Beware Of The Fat Man

Introduction




“Beware of the fat man.”

The last words of a heart attack victim that died in Peter Barton’s arms last Tuesday.  Peter didn’t know CPR, only what he’d seen on TV and so could nothing for him.  He didn’t even know what CPR stood for.

Everyone in the street gathered round to watch the death like it was street theatre.  No one helping as if he was Peter’s responsibility; being that the man chose to fall into his arms.

If he’d known then what baggage those words were to bring he may just have lay down next to the body on the street and died along with it.  That would have been quicker, quieter and a lot less frightening.

“How did this make you feel?” asked the reporter who seemed to materialise at the moment of the victim’s last breath. 

He murmured an answer.  As she continued her pointless questions Peter answered them blindly, blandly and without thought.  During this time he turned to look at the body as two paramedics began the task of rolling it onto a stretcher.

The body was dressed in a cheap grey suit under which was a big collared blue shirt and a bright garish green tie. 

Some of the contents of the man’s pockets had fallen to the concrete as he had been placed on the stretcher.  Some change, a half eaten packet of mints and just a little way off, a small silver tube.

“What were his last words?”

Her latest in a stream of demands for pointless information jarred Peter from his wandering thoughts.

He answered with a lie, not understanding why.  It seemed to him to be thing to do at the time.  He felt those last words had been for him and him alone. 

“He just asked me to help him.”

She looked disappointed with the answer.  Raising an eyebrow questioningly, pausing to lick her pencil, she continued with her notes.  The Police had now arrived and her interest in Peter was gone.  She went to beg scraps of information from them like a starved stray dog.

The contents of the victim’s pockets had now been collected by a young Policeman and placed in a clear bag.  Peter turned and noticed that the silver tube still lay farther off and had been missed. 

As the body had been removed so had the crowd’s interest and they departed to buy coffee, shoes and other pointless commodities to peak their interest for the next hour.

A senior looking policeman signalled for Peter to come to him and he did, stopping to tie his shoelaces en route whilst deftly picking up the silver tube and slipping it into his pocket.




Chapter One

In which Peter finds out the significance of the silver tube.




The next morning Peter awoke with a film of cold sweat on his body.  He couldn’t quite remember the details of his dreams but he knew they had disturbed him.  He had some memory of fat men and giant pelicans.

He went through his normal morning routine of putting the kettle on, shaving, showering, and brushing his teeth.  He walked back to the kitchen via the front door where he picked up the daily newspaper from the welcome mat and poured a cup of coffee.

Maybe there’ll be something about the dead guy in there and some quotes from my interview, thought Peter.  It would be something he could show his colleagues at work.

Knowing the story to be trivial he started in the middle of the paper and worked his way back to Page 1 scanning the smaller articles.

He got a bit of a shock when he saw on Page 5 a half page story he was all too aware of. 

Business Man Murdered On Walker Street

That was where the guy had fell into his arms, he read on.

“The victim collapsed and died from massive heart failure.  The cause of which we now know to have been a poison of unknown origin…

Sources at Scotland Yard advise that this is being treated as an international incident as the victim fits the description of a missing Polish Diplomat…”

Peter drank heavily from his coffee as he read on,

“Police are seeking witnesses to try and piece together the last hours of the victim”

He read the rest and found one of his quotes,

“A witness at the scene reported that the victim had asked for help before passing away”

Well, nothing to write home about but he tore out the article anyway and put it in his wallet so he could show his colleagues at work.

He collected his keys and loose change from the plate on the sideboard in his porch and lifted them to put in his pocket.  Amongst the change he saw the silver tube.

He’d forgotten all about that.  The Police had kept him there yesterday for about three hours and by the time he left he just wanted to get home.  It had slipped his memory.

He held it up to the light and turned it round between his thumb and forefinger.  What was it?

It was about 2 centimetres long and had machined grooves at either end carved in concentric circles.  It appeared solid and held no clues as to its purpose.  It did at some level seem familiar though.  He had the feeling he had seen something like this before.

