Chapter 48
Chapter forty-eight
Ed
Jason Travers makes it easy enough for us to find him.
He’s a self-made man with enough alpha credentials to now win over desirable young Port Derrum women. And Jason has had Mistral in his sights for the last few days.
After a bit of leering and an attempt to draw Mistral into some inappropriate banter, both of which I put a stop to, Jason takes himself off to peruse the latest issue of his favourite car magazine.
Helpfully, he chooses an area signposted "The Study Nook" in which to read it – a table down the back of the library, cosily positioned between shelves of books. It affords him a distraction-free zone to study cars and affords us the privacy for what we need to do.
Carlos walks in, dressed in an expensive three-piece suit and cravat. With his hair slicked down and the accessories of a leather briefcase and a silver-topped walking stick, even I barely recognise him.
Like all consummate professionals in the movies, his only acknowledgement of me is a brief glance.
And just like in the movies, I nod to where Jason sits.
Then I follow Carlos as far as the bookshelf, where I can hide my presence from Jason and divert anybody who comes within hearing distance.
The lines of books on either side of the unit make it just about manageable to see what's going on on the other side of them.
Carlos rounds the shelf and stops at the edge of the table.
"Hello."
Jason looks up from his magazine at him.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Yeah. I do," Jason says in a tone that isn't appropriate for addressing anyone let alone an elderly citizen. "I prefer this nook to myself." He adds "mate" in a way that doesn't at all reflect the friendliness of the word.
"Oh, that really is too bad," says Carlos, taking a seat. “We have a lot to discuss, Mr Travers.”
Jason opens his mouth to protest at Carlos' interloping, but another, more pressing thought appears to hit him. "How do you know my name?"
Carlos smiles, but the warmth doesn't extend to his words. "I know a lot about you, Mr Travers. I know where you live, what car you drive and who you associate with. That you have a penchant for AI revenge porn."
Jason sits upright at that.
My own spine straightens and I move a little closer. It's not so much the intrigue. It's the fact the man I know as Carlos is nowhere to be seen. Whatever persona he's assumed, it's very convincing.
It's almost as if he's done this kind of thing before.
"But I'm getting ahead of myself," Carlos continues. "You don't know who I am."
Jason snorts. It almost disguises the fact he is a little rattled. "Some creepy old toff in a cravat."
"You can call me Mr Harris."
"I'm not calling you anything, mate. Bugger off so I can read my mag in peace."
Jason returns to his magazine but doesn't continue reading. His eyes remain rooted to a single spot on one of the pages.
Carlos says nothing for several moments. Then, "Ever heard of Bobby 'The Butcher' Barrett?"
Jason lifts his head and narrows his eyes at Carlos. "What are you going on about?"
"Bobby was an East End thug who ran the most successful cocaine supply chain that side of London has ever seen, through having a particular talent for brutality. Made the Kray brothers look like kindergarten teachers. Know why he was known as 'The Butcher'?"
Jason looks up and says sarcastically, "Because he chopped people into small bits?"
"Yes. But mostly it was because he would hang his disloyal employees and his enemies from a meat hook first then cut bits off them. While they were alive.”
Jesus. It's utterly horrific. Judging by the slack in Jason's bottom lip, he agrees with me.
"Why are you talking to me about some sicko gangster I couldn't give two shits about?"
"The reason you haven't heard of Bobby 'The Butcher' Barrett, Mr Travers, despite the notoriety you'd think someone of his proclivities might get, is because he made an enemy of my employer, Russian Sergei."
"Your employer is called Russian Sergei? That's an even dumber name than Bobby 'The Butcher' Barrett."
Carlos smiles again. "When you make an enemy of Russian Sergei, you have signed the death warrant not only of yourself and all your progeny and their progeny, but of the people who came before you as well.
Russian Sergei is so thorough with his cleansing, there's not a trace of you left.
Not a hair, not a family tree." Carlos leans towards Jason and lowers his voice.
"Not even your years-in-the-making, merciless reputation. "
It's very good. Not even in my dark imagination could I have established the premise for this chat as effectively.
