Ethan Justice: Origins

20: Sunday 25th September, 17:05

FINALLY, THE SUN is shining but I'm stuck in this goddamn hotel room. The wind has dropped. My radiator has turned itself on. I could be in a hut in the Sahara desert. Things are not going my way. It is fast becoming evening and in two hours' time the light will disappear along with my chances of picking up the trail of Jones or Varushkin.

My phone rings as if to challenge my negativity. 'Simply the Best' by Tina Turner echoes around the room. I am already bored with the new ringtone. It is my paid informant from the Ritz. He had refused to give his name in case I reported him. I had been in no position to argue.

"Talk to me," I say.

"Two massive blokes were at reception when Jones checked out."

"Was she alone?"

"How do I know you're with the police?" he asks.

"Because if you don't start talking, I'm going to nick you."

"She was with some young bloke."

"Did he have a limp or speak with a Russian accent?"

"No. He spoke well. No accent. Wealthy student I'd guess."

"Where did they go?"

"I don't know."

"Is that all you got?"

"I'm risking my neck to give you this for a measly fifty..."

I hang up the call. Her companion must be Mr Anorak. I can't just sit here and wait for the phone to ring. Everyone on the streets is looking for Jones and Varushkin and so far I've got nothing. Varushkin has a pronounced limp. How hard can it be to find a Russian with a limp for God's sake? They must have gone to ground. I put out my cigarette. The ashtray is overflowing. I clench my fists into balls. I grab the phone and call Sasha. She picks up after three rings.

"Hello."

"Sasha, it's me."

"I'm at work. I told you not to call me until after seven."

I squeeze my fists harder. Does she really work on Sundays? The question remains unasked. I don't need negativity right now. I need comfort. "Things aren't going too well. I just wanted to talk."

"Call me back after seven." She lowers her voice. "There are people here."

Her whispers stroke my ear and stir my lust. I can't help myself.

"Can you put your hand in your skirt without being seen?"

The call ends.

I stand up and throw the phone onto the bed. I take two steps towards the bathroom wall. I pull my right fist back behind my head. I scream as I let my punch go with every ounce of pent up frustration in my body and mind. My knuckles crunch through two layers of plasterboard and a two by four inch piece of timber. Pieces of plasterboard explode into the air before falling to the floor, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. I suck up the pain and hold it in. My mind clears. I will not be stopped.

*

The Earthguard agents had relocated John and Savannah to a small safe house in Hammersmith, close to the tube line. They were to stay there until Monday morning, at which time they would take up their new identities at Justice Investigations. Every five minutes or so the two up two down, cramped residence would shake on its very foundations as a train rattled by. Savannah thought all the terraced houses on the run-down street must have been built with rubber bricks.