He put it in his pocket and left for work.  He’d been late a few times lately and couldn’t afford to be late again.

He locked the door and turned to leave.  As he took a step he slid forward and lost his balance.  Shit, he thought.

Literally.  He’d stood in it.  His neighbour had a small rat like dog that seemed to take great pleasure in leaving him “little presents” on a daily basis.  As if on cue it appeared on the lawn in front of him and sat staring at him.

Peter looked around to see if there was anyone about.  Seeing that there wasn’t he sweet talked the dog to him.  It wagged it’s tail and walked pensively to his feet.

He reached down to pat it’s head and at the last second grabbed it by the scruff of it’s furry neck.  He lifted the dog so that they were eye to eye.

“This is the last time you shit in my garden.  I promise you that.”

It stared back at him blankly mocking him with its stupid face, pointy ears and little tartan collar.

After a quick glance around to make sure there still wasn’t anyone around he leant over and rubbed the dog’s face in it’s own shit.  It yelped and writhed in his grip.  When Peter felt that every inch of the dogs face was suitably covered in its own shit he let it go.  It ran straight through the gap in the fence and back into its own garden.

After scraping off his shoe Peter ran down the street to catch his bus with a satisfied grin on his face.

He got a seat at the back of the bus where it seemed to be abnormally and uncomfortably hot.  He took the silver tube from his pocket and examined it again.

The look of that little bastard dog’s face when he rubbed it in shit came back to his mind and it made him laugh.  It also reminded him of where he’d seen a silver tube like that before.  Hanging from that shit faced dog’s tartan collar.  He had an idea of what it was.

To test his theory he twisted each side of the tube and found that it unscrewed.  His breath stopped in his chest as he lifted each end of the tube apart to reveal a rolled up piece of paper.

He unravelled the paper and read what it said:

1243 Robertson Street
Wednesday
21:00 hours




Chapter Two

In which Peter tells a friend about his discovery




Peter got home from work with his head buzzing with ideas and theories.  He’d got into work that morning feeling excited and apprehensive.

He had been in two minds.  Should he contact the Police and tell them about what he’d found or should he go to the meeting place and see who showed up?  If this really was murder it could be a vital clue in solving who did it.  Or a chance for some fun.

He had decided to tell his friend Susan at work about everything that had happened.  She had listened intently and then got very excited.

“This could be an adventure like you see in the movies.  Granted it may involve people trying to kill us but it also could end up with us being somehow rich”

“That’s crazy, and what do you mean, us?” asked Peter as he frowned in Susan’s direction.

“Oh come on.  You can’t tell me about this and then expect me not to come with you to the clandestine meeting.”

Peter began to think then that he may have made a mistake by telling Susan.  But to be honest he’d been trying to spend as much time with her as possible lately and had been trying to come up with as many reasons as he could to do just that.

“Look, I just told you about this to get your opinion on whether I should go to the Police,”

He admired her as she answered him.  Her silky black, long, straight hair.  Her blue eyes and coy smile. Her slim body that always seemed in some way to be on show for his sexual frustration.  Today it was her waist and cleavage. 

She had a white blouse on that was slightly too small for her.  It bulged between each button revealing bits of tanned flesh that he tried to look at without “actually looking”. 

Peter decided that he didn’t want to make any snap decisions on what to do about the message.  He wouldn’t let the way he felt about Susan sway his common sense.  He really should take the message to the Police, it was the right thing to do.

She put her hand on his knee, “I think we should stake out the address like they do in the movies.”

He looked at her hand, then at the gaps in her blouse.  Then he looked deep into her eyes.

“What time should we meet there?” he asked.  She smiled.

Looking back now he realised he hadn’t been thinking with the right part of his body.  He got changed into jeans and a T-Shirt and contemplated which microwave meal to have for dinner.

Susan had decided she should come round to his house that night so that they could plan for Wednesday.  This was as she pointed out, tomorrow night and didn’t leave much time to plan.

He had no idea what planning was involved in standing on a street and watching a doorway.  Peter had however been trying to get Susan to his house for months now, so he didn’t really care what they were going to plan.

