The Handsome Man

By Ian Jones

About the Book

New York hitman arrives in London for what should be a

simple job. It unravels fast and he wakes up in hospital, then

finds himself on the run into the wilds of Essex. Can he stay

in front long enough to get away?

• Language: English
• Publisher: DiVerse Branding
• Release date: Jan 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869131249

Book preview

Chapter One

London, Heathrow Airport 1.15pm

After eventually passing through immigration with no problems other than a long queue, The Handsome Man finally retrieved his bag from the conveyor belt and headed for the exit. He was mildly irritated by the delays, it had seemed like he was the last passenger to get his bag, normally he only ever had carry-on luggage but for this trip, there had been no other choice, with airline security what it was. He looked up at the clock and adjusted his watch, and switched on the mobile phone that he dug out of the bag. There were no messages. There would not be of course, as nobody knew the number. Except for one man, who he would be meeting tomorrow evening, all being well. He walked through customs without incident and headed for the cab rank. The driver told him the cost of the journey to the hotel near Tower Bridge almost apologetically, but The Handsome Man shrugged it off with a wry smile. Money was of no object, he only bothered to do a very vague calculation from pounds to dollars as it was basically of no interest. It had been that way for him for years. With a rattle, the cab pulled away and The Handsome Man settled back in the seat and looked out the window, content to look at the view of a city in a country he had never visited before slide by.

Washington, Annandale DC 07.30am

FBI special agent Jennifer Sealey stood at her kitchen counter and took a drink of coffee, idly watching the television until the two inane news presenters sitting behind a desk cut to video, which showed the iconic triangular New Scotland Yard sign slowly revolving followed by a very cold looking female reporter standing in front of a grey office building. She leaned forward and turned up the volume:

‘Over in London the trial begins today of eleven Metropolitan police officers who stand accused of corruption, several in senior positions. Five years ago the force, the largest in the UK, proudly announced the setting up of their new taskforce aimed at the long standing problem of organised crime in the city. The department, referred to internally as SO303 and externally as S-ROC or Special Response Organised Crime, was lauded as the most dynamic and forward thinking of its type in the world. At conferences, Metropolitan Police chiefs referred to it often, saying it was expensive but necessary and it was working. Then, less than three years from conception it was literally torn apart when it emerged that many members of the taskforce were being paid off by the very people they were supposed to be targeting. Exact numbers have not been revealed, but there is speculation here that other officers will be implicated, and many millions of pounds is involved. In addition to the charges of corruption, accepting bribes and money laundering are also being pursued. In the press conference to the build up to the trial, while facing severe criticism Commissioner Adrian Stevens admitted not one single arrest had ever been made by the department. He denied the plan was wrong but placed the blame squarely on those who had been employed saying he had trusted his staff to do a good job, and they had let him, the force and the public down. When asked if the taskforce would be replaced, he declined to answer.’

Jennifer raised her eyebrows and shrugged. For once, the scandal was in some other country she thought as she pulled on her jacket and headed out to drive to work.

London, Brentford 2.15pm

Christian Cooper lowered the gun and then looked at his brother Michael, who was standing to his right watching.

Both men smiled.

Michael took the gun from his brother’s hand, clicked out the cartridge and then started reloading. They walked down to the opposite end of the empty semi-derelict warehouse while he was doing it. He snapped the now full magazine back into the gun and surveyed the line of old bottles that ran along the wall in front of the long busted windows. Not one of them was broken, but there were many bullet holes dotted all over the block wall from just above the floor to the roof.

He chuckled.

‘It don’t matter mate, get close enough and it makes no difference whether you can shoot straight or not. So, be right up in his face, alright?’

Christian nodded grimly.

‘Yeah, makes sense.’

‘Right, let’s get out of here, some nosy sod would have heard the shooting, probably call the old bill.’

