Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin (8 page)

Then the lights went green, I twisted the throttle, the bike swerved violently round Old Street with me screaming
“Shiiiiiitttttt!”
and Becky laughing wildly, clinging onto me.

And she was mine.

Monday morning, and again I was on my way to see Barry at the office. This wasn’t a tradition, but I thought I might turn it into one. Quite liked the idea of delivering a regular report back at base. Agent Rowley, reporting for duty!

As I walked up to Assassin Towers, I tried calling Darren. Where’d he got to? He seemed to have vanished that whole weekend, didn’t return any of my calls or texts. It kind of unsettled me a bit, not being able to contact Darren. He was always there when I needed to let off steam or go have some fun. Hanging out with him reminded me of when we were kids on the estate, a couple of chancers trying to be streetwise… he still talked the same way we used to.
“Stay lucky, mate!”
Oh well. Probably busy shagging some new girl or two. Don’t know where that lad gets his energy.

I opened the door to the office, hearing voices that suddenly stopped. Barry and Larry stared at me like I’d walked in wearing nothing but women’s underwear.

“Morning, chaps,” I said brightly. Barry grunted as if to say
S’pose it is morning, since you mention it
.

Larry said nothing. Just a dead look.

As I mentioned before, Larry Jones was Barry’s old boss. A thin, greying man in his fifties with thick-rimmed spectacles. The sort of person who’s as good as invisible in a crowd – you’d walk right past and barely register him.

He was also one of the directors of the most successful detective and security firms in the country. Thanks to him, Global Investigations UK Ltd had gone from looking for missing cats and spying on husbands to investigating government fraud and God knows what else, always using the latest technology. I love all that spy gadget stuff. Some of it was eye-popping. Not that they had special Eyeball Poppers, I mean that it was amazing. The sort of thing you wouldn’t believe if you saw it in a movie. You’d say
“Cameras inside cufflinks? You’re yanking my chain.”
But I’ve used them myself. And the rest. Larry’s lot were cutting edge.

They were also responsible for giving me half of my work. Without Larry, I reckon Infidelity Ltd would have folded ages ago. So I added “Nice to see you again, Larry. Things going well?”

“Yes.” Voice like dry leaves.

We all looked at each other for a bit.

“Right, well then.” Barry got up from his chair. “Talk about the rest another time?”

“Yes,” said Larry.

I stood aside, grinning in what I hoped was a friendly manner, as Barry escorted Larry out of the office. Larry didn’t say goodbye, or even look at me as he walked out, softly closing the door behind him.

“Barry, these parties of yours are getting wilder all the time! You wanna slow down a bit at your age – ”

“What do you want, Scott?”

I blinked. “I don’t want anything. Just thought you might like to know how things are going.”

“With what?”

“The Hargreaves case?”

Barry relaxed his frown. “Oh. Oh yeah. You done the business?”

My plan had been to give Barry a detailed account of my work last week, paying particular attention to the motorbike pick-up. I wanted to show off, I suppose. We all like to blow our own trumpet a bit, right? And there were only two people I could talk to about my job, which was another reason why Darren being incommunicado kind of niggled me. But I stopped myself. Barry clearly wasn’t in the mood.

“It’s going well. So what’s happening with you?”

“Oh, usual, usual.”

“We don’t see Larry very often. Is this something to do with that big case you mentioned?”

Barry nodded. “He wanted to discuss it in person. Didn’t want to send me the info the usual way, by encrypted email.”

“So have we got the case?”

“Not yet. Still in the works, Larry still hasn’t finalised it from his end. And no,” he stopped me with a hand, “I can’t tell you anything more about it. Not until it’s a done deal. Be another week or so at least.”

The hand became a pointing finger. “I want you to have a clear caseload by then, Scott. Get Hargreaves done and dusted by Friday. Don’t waste too much time on these small fry, all right? I want us to have cleared the decks so we can focus on this big one if Larry manages to send it our way.”

“Gotcha. Just one quick question about Hargreaves, though.”

“What?”