Washing the plate and fork he’d used to eat his 99p microwave Cottage Pie in the sink he heard the doorbell.

Sitting in the living room with Susan he realised that his evening torment would be a short skirt that rode up on her thighs when she sat down.  As usual he tried his best not to stare.

Planning for Wednesday night consisted mainly of drinking the bottle of wine she had brought and listening to music.  The Eagles, as it seemed to be the only thing in Peter’s CD collection that she actually liked.  She said they reminded her of her dad.

Eventually they got down to the business of the evening.

“We should wear inconspicuous clothes,” she advised.  Peter thought that no matter how inconspicuous the clothes some part of Susan’s body would no doubt be on show to torment him.

She continued, “I have a trench coat I bought once in a winter sale.  I’ve never worn it before but I knew when I got it that the perfect occasion would eventually arise for me to wear it.”

“But surely if we turn up in dark sunglasses and trench coats we’ll look like something out of a 50’s B movie and look really conspicuous?”

“You’re right Peter,” she touched his hand.  “In that case I have the perfect handbag.  It has lots of compartments and pockets for holding things like binoculars and tape recorders.”

She smiled at him waiting for a response.

“Sounds perfect,” Peter began to think that Susan may be a bit self centred and that maybe he wasn’t as interested in her as he thought.

As he had this thought Susan leaned forward and poured the last of the wine into their glasses.  When she sat back again her skirt rose so high on her thighs that he could see part of her bum.

No he thought as he had some hot flushes, I still like her.

Important decisions were made for the stakeout.  Which boots Susan should wear, whether Susan should wear glasses or contact lenses and whether Peter would wear a matching outfit.

Susan left without the goodnight kiss Peter had fantasised about all night as he tried not to stare at her exposed thighs.

He watched her from his doorstep as she got into a taxi and was rewarded by another fantasy fulfilled, as she got in her legs parting more than was acceptable in polite company.  He smiled, satisfied that he had seen something he’d been thinking about for some time now.

From the other side of the street, out of Peter’s view someone else smiled.  He too felt satisfaction.  He had also seen something he’d been waiting to see something all night.  Peter.

“Did you get pictures of both of them?”

The man in the back seat of the car put his camera down. 

“Yes”

“And you’re sure that’s the last person Stefan spoke to before he died?”

“Yes.”




Chapter Three

In which Peter and Susan go to the stake out




Peter had organised with Susan at work that they should meet across the street from 1243 Robertson Street at 8 o’clock.

He was in a state of nervous excitement from the moment he got home.  So when his kitchen clock showed 6:30 pm he decided to leave then and get it over with.

It took some time to get there using the map he’d printed on Google that afternoon.  2 buses and some wrong turns later however he arrived.  He looked at his watch, it was 7:30 pm.

He found the address and stood in front of the door looking for some clues as to it’s mysterious significance.  It seemed like any other door on the street. 

It was a wooden door painted black with one of those glass windows that have metal wire inside.  There was a door entry system at the side of the doorway with 8 names and buttons. 

Peter read through each expecting to find something standing out at him.  They all seemed like normal names.  He shook his head and laughed to himself.  What did he think it would say, “Spies live here.”

He became aware of an annoying high pitched noise behind him.  A kind of “psst” noise.  He turned slowly and looked around for its source.

After a scan of the street he saw the top half of Susan.  She was standing halfway down the stairs to a basement flat on the opposite side of the street and gesturing for him to, “come here.”

He traversed the odd piece of moving traffic and met with Susan.  She took his hand and led him down the stairs to a basement entrance strewn with the detritus of empty food packaging.  The door to whatever type of business or residence lurked down here graffiti covered and looking like it hadn’t been opened in some time.  It smelled like piss.

“You can’t just stand like an idiot in front of the door, it looks a bit obvious.  We’re supposed to be on a stakeout which means we keep out of sight.”

