A crime against me!

A crime against me!

No peace for the wicked

In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it. The guy lying at my feet was Caucasian, about twenty years old, but looked forty, he was dirty and dressed in rags but he had several thousand pounds in his pockets. Several thousand of my pounds. He begged for mercy but got nothing, I was surprised he even knew the word, his entire miserable drug riddled apology for a life he had been in the gutter. Addicted at twelve years old he had fed his habit with every sort of sordid degradation known to man. He had stolen from me and expected mercy? Where was his home planet? I put my gloved hand into his torn jacket pocket and retrieved my cash, well most of it he had only had time to shoot up about ten bags so less that a few hundred had gone. His life ended much as I guess it began, in a cold dark damp back alley that smelt like a rubbish heap. There were no cameras here no prying eyes, no care in any eyes that were about at that time of the night. He was lucky, his pain was over, this mortal life so twisted in values, so desperate yet without a single spark of light or comfort, had ended. He should have been as glad as I was. I walked from the alley back to my car and drove away without putting on the lights, until I was into the main road, now there was not any way to connect me to that alley and the body that lay there.

I went back to the office and let myself in. The cash went to my secret safe and all the doors were closed I sipped a large scotch and lay on the sofa. It was now four in the morning. I slept until woken by noises from neighbouring offices. The set up was of multiple small offices that had been formed inside a large spacious Victorian building just off the “professional” quarter of town. The land lord had saved money when converting to multiple offices by ignoring such things as sound insulation and privacy. We shared a main door, stairs and hall, just as we shared the fire escapes and safety stuff. The space inside each office was limited but it was cheap and not too many questions had been asked to get a place. As long as the rent was paid no one cared if you were actually the person whose name was on your door. I turned on the computer screen and checked for e mails, the usual crop of spam and junk, then one caught my eye, grabbed my attention as hard as a steel vice. The sender was supposed to be dead! My expected income was down because he was dead; I was contracted to keep him alive and so had not been paid when he died. So who was sending from his e mail address? I knew enough about him to know that this address and the location of the sending number were known only to very few people, me and the late Mr Robinson.

The email was simple enough- need a face to face tonight eight at the R&R. do not reply just be there.- it had been sent at six this morning. It was now nine in the morning, I shaved, made a pot of strong coffee and went down to the street corner mini market. A sandwich from the market and my own coffee brought some activity back to my brain. I phoned the mobile number I had for Robinson, unavailable. I drove down town and out into the suburbs to where I had last seen Robinson alive, the house stood silent, I walked round and peered into windows making sure no part of me left prints or DNA smears on anything. No sign of life, empty as a waiting grave.

I went back to my office changed into track suit and checked a/phone and emails. A session in the small run down gym, that I could usually afford, got the energy going. Back in the office and clothed as a typical bank worker I returned to the street, walked a quarter of a mile and use a payphone. I started to ask questions, discrete questions, I had heard Mr Robinson was dead and wanted to send flowers to the funeral, could the undertaker tell me where and when that was to be; that sort of question. I was a distant cousin who could not make it to the burial but wanted to send flowers. I was put on hold then a very sad and apologetic voice came and told me that A Mr Robinson was cremated yesterday, was this the Mr Robinson I was related to? Mr A.R. Robinson I said yes even though I knew Mr Robinson as A.K. I walked back to the office and sat trying to make things add up.

Robinson was the guy who paid me the cash the late and unlamented low life had stolen; I had been looking forward to getting regular supplies of payments from this job, then he wound up dead. I had driven him to the suburb to the house he had rented under an assumed name, I had personally checked all the locks worked and the down stair windows secured properly. Just as I was about to leave him to his sleep, or what ever his conscience allowed him, the low life had appeared on the stair case, coming down from above. He carried a cut down shot gun and was waving it about like a child with a magic wand. Robinson shouted something that I did not catch, the gun went off Robinson went down in a big mess of blood and low life rushed to me in a panic demanded money and shoved the doubled barreled gun under my nose. In that situation I decided that getting things back was going to be less risky that refusal to hand over. Low life got the cash I followed him to the squat he dossed in, too many people around at that time to get my cash back but now I knew where to find him and so two days later we came to the late night alley meet. This was all reasonable enough but how did low life get into Robinson safe house, what happened to Robinson, I was sure he was dead and had cleaned up any traces of my presence and left as quick as I could, yet he wanted to meet me tonight.

