Wrecking Crew

FIVE

As he drove along the A12 towards Wethersfield, Stone had difficulty concentrating. His mind relentlessly returned to meeting Linda Smart. He remembered her soft blonde hair, her exquisite face, her captivating green eyes, and of course her athletically exciting figure. He remembered how she had smiled sweetly and thanked him when he politely opened the door of her car, and the way she had blown him a goodbye kiss as she drove out of his life. Eric was a healthy heterosexual guy, who enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman as much as the next guy. In the last few years, Charles Rathbone had introduced Eric to several women who were both physically and intellectually desirable. Somehow, none had sparked an interest even close to what he had felt when he had met Linda Smart.

In retrospect, he had concluded that his emotions may have been clouded by an excess of adrenalin, but at the same time, he was sure that Linda Smart had felt something as well — he had seen it in her eyes. Something primal had happened between them. He had seen a reaction in her; there was some shock and some surprise. Something unexpected about meeting Eric Stone had made her heart beat faster. For a moment, they had shared a connection — and now she was gone.

“Oh well — perhaps in another life,” he mumbled to himself. He reached over and gently stroked the kitten that was curled up asleep on the passenger seat.

There was a steady fall drizzle, which had combined with the rush hour traffic and several miles of traffic cones, to slow his progress to something slightly faster than a brisk walking pace. Consequently, it was almost 7pm and completely dark when he pulled up behind Ed Carter’s black BMW.

“Sorry — got held up,” Stone apologized as he climbed into the car.

“Not a problem,” Ed said with a wave of his hand. “I figured you would be a while. It gave me enough time to check out this guy’s apartment.”

“Anything interesting?”

Carter held up a finger to capture Stone’s full attention.

“Before we go any further, there is something I want to discuss — something that needs to be said.”

“Sounds ominous,” Stone replied glumly. “Go on.”

Carter turned in his seat to face Stone so he could look directly into his eyes.

“Eric, I know you can handle yourself and I know that you have taken a life in the past. I wouldn’t be alive today if you hadn’t. However, that was in self-defense, a situation that was thrust upon you. We went to deliver that ransom and walked into a cluster-fuck, and if it wasn’t for you, several innocent people could have died. The thing is… that was OK because it just happened. We were victims, and that’s what made it OK.”

Stone’s mind flashed back to his earlier altercation in the parking lot.

“I know what you mean, Ed. Even so, I still have bad dreams about that night.”

“Me too,” Carter said somberly. “Anyway, the thing is, this is different. When you get out of this car, we are deliberately going to initiate a chain of events that will probably end with some people dying. This is not something to be undertaken lightly, or without careful thought. If we do this together, you have to understand — and I mean fully understand, what this will mean for you.”

“I think I do Ed, these are bad people, they have to be stopped and we’re going to do it — it’s that simple.” Stone gave a nod to punctuate his point.

“Oh, I get that you’re committed to doing this, but before we begin I just want you to consider something else. If you choose to cross this line, to go over to the ‘Dark Side’ — you may think that it is OK, because you crossed the line for a good reason, and in a worthy cause. Nevertheless, there is a risk. Mentally and emotionally, there’s a risk that you may not be able to come back over that line at all. Every time that you cross to the dark side, the crossing becomes easier, and yet it becomes harder to return. Eventually, you will discover that you have left a little part of yourself behind in the darkness.”

Stone remained silent. After a moment Carter continued.

“We tell ourselves that it is OK — because we do this for a good reason — but for anyone with the slightest shred of humanity, something inside will have changed.”

Carter gripped Eric’s forearm so firmly it was almost painful.

“Eric, you are a good man with a kind heart, probably one of the most decent people I know, but you don’t have to do this. Charles said it would be ok to walk away. He gave you an out, a get-out-of-jail-free card. I’m truly sorry that he’s dead, but whatever we do, he won’t be coming back.”

Carter’s voice became more urgent as he approached the climax of his speech.

