(aka Bike) Part 1852 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad
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On Saturday Trish looked up at me while she was busy altering the Stock Exchange, or whatever eight year old geniuses do with computers. “Mummy?”
“Yes, sweetheart.” I’d just finished retyping my dissertation and Daddy was checking it. I’d then print off three copies and bind them before submitting them to the university. I was therefore in quite a good mood.
“You know that nasty man who was shot in Brazil?”
“You mean recently?”
She nodded.
“Cortez?”
“Yeah, him. Did you know we have no extradition treaty with Brazil, least not according to wiki.”
I checked and she was correct.
“What’s the matter, Mummy?”
“Uh–nothing, darling, I just want to have a word with Daddy.” I went off to find Simon. He was still in the kitchen eating toast with his marmalade, the latter was piled high on the charred bread and probably thicker than the bread.
I asked him if he wanted some more tea and he sort of grunted, ‘coffee please’ through his breakfast, or should that be breadfast? He’d eaten half a loaf of shop bought thick sliced wholemeal bread, which purports to be made with kibbled grain. I had to look that up–it means slightly boiled–before they mill it.
Sitting down with the cup of tea I’d made myself and the coffee I’d made him, I informed him of Trish’s discovery.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” he said wiping marmalade off his mouth and nose.
“It indicates the report could be in error.”
“Cathy, even the police think it was him, the fingerprints checked out, what more do you want–to see the body?”
“That would be more accurate than hearsay reports.”
“You believe them in the bloody Guardian.”
“Well, you get a better sort of bias in there.” This resulted in him snorting coffee everywhere so I had to wait for him to change his clothes before we could continue the conversation. He returned to the table and I warmed what was left off the coffee in the microwave. “You took a long time,” I observed.
“Yeah, I just spoke to James.”
“About what?”
“What you just said, he was sceptical as well, it’s easy to arrange a cover up there or fake anything from religious miracles to people’s sex.”
“So what do we do? I don’t want to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder in case that bastard comes back.”
“They’ve frozen his assets–the Revenue, I mean.”
“I’m willing to bet he had money stashed all over the place and an escape route planned. Probably some poor sap got shot and I’ll bet the face was damaged beyond recognition and the finger prints could be faked too.”
“What d’you want to do, send James out to find out?”
“And what if he finds our suspicions are true?”
“Ask him to make the report correct.”
“Si, you can’t just send James out to find and kill someone, what if he’s caught?”
“This Brazil we’re talking, there are hundreds of killings every day there.”
“You sure you don’t mean Mexico and the drug wars?”
“Nope, Brazil is very violent–remember they had death squads killing street kids not so long ago?”
“Oh don’t, Si, I can’t bear to think of it, all those poor kids.” I’d just read Donna Leon’s, The Girl Of His Dreams which deals with the unlawful death of a child in Venice, the child being a Rom or gypsy and it had left me feeling a bit down.
“I’m still not happy about us sending James as an assassin–no, I won’t agree to it. Who do we think we are, some tin pot government sending out secret agents to do our dirty work?”
“James Bond does it all the time.”
“James Bond is fiction. This is real life we’re talking about here–and no–I won’t agree to killing someone.”
“What if he came back and killed one of our kids to teach you a lesson?”
“That’s different–he hasn’t come back.”
“But he could.”
“He could also slip in the shower on a bar of soap and drown himself.”
“Unlikely,” Simon pooh-poohed my comparison.
“Look, if he comes back to this country they’ll arrest him, so he’s unlikely to do so is he?” I felt safer for thinking that–a much more likely outcome.
“He could pay someone else to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Kill one of our kids or kidnap them.”
“Please don’t speculate about the lives of the children.” I was feeling quite upset now.
“I asked James if he was willing to take the commission.”
“What to kill someone?”
“To reverse a resurrection.”
I burst out laughing at this phrase–hysterical, uncontrolled laughter. Trish came to see what was happening and Simon waved her away. Her appearance made me worse and instead of laughing I began to sob huge, heavy, scalding hot tears.
He sat me on his knee and finally calmed me down. “Let me deal with it,” he said while I snuggled into him, my head resting on his shoulder.
“You still smell of marmalade,” I said amazed my nose still worked after the deluge of salty water and whatever else came down it and into the tissue I still held in my hand.