I knew that some very serious people wanted Robinson dead but serious and wealthy people hire professional hit men not drugged up wasters, so the low life must have been a random sods law thing, but how did he get into the place? How did Robinson survive, if indeed it was him sending the message?

Later I drove to near the pub, the Relax and Restoration. A pretentious place all chrome and black imitation leather. I did not use the car park with all its CCTV but parked a way down the road in a side street, being careful to pick one that was not a dead end. I walked back to the pub and arrived about seven, I needed to see who was going to turn up and I needed to have a plan of escape just in case it was the serious money guys who did. I got a beer and found a seat behind the door but with a view down the bar. I waited. The place was very slow this early; it was a bar that did not usually come to life until around ten and tonight was no exception. I was on my second beer when a face I knew came through the door, his back was to me but I could see the reflection in the bar mirror. This was Albert, the contact who got me the contract to protect Robinson. He looked around but did not notice me; he then left the bar for a couple on minutes and came back in with two muscle men. They walked down the length of the bar and I slipped out of the door behind them and went back to my car. I drove up nearer the bar but not into the car park. I waited. Waiting is a big part of my job and I was getting used to it. I used field glasses with night sights to watch the door. Around nine Albert and the muscle came out of the door and looked round the car park, they did not see me and got into a black Range Rover with this year plates, I followed as they drove back towards town. There was plenty of traffic and this was the main road so not much chance of them noticing me. They turned off into a small industrial area so I dropped well back, it was easy to keep them in sight even at a distance as no other cars here.

They pulled into a business plot that I recognized. It belonged to Robinson. The gates were open and as I drove past I could not see any sort of watch or guard, the gates stayed open, a trap or were these people so sure no one would come looking? I drove right round the block and came back to a spot about a hundred meters from the gate. I parked and walked along the far side of the road, I had pulled on a woolen hat and affected a slight limp, not much of a disguise but some times the little things are enough. Still no sign of activity or even movement. I crossed back and came slowly to the gate, slipped inside and followed the wall round the side of the building. No challenge, nothing. I had seen the front door that led to a small office but I was looking for a side door, there had to be a fire exit, some sort of second door. I found one and tried the handle very slowly. Locked but only a 4 lever dead lock, I soon had that open with my specialty tool kit and far too many years experience. The door was not alarmed, I knew this was a rented place and Robinson had only intended it to be a stop over for goods being rapidly moved and so I guessed no alarms. The place was dark and silent; I wedged the door so that it looked closed but I could leave with just a quick push. I waited a couple of minutes for my eyes to adjust and then went down the wall this time inside the building. It was empty not even the usual vans ready to move stuff on; I came round to the wooden stairs that led up to the mezzanine floor with a sort of plaster board office built onto it. Just as I got to the stairs I heard movement so I slid into the recess under the stairs. Robinson and two other guys, the muscle I had seen in the R&R, came down. They did not speak but the body language did not suggest Robinson was a captive. What the hell was going on? Robinson moved very easy for a dead guy and I was getting the idea that I was being played for a sucker or patsy but I knew Robinson, he did not play jokes, if I was being suckered it was so he made a profit but I could not see how. The three of them walked across the empty floor and out through the front. I waited no sound, no movement. I went up the stairs looking for Albert, the guy who had come to the meet. I found him tied to a chair and very dead. This time I checked and he was definitely dead. I began to see some possibilities here. If Robinson wanted to be dead himself, he did not want Albert or me, to be around as possible loose ends. He wanted me dead as well. I left the building the way I had come, making sure I left no trace. I waited and walked very slowly beside the wall to the gate. No sign of the bad guys. I walked away from where I had parked the car, made sure I was not being trailed before going back and driving away.