Susan seemed to be taking this seriously.  So much so in fact she’d dressed like Emma Peel from the Avengers.  She was wearing a black Lycra catsuit, black knee high leather boots, a black leather jacket and black leather gloves.

Peter found himself staring at what looked like Susan naked and painted black.  Her persistent nagging brought him round from his perverted stupor.

“You do agree, don’t you?”

“With what?”

“That you should be more careful in the future, we don’t won’t to give ourselves away.”

Inside Peter shook his head and laughed.  Susan stepped up a couple of steps to peer across the street and he got her perfect, peach shaped, Lycra coated bum in his face.  Outside he put on his most serious face and tried to sound a bit like Sean Connery.

“You’re right of course, I’ll be more careful in future.”

She looked down at Peter to see if he was making fun of her.  Satisfied he wasn’t, her attention went back to the doorway across the street.

“You’re here a bit early.” he observed.

“I know.  I was too excited to wait at home so I left early and got here to find you just standing there in front of the door like a leper.”

Susan produced a couple of paper handkerchiefs from her new bag with all the pockets.  They sat on these and waited.

2 cartons of apple juice and some wine gums appeared from various compartments in her bag while they killed the time until 9 pm. 

21:00 hours. 

The time was upon them.

They both felt the electricity and excitement of the moment.  Forgetting for a minute how pathetically shy he was Peter took Susan’s hand and squeezed it.  They watched the door expectantly and waited for the thing, whatever it was, to happen.

By quarter past 9 they realised that there was the possibility that nothing was going to happen.  Even the sparse traffic that had been passing before seemed to have stopped.

“Maybe whatever is going to happen will happen next Wednesday.”  Susan suggested.

“For that matter maybe it happened last Wednesday.  I never thought of that before.”  This suggestion from Peter made Susan turn round, disappointment evident on her face.

“I hope not.”

“Maybe we should try and get buzzed into the building?  We could walk past all the doors to the flats and see if we can hear anything suspicious?”  She suggested.

This seemed to Peter to be a bit pathetic.  And to be honest all he could concentrate on at the moment was the fact she was still holding his hand.  He’d made up his mind.  This had been a waste of time, no matter how exciting it seemed.  He would tell her he was heading home.

“We could pretend to be a couple on the way to a dinner party and wander the corridors of the building.  That would seem less suspicious?”

His mind instantly changed, he agreed. 

They climbed the steps to street level and arm in arm began to slowly cross the street. 

As they got closer to the doorway a car burst into life on their left and pulled violently away wheels spinning and screeching.  They both turned instinctively to look as the world went a bright dazzling, unbearable white.

Peter opened his eyes and immediately felt the worse pain he’d felt in his life.  His entire left side felt like it was on fire.  He couldn’t quite hear properly for the ringing in his ears and his vision was blurred.

He realised he was lying on his back and looked around for some clues as to why.  He saw small fires pooled around the street and pieces of brick and glass were strewn across the tarmac. 

He could see Susan lying in an impossible position further down the street.  Her Lycra catsuit was torn badly the full length of her leg.  Unlike his usual aroused reaction to such a view he was shocked to his feet by the blood pouring from a large cut below her knee.

Peter staggered forward towards her like a blind man.  He turned to look at the building across the street and “the doorway”.  It no longer existed.  Where the doorway used to be, in fact where the building used to be was a pile of burning rubble.

The last thing Peter saw before he lost consciousness again was the flashing blue lights of the rescue vehicles as they came to deal with the aftermath of the explosion.





Chapter Four

Where Peter wakes up in hospital and accounts for his actions and receives some terrible news




The sound of curtains opening and Peter awoke to a room awash with daylight. 

He saw a nurse heading for the door and tried to speak.  His throat was bone dry and all that came out was a noise resembling the one Frankenstein’s monster would normally make.

Short and chubby with a bad perm, the nurse stopped at the foot of his bed. 

“Awake are we?  I’m glad to see it.  You’ve taken quite a beating Mr Barton but you’re one lucky guy.  They say there was a terrible explosion and you’ve come away from it with a few cuts and some mild concussion.”