“Look at me, Eric. Right here, right now, it is time to decide. If we get out of this car and go after Darren Jeffers, then we will have started something that we will have to see through to the end. We will begin something, which will guarantee you have to cross that line again.”

Carter turned to face the front, and sat silently waiting for a response. Eric rubbed his forearm thoughtfully. After a full three minutes of silence, he spoke quietly but firmly.

“Thank you, Ed. It was good of you to think of me in that way, but this is something that I have to do — with, or without you. Now, tell me what you’ve learned about Darren Jeffers.”

“Right.” Carter drew the word out as if he were creating enough time to gather his thoughts. He pulled a notebook from his inside pocket and began to read his notes.

“Darren Jeffers — I spoke with Megan earlier, she gave me the lowdown. He’s twenty-six, lives alone in a rent subsidized apartment, and has no job. He's been claiming unemployment benefits almost continually since he left school at sixteen. He’s done some odd jobs for cash, cutting grass, cleaning windows and the like, but he has never held down a real job in his life. He has an equally spotty criminal record; possession of cannabis, handling stolen goods, minor assault, driving without insurance, and driving whilst disqualified. For all of that, he’s never served any jail time; just fines and community service.” The ex-cop finished with a typically ironic summary. “In short, he’s a pillar of the local community.”

“Seems like it,” Stone said with equal sarcasm.

“There was also good evidence that he has a gambling habit, but lacks the skill to do anything other than lose money that he hasn’t got. He’s had two recent visits to the hospital, both for the kind of injuries you would expect if you repeatedly missed repayments to a loan shark.”

“He sounds delightful.”

“Well, as you would expect, I have little sympathy for his type. While I was watching his apartment, Jeffers came out — so I took a chance and followed him. He drove to the village bar, drank three pints, met a guy in the parking lot who sold him some drugs, cannabis I think, then he bought French fries and fish and drove back to his apartment. Not a bad night out for a guy with no job, money, or car insurance.”

“And here we are with bottled water and convenience store sandwiches! What’s the plan then?” Stone asked.

“I suggest we drive over there and, if it looks like he is still alone, go in the front door and get in his face fast and hard. We’ll do that ‘Shock and Awe’ thing, just the way you taught me. Quickly get him on the ground and keep him subdued. Then we might have a chance to find out what he knows.”

“Good plan,” Stone said. “You’ll be the nice guy and I’ll do nasty — OK?”

“Agreed,” Carter said finally. “Leave your car here, we can go in mine. Let’s do this!”

Darren Jeffers lived at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. Carter parked his car facing back towards the road, just in case they needed to make a swift exit. It was an second floor apartment with one entrance door at the top of an external concrete staircase. As there was little chance of Jeffers jumping from a window, they went to the door together. They stood in silence for two full minutes listening for any sign of a conversation, but all they could hear was the sounds of a soccer match on the television. Carter pointed to the cheap cylinder lock, nodded to Stone, and then stood to one side.

Stone leaned backwards placing his hands on the concrete banister for additional leverage. He raised his right knee to chest height and drove his full weight forward, slamming the sole of his foot onto the door just alongside the keyhole. The lock shattered easily and the door burst open with a mighty bang. Stone allowed his momentum to carry him forward along the short corridor, closely followed by Ed Carter. Exactly as they had planned, Stone charged directly into the furthest room, while Carter hung back, checking the other rooms off the corridor. They both shouted repeatedly and loudly, ‘GET ON THE FLOOR! — GET ON THE FLOOR!’ A tactic designed to terrify an opponent into immediate submission.

Three seconds after he had kicked the front door, Stone burst into the sitting room that was at the end of the corridor. He found Darren Jeffers already half-crouching on the floor with his hands raised to cover his head, in anticipation of what may follow. Stone screamed, ‘DOWN! DOWN! DOWN!’ as he moved swiftly across the small room. He pushed Jeffers facedown onto the carpet and knelt with his full weight onto the middle of the terrified man’s spine. Finally, he yanked Jeffers’ arms roughly up behind his back and secured them with some heavy-duty electrical cable ties. A couple of seconds later Carter walked calmly into the room and reported that the remainder of the apartment was empty. From start to finish, the capture of Darren Jeffers had taken less than ten seconds.

