problem,’ Fergus said, ‘is that if you did try and expose me to the press, or the cops, then you’d be selling yourself out, too. Because the obvious question would be, why were you having business dealings with a hit man?’
Alex tried a bluff. ‘I’ve been recording our conversations. I can just say it was a sting, that I was leading you on in order to get a confession on tape. Besides—’ He was thinking on his feet, but his voice got stronger, he was sure he had the winning hand now. ‘What would they try and get me on? I’m hiring you to not kill me.’
‘Aye.’ Fergus shrugged. ‘Maybe. Maybe you’d skate on that, if they overlooked the whole conspiracy to commit fraud. But even still, you’d have a bigger problem than that. Whatever it is, this thing you’ve got planned, the pay-out you’re looking for, you wouldn’t be able to do it. Selling me out would ruin whatever you’ve got cooking.’ Fergus paused. Scratched his nose slowly. Easy. Letting Alex know he was in charge again, just like the last meeting. ‘But I tell you what. I’m interested in this now. And even if it’s just to shut you up, I’ll take the job. But I’m charging double. And you’re paying me up front.’ He stood up to leave. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
As Fergus turned to leave, Alex got the urge to get the last word in.
He pointed at Fergus’s T-shirt. ‘You’ve got ketchup on you.’
TWENTY-FIVE
FERGUS
22:10
I get home and change my T-shirt. Sauce all down it. It’s almost embarrassing that it had to be Alex who pointed it out, but I don’t care what he thinks, so it doesn’t quite sting.
It’s going to be a pleasure, not killing him.
I know the broad strokes of how I’m going to do it, but there are some things to set up first. I’m going to need a spare body. Someone fresh. Within a few hours of Alex’s fake death.
I need another job, and fast.
The thought of the next job, though? My hands shake a little. That’s a new thing. I don’t get guilty about what I do. I’m an atheist, so I don’t worry about heaven or hell, and I don’t need redemption. And yet, right now, I’m feeling—
I don’t know.
I can’t describe it.
Fuck it. Stop being a wee pussy, Fergus.
I take a couple of beta blockers to numb whatever this crap is, and then call my agent. Yes, hit men have agents. Of course we do. We’re not in a profession that demands high interpersonal skills. We need someone else to do all the nicey-nice stuff.
There are a few agencies around the world. Most pros who go into my job, at the serious level, do it after stints in intelligence or the military. The agencies have scouts who spot good talent and hook them up with steady work. I first went professional in New York, and I’ve stayed with the agency that first spotted me. I work with Stan Decker at the Hit List. They were the best team to be with in the States, and the geek in me just likes having a business card with a Manhattan address on it.
Stan answers on the fifth ring. It’s not until he says hello that I bother to check the time. The East Coast of America is five hours behind Glasgow, putting it at a little after 5 p.m. over there. The truth is, agents have their phones surgically attached to their hands. It doesn’t matter what time you call, they’ll answer.
‘Hey,’ he says.
He sounds a little out of breath. I can hear just the edge of a pant through the words, and there’s a distant sound to his voice, like the phone’s not held to his ear.
‘Are you, Stan, are you running ?’
‘Yeah. I’m at the gym.’
‘So, the Mitchell job went a bit tits up.’ I push on past the whole gym thing. I hate them. I love running, but out in the real world, not on a machine. ‘I dropped an extra package, and had to do some of the cleaning up out of my own pocket.’
‘Yeah, I heard,’ Stan says. ‘These things happen, though, right? I wouldn’t worry about it.’
‘Yeah, I dunno.’ I leave that hanging
Alex tried a bluff. ‘I’ve been recording our conversations. I can just say it was a sting, that I was leading you on in order to get a confession on tape. Besides—’ He was thinking on his feet, but his voice got stronger, he was sure he had the winning hand now. ‘What would they try and get me on? I’m hiring you to not kill me.’
‘Aye.’ Fergus shrugged. ‘Maybe. Maybe you’d skate on that, if they overlooked the whole conspiracy to commit fraud. But even still, you’d have a bigger problem than that. Whatever it is, this thing you’ve got planned, the pay-out you’re looking for, you wouldn’t be able to do it. Selling me out would ruin whatever you’ve got cooking.’ Fergus paused. Scratched his nose slowly. Easy. Letting Alex know he was in charge again, just like the last meeting. ‘But I tell you what. I’m interested in this now. And even if it’s just to shut you up, I’ll take the job. But I’m charging double. And you’re paying me up front.’ He stood up to leave. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
As Fergus turned to leave, Alex got the urge to get the last word in.
He pointed at Fergus’s T-shirt. ‘You’ve got ketchup on you.’
TWENTY-FIVE
FERGUS
22:10
I get home and change my T-shirt. Sauce all down it. It’s almost embarrassing that it had to be Alex who pointed it out, but I don’t care what he thinks, so it doesn’t quite sting.
It’s going to be a pleasure, not killing him.
I know the broad strokes of how I’m going to do it, but there are some things to set up first. I’m going to need a spare body. Someone fresh. Within a few hours of Alex’s fake death.
I need another job, and fast.
The thought of the next job, though? My hands shake a little. That’s a new thing. I don’t get guilty about what I do. I’m an atheist, so I don’t worry about heaven or hell, and I don’t need redemption. And yet, right now, I’m feeling—
I don’t know.
I can’t describe it.
Fuck it. Stop being a wee pussy, Fergus.
I take a couple of beta blockers to numb whatever this crap is, and then call my agent. Yes, hit men have agents. Of course we do. We’re not in a profession that demands high interpersonal skills. We need someone else to do all the nicey-nice stuff.
There are a few agencies around the world. Most pros who go into my job, at the serious level, do it after stints in intelligence or the military. The agencies have scouts who spot good talent and hook them up with steady work. I first went professional in New York, and I’ve stayed with the agency that first spotted me. I work with Stan Decker at the Hit List. They were the best team to be with in the States, and the geek in me just likes having a business card with a Manhattan address on it.
Stan answers on the fifth ring. It’s not until he says hello that I bother to check the time. The East Coast of America is five hours behind Glasgow, putting it at a little after 5 p.m. over there. The truth is, agents have their phones surgically attached to their hands. It doesn’t matter what time you call, they’ll answer.
‘Hey,’ he says.
He sounds a little out of breath. I can hear just the edge of a pant through the words, and there’s a distant sound to his voice, like the phone’s not held to his ear.
‘Are you, Stan, are you running ?’
‘Yeah. I’m at the gym.’
‘So, the Mitchell job went a bit tits up.’ I push on past the whole gym thing. I hate them. I love running, but out in the real world, not on a machine. ‘I dropped an extra package, and had to do some of the cleaning up out of my own pocket.’
‘Yeah, I heard,’ Stan says. ‘These things happen, though, right? I wouldn’t worry about it.’
‘Yeah, I dunno.’ I leave that hanging
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