When Evil Wins (10 page)

Four more weeks passed before Liz was able to leave the private hospital and even though there’d been no party organised for Janus, to meet with influential publishers and TV executives, his book was doing well without the extra promotion.

Janus could not rest on his laurels though; he had to get another commission soon, if only for his sanity. Since the release of his book his investigatory work had dried up. He knew the two weren't connected as he had been through dry periods before. Janus decided to kick-start his investigations business by placing advertisements in relevant publications, as he’d done when he had started out.

But before he could do this he had to put together the right words for the advert he would be having printed. Janus powered up his computer. What could he write? What words could he use to persuade those, who may be in need of his services, without coming across as some kind of nutter and without coming across as a self-publicist now his name was in the public domain?

He was about to type the first line of text for his advert into the word processor when the clinking of his letter box interrupted him. He got up from his chair in front of the computer and made his way to the front door.

His whole flat was open plan barring the bedroom and shower. The work area where his computer was placed filled an alcove which looked out over his road. On the right of his work area was his kitchenette, a small square area delimitated by the lino flooring and the associated accoutrements required to make the area a kitchen and behind the kitchenette, towards the back of his flat, was his lounge.

As he reached the front door he saw that an envelope had just, at that moment it seemed, been pushed through his letter box. He picked it up and opened it. It was an invitation to the Jameson's Publishing anniversary dinner; a special one too, twenty-five years since Richard Jameson had entered into the publishing business.

He smiled to himself as he remembered last year's anniversary dinner, the one where he’d stood next to the buffet table with only Liz and Richard acknowledging his presence, making the point by crossing the dance floor to talk to him.

He also recalled Mandy getting carried away with the dancing after too much champagne. Perhaps it would be a bit different this time, he considered. Perhaps it won't be just the Jameson family talking to me.

Janus checked the date on his calendar; Saturday week at eight o'clock. He phoned the hire shop to make sure they had a dinner suit in his size.

“Mr Malik, we hope you won't be cancelling at the last minute like before.”

“What? Of course not,” Janus said rather crossly, deciding not to go into the reason for his last cancellation with them. “I'll pop in on Saturday to pick it up.”

The week went by fairly quickly and during this time he did receive a few inquiries about his services, even before he’d placed the advertisement.

None of them were worthy of any follow up, mainly being from cranks; some asserting that the disappearance of their favourite pet could only be put down to alien abduction and asking whether he could trace their route to the stars, others were about poltergeist activity with banging doors and windows and how the person had linked this to pressure differences in the earth's atmosphere and whether he could contact the spirits to appease them so they need not be aggrieved about the differing atmospheric pressures.

Even so, he wrote replies, politely declining the commissions offered.

The two college girls just stared at her, as, yet again, she left the premises early.

“Can you believe that, Trace? I don't know how she gets away wiv it,” Tanya said in her typically Essex accent.

“I know what you mean. D'you think she's having it away with the boss? It's only been recent like.”

“I don't care if she's shagging 'im and 'is brother, it ain't fair on us. We don't get no money for being in charge of the shop. She can't do this.”

“You ain't wrong there, Tanya,” Tracy replied, sympathising with her mate’s point of view.

Lois Johns left the pharmacy smiling to herself; she’d overheard the two part-timers not so hushed conversation, and she didn't care. She'd only got involved with the boss because of a slight error which meant the yearly audit had shown some fairly strong drugs had somehow got lost during one of her shifts. She was certain that they’d turn up some time.

It hadn’t taken her boss long to come around to her way of thinking; a few treats in the empty rooms above the pharmacy, an intimate massage with her tongue as he had given her a lift home one night. Nothing special, nothing meaningful and nothing she supposed her peers wouldn’t do when they had to persuade the men in their lives that the decisions they’d made had been wholly wrong.

In the end she’d kept her position as supervisor and gained some extra fringe benefits like leaving work when the time suited her, as long as the business carried on without any problems.

She didn’t mind working at the pharmacy too much; but she was annoyed she was there in the first place because her lousy ex-husband had stopped her money: the money she deserved to have for the mental anguish he’d caused her during the time they were married.

Aaaargh!
, she thought to herself through gritted teeth,
what a bastard; still, and when we were together
.

But she had moved on now and she no longer thought of the little shit.

Just to show that low life what she had thought of him, she’d started using her maiden name as soon as the money had stopped coming in.

Today was going to be a good day though. Once she got back to her house she would be able to pick up the card the postman would have left and go to the post office and collect the delivery.

Ordering from the Internet was certainly a lot easier than dealing with the mail order catalogues. And there were so many other things you could buy online, things that just weren't available any other way.

She had a busy time ahead of her. Once she had collected her delivery she would have to travel to London and meet up with her date for the evening. She didn't doubt that he would be surprised to see her at his after work pub of choice.

It had been another long day and a Saturday at that. The work he was having to do for the financing of the new office in Edinburgh was not as straight forward as it should have been. The whole process could have been made a lot easier, if only his boss would allow himself to be contacted outside business hours. But his boss was adamant.