Back in my office there was another e mail from Robinson saying missed me at the R&R but still wanted to meet, need to discuss my future salary for providing security and assistance. I did not reply; I set all my alarms and tricks then went out through the window, this side of the building could not be seen unless some one was in the small lane just below and I made sure that no one was about. I worked my way along the ledge and let myself into the next office through its window. I rented this office as well but under a different company name with no apparent connection to myself. I switched on the monitors and waited. I was dozing on the sofa when the alarm made its self felt. The walls were too thin to risk a sound so my alarms vibrated. I watched my camera monitor as Robinson and one of the muscle guys used the credit card trick to slide back the lock to my office, let them selves in and looked round. They did not search for anything so at first I thought they were just looking for me not something I had. Then I saw Robinson pull a cut down shot gun from a hold all he carries and then he slid the gun behind my one and only filing cabinet. He then took a CD case from the bag and while the muscle tilted back my cabinet he slid the CD case under it into that recess between the bottom of the draw and the floor. The next gift from the bag was a half kilo of smack and this was tapped to the underside of my desk. They left.

I used the windows and ledge to get back into my official office, retrieve the three gifts and return to my unofficial space. I flushed the smack down the toilet and burnt the wrappings, scattering the ashes out of the window. I cleaned the shot gun and dismantled it completely; the parts were to be disposed of very separately. The disc was different; I slipped it into a computer drive and watched. This was more dangerous than any gun or drugs; it was or had been, owned by Oscar Right. Oscar ran the biggest drugs and Sex Empire for twenty miles in any direction, probably even downwards. The disc had all his protection knowledge, what he had on the local police chief, politicians of both parties and the district court judge. So the questions were how had Robinson got these and why give them to me in a way that means I did not know I had had a present? I left my unofficial office and went out of the building through a small back door. I went round the district to various skips and dumps leaving small parts of the gun off in each place, all ways being care full not to leave either number plates or my face exposed to any cameras, this all took quite a while but patience and freedom go together in my work. The disc and its case I cleaned up taking out any prints and DNA I then posted this through the door of the local paper. The editor and the boss were both absent from the disc itself.

By the time I got back to my office it was getting light. The place was crawling with police, at least four cars and two crime scene support vans were in front of the building and a couple more were round in the car park. I watched from across the road. Given what was on the disc about local coppers I could not rely on their honesty in finding nothing in my place, but I could rely on them wanting to find the disc and so wanting to talk to me in private. I could also rely on the local paper calling for a change in senior managers in the police within a couple of days.

I went to a down town cafe dive and found a table, eat breakfast and pretended to read a paper; I listened to conversations all around me. Oscar was dead, killed by a blast from a cut down shot gun, so no surprise there! Seems the police had been tipped off but no one seemed sure who gave the tip or who was getting their collar felt. I did and this meant it was time I had words with Robinson. At this time of the day, it was now nine thirty, he should be arriving to count his ill gotten gains at the club he owned. I let myself in through the back door of the bar and very cautiously went up to his private office. I was expecting muscle but none about. Later I realized he was so sure that I was in the local nick that he assumed all was safe. The look on his face when I walked in would be worth a ticket price any day. Before he could move I jumped over his desk and flattened him to the floor, ripped out his land line phone cord and tied him with it. He did not need much encouragement to talk; his shock and his knowing me were enough. He wanted to cut me in on a deal that saw him take over Oscar’s empire and add it to his own. If this had been the first line in this little story I would have been tempted but coming as a get out of Jail card, no way. Albert had worked for both Robinson and Oscar and was killed as a warning to others employed by Oscar. The death of Robinson had been staged, the low life hired to hide up stairs then come down when he heard voices he was given the shot gun and told I would have lots cash to steal, he was to take the money and scram. He was not told that the gun had an especially adapted very light trigger, not that it was loaded with blanks, cartridges that made a lot of noise and smoke but did not fire shot. Robinson had been wearing a special effects vest that spewed blood and gore. The low life had panicked taken my cash and run all as per plan but he had been expected to get smashed and confess to the killing, my ending his talkativeness had messed up the plan and they had to resort to a second idea. Kill Oscar and plant it on me. The disc coming to the paper would get the cops off my case but I would still have to deal with Oscars descendants, who had been told I did the shooting. My very little but very clear recording of Robinson telling me all he could, should clear me with them; which only left Robinson to deal with. The recording would clear me of Oscar’s demise but, in the wrong coppers hands, could make them feel that Robinson disappearing would be appealing to me. It was much too appealing but that is a story for another day.