

One thing had eventually led to another and Jessica became his lover, a wife in all but marriage contract. Her life changed forever and she knowingly bore the taboo of being somebody’s
other
woman from that day forward until the day of the man’s untimely death.

Jessica had explained to Harvey that, this was no casual affair, but a life-long love, handicapped by poor timing and a lack of understanding by those who saw the only acceptable cessation of marriage to be one caused by death. Jessica therefore thought it further ironic that Helen would join Christian in death in the same way he had burdened her in life.

Harvey had not commented at the time, but sensed his mother was relaying her view of the relationship through heavily rose tinted glasses.

The door swung open and the receptionist simply stated,

“Mr and Mrs Walters, sir.” Jessica smiled and added,

“Of differing generations.”
The receptionist looked past Jessica and smiled at Harvey one last time before returning to her reception.

“Please come in and sit down, the both of you.”  He rose from his desk and held out his hand.  “I’m Michael Jones. I trust that Verity took good care of you. Damned sorry about the wait.” There was a pomp within his voice. He was a scruffy but well-dressed man, a man of means yet with little time on his hands or need for the intricacies of personal presentation. His wife would shop for his suits in Savile Row and direct him to the task of attending the fittings having chosen the cloths and styles on his behalf. Worn to please, he rarely straightened his tie or checked that his shirt was neatly tucked away.

The Walters sat opposite him and watched him, with his sleeves pushed up his arms, shuffle through the mass of papers on his desk, as.

Harvey had met such people before and took an instant dislike to the man before him. He was reminded of past court rooms where criminals brought such people to defend them against crimes, which they had obviously committed. A lawyer with a warped sense that he was doing right by offering those in the wrong a fair chance at avoiding punishment for their crimes. He was not a man that would often enter Harvey’s inner circle and Harvey quickly labelled him as nothing more than a
prostitute of law
.

“Well,” began Mr Jones smiling across at the two of them.  “We are here under rather interesting circumstances, but I am afraid my client has been unavoidably detained and won’t be joining us today.”