TWENTY-TWO
In the end, it had been Tommy Whitaker’s need for pizza that would ultimately bring about his untimely demise. For all his best efforts to keep himself hidden, (not to mention the bag Lady's lilac coated advice about keeping a low profile.) The sight of a derelict in a two thousand pound, if soiled, Armani suit paying for a takeaway pizza with an American express gold card had lit up his whereabouts like a big neon sign.
After that, it hadn’t taken a master detective to check the credit card number’s latest transactions, one of which included room and board at the less than luxurious Riverside Bed and Breakfast, in front of which Bill Fraker now stood. He had just come off the phone to one of Mister Lyne’s many Private Investigators who was now five hundred pounds the richer for what in the end had only been at most twenty minutes of sleuthing. ‘Nice work if you can get it’ thought Fraker.
He looked at the place, someone must have paid the health inspector and half a dozen other agencies a hefty bribe to keep this place open. The Bed and Breakfast was little more than a glorified squat. Fraker couldn’t believe the Tommy Whitaker that he knew would be seen dead in a place like this. There was laying low, and there was laying low he mused.
A swift twenty-pound note to the receptionist had given Fraker the guy in the expensive suits room number and he made his way up a flight of barely carpeted stairs to the first floor. Whitaker’s room was the last at the far end of the corridor and when he reached it, Fraker pressed his ear against the door. He could hear muffled movement from inside and for a second wished he had brought along the berretta, just in case. Whitaker wasn’t the violent type but he was scared and scared people could be unpredictable and Fraker was damn sure the kneecap routine wouldn’t work here.
He hammered hard on the door and pressed his ear back against it, he was sure he heard someone curse and could imagine Whitaker on the other side holding his breath. Fraker knocked again. “Tommy Whitaker,” he said to the wood. “Open the door, son, I know you’re in there.” Nothing, then the sound of shuffling feet close to the door. Whitaker was on the other side, listening, probably with his ear pressed right against the wood so Fraker knocked again, hard and heard someone curse from inside.
“Christ, Whitaker, I can hear you in there. Open the door or I’ll kick the fucker in.”
“Go away,” Whitaker shouted. “Leave me alone, or I’ll call the police.”
“I don’t think you’re gonna do that Tommy,” Fraker said in a softer tone. “Now how about opening the door? I just want to talk. And it's fucking freezing out here.” Although he couldn't imagine it would be any warmer in Whitaker's room, this place didn't exactly sing out central heating.
“No way, I’ve never heard of Tommy Whitaker. I’ve got a gun... Try breaking in and I’ll shoot.”
Fraker had heard a million threats over the years and he knew Whitaker was bluffing, even if he did have a gun, which he very much doubted, he wouldn’t use it. “Listen, I’m one of the few people who doesn’t want you in casualty, or worse. Now I’m sick of talking to a fucking door. Should I go get the Yank I’m working for and let him kick it in? Maybe you’d like to tell him face to face, you’ve never heard of Tommy Whitaker?”
Whitaker gave an audible gasp. “Yank? Did, you say..? His voice trailed away he sounded sick.
“You heard what I said. Don’t worry he doesn’t know I’m here, yet. Thought it was best for your well-being if I talked to you first. Call me a humanitarian.”
“Who are you?” Whitaker asked weakly.
Fraker bit his lip, he was close to kicking the door into Whitaker’s face. “I’m Bill Fraker, I work for Paddy Lyne, and I know you know who he is.”
The lock on the door clicked and it open a few inches. Whitaker’s blood shot eyes scanned Fraker and the corridor around him. There was a look in them that made Fraker physically shudder and he was thankful when Whitaker screwed them shut and stepped away so he could enter.
The room smelled exactly as Fraker knew it would, a mixture of stale body odour, unwashed clothes, and for want of a better word; fear. Whitaker stood in the middle of the room with a hangdog expression on his weary face he looked to Fraker like a scarecrow; his once perfect hair was matted and greasy, his overpriced clothes hung off him looking at least a size to big due undoubtedly to his lack of eating. Testament to this was the treacherous pizza laid still in its box less than a quarter eaten.
“How did you find me?” Whitaker said without looking up, his voice barely a whisper.
Fraker gestured towards the pizza. “Credit card,” he said and Whitaker nodded.
