There’s a slightly worn, brown leather sofa against the wall next to me as I enter. In front of it is a small coffee table with a couple of magazines scattered across it.
Richard Blake is sitting behind his desk, but he stands up to greet me as I enter. He’s clean-shaven with a slightly weathered complexion. With his thin frame and deep-set eyes, he gives off a certain vibe, but I can’t quite put my finger on it…
He flashes me a wannabe-politician’s smile and extends his hand as he walks around his desk toward me. He’s wearing an expensive-looking charcoal gray suit with black shoes.
“Richard Blake. You must be Brian?” he says, his voice sounding older than he looks, even though he’s probably the same age as me. But the look suits him, as do the streaks of gray in his thick, dark brown hair.
I shake his hand and smile back, playing my part beautifully. “That’s right — Brian Johnson, nice to meet you,” I say. “I really appreciate you giving me some time today.”
He gestures to one of the seats in front of his desk before sitting back down in his chair.
“It’s my pleasure,” he begins. “We’re working on some exciting new projects to tidy up this city over the next twelve months. Any opportunity to talk about them and get people involved is beneficial to us. We’ve had some really positive reactions to our ‘Bin and Win’ recycling initiative — which was my personal idea, by the way.”
Oh my God… I can feel myself glazing over already. This guy’s duller than a knitting convention. I’ve just figured out what that vibe is that he gives off… He’s a fully-fledged nerd. Y’know, the kind of guy who had his lunch money stolen every day in high school.
Jesus… Josh was right — this guy’s going to bore the shit out of me, I can feel it. I’m going to have to get this job over and done with quickly; otherwise, I’ll end up killing myself first.
I smile at him as we sit down and I reach into my bag. I take out a notepad and pen and rest them on his desk. Then I pull out my diabetes kit. He looks at it and frowns at me with polite confusion, most likely wondering what it is.
“I’m sorry,” I explain. “I’m diabetic and forgot to take my shot on the way here. I just need to get my insulin before we begin, if that’s alright?”
Blake smiles. “Of course,” he says, waiving his hand like it’s no big deal. “We’re in no hurry, take your time.”
Now, obviously I’m not actually diabetic. The two vials contain a lethal dose of highly concentrated Indian Cobra venom, which is a rare and deadly poison. One bite from the snake will induce full-body paralysis and cardiac arrest in under two hours. There’s the equivalent of, roughly, fifteen bites in one of these vials, so the effects will occur in seconds, rather than hours.
I stand and move over to the window as I load the hypodermic needle with the venom. I smile apologetically and act like I can’t see properly, using the light from the window to see what I’m doing. When the needle’s full, I start to un-tuck my shirt, as if to inject myself in the stomach like any normal diabetic would. As expected, Blake respectfully turns away.
Straight away, I rush behind him and place my left hand over his mouth, holding his head firmly against the back of his chair. In an accurate, practiced motion, I inject the poison into the side of his neck with my right, pressing the plunger slowly down and watching the liquid within gradually disappear. I drop the needle and clasp both hands over his nose and mouth, keeping him silent while the venom works its vicious magic.
He struggles feebly as the venom attacks his muscles and respiratory system, making it harder for him to breathe. It takes just over thirty seconds for him to stop struggling, and another twenty to stop breathing altogether. I hold on for another ten seconds, just to be sure. Finally, I let go of Blake’s head and guide him forward, resting him gently on his desk so as not to make too much noise. I retrieve the needle and put it back in my bag. Quickly, I pack everything else away and give the room a quick once over, making sure there’s no trace of me ever having been here. I haven’t touched anything in the room, so there are no fingerprints to worry about. As a precaution, using my jacket sleeve, I wipe his right hand where I’d shaken it.
Finally, covering my hand in my sleeve again, I pick up the handset of his desk phone and lift it off the hook, resting it on his desk next to him.
Picking up my bag, I walk over to the door and leave Blake’s office. The receptionist looks at me, puzzled, as I come out and close the door.
“Oh, he’s had to take an important call,” I say to her. “He said he’d be a while.”
She looks at her own desk phone, seeing that his line is busy.
“Oh, okay. I’m sorry your meeting’s been cut short,” she says, smiling at me again. “Would you like to re-schedule?”
“No, it’s fine,” I reply, smiling. “I’ll have my office ring up another time.”
She hesitates a moment.
“Maybe… I could help?” she offers. “I work closely with Mr. Blake on a number of things. You could interview me, if you’d like? I break for lunch at twelve. Maybe we could get a coffee?” She smiles at me and takes her glasses off.
I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure she’s flirting with me.
I mean, did she just ask me for a drink?
Oh, man… I am terrible at this sort of thing. I don’t want to hurt her feelings or anything.
“Ah… that’s, erm, really kind of you to offer, Miss…?” I say.
“Jenny,” she says. “Call me Jenny.”
I smile nervously. “That’s kind of you to offer, Jenny,” I continue. “But… my… editor only commissioned me to interview Mr. Blake, you see. I’m not sure they’ll be too happy if I come back having interviewed somebody else…”
She looks a little dejected and I feel bad.
“I’m sure you’d be really helpful,” I continue, feeling obliged to make her feel better. “I just can’t use you for this particular interview, that’s all.”
She nods and stands, looking away momentarily to untie her hair, letting it flow down to her shoulders. She whips round to look at me again, like a shampoo commercial.
Are you kidding me?
“Well, it doesn’t have to be a business meeting,” she says. “Maybe we could just… grab a coffee?”
I take a small step back and smile. “I’ve got… erm… deadlines to hit,” I say, struggling for words and feeling more awkward by the second. “Maybe some other time?”
Jenny smiles through a deep breath, accepting her advances haven’t worked. She composes herself, putting her glasses back on and returning to her seat.
“I’ll let Mr. Blake know you’ll be in touch,” she says, resuming her professional manner. “Have a nice day, Mr. Johnson.”
“You too,” I say.
I’ve never been more desperate to leave somewhere in my life!
I’m just glad Josh wasn’t here to witness that. It’s the only time I lose my cool — talking to women. I feel like I’m cheating just talking to someone who seems to like me. I know that might sound crazy, but it’s just me — I’m not ready to do that kind of thing. I’ll always love my wife, and my daughter… I’ve not forgiven myself for what happened to them, so I can’t allow myself to carry on living my life without them. Not yet.
I hastily walk back down the corridor the way I’d come in — past the expensive works of art, down the carpeted grand staircase and across the entrance hall. I walk over to the desk with the third security guard behind it and hand back my lanyard. I nod a polite goodbye to the other two guards, who return the gesture, and walk through the front doors and back out into the sunshine.