As she spoke she walked to the bedside table and poured him a glass of water.  Leaning forward she helped him to a sitting position.  As he got comfortable she handed him the water.  He drank deeply.

“My, my I think you were needing that Mr Barton,”

As Peter’s wits slowly returned he realised without a doubt that the nurses condescending tone was decidedly more painful than his many cuts and bruises.

“Are you feeling up to receiving visitors?”

“Mrmph.” Was the best Peter could do.

“Sorry?”

Peter cleared his throat.  “Yes, who’s..”

“Good,” she interrupted, “there are two gentlemen from the Police outside waiting to talk to you.  I’ll send them in.”

A couple of minutes after “Nurse Condescendence” left the room the door to his room opened and two men walked in. 

The first was waif thin with an aquiline nose and made Peter think of the Bald Eagle from The Muppet Show.  The second was this mans opposite.  A large bulbous man with one of those Sherry noses that can be seen glowing in the dark like the famous reindeer.

The three of them looked at each other as if seeing who could hold out longest without talking.  Peter began to feel uncomfortable under their constant gaze and lost the game.

“Hmm, so.”  He said drawing out the last syllable for a few seconds.

“Indeed” said a gruff voice from his right, the Bald Eagle coming second in the game. 

“My name is Detective Smith and this is my colleague Detective Brown.  We’ve a few questions about the events leading up to the explosion that took place on Robertson Street around 8:15 pm last night.”

Peter, being someone who would not have held up under any kind of torture needed no coaxing to begin telling his tale.  He started his story with the death of the man on the street all the way through to the explosion. 

As he reached the end he saw Detective Brown give his partner some kind of nod.  They both stood staring again, waiting like vultures.  “Great” thought Peter, “Round 2 of the silence game.”  Determined to keep up his losing streak he spoke again.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me.  I’ve told you everything I know.  Maybe Susan can tell you more. “

Silence.

“This whole silence thing won’t work on me you know.  You can’t fake me out, there’s nothing to fake me out about, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“The truth is Mr Barton, Susan didn’t make it…”

“Wha..”  Peter felt a rhinoceros sit on his chest.  He felt great pressure and couldn’t take a breath.  He felt dizzy and the talking the policeman was doing echoed back into his consciousness. 

Susan. 

Dead. 

He felt himself start to shake uncontrollably as the Detective Smith finished his speech.

“..so you see this could now be treated as a murder investigation and I’m afraid, you and your rather far fetched story are our only suspect.  What with the death of Susan I would advise you to come clean on any other information you may have regarding the safe house.”

“I, I don’t know anything else, I swear.” Peter said through eyes beginning to well with “manly” tears.  “I swear to God!”

The detectives turned and looked at each other.  They hesitated before coming to an unspoken agreement.  And with that Detective Smith said, “We’ll be in touch Mr Barton” and they both walked to the door.

He heard Detective Brown speak for the first time as he reached the door.  He gave his partner a terrible stare and said what sounded like, “durak!”

Peter drew a sigh and a mixture of grief and relief washed over him.  Yet, something was niggling at the back of his mind and with the way his head was pounding it was hard to pin down.

Then it hit him, like a second explosion.

“The safe house.”

All emotions were replaced by a sense of panic.  He looked around for a buzzer to call for help and couldn’t see one.  He decided to go old school, opened his mouth and shouted for help.

Halfway through his third cry he saw the door slowly open.  An edge of panic hit him.  The more he thought about those policemen the more uneasy he felt.  Something in him knew they were bad news. 

An unseen entity banged against the door and it opened a fraction further, though deathly slow.  Peter’s heart began to beat faster, moving into tempo with the throbbing in his head.

He heard someone sigh and the door was banged again as it opened slightly more.  Peter couldn’t stand it anymore he was summoning all his strength to leap from the bed when a crutch appeared through the door followed by a leg in plaster cast and a person.

“Damn these crutches are hard to use,” said Susan as she limped into the room.


Chapter Five

In which Susan is alive and Peter decides to retire from international espionage




“I should charge you with obstructing an ongoing Police investigation, and you Miss Walker, as an accessory.”

