Somethings You Never Forget

Chapter Four

On Monday I realised the magnitude of what I had planned, I was journeying in a foreign land beyond my understanding with enemies all around, cruel, and frightening enemies. Feeling I needed to share my plans. Call it an insurance if it all went pear shaped, if it did, I'd be alone and vulnerable. I emailed Cyril, my best friend, confiding of my schemes and designs, the how, why, when and whom. And the same to my sister, Penelope, but a much more mellow missive with lots of silky words and hidden meanings. I felt reassured. I can be such a fool.

I thought I was getting paranoid. Worse still, it felt like a madness was taking me over or was that just my fertile imagination, who knows, I didn't then. I began to suspect of being spied upon. It was more than just a feeling, I'd seen the same faces, no, not faces, I'm no good at identifying faces and as for putting a name to a face you can forget it, I'm hopeless a total non - starter. I notice profiles, peoples outline, how they hold themselves, their rounded shoulders, angled stoop, and nervous twitch. To my mind, every individual's silhouette is unique, and as distinctive as a fingerprint.

For the past few months, I'd seen the same set of poses in a variety of locations. Staring at me and yet not staring at me, distinctly odd. When I used my apartment's landline phone, not a common occurrence I grant you, a sight click could be heard at the beginning and end.

The following day at home, it was a Tuesday, after the previous days pleasant but increasingly physically exhausting dalliance with her Ladyship, I downloaded a gay video off the net, there is a first time for everything and that will truly be the one and only time. Inserting Alistair and Tyrone's faces in strategically appropriate places, don't ask! Saving the whole kit and caboodle onto another flash drive.

Next morning, I found an internet café in one of the less salubrious parts of this wonderful vibrant City and using a false email account I sent the video and all the data off the flash drive to Derek O' Belli letting his grubby newspaper embark and luxuriate in Blackamoor's downfall. Ho, ho, ho. This was the first phase.

I met Tyrone, lunchtime in the Brookhill public bouse. He is a right piece of manure. Wouldn't hesitate to sell his Granny for a profit. He was working as a private taxicab driver, but I knew it was just cover for his drug delivery service. We found a quiet corner and I suggested a proposal which offered easy money. You could see the pound note signs in his eyes roll like a one arm bandit machine when I told him of my request. I bunged him a fifty-pound note sweetener and he grinned at me with a stare that said 'sucker, 'he didn't realise it was he who was the mug. Next time, if he has a next time, he should be more beware of strange men offering fifty-pound inducements.

We agreed that he would deliver a brown parcel bag containing a grands worth of heroin to the Mobile café, 'The Happy Drinker,' in the Lickey Hills car park next day at seven pm, promising him further large dollops of backsheesh afterwards. What an idiot. We didn't shake hands when he left, I have my standards you now. Phase three complete.

That evening I went to the same internet café and fired an email to Sir Alistair purporting to be sent by Gregor Monkolv. That's the trouble with this electronic communication malarkey how can you be sure who the sender really is. I don't trust it at all but I'm allergic to Microsoft.

It said ...

'Emergency ... VERY IMPORTANT ... I have a package you need to collect from a very important colleague. VERY IMPORTANT PERSON

You are to personally collect a parcel which will be left behind the counter of the 'Happy Drinker' mobile catering van parked in Lickey Hills car park. At seven pm tomorrow.

It will help you survive the current bad press published these past few days.

I am not contactable until next week.