Whitaker put his hand into his trouser pocket, and for a moment Fraker thought he might actually pull out a gun. But instead he produced what looked like a small gold nugget, Whitaker looked at it, then flicked it across the room. “Should have stayed at the Hilton after all,” he said. “Five hundred quid that thing cost me. Huh, there’s one born every minute.” He finally looked Fraker in the eye. “Where’s the Yank?”
“Relax, he’s not around. Besides, it’s not you he wants.” Fraker said.
“He said that?” Whitaker said a little brighter.
Fraker kicked the door shut with his heal. “You know who he wants,” he looked around at the squalor. “Christ man, what the hell happened to you? Surely you could do better than this shit hole? And look at yourself, you look like you haven’t washed or slept in a week.”
The lawyer smiled weakly and glanced at himself. “Two, I think.”
“Where’s McCulloch?” Asked Fraker. He felt like he was in a room with a dead body, sure this one was walking and talking, but he was dead never the less, he just hadn’t quite learnt to let go yet. To accept the ride was over.
“I honestly don’t know,” said the dead guy, his voice empty.
“Do you enjoy living like this?” said Fraker. “Why are you protecting him? Do you really think he’d do the same for you?”
“Christ no, not Larry. But that’s just it, I really don’t know. Don’t you think I’d tell you if I did? I owe him nothing, especially not my life.” He looked around him. “Such as it is. I spoke to him, a few of days ago, after I found out what was really going on. Last I heard he was still with Scotland Yard, least that was who I hooked him up with. But now he’s disappeared, no one knows where he is, but whoever’s got him are keeping him safe...” He gave a grunt at the word safe. “Huh, safe, that’s a fucking joke.”
Although Fraker had never actually met Whitaker before, he had seen him around, usually with some woman barely out of her teens and dripping with diamonds on his arm. Always dressed immaculately, and invariable left in some type of outrageously expensive sports car. And of course his famous hair. If you saw a picture of him, you’d swear it was airbrush on it was so neat.
But now he was just a shadow of that guy. Fraker found it hard to believe this wreck was the same person, how the mighty have fallen. He was suddenly reminded of Charlie, and how he had idolised Whitaker. And for the first time could see him going the same way, shit out of luck, alone, scared. Anger came out of nowhere.
“Just look at you,” said Fraker, even surprising himself at the venom in his voice. “You had it all, now? Christ what have you gotten yourself into?”
“Believe me, all that money, the power, it means nothing. I’d give it all up in a heartbeat, if it could get me out of this shit I’m in. It means nothing in the end. I can’t protect myself from these people.” Whitaker paused, staring off into space with a look haunted look that sent a shiver down Fraker’s spine. “That Yank,” he said after an age, “Christ the things I’ve heard about him. The shit he can do.”
“What, Randall?” Asked Fraker.
“So,” continued Whitaker. “It is him...” His voice trailed off again then he suddenly looked Fraker in the eye, and for the first time held his gaze. “Christ man, what the hell are you doing working for a thing like that? I didn’t know Paddy Lyne was mixed up in all that. I thought he got where he is the old fashioned dishonest way.”
“We’re not mixed up with anyone,” Fraker said, a little taken a back. “I’m just babysitting this Yank until we can track down McCulloch. Then I just walk away and let him get on with it.”
Whitaker looked at him with genuine amusement, and Fraker had to fight the urge to smack him in the mouth. “That simple, eh?” Whitaker said knowingly. “Seem to remember that’s what I used to keep telling myself. Oh they’re nothing special, powerful? Yeah. But where do you think power like that comes from, Fraker?” He paused for a response, but Fraker could only think of how Lyne had looked back in his office when all this had started: ‘They have made a lot of powerful people very nervous.’
“No, my friend,” Whitaker continued. “You get mixed up with people like that, there’s no going back. Take my advice, get out while you still can.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Fraker said a little on the defensive, “I can take care of myself. Besides, you’re hardly in the position to give me advice, Whitaker.”
Whitaker’s gaze drifted away again. “True, but you get mixed up with them. It... It stains you, it stains your soul.” He shook his head and muttered something Fraker couldn't hear, then added. “That Randall, he’s, he's just a foot soldier, but he’s one of the worst. Christ the things I’ve heard about that one.”
“You talk about him like he’s the devil himself.” Said Fraker.