Police Detective Anderson had heard the entire story in overlapping stereo from Susan and Peter and had come to the conclusion that he was dealing with imbeciles.  The fact two men had posed as Policemen to contact Peter was a concern though.  These twats however, could be the break he needed to blow this case wide open.

He decided then to stand far back from these two, watch their every move and see what happened.  As far as he was concerned they deserved everything they got.  They’d foolishly got involved in something that any sensible person would have avoided.

“Well, I think the physical damage you’ve sustained seems to be punishment enough for your idiotic actions over the past two days.  If you think of anything else at all, no matter how insignificant call me on any of these numbers.”

Detective Anderson handed Peter a business card like a fisherman would bait a hook.  He left the room, looking back to make sure his hook was ready for fishing.  He nodded to himself as the door shut behind him.

He spoke to a female detective waiting in the hospital hallway, “I want you to organise round the clock surveillance on our Mr Walker here.  He’s the only lead we have and I have a feeling the guys who visited here earlier today aren’t the kind to give up easily.”

Behind the door Peter had decided to think with the big brain.  “I think we should definitely call it a day on our spy game.”

Turning to look at Susan, their eyes met and the throbbing in his head stopped for a second. 

“Definitely.” She smiled wryly.  Her wrinkled nose making her look like a cute, spoiled child.  “It could have went a lot better, I admit that.”

They both looked down at her leg cast and then at each other, “You think?” 

They both burst into hysterical laughter that was a combination of humour and the nervous tension that a near death experience can have on a person. 

Susan looked down at her leg and rubbed the cast slowly as if looking for a clasp to remove it.

“I don’t feel like going home alone right now.  What with this leg and those guys from earlier.  Would you mind if I stayed at yours tonight?  I’ll call my sister to see if I can stay with her after that.”

Peter, forgetting about his injuries for a moment found the pervert in himself again.  For the first time noticing how her leg cast made her gown show a nice bit of thigh.  Moving a pillow onto his lap he answered her.  “That would be fine.  The nurse said I could leave any time after the Detective was finished with me.  If you go get ready I’ll meet you here in about 10 minutes?”

She stood awkwardly, arranging her crutches to support her.  “Sounds like a plan.”





Chapter Six

In which Peter is given an impromptu home makeover




Peter helped Susan from the taxi and safely onto the pavement in front of his home.  They made their way slowly to the door.  Peter took out his keys and leaned forward to unlock the Yale.  Pushing the key forward the door swung inwards with it. 

He looked down at the handle and saw the wood around the lock had been splintered and the door forced open.  Peter’s stomach turned to water with fear and for a moment he felt he may lose control of his bowels.  Susan’s grip on his arm acted like a cork of bravery.

“Start making your way back down the street to the shop on the corner, I’ll go in and..”

“Don’t be a hero,” she interrupted.  “These guys aren’t messing around and this isn’t fun anymore.”

“I’m not being a hero.  I was about to say, I’ll go in and if I hear even one sound, I will run like fuck!  With you on those crutches I thought it best to make sure you had a good head start.”

“Good plan.”  She kissed his cheek.  “For luck.”

His bowels turned to steel.  The kiss fortifying his courage.

He waited until he could see Susan almost at the shop then turned to the door.  He took a deep breath and prepared to step inside.  His alertness on overdrive. 

The alertness of the plain clothes policeman watching from the bus stop across the street matched.  He didn’t like the idea of using civilians as bait, but his boss had the Polish embassy causing trouble for him and as they say, shit falls downwards and it was currently landing on him, his gaffer and their organised crime squad.

Also on high alert as Peter slowly opened his door were the observation skills of a man leaning against his car further down the street.  He wore jeans and a T-shirt and a blue blazer.  He lit a cigarette.  The flame from his lighter illuminated his distinctive aquiline nose.

Peter stepped inside, looking about furtively like a rabbit in headlights.  Ready to bolt like a streak of yellow from his home.