“When the office is closed I decide whether I'm working or not,” Richard Jameson had said. “And no one else. I’ve spent many years setting up this company, to the exclusion of everything else, but now I employ people, such as yourself Greg to manage this part of the business for me.”

This stance had made Greg Smith's life a lot more complicated. It was very rare that he would receive the telephone calls, faxes or emails required to move things along within Richard's working day.

Always, on the dot of 5.00 p.m., unless Richard decided otherwise, Mr Jameson was out of the office and everything had to wait until the next business day.

Obviously there was some stuff Greg could deal with, but when it came to that final required signature, he had to wait on Richard and his availability.

At one time Greg had tried to convince Richard that he ought to be given the level of authority so that he could sign documents in Richard's absence. However, when he’d mentioned it, he was waved out of Richard's office with a flick of the hand.

The whole situation really bugged him, quite a lot in fact. Why Richard didn't realise that when he went home a lot of people remained in the office, working away for a good few hours more and for the good of the company to boot? Greg couldn’t understand.

He leant back in his chair and took a breather from the spreadsheets, placing his hands behind his head, thinking.

Greg decided he needed some rest and relaxation and when eight o'clock came he would down tools and go to Bar Room Bar. It was a decent place for a drink and was only minutes away from the office. As an added extra, it was a place that attracted good looking women. Maybe he would get lucky tonight.

Feeling renewed with the thought of the evening's excursion, he leant back over the computer keyboard and started working on the spreadsheets once again. Perhaps, because of all the work he was putting into Richard's new venture, he would reward himself with a night on R.J. Publishing. At least the expense slips were something he could sign off.

He looked up from the computer monitor at the office wall clock and was shocked; it was now just after 8.00 p.m. He knew that when it boiled down to it, he really did enjoy working with figures, but enough was enough. Greg powered off the computer.

Bar Room Bar, here I come
, he thought.

Before leaving the building, he popped into the gents to make sure he looked as good as he knew he did. After a quick spray, and a scrubbing of his teeth, he left. Five minutes later he was in the pub and it was filling up nicely with beautiful girls.

Greg leant over the bar; “Barman, a pint of Stella please.”

Greg always started his evenings out with a pint of Stella, but if the evening ever looked like it was going to go on and on, he switched to the wine. In his experience the women he liked to meet always appreciated a man who knew his wine.

At nine o’clock the bar’s DJ started up the venue’s sound system. This was the cue for all those ‘after work on Saturday’ drinkers to leave and go home for the evening.

Greg loved this part of the night as it meant that all those women left, and ones yet to arrive, were up for a good time, and if he had his chance, he would be a willing guide.

The evening powered on through a multitude of dance and rhythm tracks and Greg remained at the bar taking his drink slowly, awaiting the opportunity to indulge in some conversation with a pretty girl or another. The idea being that he would offer to pay for a drink when the time came.

It was now coming up to 10.00 p.m. and he’d finished his second pint. But before attempting to attract the barman's attention for a beer once again, he looked along the bar to see if there was anything going on and noticed he was being observed by a young looking woman with darkish hair. As his gaze remained on her she smiled at him.

Suddenly Greg was alert, she wasn't bad looking and this was exactly the cue he had been waiting for. “Would you like a drink?” he mouthed at her; it was pointless trying to talk over the music the DJ was pumping out.

She nodded.

Greg waved for her to come over and she capitulated without hesitation, not even a second’s thought. Greg felt exulted. Within a few moments the young woman was at his side.

“I take it you would like a drink,” he said.

“Only if that's what you were suggesting,” she responded, smiling sweetly; putting on her best ‘come on’ face.

“Of course,” Greg said. “What else do you think I was meaning?” he teased. “What would you like then?”

“I've not been here before. Could you recommend a good red wine?” she said relaxing, forgetting the comments she’d overheard her staff saying a few hours before.

“Moi?” Greg said.

The young woman stifled a laugh and smiled again. Greg took out his wallet, which was stuffed full of fresh twenty pound notes he’d retrieved from the cash point conveniently situated between his office and the pub. Taking out one of the notes, he waved it at the bar staff. A cleanly shaved barman with gelled spiky black hair sauntered over to where Greg was standing with the young woman.

“What can I get you?” the barman asked.

“I would like a glass of your best red wine for the young lady,” Greg said, smiling at the woman by his side.

“Would a glass of Chateauneuf du Pape do?” the barman said.

“What do you think?” Greg said to the young woman, but before she could answer he continued anyway; “My personal opinion is that this particular wine is rich and complex, much like you seem to be.” Greg smiled at his new woman friend. “It has, if I recall correctly, aromas of very ripe red fruit,” he finished, hoping his knowledge seemed genuine and not something he’d picked up recently from articles he’d sought on the Internet.

“I think that would be lovely,” she answered, her come-hither smile surfacing once more.

“Barman,” Greg addressed the barman, “two large glasses of Chateauneuf du Pape please.”

