Then one day he had the foresight to offer to pay the bullies money, if they didn’t hit him. They were happy with this arrangement and for a while, there was an uneasy truce. However, a few days later The Fixer had an epiphany when he stumbled across the word ‘Mercenary’ in a book. The next day he paid two slightly larger boys to beat up the school bullies. Very soon, those same bullies were paying money to him.
The Fixer realized that whenever there was a job to do, there was always someone prepared to do it, either for a price, or a favor. He soon discovered that he had a talent for putting the job and the mercenary together, to meet the needs of his customers. At school, he ran the bullies, and provided protection for the weak rich kids. Later, at University, he supplied drugs and prostitutes in exchange for course work and exam results. When he left University, he had a business degree and three vital pieces of information that would form the bedrock of his business. First, successful businessmen surround themselves with talented but greedy people. Second, there is always more money to be made on the wrong side of the law. Third, the best crooks are never caught, because they make sure that the trail of breadcrumbs, can never lead directly to their feet.
For more than twenty years, The Fixer ran a lucrative business specializing in theft, extortion, prostitution, and violence for hire. Then, a little over ten years ago, he was approached by some businessmen, and a politician. They wanted him to lean on a union official who was causing problems with a new contract for the military. By pure luck, The Fixer discovered that he already had the tools to leverage the situation. The union official had some unusual sexual tastes that were regularly satisfied by one of the male prostitutes in The Fixer’s employ. With the threat to publicly wreck the man’s life, the union official backed down and The Fixer took the opportunity to move his business, now renamed ‘The Wrecking Crew’ to the next level.
Since that day, the Wrecking Crew had never taken on a contract that it could not successfully complete, and it had never failed to complete any contract. At least until Charles Rathbone had blown his own brains out with a shotgun. The Fixer sat glumly at his desk and waited. Finally, at 6pm the phone on his direct line started to ring. He recognized the number from the caller ID, but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the desk as he counted the rings and recited his favourite motto.
“One, two, three, four, make them sweat a little more. Five, six, seven, eight, it always pays to make them wait.” Finally, he picked up the phone. “Yes?”
The man’s voice at the other end of the line was famous enough to be instantly recognizable. Today he whispered urgently, as if he were in a hurry and concerned about being overheard.
“It’s me. What the hell happened?”
“I believe that he put a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger,” The Fixer answered calmly and with barely concealed sarcasm.
“I know that, I’m not an idiot!” the caller hissed, “How did it happen? I thought your people were watching him.”
“My people were watching him. They had him covered from the instant he arrived back from America, until the moment he walked into his house.”
“Christ, what a mess!” the caller growled, “I can’t believe this has happened.”
The Fixer said nothing. He had learned a long time ago not to offer up information unless it was specifically requested by a client. After thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence, the caller spoke again.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes, I am still here.”
“Well?”
“Well what?” The Fixer remained deliberately obtuse.
“What do you mean, ‘Well what?’” the caller snapped, “Why didn’t your bunch of trained monkeys spot that this was going to happen?”
The Fixer closed his eyes and drew a deep breath in an effort to control his growing anger.
“You will recall that I recommended the surveillance on Charles Rathbone should include video in his home, along with data mining to examine the period before we acquired the contract. Such actions would surely have revealed his medical problems, and the possibility of suicide, long before the event. Unfortunately you set a strict budget for this contract, and despite my repeated warnings about the lack of important data, you were unwilling to provide additional funding.”
The Fixer spoke more forcefully to emphasize his point.
“In this business, you get what you pay for. My team delivered everything that you requested. We successfully falsified the reports from Afghanistan, and planted the child pornography evidence on his computer. We watched him as much as was possible, within the available budget, and we arranged for him to be arrested on evidence that would have destroyed his credibility. I can assure you that the Wrecking Crew will not be held responsible for something that was outside of our control.”
“So you’re saying that it was my fault?”
The Fixer smiled at the turnaround.
“In a word — yes.”
There was a long pause as the caller processed the accusation.
“Christ! Holy Christ, what a mess! And all that money — my backers are going to fucking kill me!”
The Fixer, seeing an opportunity to regain the moral high ground, continued in a conciliatory tone of voice.
“You shouldn’t feel bad about this, you know. Sometimes suicides are almost impossible to predict. In some circumstances they are just the result of a fleeting thought — a sudden moment of madness. That could easily be the case with Rathbone. Someone like him, someone who has suffered such dreadful physical and emotional trauma, becomes momentarily unhinged and unpredictably takes his own life.”
The Fixer offered the drowning man a final olive branch.
“Perhaps, even you couldn’t have seen this coming.”
The caller let out an audible sigh of relief.
“Yes, yes, I think you’re right! Of course, no one could have predicted this, it just happened. He could just as easily have stepped in front of a bus. They must see that, it’s just one of those things… not my fault at all.”
The Fixer smiled like a shark.
“I am entirely confident that your backers will agree. You should have nothing to worry about.” He changed to a more business-like tone of voice. “Obviously this tragedy terminates our contract. My secretary has prepared the final accounts. I believe that there may be a small refund due. Shall we deliver it in cash in the usual manner?”
“A refund, really?” the caller’s voice brightened instantly at the prospect of receiving an untraceable envelope containing someone else’s cash. “That would be splendid!”
The Fixer smiled wryly as he ended the call.
SIX
“Thank you. That was a delicious meal,” Stone said as he leaned forward with the wine bottle. “Can I top up your glass?”
“Mmm… Yes, please.”
When they had arrived at Stone’s house, like a cat scrutinizing its new home, Linda had boldly begun an intimate inspection of the property. Curious, Stone had watched silently as she moved from room to room, flicking through his books, examining photographs and scanning his CD collection. She even opened his draws and cupboards, and inspected the contents of his bathroom cabinet. Occasionally Linda would look at him over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief, openly daring him to challenge her right to invade his privacy. After fully ten minutes of this wordless intimate inspection, they returned to the kitchen. There Linda turned a full circle, with her arms outstretched, like a child enjoying cool rain on a hot day. Finally, she smiled and spoke.