London, Kennington 2.45pm

Detective Inspector Ray Watson re-read the names on the list in front of him for the third time, scratched his head and leaned back in his chair. The other members of the team were drifting slowly into the meeting room in ones and twos, chattering loudly about football and cars as they sat down for their first weekly progress meeting. Ray glanced at his boss, Detective Chief Inspector Jamie Trebor, known as Minty by everybody, who returned the look and pointed at his watch. Ray nodded. The meeting was supposed to start at 2.30, but Ray knew that Minty was never a shouter or one to rant and rave. Ray had initially met him over twenty years ago when he first became a detective, and Minty was a desk sergeant when they were both based in Lewisham. Par for the course as they progressed, they had gone their separate ways, meeting up every now and then but when Minty was given the job of setting up this new team the first person he had called was Ray, and he had gladly accepted. The new team still had no proper name, the Metropolitan Police were smarting badly and suffering in disgrace from the fallout with the original S-ROC team, even worse now the trial had started. However, somebody high up in the force believed in the idea, and a new, smaller team had been set up, this time relying on known and steady old hands in the force to get it moving. The public were not aware of them, and the same could be said of the majority of the Metropolitan Police force. Minty and Ray had been given very straight and simple instructions regarding recruiting the other members.

Don’t fuck up.

Ray really believed that they hadn’t and had made some clever additions. There were a couple of unknowns to him personally, here by either reputation or good reference, but most of the team he or Minty knew for themselves. He looked around the table as everybody was now sitting down, drinking tea and looking expectantly at Minty to start. There was Jason Freeman; his own partner, a detective sergeant he had worked with at Brixton. Originally from the East End, mid-thirties and solidly built, he was rough round the edges, a fitness freak and never afraid to mix it. Next to him was Danny ‘Milky’ Mason, younger and with a boyish face. Another rough and ready Eastender, he had first come to Ray’s attention in his last post in the vice squad. Ray had surveillance going on an office upstairs in Old Compton Street as part of a prostitution operation. He had not flagged it outside of the department deliberately because he was concerned the suspects were getting some inside help from the Soho police station. So, when Milky, an unknown young sergeant with the local CID strolled into the very office they were watching, Ray viewed the whole thing with interest, especially as he watched the prime suspect start heaping bundles of cash on the desk. He was surprised, and now pleased to see for himself Milky completely ignore the money and get on with arresting his man. For benefit fraud of all things. His partner was Colin Davies, a tall and always smartly dressed black sergeant of forty from Kent. Ray had met him during a vice operation which had taken him to Maidstone and had been impressed enough to remember him. Next, there were Chris and Tony Venables two brothers who had worked for Minty for a long time in Serious Crimes. Tony, the older one had been given the George Cross for valour during a shootout which followed an ill-fated raid on a sweat shop in Whitechapel. From all the prior information that had been amassed they had no reason to request armed back up but from nowhere the suspect began spraying bullets out the doorway of the hovel he used both as a home and an office and two officers and a civilian were killed in the first few minutes, and several others injured. While they waited desperately for SCO19 to arrive Tony managed to shield the remaining workers and officers, including his brother and then stormed the office when he realised the shooter was reloading. Finally there were the two DCs in the team, both young guns who had done well in their first posting. There was Freya Patmandu, a young officer who had been recommended by an Inspector they respected and so far Ray was impressed. Freya was the only female in the team, clever and diligent, she had rapid promotion written all over her. Last up was good old Terry Cole, or ‘Plodder’ as he was known. Slow and steadfast, he could be relied upon to do the dirty and mundane work, and every team needed one of those.

Ray glanced down at the list again. Nineteen names. Five English, two Irish, two American, seven Russian, two Albanians and a Moldovan. Times were definitely changing. He yawned, pushed his chair back and got himself a cup of coffee as Minty began. He knew these meetings were important and useful, but they could drag on.