“May as well be,” replied Whitaker, he looked back at Fraker. “So what are you going to tell him about me?”
“That you’re a nutter.”
Whitaker took a step towards Fraker, who clenched his fist, but the move was desperate, not threatening. Whitaker held up a trembling hand and lightly touched Fraker’s chest. “You tell him...” He voice faltered, think with emotion. “You convince him that I don’t know where Larry is. You have to.” He suddenly raced over to his jacket which was hanging over the back of a chair and took out his wallet. He waved it in Fraker’s face.
“Look, I can give you money, shit loads of it, as much as you like. Just don’t tell him where I am.” He pleaded.
Fraker knocked his hand away, “I don’t want your money.”
“Yes, yes you do.” Whitaker said with growing desperation. “And also, and this bit is important. Don’t even think about this place, don’t think about any of it, what it looks like, where it is, how you got here. Don’t think about any of that, and you’ll be rich.”
“I told you I don’t want...”
“None of it, or he’ll know,” Whitaker cut him off. “He’ll know how to get here.” He was growing frantic now and Fraker gave serious thought to slapping the maniac, hard. But Whitaker was oblivious to this as he was in full flow now. “Oh, Jesus,“ he babbled. “For Christ sake, don’t even say my name anymore, he’ll know, like a shark.” He suddenly dropped to his knees and scrambled over to where he had flicked what Fraker had thought was a gold nugget of some kind.
“The tooth, Jesus.” He found it and held it up for Fraker to see. “Oh thank Christ.”
Fraker recoiled. “What the hell are you talking about, say your name? What fucking difference will that make?” He looked down in disbelief at the gold tooth in Whitaker’s grubby hand. “Snap out of it!” He shouted and without thinking slapped Whitaker across the face. Whitaker’s mouth fell open in shock and he stared up at Fraker, stunned. “Next time it won’t be a fucking love tap, Whitaker, now pull yourself together.” Fraker said, his heart pounding in his ears.
What the fucking hell had just happened? Fraker thought. One minute Whitaker was trying to bribe him, (which was thankfully the first normal thing he’d done since Fraker had entered this God forsaken room) the next he was babbling about sharks and scrambling around on the floor like a lunatic.
He grabbed Whitaker’s shirt collar and dragged him to his feet. “I can’t protect myself.” Whitaker finally said. Fraker let him go and half expected him to fall to his knees again, but Whitaker just stood, there with blood dripping from his mouth.
“You should sit down, Tommy, before you fall down.” Whitaker nodded barely comprehending, but didn’t move. Fraker took hold of his arms and gently let him over to the room’s tatty sofa and he finally slumped down into it. “You got anything to drink?” Asked Fraker.
Whitaker shook his head. He looked down at the tooth still clutched in his hand. “Can’t protect myself,” he said softly to no one in particular. “Who was I trying to kid? It’s too late for all that now, always was.” He let the tooth fall onto the floor again and looked up at Fraker. “He’s been waiting all this time. Waiting for it all to fall into place. Christ, he probably knew the moment you said my name at the door.” He kicked the tooth away in disgust.
Not this again, thought Fraker. He was going to speak but there was something about the way Whitaker sat there, like a lost child who knew his parents had long since abandoned him that robbed Fraker of anything to say but banalities, and this sure wasn’t the time for those.
Then Whitaker’s gaze drifted off again, into the shadows. “I should kill myself,” he said in a whisper. “Kill myself and be done with all this horror, before he gets to me. At least it would be quick. But I’m too much of a coward. Shit, don’t even know if it would make any difference anyway.” He smiled but it melted from his face a heat beat later. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” Whitaker got to his feet and straightened his shirt, which now had spots of blood on it from his busted lip. And Fraker thought that maybe he was rallying somewhat.
“What’s going on, Tommy?” Asked Fraker.
“Be careful who you do business with Mister Fraker,” Whitaker said. “That’s the moral here. I was warned, can’t say I wasn’t. Walked into this whole sorry mess with my eyes wide open. Huh, me and Larry both.” A thin smile cracked his weary face and this time it stuck. “Damn fool still thinks he’s going to be able to bullshit his way out of all this.” Whitaker continued bitterly. “Fucking idiot, he has no idea what’s coming, oh but he will soon enough. Tried telling him but he just wouldn’t listen.”