Carter switched off the television, ripped the phone cable from the socket, sat down on the couch, and silently stared at the terrified man on the floor. After counting to ten in his head, Carter finally spoke.

“Darren Jeffers — you’re in a shit-load of trouble!”

“I’ll pay — I promise I’ll pay, you just need to give me a—”

Stone pulled Jeffers’ arms up behind his back until he squealed in pain and his feet kicked at the floor, then he hissed in his ear.

“SHUDDUP! You don’t speak unless I tell you. Nod if you understand.”

Jeffers nodded weakly, and after a moment, Stone released the pressure on his arms, but only slightly. Carter spoke again in a calm, clear, and overly polite voice.

“It is probably not a good idea to upset my friend here, he can be rather emotional. I don’t want your money, Darren; I want some information. Give me what I want and you can go back to watching your soccer match. Lie to me, and if you’re lucky, you’ll spend the next month in the hospital urinating into a bag. Do you understand?”

Jeffers nodded carefully. Carter sat back and smiled.

“Good boy Darren, I knew we could trust you. Now tell me, why were you following Charles Rathbone?”

Jeffers remained silent until Stone pulled on his arms and whispered into his ear.

“Speak now or I will dislocate your shoulders.”

“OK — OK! It wasn’t my idea, I was told to. I owes this guy money and he told me what to do — OK?”

“I think we deserve more detail Darren, which man? Be specific or my friend will become impatient.”

“Oh man, you don’t understand — he’ll fucking kill me. I can’t tell — I can’t.” Jeffers started to cry.

Carter looked at Stone and pulled a face then he shrugged and gave a short nod. Stone took hold of Darren’s forearm and dug his thumb into the muscle that sits just below the elbow. After finding the pressure point that sits on the nerve, he pressed hard. As if he were being electrocuted, Jeffers instantly started to scream and kick his feet. Stone ignored his desperate struggles and relentlessly continued to grind his thumb down into the nerve for another ten seconds. Jeffers groaned and suddenly vomited a stream of beer and undigested French fries across the floor. Carter looked down at the ashen faced man and spoke without any apparent sympathy.

“That was just a small example of the pain that my friend can cause. Now I will ask you again — who sent you to watch Charles Rathbone?”

Jeffers moaned, coughed, and blew a bubble of snot, before finally he spoke. His voice was a guttural whisper.

“His, his name is Anton Stephens. He takes bets, and loans out money. I owes him large. He made me do it. I had to show his people around and watch the village in case Rathbone showed up. They gave me a cell phone so’s I could call in me reports. That’s all I know, mister — honest to God, that’s all I know.” Jeffers slumped on the floor and started to cry like a baby, he was a broken man.

Stone eased his grip a little and sat back, relaxed but ready to pounce again if needed. Carter carried on with the interrogation.

“Where does this Anton Stephens live? I want to speak with him.”

“I dunno where his gaff is, always he comes to me.”

“How do you contact him, then?”

Jeffers laughed and shook his head.

“You don’t. He and one of his boys do the rounds, like the fish van does, ‘sept his van is a silver Mercedes CLK. They do a different bar every night. Wethersfield is Monday’s. Come back Monday night, he’ll be here.”

“Monday is too long to wait. We need to see him sooner. I don’t suppose you know his registration number?”

“It’s a private plate, something like ‘Ant and Bet’, like those little TV guys, but I don’t know exact like.”

“That’s OK Darren, I believe you,” Carter said softly. “What about the cell phone that they gave you? Where is it?”

“They took it back, told me they would give it me again if there was any more work.”

“Tell me about the people you worked with — what were their names?”

“They didn’t use names.” Jeffers shook his head slightly. “They all had code words, like ‘Alpha’ and ‘Zebra’ — I thought it was silly.”

Carter’s mouth tightened.