New York City, Manhattan 9.50am

Sergeant Bob Materazzo walked through the squad room to his desk. As usual, just as it had been for the past few weeks none of his colleagues spoke to or acknowledged him at all as he made his way across. He didn’t care, he was retiring in in a few months and then he was off on his boat. And anyway, he would do it all again if he had to. He looked around at the room full of much younger men, and remembered how he had told each one they were not above the law when they had first started out in the department. Well, they had sure learned that lesson now. And for the ones that were no longer there, the ones that were out on their asses and trying to find work as private investigators or security guards, well, they had found out the hard way.

He screwed up the piece of paper with the word ‘Cocksucker’ written across it that was placed on his chair, threw it in the bin and looked around for something to do. He just had to get on with this for a short while longer, and then finally, that would be it. Peace at last. The phone on his desk started ringing, which was unusual, but he picked it up, welcoming the distraction.

London, Kennington 4.30pm

The meeting was drawing to a close; as usual Freya had been busy typing everything up in her laptop and was looking around hopefully, waiting for the word to stop. As with all new teams, most of the discussion had been about sharing and pooling information. Colin had been speaking about some forced changes at the top of a group of some infamous and extremely rich Russians, and then sat back and looked at his partner questioningly, clearly waiting. Milky paused looking around, and then opened a folder on his desk and took out some notes and a photograph that he passed around.

‘There’s just this one thing. Probably nothing, but I’m gonna mention it,’ he told the team cautiously.

Minty nodded, always encouraging, hoping to build some momentum in what they had been rushed together to do.

‘Well, as Colin was saying earlier, we’ve been putting a bit more pressure on Christian Cooper,’ he continued.

Christian Cooper. Brother of Michael Cooper and youngest son of Frankie Cooper Junior, who in turn was the youngest son of Frankie Cooper senior. Senior had eventually passed away ten years ago, leaving everything in the hands of Frankie Junior. In their case, everything was fencing, protection, loans, bookies and general heavy-handedness in their local area of leafy Chiswick. They fronted it with a seemingly lucrative aggregates and scrap-metal business, which appeared completely legitimate. Senior had run things with a will of iron for decades, Junior finally taking over the day-to-day work on his fiftieth birthday. Now, he had full control, and with Michael at his side was declaring war on his rivals, which in truth weren’t that many; the Coopers had been around a long, long time. No Cooper had ever done any serious time, nobody ever dared to speak out and it seemed even the powerful Russians on their doorstep in Chelsea were avoiding any direct confrontation. Ray had come up against Michael in the past, and had his fingers burnt badly. The entire time the arrest was being processed everything had been in place; it had appeared a sure conviction. But it all ended abruptly thanks to the same old story; witness statements suddenly withdrawn, evidence inexplicably going missing, a weak alibi now cast-iron. The Coopers were on the list Minty had originally drawn up and Colin and Milky had been given the job of looking into them. They quickly established Christian could be a weak link in the chain. He was twenty-six and living the playboy lifestyle, rich and surrounded by yes men and hangers-on. The difference to his brother and father was incredible; Frankie Junior was now sixty, but still menacing and hands-on. Michael was thirty-three, and more than happy to be doling out the violence himself in the name of the family. Meanwhile Christian, with his slight build and smart clothes, was happily spending money like water on hotels, restaurants, nightclubs and holidays. He still lived at home, would be at all the family gatherings and was listed as a director of a property rental company but other than that appeared completely removed from all aspects of the business. It was rumoured that while Frankie Junior indulged him Michael was becoming increasingly irritated, and the word was the brothers had fallen out. Michael would never act with any aggression toward Christian, but as they got closer Colin and Milky had discovered that Christian’s considerable allowance had been cut and had also learned that Christian was now keen to earn money and favour for himself. While he would never be an out and out informer, he clearly saw that having friends in the police could help and maybe even ingratiate himself back in with his brother. The two detectives could see through it but were hopeful to cultivate something by keeping the relationship such as it was moving along.

Ray looked at the photo placed in his hands; it was simple, just an unassuming, well-dressed man who looked to be in his seventies strolling down the street. The photo had obviously been taken without his knowledge; it showed him listening to the much younger man walking alongside him.