The barman handed Greg two glasses of red wine and he passed the barman a crisp twenty pound note saying; “Please get yourself some refreshment, barman, and keep the change.” Greg knew he had to make an impression if the evening was going to pan out as he wanted it to.

He turned to the new woman in his life and said; “There's a free table over there. Would you like to take a seat?”

“Yes, I would,” she answered.

Greg and his new acquaintance made their way through the crowd to a table opposite the bar. The table was end on to the venue's bare brick back wall.

“What made you feel like coming here then?” Greg asked the young woman.

“I've not been here before and I wanted to meet you,” she said.

Greg was stunned, never in all his experience had he ever been approached in this way. It was almost like he wasn't doing the pulling and he was being pulled himself.

“Oh.” Was all he could say in the first instance, but not wanting to come across as inept he continued. “That's nice of you to say. We don't know each other do we?” Greg was curious, hoping this person wasn't someone he had jilted in the past, someone who had accosted him to exact a revenge of some sort.

“No we don't. But I would like to get to know you better,” she said smiling her smile again. It was irresistible, offering a lot but giving nothing.

Greg, initially relieved at the first part of her statement, was now edging towards being out of his depth. He needed to get control of the situation once more. “What do you think of the Chateauneuf?” he asked.

“I think it’s wonderful. You know your wine don't you.”

“That I do. It's something of a passion of mine,” Greg said, comfortably slipping into his well-practiced spiel. “Did you know I am responsible for the financing of Richard Jameson Publishing? Have you heard of it? We've published many famous authors you know.”

“I have heard of it. In fact I’ve bought many books published by your company. Is it interesting working in a publishing company?”

“Very. I meet a lot of famous authors. Would you like me to get an autograph for you? Anyone in particular?” Greg was certain he was on to a sure thing now. She was obviously interested in what he did and the company he was associated with. “Perhaps,” he continued, “you would like to accompany me to my firm's twenty-fifth anniversary next Saturday? You could meet all the authors then.”

“That sounds amazing,” the young woman enthused.

What a stunning woman
, Greg thought.
I haven't even asked her name yet, and we seem to be getting along very well
.

Before Greg could say anything in response she continued, “I have a little favour to ask.”

“Anything for you,” Greg replied, feeling that if he went along with anything she cared to ask it wouldn’t be long before she would be interested in a coffee at his place. Then he said, “What's your name by the way? I'm Greg, Greg Smith actually. What’s the favour I can do for you?”

“If you can wait a few moments I’ll tell you, I just need to powder my nose,” she winked at him, continuing, “and after that I'll check if I'm available for your firm’s do.” The young woman left the table they were sitting at for the venue’s toilets. Once settled in a cubicle the woman wrote out a note and put it in an envelope, licking the adhesive and sealing it.

While the young woman was gone Greg started to formulate how he would tackle the next steps, the ones that would definitely get her back to his place for
coffee
.

Whilst the young woman was in the toilets she got out her mobile phone and set its alarm. A few short moments later she’d made her way back to the table Greg Smith was sitting at and sat down. “Nice to meet you, Greg,” she said taking up the conversation from where it had been left. “Would you do me a little favour then?” she asked smiling coyly at him.

“Of course. Just name it.”

“It's a bit awkward,” she said, lowering her eyes slightly.

“No problem, I deal with awkward every day,” Greg said, thinking that this was the route to his final goal.

“Well… if you’re sure.”

“Of course I'm sure. You can always trust an accountant,” Greg winked and she smiled again.

“I have a half-sister and I've only just found out where she works and I think you can help me.”

“Go on,” Greg said more than intrigued.

“I believe you know her and if you could give her this message, when she's outside of work I would appreciate it. I wouldn't like to think that anything I do stops her from concentrating on her job. I know I wouldn't like to be distracted while I'm at work. If you could do this I would be eternally grateful,” the young woman said winking subtly at Greg as she uttered the last two words. The young woman pulled an envelope from her purse and handed it to Greg. “Can you give this to Mandy?” she asked.

“Of course I can do that,” Greg replied, taking the envelope, knowing he had closed the deal. “I have one question though.”

The woman looked perturbed for just a second before smiling and asking; “What's that then?”

“Do you know if you can accompany me to my work’s twenty-fifth anniversary?”

The woman relaxed. “I don't know. I have things on for that day, but everything may change by then.” She pulled a scrap of paper from her purse and scribbled on it. “Here's my mobile number. Ring me on the day and I'll tell you if I can or not.”

Greg took the piece of paper and placed it in his jacket pocket along with the envelope. No sooner than he’d done so the woman's mobile phone started to buzz. She took her phone from her purse and frowned as she looked at it.

Standing up she said; “Sorry, Greg, I've got to go, an emergency; so my text message tells me. Ring me later.” With that final comment the brown haired woman put on her coat and left Greg sitting at the table with two almost finished glasses of red wine.

Greg sighed to himself. He'd almost done it; he'd almost pulled a good looking woman.

Oh well
, he thought,
the Internet can be very interesting at this time of night
.

He downed the remainder of his wine, put on his coat and left Bar Room Bar for home, very much disappointed.