“Describe them — what did they look like?”

“I really only met this one guy, I showed him around and he told me what to do. He was like their team leader. I know there wus others but I never met ‘em.”

“What did he look like?”

“Old feller; skinny and tall. He had one of ‘em little beards — you know, on the end of his chin. He wus nice for a posh guy — bit of a toff like. I reckon he wus a famous actor, but I didn’t know his face.”

“What made you think he was an actor?” Stone asked.

“Sometimes he would say words from shows, like famous words — what’s it called?”

“You mean quotes?” Carter asked.

“Yes, quotes like — but posh ones — like from a long time ago. He’d say it, and then say ‘Shakespeare’ or summit like it.”

“Anything else?”

Jeffers shook his head firmly.

“Honest — that’s all I know.”

Carter looked at Stone.

“I think we are done here. Anything you want to ask?”

Stone shook his head then leaned forward to whisper into Darren’s ear.

“Listen very carefully. We’re going to leave now and you’re going to clean up this mess and get on with your sorry excuse for a life. If you’re lucky, you will never see Anton Stephens again, and if you’re really lucky, you’ll never see us again either. However, if I find out that Stephen’s knows we are coming, then we will be back — and you will not enjoy our next visit half as much. So keep your mouth shut! Nod if you understand.”

Jeffers nodded so hard that Stone was worried he would dislocate his neck. Then, almost as swiftly as they had entered, the two men left. Five minutes later, they were parked behind Stones car. Carter broke the silence first.

“Not what I hoped for, but at least we have a solid lead.”

“It seems like Charles’ files were pretty accurate,” Stone said. “This Wrecking Crew works in cells, maintaining separation and making sure that they cannot be traced back to the top. It’s going to be difficult to find these people, unless someone makes a mistake.”

“Well I prefer to remain positive,” Carter said defiantly. “When I was a cop, we had a saying, ‘they have to be lucky all of the time, we only have to get lucky once!’.”

“Hooray to that!” Stone agreed. “Look, it’s been a long day, I think we should both get home and rest up.”

“Agreed,” Carter said sleepily.

“One thing before you go, Ed. I rescued a stray kitten earlier. It’s in my car. I wanted it to go to a good home. Do you think Megan would take it on?”

Ed laughed aloud as the tension of the day suddenly gave way to more mundane matters.

“In a heartbeat Eric, she’ll take it in a heartbeat. Go get it and I’ll take it to her in the morning.”

Stone wrapped the sleeping kitten in one of his sweatshirts and gently placed it on the back seat.

“Thanks, Ed. It’s good to know that’s going to a good and loving home.

“No problem. I’ll give what we’ve learned to Megan so she can get to work on it. It can take a little while to find and analyze the information. Unless something urgent comes up I suggest we meet at her place on Saturday — say around midday?”

“That works for me. Charles’ funeral is on Friday, I wanted to pay my respects. I also need to speak with his lawyer about his estate. There’s a lot to sort out. He didn’t have any relatives so I guess I’ll have to go to his house at some point, to go through all his things and remove any personal stuff.” Stone gave a grimace. “I’ll give the rest to ‘Help for Hero’s’ — I expect that’s what he would have wanted.”

“It’s never easy or quick. After my dad died, it took me weeks to clear his house, and months to sell it. Are you planning to live there?” Carter asked.

Stone shook his head firmly.

“No — I wouldn’t like that, it’s a lovely place, but too big for my needs.”

“You’re going to sell it then?”

“No, I have something else in mind. I’ll tell you later — when all this is over.”

Charles Rathbone’s funeral was held in Finchingfield. It was a suitably somber affair. Despite the relentless drizzle, the funeral was well attended by many people from the local area, a few politicians, and the press. There was also an honor guard from Charles’ old Regiment. Stone kept a low profile throughout, standing at the rear of the packed village church during the service. Outside, he sheltered under his umbrella at a respectful distance as Charles’ coffin was interred in the family plot. Afterwards, he took a slow drive towards the rear of Charles’ farm.