‘Anybody know him?’ Ray asked. Shaken heads all round.

‘So?’ asked Minty, looking at Milky.

‘Right well, as I said, this is probably nothing. Christian gave us the picture and some info; he says we should look into him.’

Minty and Ray exchanged looks. They were both yet to be convinced that Christian was anything other than a waste of time. Compared to his father and brother he was plastic, forgettable. But as the team was new and finding its feet, they were letting Colin and Milky use their initiative. For now.

‘Alright, alright,’ Colin said gently with raised hands and a smile, ‘we know what you think.’

Ray smiled back. ‘OK, so tell us!’

Milky took the notes from the folder. ‘He is one Donald Weatherall. Seventy-two. Born in Northampton. Lives in Highgate. We went and had a nosy, it’s a big place, nice gaff. Money.’

‘So, who is he? Any record?’

‘Well first off, we thought like you did. Christian is trying to build his part up. But we reckoned it’s good practice, you know have a dig around,’ Colin took up the story earnestly, still cautious of rebuke.

‘Good. Carry on,’ Minty told him.

‘Well, you know, I have to say it is interesting. Christian said this Weatherall was this big noise over in the States, and had some falling out years and years ago with Frankie Senior, which Junior had some sort of part in. Says he doesn’t know anything else other than one day they were driving down the Holloway Road and Frankie Junior saw the geezer having a cup of coffee and literally tried to jump out of the car to get hold of him. Michael had to hold him back. Anyway, he was carrying on all day about how he wanted to get even and had people out all over London looking for him. Nothing turned up, but good old Christian, ever the arse licker took it on himself and tracked him down and told daddy. And that night Frankie Junior went off on his own.’

Despite himself, Ray was also now interested in the story. ‘And never came back?’ he asked with a smile.

‘He came back but refused to talk about it. In fact never mentioned it again. Of course, Michael and Christian came to the same conclusion and expected to read about a murder in North London, but it never came. Then coincidentally not even two weeks later Christian came out of a barber shop in Maida Vale and almost walked right into the bloke. He followed him around for a bit and took the photo on his phone, and then gave it to us. Anyway, me and Colin thought why not? We actually found out quite a bit. It turns out this old fellah was a proper somebody by all accounts. We don’t know exactly but it looks like up to about fifteen years ago he was living in Manhattan and was reputed to work for the Moretti gang there, well once upon a time. When they were at it anyway.’

Minty looked around. ‘Name rings a bell I think.’

‘Not me,’ replied Ray, ‘all I know about crime in New York is watching the Sopranos.’

‘Same here,’ answered Milky, warming to his theme. ‘But we found out they were a really big deal, and Donald Weatherall was well in with the top boys. He was in charge of the money, and by the sounds of it he did a good job. A very good job. Even though they were indicted time and time again nothing would ever stick, nobody could ever find any cash. The cops over there could never pin anything concrete down. It was right in front of them too, so blatant it must have driven them fucking mad. These Moretti geezers all had big houses, cars and stank of cash everywhere. None of them seemed to have jobs; it was clear as day really, but the cops could never get nothing solid. Can you believe that? Anyway, at the top of the pile the Moretti’s were a family operation by the sound of it, then something happened a while back and almost the entire family get wiped out during a birthday celebration.’

‘Wow,’ said Jason, clearly impressed by the information.

‘Exactly. All the police could find out was some mob opened fire on the restaurant they were in. It was a place that they owned apparently, and they had closed it for this party. Three cars pull up on the pavement and from the witness statements; those that were left that is, seven or eight men emptied assault rifles through the windows. Twenty-three people died, eldest seventy-nine youngest ten years old.’

‘Fuck!’ Ray was really interested now. ‘Obviously Mr Weatherall wasn’t hurt.’

