Chapter Eighteen

Savage waited outside the Hilton on Canary Wharf until they'd checked in. He sat there too long, listening to his breathing. The hairs on his arms began to prickle. He felt eyes on him from the back seat. A dark shape in the mirror moved.

Fear flashed morgue cold through his arteries. Cold sweat on his skin. A familiar desert scent entered his nostrils, night time humidity and gun-fire. Lethal and addictive.

His right hand found a pen in his inside pocket and closed over it.

How had he not seen someone in the back seat? That lame action only worked in movies.

One of the gangster's men? The surveillance crew? .

Was he losing his touch?

He span, the pen at face height, ready to stab. But the seats were empty.

He patted them down just to make sure. Blinked. The smell lingered.

He sat back down and saw the indistinct shape in the mirror once more.

'I'm sorry,' he said with eyes shut.

Shadows don't talk back.

'I'm sorry,' he said again. He'd started taking those beta-blockers because they slowed your heart rate, made you calm. Prevented anxiety turning to habit.

Know you're going into a situation where you might die, kill, or watch your friends suffer? Take two before bad things happen, or in the six hours afterwards, and feel no long term after effects.

No lingering doubts, no moral dilemmas. An emotionless robot. A carnage creator.

Were these haunted days payback for all those easy rides?

Life or death situations that didn’t scar. Just bloody backgrounds to operational needs.

Objective first. Always. Your feelings, their feelings, didn't matter. Bad jobs, good jobs, all the same. Things you would never have done, you now do. Shoot, stab, steal, spy for employers you know cheat and lie. War without trenches. Business by bloody means.

He tried to find the shadow in the mirror, he wanted a fight, but there was nothing there.

He pulled out his phone, hit speed dial three. The silence lasted awhile then the phone started to ring at the other end. Long distance connects always took time.

'This better be good. Know what time it is?'

'Yeah, Andre, and I know you never sleep. How the hell are you?'

'Bitch, I'm sat on my ass, wasting time.’

‘Enjoy it while it lasts.’

‘Yeah right, do you know how much pornography there is on this base? It could drive a man to religion. Six weeks of this they told me. I said, “bullshit to that mother fucker, I'll be back out and working in ten days,” but fat chance. They got me in a medical corset twiddling my thumbs.'

'So take a holiday. Go home.'

'Sheeeit!' he said. A drawl that said it all.

'Nuff said.'

Silence.

'Why you really calling at this dumb hour John?'

'I'm not sure what I'm doing here. Fuck. That sounds pussified when I say it out loud.'

'I heard you nearly took Viktor's head off.'

'That's one reason,' Savage heard Andre's teasing chuckle. 'C'mon. He was trying to fuck a woman's decapitated head.'

'Guy's a jizz-muncher,' Andre said. 'No excuses needed. You’ve seen worse though.'

'I know.'

'So why that?'

'It was disrespectful.'

'Excuse me while I lift up my thick lizard hide and say, so what?'

'She had something on her,' Savage said. 'I didn't get a chance to talk it out with you.'

'What?'

'A reference back to the company. A video of a death squad story she was working on. Then someone sent me an email with a reference to Michael.'

'Who?'

'The sorry ass reason I left. The guy who died, the reference, it was the last words he said to anyone. To me. On a private phone call.'

'Okay, I see it now. You wanted to find out what made you Mr Deep and Meaningful. Am I right?'

'Yeah.'

'What made a douche bag on easy street a killer right?'

'Yeah, yeah.'

'Still taking the pills?'

'Yeah, they’re not working so well.'

'Figures. Listen John, you never were a psycho killer. You always had too big a conscience. And we always have to hurt people in our line of work.'

'Yeah, but—'

'Yeah, but nothing, that's just the way it is. You got to have a strong moral code, otherwise how in hell you going to live with yourself after you've pulled the trigger? There's also more to you than that my friend. I mean what is it you do? What's your core skill?'

'I'm an investigator.'

'Damn right. So what are you investigating now?'

'The death of Jessica Price. And who was trying to lure me back with emails.'

'Okay good, then stay on it.'

'I found out about the emails already. A family needed help. But, hey, how the hell did she know about my last chat with Michael?

'I don't even know what you're talking about.'

'Andre?'

'Yeah.'

'That girl.'

'That was bad. No choice though. You saved both our lives.'

'I know.'

'You only shot her hand John. A one in a million shot.’

‘Honour kills are rife round there. What chance does she have with one hand?’

‘Now you’re fortune telling. She'll live. You got lucky and so did she.'

'I killed her brother, Andre.'

'Remember John-boy, we sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.'

'That sounds almost intellectual.'

'Got me. Dude named Orwell.'

'So we're the rough men at the ready?'

'Something like that.'

'Protecting all the bleeding heart liberals and the whining conservatives as they sleep? That's grand.'

'Well, they need their cappuccinos, 4x4s, and wide screen TVs John.'

'Now I know that's what I'm fighting for, I feel so much better.'

'Her brother would have killed you and so would she. Don't ever forget that.'

Silence. Savage nodded at the end of the line.

'So,' Andre said. 'You got this Jessica Price thing. Any danger you'll drop it and get your ass on a plane? I need someone to turn the pages while I wax my Johnson.'

'Nothing I'd rather do, but it's more complicated than that.'

'Yeah? Well, I don't want to know how.

'Fine, go back to your naked ladies. Try moving pictures dumb ass. It's hands free.'

'Hot dog!'

'Now there's an image,' Savage said. 'Hey, if I send you a file will you do something for me?'

'Well that all depends what you're asking now, doesn't it?''