Working from some half-remembered geography, Stone left his car on a dirt road near a wood. He walked through a small coppice, hopped a fence, and eventually found himself to be on a hill overlooking the farmhouse. Below, and a little to the right, he could see the area where he and Charles had spent many happy hours practicing their shooting. It was cold and wet standing on the exposed hill, so Stone huddled under the shelter of a tree and thrust his hands deeply into his pockets.

For an hour, he stood just staring at the estate below, allowing his mind to wonder freely through a cobweb of reminiscences. Memories of friendship and of parties, memories of laughter and companionship, memories of happier times, and the best friend anyone could have. Sometimes it seemed that the images were so powerful, so vivid that Stone almost had to brush them away with his hand. Stone stood under the tree for an hour paying his final respects, until his tears were spent and he was shivering uncontrollably from the cold.

Back in his car he put the heater on full, turned up the CD player and drove a little too fast towards Colchester. Charles’ lawyer wasn’t available until the following week, Stone’s senior karate instructors had taken over all of his classes for the foreseeable future, and Carter had asked for the few days up to the weekend for Megan to do her research. With no work to do, or meetings to attend, his diary was now clear. Stone was accustomed to training every day, but after almost a week of inactivity, he felt that he was bursting with pent up energy and frustration, so he headed directly to his dojo.

Stone began his workout with three rounds of pushups, sit-ups, and star-jumps — fifty of each, just to get his body warmed up. Then he dropped to the floor and executed a full routine of stretches, until he had his breath back under control. Next, he began performing the Wado-Ryu karate katas; strict forms, like choreographed battles with imaginary opponents. Using almost every style of karate kick, punch, and block, they were an excellent way to practice and sharpen technique. In Wado-Ryu karate, there are fifteen Katas. Stone performed each in order, beginning with the easiest called ‘Pinan Nidan’, through to the most demanding and complicated called ‘Jion’.

Finally, he moved to the heavy punching bag, where for five minutes he worked his arms, before switching to kicks. His workout finished with a frenzied attack on the punch bag, using a dazzling array of punches, kicks, elbow strikes, and flying kicks. Gradually building the speed, he moved faster and faster, until his hands and feet were just a blur. The attack climaxed with a blistering combination of powerful punches, and ended when Stone gave a mighty roar and delivered a vicious spinning back-kick that almost detached the punch bag from its chain.

After he showered and changed, Stone spent an hour in his office catching up on some mundane administration. The club’s public liability insurance was up for renewal, and he had wanted to check that he was still getting the best deal. There were certificates to sign for those students that had successfully achieved their next karate belts. Finally, he scrubbed the toilets and showers, swept the dojo, and tidied the equipment away. Eventually at 4.30pm, he realized that he had run ways to fill his time, so he locked the dojo and set off for home.

He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and a short while into the journey he became aware that he was ravenously hungry. If he was dining alone, Stone preferred to eat at home, but he knew that he was running short of supplies, so just outside Braintree Town, he stopped at a large supermarket to stock up.

Like many men, Eric treated shopping as a necessary chore. One that was best completed with maximum speed and efficiency. Today he was feeling starved for company, and so he took his time. Wondering aimlessly around the store with his shopping cart, he selected items almost at random, or when his growling stomach told him to. He was just considering treating himself to a sticky Danish bun, when a silky voice behind him whispered into his ear.

“A moment on the lips, and a lifetime on the hips!”

Stone turned to see who had spoken and stopped dead. He was utterly dumbfounded. The voice belonged to Linda Smart, the beautiful woman that he had rescued in the bar’s parking lot. Yet again, he found himself staring open-mouthed and lost for words. Linda squinted and gave him a suspicious look.

“I hope you aren’t stalking me, Stone — Eric Stone?”

“Err… NO! Err… I live near here,” Stone stammered, slightly panicked. However, Linda Smart gave him a bright smile and a light punch on the chest.

“Relax, hero. I’m just joshing with you!”