‘He wasn’t even there. In fact, the police pulled him in, but he was on holiday. Cuba. Cast iron alibi. We managed to speak to this copper at the NYPD who worked on it; he said it was a fucking bloodbath. They never nicked nobody; in the end they put it down to one of the black street gangs that had been throwing their weight about. Apparently, it was suspected to have a drugs angle, but once again nothing was ever proven. Cop was bitter about it; he thinks there was a side that was kept from him, people all around who knew a lot more than anyone was saying. But his bosses saw it as a win, the Moretti’s had it coming so the NYPD gave up easily, swept it under the carpet.’

‘Somebody inside the department pulling strings?’

‘Sounds like it.’

Ray picked up the picture again and looked closely.

‘Who’s this geezer he’s with?’

‘Christian don’t know him, said he ain’t seen him before.’

‘So do we know what he’s doing now?’ Minty asked.

‘Well, he bought the place up in Highgate more than ten years ago. Paid cash. He’s got a Barclays bank account with a good few grand in it, and there are transfers in and out of it all over the place to other accounts in Switzerland and Lichtenstein. For the last few years he has declared legit earnings as a management consultant and pays his taxes as far as we can see.’

‘Mr Clean,’ mused Minty, scratching his chin. ‘Any family?’

‘No record of him getting married or having any kids. Feller in New York was really helpful actually, maybe he was bored but he had a nosey around. Nothing over there at all it looks like, no family, not even a girlfriend. When we checked his drum out it’s a big place alright but definitely only him there.’

‘Anything else?’ asked Ray.

‘Nothing really, but … look, there might well be something here. The bloke in New York says from what they know it seemed like one day he just turned up there out of the blue working for the Moretti’s. They was already having a good look into that operation. This was like, back in the seventies. Nobody knew who the fuck he was or where he come from. And then, just as easy, all them years later he was gone. But the thing that got us was what Christian said. He reckons that once he’s off on one it’s unlike his dad to go quiet but that’s what he did and from what we know about him that sounds about right.’

Minty stretched and sat upright in his chair. He motioned to Freya. ‘Alright, lets add him to our list of people to keep an eye on. We know where he is, I can’t see there’s any need for any surveillance or pulling him in for a little chat at this stage. Let him think he’s anonymous for now.’

He looked over at Colin and Milky.

‘This is good work. I mean it. This is exactly what we are supposed to be doing, who knows who this old geezer really is? I want you to make a few friends in the NYPD and do a bit more digging. Find out what you can about this Moretti gang and any more history and check out if they’ve got anything more on him.’

‘It might help if we could sit down face to face guv, you know me and Colin could shoot over there,’ suggested Milky hopefully with Colin nodding next to him.

Ray and Minty both laughed loudly.

‘Yeah, of course, nice one Milky dream on’, sniggered Minty. ‘I can see me getting approval for that one son, really.’

‘Worth a try guv.’

Minty stood up, and Ray followed suit. ‘Right, we’re off the clock soon, anybody fancy one at the Bell before we shoot off?’

Chapter Two

The Handsome Man watched the girl dress, and then turned his gaze to the windows of his hotel room. Outside it was fully dark now, while earlier it had been grey, tinged with a touch of more grey and a dash of extra grey thrown in for good measure. Typical he thought, first time in London and he arrives at the beginning of November, and it is goddamn cold. Unseasonably cold he remembers; from the hour he spent watching television waiting for the girl to arrive. She pulled on her coat and picked up her bag, in a hurry to leave. Ten minutes ago she had been telling him how cute he was, how she could stay if he wanted. Yeah, right.

Now, she was all business and had her hand out for money. Which surprised him, as he had already paid. In full, something that he politely explained.

She affected a sneer.

‘Look, don’t be cheap, arsehole. I got a living to make. I can make a call you know; I can get guys here in no time. And they will make you pay. This ain’t a town you fuck around in trust me. So, it’s a hundred and twenty, and I want my dough.’

Interesting, The Handsome Man thought. He had paid the concierge a hundred and fifty. He sat up in bed and gave the girl a winning smile.

‘I think there’s been a mistake …,’ he began. But ‘Candy’ as she called herself cut him off and dug out her mobile.