“Well, I can’t really see why the client would want to use us, to be honest. I mean, there’s no big money at stake or anything. The target’s pretty ordinary… works as a receptionist, you know, just your average girl really. I was wondering why he wanted to set her up like this, rather than just dumping her. They’re not even married yet, so nothing’s stopping him calling it off.”

“Who’s this?”

“The client. Sajjan Lakhani. Her fiancé.”

Barry spun in his chair, almost falling off, and pulled up the mission brief on his computer. “Well, there’s nothing in the case notes that says he’s the client. So it could be for any reason, really.”

My stomach dropped, like I was in a lift. “So who is the client?”

“Um… well, it doesn’t say.”

The lift plummeted to the basement. “What do you mean it doesn’t say! Jesus, Barry, we don’t know who the client is? We don’t know who I’m working for?”

Rule Two: Never work for a third party.

Barry shrugged. “Probably this Sajjan bloke, but the case notes don’t specify. Look, does it matter? As long – ”

“It does bloody matter!” I yelled. “You know how it works, I don’t interfere with couples unless it’s one of them who wants me to!”

“For crying out loud, Scott, get a hold of yourself! Christ, does it really matter two shits who’s paying for it? I know you like to keep it in the family and all that, but as long as we get the job done and get paid, so what? Not my fault Londonwide Associates never passed those details on, is it?”

Londonwide Associates was one of the more modest detective agencies that Barry knew. A lot of agencies have names like that – something generic, that doesn’t raise eyebrows if the other half spots it on a bank statement. Normally they were fine, not as good to us as Global Investigations, but they sent work our way from time to time. Now I wondered: had they ever bothered to specify the client on their cases, or had I always assumed it was the boyfriend, fiancé, husband? Was I getting that sloppy?

Had Barry stitched me up like this before?

“Look, call Londonwide Associates and ask for – ”

“I’m not doing that,” he snapped. “I don’t have a direct contact there and I don’t have time to waste on a pissy little case like Hargreaves.”

“I don’t like this, Barry.”

“Don’t worry about it, not the end of the frigging world, is it? Just do the business and get out. Now bugger off. I got work to do. Oh, and I’m gonna be out of touch for a bit.”

“Where you off to?”

“Got my niece coming over. My sister’s kid. She’s in London for a few days. I thought I’d let her earn a bit of cash, tidy the office up a bit, record us some answerphone messages, stuff like that.”

I tried to lighten the mood a little. “Nice idea. Infidelity Ltd is expanding, then!”

“Yeah,” he said to the window.

“Right, well… I’ll get going.”

“Mmm.”

Bad taste in my mouth as I left the office. One of my Rules, broken. There were good reasons for them being there, that one particularly.

I could still remember the Old Days. Being used like a sniper rifle by a complete stranger, to take out a happy couple. They never had any idea, never saw me coming. It was someone else’s idea to break them up, someone who didn’t have the right to make that decision for them. I swore I’d never do that again, and now here I was. Doing it.

Chill out, I told myself, it’ll be all right. I’m sure Becky’s other half is paying for this. He just doesn’t want to do the dirty job himself. Wants to be on the moral high ground when she’s caught cheating. Suppose it would look bad if he dumped her after buying the engagement ring and all that. Don’t you worry, Mr Lakhani, I’ll set up your bride-to-be for you. You’ll get your money’s worth.

Becky’ll be okay, I thought. She’ll bounce back. Girl like her could have anyone. Barry’s right. Just do the business.

Barry was stressed, which I could sort of understand. Dealing with Larry must always remind him of his old job, and of the pig’s ear he made of his career in the detective industry. Being my agent was clearly the consolation prize for Barry. I had to remind myself sometimes that I was lucky to have him.

I didn’t go bounding downstairs the same way I had only a week before. I trudged down like I was unbalanced, not sure of my footing. Everything felt out of kilter.

Then I saw the girl coming up towards me.

She was bright and beautiful – those were the first impressions. Shiny blonde hair, very simple and classic, down to her shoulders. A white blouse, unbuttoned halfway down with the ends tied off above her navel, exposing a gym-flat stomach. Denim jacket. Light blue stonewashed jeans. White trainers. The girl gave off her own light.