Jason is quiet. His fingers have stopped tapping at the tabletop. Eventually he says, "Why are you telling me this?"
And there it is. The invitation for the plan to proceed with full forward thrust.
Once Carlos answers, there's no going back.
Carlos pulls an enlarged photo from his case and slides it across the table towards Jason. The photo is a candid shot of Theo Pinkerton.
"This man owes my employer a lot of money."
The colour drains from Jason's face, but he quickly rallies. "So? Go and ask him for it."
"Oh, we did. He said you stole it from him."
Jason sits upright. "He can't know that." Then he catches himself and says, "I didn't steal from him. I've never seen him before."
Carlos says nothing.
"Where's your proof?"
"We don't need proof, Mr Travers. We just need one of your friends to squeal. It turns out you have at least one so-called friend who's very happy to do a passing imitation of a little piggy than protect you."
Jason's nostrils flutter out a succession of nervous flares. Then he leans back in his chair. "What are you going to do about it? You're old and look very breakable."
"Me? Physically nothing. But I have permission from my employer to use my discretion when necessary. And when I use my discretion, the chap sitting in the BMW with the tinted windows in the library car park will do the necessary."
With a "Bullshit", Jason leans forwards and attempts to peer between the books to locate the car.
I duck down out of his eyeline.
I…have no idea if it’s bullshit. It wasn’t part of the plan we discussed and I don’t know if I need to do something about it.
"I assure you I'm telling the absolute truth. But let me prove it to you." Carlos reaches into his breast pocket and produces a phone. He presses the screen and places it to his ear. After a moment, he says, "We need you."
Jason's leg has started to jitter. Pressed against the table leg, the open pages of the magazine vibrate. He glances between Carlos and the gaps above the books in the shelving unit. "I don't know nothing about this guy owing you money. I promise."
"But you know now, Mr Travers. And perhaps you're beginning to understand why we have a problem."
"But it's not my problem, is it? It's this dude's." He gestures at the picture.
"We both know you are fully aware of his name, Mr Travers."
A massive man with a shaved head, a black turtle-neck sweater and a thick gold chain arranged over the sweater walks past me without looking at me and steps in beside Carlos, and if I hadn’t already started sweating at Carlos going off script, I definitely am now.
"Everything okay, Mr Harris?" the man asks in a thick Slavic accent.
"I think Mr Travers understands the situation now, don't you?"
Jason stares up at the huge man, open mouthed, and gives a quick series of nods.
"Thank you, Bogdan."
Bogdan eyes Jason for several seconds, then returns from the direction he came.
Jason's eyes follow him, and Carlos takes the opportunity to pull another photo from his case. "Who's this woman, Mr Travers?"
Jason looks down at the photo and turns from pale to grey. "That's my nan." His voice shakes.
"Is it now? Your nan. How interesting." Carlos pulls the phone from his pocket and dials again. "He says it's his nan," he tells the voice at the other end.
The person receiving the call says something indistinct and Carlos "Humms" before hanging up.
"You're not going to do anything to her, are you?"
"That really depends on you, Mr Travers, and how well you stick to our agreement of returning all the money to this man –" Carlos taps the photo of Theo. "– by five o'clock Monday evening."
"B-but," stammers Jason. "I haven't got all of it."
"Spent some of it, did you?"
"Only a little bit."
"Here's how it's going to play out. You are going to return your brand-new luxury car to the dealership with as close to a full refund as you can get, and then you are going to find the rest of the money the best and fastest way you can.
If that means borrowing from your little piggy friends, then so be it. "
Carlos gathers the photos, puts them back in the briefcase and stands.
"But let me make one thing clear. If you ask for money from your nan, or acquire it from anyone else through deceptive or forceful means, I'll call in my discretionary powers and ask Bogdan to have an intimate conversation with you. Do I make myself clear, Mr Travers?"
"Yes." Jason's voice is little more than a whisper.
Carlos leaves The Study Nook and as soon as he's out of sight, Jason picks up his phone and thumbs it open. "We have a big fucking problem." His voice raises in volume and pitch. "I'm freaking out, Dan."
I leave him to it.