The place was a wreck.  Not one piece of furniture, ornament or fixture had been left untouched.  It looked like someone had lifted the place and shook it until everything was successfully displaced like a giant snow globe.

He moved carefully from room to room and found no danger.  He noticed on closer inspection of the chaos that everything that could be torn, ripped or cut open had been. 

He fell to his kness in the hall and put his head in his hands.  He had one regret that outweighed all others.  He had never taken out home contents insurance.

Chapter Seven

In which two spies are reborn




Detective Anderson had just left following the report of a breaking and entering and vandalism.  Peter sat with Susan in the remains of his living room. 

“I get the feeling Detective Anderson thinks all this is sweet justice.” Susan said, moving an overturned coffee table to rest her casted leg on.

“I know.  He did get here pretty damned quick though.  That was good of him.” 

“This really screws me you know.  I can handle getting my head busted up.  That’s free to fix, but this…” he moved his hand to encompass the room.

“I can’t afford to replace all this.  It took me years to pay for it the first time round.  The student in me made me convince myself I didn’t need home insurance.  I’m such a dick!”  Peter slumped to the couch beside Susan and jarred her.  She flinched as her leg jerked.

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.  I probably deserve it.  I’m as much to blame for this as you are.  You should probably hate me.”

“Hate you, good God girl, I l..l..like you a lot.  No one made me tell you about the note.  I just wanted to impress you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.  Each about to speak but stopping as the words hit their lips.  As they both decided what to say and the words rose to their tongues they were cut off as the phone rang.

Peter could hear the phone but wasn’t quite sure where it actually was.  Throwing damaged belongings aside he found it under a destroyed cushion.

He pressed the answer button. 

“Peter?”  a heavily accented voice enquired.

“Yes?”

“Do you like the redecorating my associates have done in your home?”

“Who is this?”  Peter said, the indignation he tried to put into his voice lost in the fear.

“Let us just say someone close to me died in your arms he left you something that belongs to me.”

“He didn’t leave anyth..”

“Before you disappoint me Peter.  Stop and think.  The next words that come from your mouth could be the most important you have ever said.”

Peter’s heart was racing and Susan was mouthing, “who is it” as he felt the room get suddenly smaller.

“He didn’t give me anything.”

“You are disappointing me Peter.  I know you have it and I can’t let it get into the wrong hands.  I understand you have already had a visit from my,” the voice paused to contemplate it’s next word, which he eventually spat out like it was poison, “competitors.”

“Neither they or I will stop until you give up the merchandise.  I am willing to be reasonable, but my competitors.  They are inhuman.  They will do unspeakable things to you and your woman.  If you give me it I can interject on your behalf.  Mitigate.”

Peter felt lost.  He had no idea what this man was after and knew he was in deep, deep shit.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble.  If I have this merchandise I will give it to you.  But I don’t know what you’re talking about.  What is it?”

“That is not something I will discuss on the telephone.  If you want a way out of this you will have to meet me.”

Peter’s base instinct was to run.  And run really fast, far away.  Susan looked pale and worried.  She was shaking slightly recognising the ominous conversation taking place from what Peter had said.  He decided that this had to end.

“Okay.  I’ll.  I’ll meet you.”

“Good.  First you will need to evade the two gentlemen currently following you.”

“Wha..”

“Don’t speak again.  Just listen.  There is a man at the end of the street.  You should recognise him from his hospital visit this morning.  His name is Kiryl Vladik Kuznetsov.  He is the fat man’s personal bodyguard and a very dangerous man. 
Also, you have at the bus stop across the street is a rather conspicuous policeman.  He’s pretending to read a newspaper. 

I want you to leave your house and turn left down the street.  Keep walking.  We will make contact.”  The line went dead.

In a van in the street behind Peter’s house Detective Anderson threw his headset down in anger. 

“Our man’s been made.  Swap him and get the team ready to move.  Our surveillance is going mobile.  And for the love of God.  Find out where that call came from and who the fuck that was!”

Chapter Eight

Where Peter in Susan get in up to their necks and a meeting is made