“So you have spoken to him?” Said Fraker, finally an opening.
“Yeah, few days ago. Don’t know why I bothered, he thought I was as mad as you do. But he’ll see. You will too if you’re not careful.” He pointed an accusing finger at Fraker.
If that was a threat, it had no weight at all. Fraker took his mobile out of his pocket and opened up the address book. “Give me his number, that’s a start at least.” He said.
Whitaker brightened a little at this, seeing a chink of light in his situation. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea. But if I give it to you, you have to convince Randall to leave me alone. Tell him that’s all I know, tell him I’m not worth bothering with.” He looked at Fraker hopefully. “I mean, it’s like you said, it’s Larry he wants, right?”
He was hanging on Fraker’s reply, but what could he say? Whitaker was as dead as McCulloch, he’d be trampled in the stampede to get to the old crook. “That’s right, Tommy.” He lied, “I’ll talk to the yank.”
He passed his phone to Whitaker who punched in a number and handed it back. “You tell him,” he said weakly.
The lawyer’s shoulders slumped and he rested his elbows on his knees and Fraker couldn't think of ever seeing a more pathetic, defeated soul in his life and it was chilling.
“What’s this all about, Tommy?” Fraker asked after what seemed like minutes. “Why are they after him?”
“Does it matter?” Whitaker replied.
“There’s more to it, that that damned book of his, isn’t there?” Suddenly Fraker wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know. He was about to turn and leave when Whitaker gave him a haunted look which stopped him dead.
“It started with the people,” said Whitaker.
“People?” The look in his eyes made Fraker physically shutter.
Whitaker took a moment to gather his thoughts, by the look on his face Fraker knew he was going to some place buried deep at the back of his mind, a place Fraker now regretted even before he had heard what was lurking there.
“McCulloch had got himself involved in people trafficking, in Eastern Europe. Nothing big, just sort of a side-line really. He’d cut a deal to transport six illegal immigrants from Poland. Didn’t know why, didn’t care, neither of us did.” He shook his head at his foolishness. “We just thought they were going to be used as cheap labour or something. The whole thing was sordid as hell, but if I’m honest it was a bit of an adventure. All we had to do was get them from Poland to England without getting caught. Simple enough, easy money.”
“Obviously not easy enough.” Said Fraker.
“Should have been, but then Larry got greedy and decided to pull a burn on our mysterious employers.” Whitaker raised his eye brows and Fraker detected a familiar if faint glint in his eye.
“It was quite clever to be fair,” Whitaker continued, “He took money from everyone, and I willingly went along with it. He took the money from Randall’s people, to transport them to England, as agreed. Then, from those six sorry bastards to take them elsewhere. They didn’t care where, just as long as it was away from Randall’s lot.” Whitaker smiled now, it was weak but lit up his face. “Then, and get this, from some French bloke, who needed cheap labour. Christ knows where they finally ended up in the end. Working in some Paris kitchen for five euros an hour most like.” Whitaker gave a rueful shake of the head. “Poor bastards.”
“That’s it?” Said Fraker. All this for six nobodies? He knew it didn’t add up and that he should just leave it alone, but he just couldn't. “Bollocks,” he added even though it would open up a can of worms.
After a moment, Whitaker’s face grew darker. “Should have been,” he said softly. “The whole fucking thing can’t have cost them more than twenty grand. And what’s that to them? Sure we knew they’d be pissed off, but...” His voice trailed off as if the gravity of the situation had just dawned on him.
“This is about more than money. What was so special about those six Poles?” Asked Fraker,
Whitaker physically winced at the question but didn’t answer, he just exhaled and looked at his feet again. Fraker felt a twinge of anger, he was rapidly getting the feeling he was in the middle of something bad, but he had to drag anything remotely resembling a straight answer out of Whitaker and it was wearing thin. He felt out of his depth, lost and it wasn’t a feeling he liked.
He’d always been taught not to ask too many questions, to keep things simple and under control and it had served him well through the years, but this was different. Randall and his mysterious employers were the wild cards here, something he couldn’t control. That look in Lyne’s eye flashed into Fraker head again. Although with the boss it had been only fleeting, Whitaker had that same look permanently etched on his face. And it was one that Fraker increasingly feared might be catching.
“These six,” Fraker finally said again. “What was so special about them?”
“They were, special somehow,” Whi