She looked up the stairs, smiled.

She was
gorgeous
.

I tilted aside to let her go by. She kept looking at me as she walked past, with surprisingly dark eyes. She was a few years younger than me, early twenties, and… I could actually feel my own heartbeat, all of a sudden. An instant reaction. (And although it didn’t cross my mind till later, I knew that most girls would despise someone like her on sight, just as instantly.)

“Hey handsome,” she said.

You know what I said to that? You know what razor-sharp riposte my lightning brain fired back?

“Uh.”

Unbelievable. After everything I’d done, after all the women I’d been with and all the experience I’d gained over the years, I just went blank! All I could do was turn and watch her walk up the stairs – watch that awesome backside move in those tight jeans.

She glanced back, saw my face and laughed. Not a girlish giggle but a full-throated laugh. And then I stood there and listened to her walk up to the second floor.

Holy shit. Was that Barry’s
niece?

I couldn’t believe it. How could a girl like that be related to Barry O’Nion? She was stunning! Barry was… well, he was just Barry. Stocky, ham-fisted, bullet-headed Barry. How could he be the uncle of an absolute knockout like that?

For a full minute, I stood there on the stairs, wrestling with the idea of going back up to the office. Introducing myself. Talking to her. Getting to know her. Barry said she was only in town for a few days. How could I let her get away? I had to do something…

And then I stopped myself. Remembered who I was. Barry was my agent. He was work. How could I get involved with a member of his family, even if only for a short time?

Plus, I was in the middle of a job. I had things to do. I couldn’t go spending time and energy romancing some girl for real when I was supposed to be putting all my efforts into the Hargreaves case.

So I walked out of the building and wandered through the nuclear-wasteland streets, not really seeing them. All the way home, there was only one image lingering in front of my eyes, like when the blazing sun leaves its imprint on your retinas.

The girl on the stairs.

I felt ten times more unbalanced than before. Stomach doing funny things. There was a weird feeling of nostalgia, and it took me a while to place it. Nostalgic for a time when my head would be turned. That I’d feel like going after a girl because I genuinely wanted her. Because I really, really fancied her. Not because I was getting paid.

I felt like crap for the rest of the day. Moped about my flat. Hammered away at my pinball machine and failed to get anywhere near my high score. Just couldn’t make the flippers work the way I wanted them to.

Funny. Only recently I’d been asking myself what my type was, not really able to pin it down. In fact, I didn’t have a clue.

Maybe she’d just walked by.

Friday evening, just after eight, and Soho was starting to kick off. People, traffic, noise. It wouldn’t be really busy till about ten, but the restaurants and bars were filling up nicely. Not the best time or place to be standing all by yourself like a lemon, wouldn’t you agree, Ms Hargreaves?

Becky looked great in a little black number, nothing too exotic but perfect for a night out in town. Long auburn hair curling down onto her shoulders. Bit of jewellery. Expensive leather handbag. She was even wearing heels. But she was clearly alone. Stood up.

I can well imagine what Becky must have been calling me. I could see the scowl on her face right from the top of the road, where I spied on her for a good five minutes until I decided to put her out of her misery.

This time, as I came roaring towards her on the motorbike, she saw me coming. She just couldn’t believe it.

“Evening!” I called out.

She looked me up and down: black leather trousers and jacket, motorcycle helmet, the Honda grumbling beneath me, pumping out fumes. Folded her arms. “See you’ve made an effort.”

I pulled the helmet off. “I always dress for the occasion.”

The restaurant doorman was scowling at me, arms by his side, body language for
If you think you’re coming in here looking like that…
There were half a dozen other punters at the door, all gaping at me and the growling bike.

I love an audience. In case you hadn’t already picked up on that.

So I had great fun yanking off my jacket to reveal a white Jermyn Street shirt with matching tie and cufflinks, stepping out of the leathers to reveal black trousers, and pulling a suit jacket out of the bike’s storage box. The small crowd laughed and applauded as I transformed in ten seconds flat from biker to gentleman. Even the doorman smirked, relaxing.