‘I just got to call. These boys are the real deal, they will fuck you up. I mean it,’ she stared at him. And then the next thing she knew she was pinned against the door. His strength was unreal, she had admired his toned body and his muscles while they had been at it, she had thought it made a change from having sweaty fat men toiling away while she wondered what she would have for dinner. She now found she couldn’t move. His hand held her under her chin, her feet high off the floor. Her skirt had pulled way up. In his other hand he held her mobile phone. He was still smiling.

‘Go on sweetheart, make the call. Tell them all. Get them to c`ome here,’ he told her, his voice still soft, still gentle.

How the fuck had this happened? He had been lying in bed! And now what was she going to do? Worse, what was he going to do? She tried to speak but he cut her off.

‘Look sweetheart, it’s that concierge, right?’ he said in a conspiratorial tone. ‘I mean that guy downstairs, well. He’s messing with both of us, right?’

Frantically she tried to nod, moving her head about a millimetre.

‘I can see the score,’ he continued smoothly, ‘I mean hey! Look at it from his point of view. He sends you up here. I’m just a guy, I won’t make a fuss, right? And guess what, the sucker ends up paying double!’

She continued to nod. She realised how scared she was and wet herself. He noticed and frowned.

‘Hey baby, I‘m not into all that stuff,’ he told her. ‘Anyways, not today.’

Suddenly he let her go, she fell to the floor in front of the door in a crumpled heap. She stared up at him. He was still smiling. He really was ridiculously good looking she thought to herself abstractedly.

She flinched as he reached out and pulled her to her feet. He leaned in close to her.

‘Hey, here’s what we’ll do. I’m gonna be a nice guy! Hell, I am a nice guy, I really am. But if I even get so much as a knock on this door, even if its housekeeping, I’m gonna find you. And believe me, I will. And then no more tricks for you, no more nothing.’

She stared at him; she believed every word.

He stood back.

‘Do we have an understanding?’

Tears streamed down her face as she nodded. ‘Yes!’ she whispered, ‘Oh my God yes.’

‘Great!’ he exclaimed. He threw her mobile phone back to her and reached behind and pulled the door open. ‘Now off you go sugar, you were great I must say. I’m gonna look you up I really mean it. Now though, I gotta take a shower.’

As she hurried out the room he gently closed the door behind her.

Down in the lobby, Mickey Drysdale was becoming more and more bothered. He had been concierge at the Royal London Tower hotel for over twelve years, head concierge for the last two. In those years he had bolstered his basic pay considerably by getting whatever anybody wanted, ever. But this had not been a good year. His biggest earner by far was making a fortune in supplying coke to punters at the hotel, it seemed like practically everybody who was staying there wanted it as the hotel typically catered for business types, young execs always on the move. But there had been some incidents, and the hotel had put in a new management team who were determined to raise the hotel’s status and earn themselves some brownie points with the owners. First they had issued a strict ‘no drugs’ mandate that had to be signed by all the staff. Mickey had cheerfully signed, and then forgotten all about it. Then, they installed a new security team and more CCTV cameras all over the place, even back of house. This had made life trickier, but not impossible. The crunch came when Mickey’s main supplier was arrested as he entered the hotel. He was a regular there, and one of the new managers had grown suspicious and called the police. He was carrying a good size delivery at the time, exactly as Mickey had ordered. This caused immediate problems of course; Mickey had to give refunds, and assurances, and had to let down several very disgruntled regulars. He knew his supplier would never grass him up, but he also realised on that day that there was a distinct finger of suspicion pointing at him and he suddenly didn’t have very many friends at the hotel. Believing that he could return to his previous ways once the fuss died down, he changed his tune and in public started to actually do some proper work, even turning up on time. But he was really missing the money, he had built up an extravagant lifestyle and he was hurting.