“Oh… Good… Err… Hi! How are you?”

Linda spoke to the side, like an actor talking to someone off-stage.

“Not a great conversationalist. But cute.” She smiled again and answered his question, mocking gently. “I am fine Eric, how are you?”

Stone could not help but smile.

“I’m feeling much better for seeing you today.”

Linda spoke to the side again.

“He’s getting the hang now.” Then she looked at him again. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I am doing here?”

Stone was pleased with the opportunity to prolong the conversation.

“What are you doing here?”

“I live near Sawbridgeworth, but I was over here looking for a place to rent so I can expand my business. I was on my way home and I decided I was hungry… ” She waved her hand at the basket by her feet. “So I stopped for some shopping.”

“Well it’s lovely to see you again… ” Stone mumbled self-consciously.

Linda rolled her eyes dramatically and then spoke off-stage again.

“Oh no, he’s losing it! Perhaps he’ll redeem himself by asking me out.” She turned and nailed Stone with a wide smile and her stunning emerald green eyes. Stone took a deep breath, smiled and dived in with both feet.

“Linda Smart, will you go out with me?”

Her smile broadened noticeably.

“I thought you would never ask! I’m starving. Let’s pay for this, and then get something to eat. OK?”

Stone’s heart danced a little jig inside his chest.

“Good idea, but it’s still a little early for a restaurant. What do you like to eat?”

“Anything vegetarian, and I’m ravenous!”

“Ha!” he laughed. “Me too.”

She bit her lip and regarded him cautiously.

“As long as you promise to be a gentleman, how about we go to your place and I cook a meal?”

“That would be wonderful!” Stone said, smiling like an idiot. “I’ll buy some wine.”

At the Wrecking Crew’s headquarters, The Fixer was waiting for a phone call. It was a call he had been expecting, ever since he had heard about Rathbone’s suicide. It was not a call he was looking forward to receiving. He was not worried about what the caller was about to say; his organisation had become so powerful these days, that he seldom feared anyone. The Fixer simply hated admitting defeat. Even though the work of the wrecking crew had been exemplary throughout, in the end, the Charles Rathbone contract had been an unmitigated disaster. Apologizing to the jumped up little arsehole that had given them the contract would be a new experience for The Fixer, and he was not going to enjoy it.

The Fixer had a name, just an ordinary name that had once belonged to an ordinary kid, but he preferred the title because it epitomized everything that he had become. As a schoolboy, diminutive, polite, and quiet, The Fixer had been an easy target for bullies — and for a while, his life had been quite unpleasant. The only child of wealthy academic parents, he always had money in his pocket, at least until the bullies got to him.

Then one day he had the foresight to offer to pay the bullies money, if they didn’t hit him. They were happy with this arrangement and for a while, there was an uneasy truce. However, a few days later The Fixer had an epiphany when he stumbled across the word ‘Mercenary’ in a book. The next day he paid two slightly larger boys to beat up the school bullies. Very soon, those same bullies were paying money to him.

The Fixer realized that whenever there was a job to do, there was always someone prepared to do it, either for a price, or a favor. He soon discovered that he had a talent for putting the job and the mercenary together, to meet the needs of his customers. At school, he ran the bullies, and provided protection for the weak rich kids. Later, at University, he supplied drugs and prostitutes in exchange for course work and exam results. When he left University, he had a business degree and three vital pieces of information that would form the bedrock of his business. First, successful businessmen surround themselves with talented but greedy people. Second, there is always more money to be made on the wrong side of the law. Third, the best crooks are never caught, because they make sure that the trail of breadcrumbs, can never lead directly to their feet.

For more than twenty years, The Fixer ran a lucrative business specializing in theft, extortion, prostitution, and violence for hire. Then, a little over ten years ago, he was approached by some businessmen, and a politician. They wanted him to lean on a union official who was causing problems with a new contract for the military. By pure luck, The Fixer discovered that he already had the tools to leverage the situation. The union official had some unusual sexual tastes that were regularly satisfied by one of the male prostitutes in The Fixer’s employ. With the threat to publicly wreck the man’s life, the union official backed down and The Fixer took the opportunity to move his business, now renamed ‘The Wrecking Crew’ to the next level.

