red telephone booths.
In the windows of each were maybe twenty calling cards, held in position by fun tac. The authorities would be around at some point today to clean them out, but they'd be restocked an hour later.
I went into the left-hand booth and saw Susie Gee's card three quarters of the way up, facing Oxford Circus. She looked very sultry, on all fours and kissing the air. At the same time as I peeled her off the glass I got out a large black marker pen and scored a line down the window.
Folding Susie into my pocket I moved on toward the hotel. It was a bit premature to leave the DLB loaded sign, but I wasn't expecting any problems.
With my bag in hand I walked through the hotel's revolving doors, which had been started for me by a guy dressed in a green three-quarter length tunic and something that looked like a cross between a turban and a beret on his head. He looked a right nerd.
The interior of the Langham was very plush, and very full of businessmen and wealthy-looking tourists. It was Indian the med with the Chukka Bar to my left as I walked into the marble reception area.
Liv's instructions were perfect. To the right and up a few steps was the reception desk, and ahead of me was a restaurant-cum tea room. My destination, however, was the basement.
Down below was every bit as plush as above. Temperature controlled and soft-carpeted, it housed the conference rooms and business center.
Standing on an easel outside the George Room, a black felt board with white press-on letters announced, 'Management 2000 welcomes our conference guests.' Passing it and two wall phones that I would be coming back to, I headed for the rest rooms.
Opposite the rest room doors were more phones, a cloakroom and a table rigged up with tea, coffee, and cookies. Sitting ready to serve was a black guy and a white woman talking in that shifty tone that you just know means they're dissing the management. As soon as they saw me, they gave me their corporate smiles; I smiled back and headed for the men's room.
Sitting down in one of the stalls, I took out a little plastic pillbox from my drugstore bag, the sort that people use to hold their day's supply of vitamins, along with a pack of adhesive-backed Velcro patches. I stuck both a female and a male patch onto the pillbox just in case she'd fucked up on what side to use; it would be embarrassing if it didn't stick.
Inside the pillbox went a small scrap of paper with my message: 'Arriving 1515 12th.' That was all that she needed to know.
Putting the drugstore bag back in my pocket and checking that the two little squares of Velcro were secure, I came out of the toilet, smiled again at the two people in the cloakroom, turned right and went back to the first two telephones I'd passed.
They were positioned quite low down the wall, for the convenience of users in wheelchairs. I put the bag between my legs and shuffled a chair up closer to the phone. Liv had chosen well: not too busy, no video cameras about, and a reason to be there.
As I sat down, I got out a coin and Susie's card, picked up the phone, and dialed, wondering if Janice and Tom had done any lipstick cards for her lately. I wanted the display to show money being used up; otherwise it would look suspicious if anyone passed and saw that I'd been there a few minutes and was only pretending to make a call. It was a small detail, but they count.
I used my right hand to keep the phone to my ear, waiting for Susie, and felt under the wooden veneer shelf below it with my left. In the far corner, there should be a large patch of Velcro that Liv had put there.
As I fumbled about, the doors to the George Room opened behind me and out surged a stream of Management 2000 delegates.
As I listened to the ringing tone, I watched the herd move to their grazing area by the cloakroom. A young woman in her twenties sat on the chair next to me and put a coin in the box.
An aggressive Chinese woman answered me. 'Hello?'
I could hear my fellow caller tap out her number as I replied.
'Susie?'
'No, you wait.'
I waited. The woman next to me started talking about her child, who needed picking up from nursery school since she was going to be late.
The person at the other end was obviously annoyed. 'That's not fair, Mum, it's not always the same excuse and yes, of course she remembers what her own mother looks like. Kirk is home early tonight. He'll pick her up.'
A man came from behind and placed his hand on her shoulder.
She kissed it. His Management 2000 badge said David. Not quite the conference making her late home, then.
The noise level doubled as people talked management over coffee.
I found what I was looking for as I heard footsteps approaching the receiver at the other end: It was female Velcro, the soft bit, just as Liv had said.
A very husky, middle-aged voice picked up the phone. 'Hello, can I help you, my love? Would you like me to run through the services?'
I ummed and aahed as the woman named the price for spending half an hour in France, Greece, and various other countries of the world with Susie. To spin out the call I asked where Susie was based, and then for directions to the address near Paddington.
'That's great,' I said. 'I'll think about it.'
I put the phone down, picked up the bag, moved the chair back, stood up, and headed back the way I'd come, leaving the woman telling her mother it absolutely would be the last time she'd have to do this.
I turned before going through the doors, checked the box couldn't be seen from that level and went upstairs. Sinbad did his trick with the revolving doors and I was back on the street. Turning right, I headed back the way I'd come. Last light was soon; by four thirty it would be dark.
All I had to do now was call Tom at seven and tell him the timings for tomorrow morning's flight, then go and dump my leathers in the trash and my weapon in London's biggest armory, the River Thames.
15
Sunday, December 12.1333 Tarn stood in a different line for immigration. I'd told him in the nicest way that he must keep away from me until we were in the arrivals lounge-security and all that. He talked too much and too loudly to sit next to in an aircraft. We'd even checked in separately. He'd agreed with his usual, 'No drama, mate. Gotcha.'
On the subway to Heathrow, he'd told me that Janice was fine about him going away. 'I told her I had some work with my old friend Nick in Scotland,' he said. 'I told her straight.'
That version was about as straight as Elton John. Janice was probably severely pissed off that he was enjoying himself north of the border for two weeks while she slaved away kissing cards for Lucy. I wondered if he'd said anything to her about the money, but didn't ask. I didn't want him sounding off about his plans for world domination in the world of IT.
At least he hadn't wanted to drown himself in free alcohol on the way over. It seemed he didn't drink-a by- product, maybe, of serving a jail sentence. Just as well, because there would be none of that until we were back in the U.K.
He'd made an effort and smartened himself up a bit for the journey, which was good. I wanted him to resemble an average citizen, not look like food for customs to pull to one side for a slow once-over. He was still wearing my jacket, but had swapped the flared jeans for a new, normal pair, and he was also wearing a new red sweatshirt. However, he still had the same canvas daps on, and though he'd finished off by washing and combing his hair, he hadn't shaved.
I watched him slap his jacket as if he was doing some sort of dance.
This was the third time since leaving London that I'd seen him think he'd mislaid his passport.
We got through immigration and customs and there was no need to wait for suitcases. I'd told him that all he needed was a bit of soap and a toothbrush, and he could wash his underwear in the bath with him at night.
The sliding doors opened to admit us separately into the arrivals hall.