“Yeah, so, I’m related to Paddington Bear–didn’t you know?”
I pretended to read a label attached to his shirt, “Please look after this boy, it says.”
“You have pretty well, so perhaps it’s time I looked after you and dealt with this problem.”
“No, Simon. Please don’t do it, I don’t want James to do it.”
“Okay, get someone else–he’s got mates from the special forces, they’ll kill for money quite happily.”
“Simon, you’re not listening to me–I don’t want anyone to kill him–that makes us as bad as him.”
“No, we’re better than him, he missed, we won’t.”
“Simon, I shall say this once more–if you arrange his murder, because that’s what it would be–I’ll inform the police.”
“I don’t believe you just said that,” he said in astonishment. Mind you, neither did I. Sometimes my mouth seems able to work by itself, by passing all my control systems.
“I mean it.”
“Well let me send James out to check it was him.”
“How can you do that?”
“DNA from the body?”
“It’ll be buried by then.”
“Um–not quite.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I got him to say he’s his next of kin and is coming out to take charge of the body and to arrange the funeral.”
“But he looks nothing like a Mediterranean.”
“Yeah, he’d suggest they were gay partners.”
“That’s more likely to get him killed.”
“No it won’t, they have lots of weirdies out there, trannies and gays and all sorts.”
“I’m not a weirdie?”
“No, you’re a woman, that’s a weirdie with PMS.”
“Very funny–not.” I gave him a filthy look but he just sniggered. “James is on his way out there, isn’t he?”
“Yeah,” he looked at his watch, “On his way to Heathrow by now.”
“He’s not going to kill him, if the body isn’t Cortez, is he?”
“Not unless you change your mind. If it’s any consolation, he said no to that.”
“I’m glad.”
“But he knows a man who would.”
“Simon!”
Comments
A job's got to be done ...
Which ever way one likes to look at it, when a job's got to be don, it's gotta' be done.
Nobody would ordinarily live with a cobra as a house snake just as nobody would ordinarily live with vermin like Cortez at the back of thbeir minds.
Better a corps in front of you than a shadow behind.
More cliff-hanger Ang but then, that's what keeps the interest.
Still lovin' it.
XX
Bev.
The Reports of His Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated
Thought so. I think the best outcome would be a long life in solitary without any hope of ever getting out. Of course we need some conflicts to sort this all out.
Portia
The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1852 by Angharad
What if sending James to Brazil gets Cortez or his family to target Cathy and company?
May Your Light Forever Shine
Lakota and Wolf instincts
Lakota and Wolf instincts Tell me that not to trust he is dead until the body is properly Id. It is still possible as Si noted that the death is faked. If so, finish the job. Do not quibble do not try to be nice, pin the head of that critter to the ground and finish the job. Believe me Catherin it is necessary and proper. Do not expect him to play by the rules he hasn't so far. Expecting him to do so is expecting a bear not to kill you because you are a nice person. The bear is an animal so is Cortez.
Stay Safe
A good Friend
The Wolf MaMa
With those with open eyes the world reads like a book
So Is Everyone Else
We are all animals. Some of us are just more rational than others.
Portia
The 'death' of Cortez
Why would Cortez fake his death, since his money is in the UK? Answer: He knew his assets would be frozen if he ever had to run, and has at least an equal amount stashed somewhere under another name, that he will now begin using. I hope James will not run into a dead end (or dead himself) and can find out what name Cortez is now using. Perhaps since the man 'isn't' Cortez anymore, James will wind up killing him, or getting his friend to do so.
I see nothing but bad things for Cortez and his goons as the story continues to unfold. And Cathy, You need to protect yourself with several super strong bear traps, because you are going to need them. This could easily be the worst thing you have experienced so far.
Don't let someone else talk you out of your dreams. How can we have dreams come true, if we have no dreams?
Katrina Gayle "Stormy" Storm
Had a feeling this was not over.
Heaven's I do hope that Cathy has not lost her touch with the cross bow. Chortle chortle.
Gwendolyn
Seems to me
Cathy has a bit of a problem in that she does not want James to take out Cortez (or whatever name he calls himself now)... Maybe she should recall that only a few days ago she likened herself to a Tigress and like all animals they follow must the law of the jungle, "Only the strongest survive", Sometimes you just have to forget your principles.... If ever there was a time then this is it.
Kirri