He still had a couple of things going on, moving occasional small amounts of coke and occasional weed, overpriced theatre tickets, back door car rental and the couple of prostitutes he was in with, which is why his mood soured further when he saw Candy leave the lift and march straight across the lobby for the exit, her legs moving fast and heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. He moved out from behind the desk slightly and caught her eye. Candy was one of his favourites, he put a fair bit of work her way and she always got the cash. Plus, she wasn’t bad looking for a brass, and he had got the odd favour from her in return. He saw immediately that something had gone wrong, she had clearly been crying. With a terse faint shake of her head at him she walked past then left the hotel.

‘Bollocks,’ he thought to himself. Obviously, she had failed in the money scam. He had already paid her a hundred and twenty when she had turned up. It had taken ages to get hold of her and he had ended up paying for the cab to get her there, so the thirty quid he had made in the deal now looked more like a tenner at best. He wondered what had gone on with the punter in 414. Bloke had seemed OK, for a yank. Quiet, clean cut; didn’t really look like he had to go and pay for it but when Mickey had suggested some company he had said yes immediately. He looked at his watch, nearly six. He had another two hours before his shift ended. Back on nights tomorrow, which suited him better, he was able to be more invisible.

The Handsome Man admired his reflection in the mirrors as he travelled down in the elevator. ‘Lift’ they called it over here he thought to himself, amused by the sign inside the door. He yawned loudly and shook his head. If you were smart, flying to the UK from the US and you wanted to avoid any real jet lag, he had been advised to nap on the plane then just put off going to bed for as long as you can. It wasn’t even lunchtime in Philadelphia, where he had been living for a while. He decided to try and hang on until it got past one am here, that should work out he thought. He was more of a night person anyway. He decided that he would do some tourist stuff and then find somewhere good for dinner, walk around the city, and maybe go to a show. But he had a little something that he had to take care of first.

Mickey glanced up as he heard the lift opening and spotted the guest from 414 walk out. The bloke hadn’t seen him, which was good. Mickey slid quietly into the luggage room to wait it out, better take a low profile and avoid him until he could find out what happened from Candy. The last thing he wanted was a guest complaint, unlikely as it was in the circumstances.

Using the mirror on the opposite wall The Handsome Man watched the concierge he had struck the deal with hide. He had expected this. Stupidly, the guy had chosen to hide where he couldn’t see out. The Handsome Man smiled to himself and wandered over and ordered a cup of coffee and sat in the lounge where he couldn’t be seen from the lobby but had a perfect view of it for himself in a window reflection.

After fifteen minutes idly playing games on his mobile, Mickey decided he had waited long enough and cautiously peered out from the luggage room. Coast clear, he emerged and took his place back behind his desk, fixing his ‘here to help’ smile to his face. His best bet was to try and earn a few tips the way things were going. He stepped outside to unnecessarily help a guest load a case into a cab that earned him a pound and then as he walked back through the doors his arm was suddenly wrenched up and twisted behind him. He resisted the urge to cry out and tried to wriggle his way free looking around wildly for help, unbelievably nobody had noticed, and he was marched back into the luggage room. The grip on him didn’t loosen until he was tripped and fell sprawling against some cases, and as he tried to stand up was thrown to the floor until he ended up lying on his back with a foot placed heavily on his throat. He grabbed the leg attached to the foot with both arms and tried to push but it was unmoving. He stared upwards into the face of the guest from 414, who was looking down at him smiling.

‘It’s best if you don’t struggle you know. This particular method of subduing somebody can cause quite serious injury if you start moving about. Friend of mine, he needed somebody’s attention once and they were in the same position as we are now but then the guy was throwing himself around and then next thing? Dead. Neck busted. Jeez, I’d guess that was embarrassing, right? Now you don’t have to do anything, but I would like you to listen real carefully to what I got to say. OK?’

Mickey was in a daze and nodded weakly. He let his hands drop to his sides in surrender.

‘Good. You look like a guy who’d have a wife at home, kids, right?’

Again, Mickey nodded slowly.

‘Well, it’d sure be great if you can go back to them later on wouldn’t it? Hell,