Since that day, the Wrecking Crew had never taken on a contract that it could not successfully complete, and it had never failed to complete any contract. At least until Charles Rathbone had blown his own brains out with a shotgun. The Fixer sat glumly at his desk and waited. Finally, at 6pm the phone on his direct line started to ring. He recognized the number from the caller ID, but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the desk as he counted the rings and recited his favourite motto.

“One, two, three, four, make them sweat a little more. Five, six, seven, eight, it always pays to make them wait.” Finally, he picked up the phone. “Yes?”

The man’s voice at the other end of the line was famous enough to be instantly recognizable. Today he whispered urgently, as if he were in a hurry and concerned about being overheard.

“It’s me. What the hell happened?”

“I believe that he put a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger,” The Fixer answered calmly and with barely concealed sarcasm.

“I know that, I’m not an idiot!” the caller hissed, “How did it happen? I thought your people were watching him.”

“My people were watching him. They had him covered from the instant he arrived back from America, until the moment he walked into his house.”

“Christ, what a mess!” the caller growled, “I can’t believe this has happened.”

The Fixer said nothing. He had learned a long time ago not to offer up information unless it was specifically requested by a client. After thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence, the caller spoke again.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes, I am still here.”

“Well?”

“Well what?” The Fixer remained deliberately obtuse.

“What do you mean, ‘Well what?’” the caller snapped, “Why didn’t your bunch of trained monkeys spot that this was going to happen?”

The Fixer closed his eyes and drew a deep breath in an effort to control his growing anger.

“You will recall that I recommended the surveillance on Charles Rathbone should include video in his home, along with data mining to examine the period before we acquired the contract. Such actions would surely have revealed his medical problems, and the possibility of suicide, long before the event. Unfortunately you set a strict budget for this contract, and despite my repeated warnings about the lack of important data, you were unwilling to provide additional funding.”

The Fixer spoke more forcefully to emphasize his point.

“In this business, you get what you pay for. My team delivered everything that you requested. We successfully falsified the reports from Afghanistan, and planted the child pornography evidence on his computer. We watched him as much as was possible, within the available budget, and we arranged for him to be arrested on evidence that would have destroyed his credibility. I can assure you that the Wrecking Crew will not be held responsible for something that was outside of our control.”

“So you’re saying that it was my fault?”

The Fixer smiled at the turnaround.

“In a word — yes.”

There was a long pause as the caller processed the accusation.

“Christ! Holy Christ, what a mess! And all that money — my backers are going to fucking kill me!”

The Fixer, seeing an opportunity to regain the moral high ground, continued in a conciliatory tone of voice.

“You shouldn’t feel bad about this, you know. Sometimes suicides are almost impossible to predict. In some circumstances they are just the result of a fleeting thought — a sudden moment of madness. That could easily be the case with Rathbone. Someone like him, someone who has suffered such dreadful physical and emotional trauma, becomes momentarily unhinged and unpredictably takes his own life.”

The Fixer offered the drowning man a final olive branch.

“Perhaps, even you couldn’t have seen this coming.”

The caller let out an audible sigh of relief.

“Yes, yes, I think you’re right! Of course, no one could have predicted this, it just happened. He could just as easily have stepped in front of a bus. They must see that, it’s just one of those things… not my fault at all.”

The Fixer smiled like a shark.

“I am entirely confident that your backers will agree. You should have nothing to worry about.” He changed to a more business-like tone of voice. “Obviously this tragedy terminates our contract. My secretary has prepared the final accounts. I believe that there may be a small refund due. Shall we deliver it in cash in the usual manner?”

“A refund, really?” the caller’s voice brightened instantly at the prospect of receiving an untraceable envelope containing someone else’s cash. “That would be splendid!”

The Fixer smiled wryly as he ended the call.