She might have been all right if she hadn’t been foreign, he thought. And deep down, he admitted to himself that she was way out of his league.
“Let’s start with the introductions,” the man said. “You can call me Phil. This is Anya.”
Pratt nodded.
“I’m wally,” he said.
“Let’s cut straight to the chase,” said Phil. He lowered his voice. “We harvest the goods as soon as possible after death and refrigerate them until we drop them off with you. Our contacts include some of the biggest undertakers in the country. We choose only the best from what’s available. That means we can guarantee the quality. Everything we supply is medical grade. That’s what you’re paying for. The fees start from five thousand pounds depending on what you want. What is it you’re after?”
Pratt leaned across the table
“Lots of things,” he said. “I want you to source me a woman’s legs, the best pair available. And a woman’s body like no other. I want it really curvy, and stacked with a great pair, but not overweight. I need some arms, too, which have to be strong but feminine. They all have to come from bodies of about the same size, which I reckon ought to be about six foot. I also need a head that looks like this.”
He pulled a folded up piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Phil. Phil showed it to Anya. She gasped when she saw the picture on it.
“I don’t want the original, obviously,” said Pratt. “I want you to find me the best look-alike you can.”
“That’s a very unusual request.”
“I haven’t finished yet,” said Pratt. “There’s one more thing I need, and that’s an entire body.”
The two body snatchers looked at each other.
“A body?” Phil asked.
“That’s right. There’s a young woman who died last night. I want her body.”
“I’ll be honest with you. This sort of request isn’t something we’ve done before. We’d have to think about it.”
“What do you mean? What do you have to think about? I thought this was your business.”
“It is,” said Phil. “But no-one ever asks for a head or a complete body. They specify the part they need and we source that part. When we’ve taken it, we patch up the damage so that no-one can tell that anything’s missing. We could get you your arms and legs, no problem. But taking a head and a body would be a different proposition. You can’t conceal the fact that you’ve taken a head or taken a complete body.”
“Okay,” Pratt said. “What is it? Is it a question of money?”
“It’s risk. But if the money was right we might be prepared to take that risk.”
“What would it cost me?”
Phil leaned over and whispered in Anya’s ear, and she whispered in his, and then she spoke.
“Fifty thousand pounds,” she said. “In used notes. Half up front, half on delivery.”
“Done,” said Pratt, even though he didn’t have the money and didn’t have a clue how he’d get it.
“Okay,” said Phil. “When will you have the cash?”
“I’ll call you when I’ve got it.”
“You’ll need to give me the name, address, and date of birth of the woman who died last night. The one you want the body of.”
“Sure.”
“Don’t leave it too long. We wouldn’t want her to get buried or cremated before we’d had the chance to do the job.”
“I’ll try to get back to you later today.”
“Oh, can I hang on to this?” Phil asked, showing Pratt the piece of paper with the picture on it of the head on it.
“Of course.”
Phil put it in his pocket then he and Anya stood up.
“All right, let us know as soon as you can,” said Anya.
“’Bye for now,” said Phil, and they left.
Pratt felt himself sweating. He’d been under pressure before his meeting with the two body snatchers, but for some reason he felt worse now. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d just learned that he had to lay his hands on fifty thousand pounds at short notice to put his resurrection plan into effect, and he knew that task would be about as straightforward as hitching a ride on the next spaceship heading for planet Punkin.
Then he remembered something that might help.
He took his mobile phone from his pocket.
CHAPTER 21
Pratt took the business card from his wallet that he’d been given by Jonathan Badde, scrutinised it and rang the number. All around him there was the bustle and clamour of a busy coffee house, so he set the volume on his mobile to high.
A secretary answered.
“Hello, this is Wally Pratt. I’d like to speak to Mr. Badde.”
“Mr. Badde is busy right now.”
“But it’s urgent. It’s a matter of life and death.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“For God’s sake,” he mumbled through a mouthful of bleeding finger-ends, “tell him I’ll make it worth his while.”
“In that case it’s different; just putting you through.”
“Hello, Mr. Pratt. I hear you want to talk to me. How can I help?”
Pratt’s mind raced. How could he make it worthwhile for Badde to do anything for him?
“I need some money from my inheritance, Mr. Badde. I need an advance, quick, today if at all possible. I’ll pay the fee if there’s a fee. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
On the other end of the line, Badde leaned back in his office chair and put his feet on his desk with his legs crossed. The light streaming in through the window gleamed on his brightly-polished shoes.
“I’d like to help you, Mr. Pratt, really I would,” he said. “But you see, probate is an awfully complicated business and it takes an awfully long time.”
Pratt’s heart sunk.
“However, I may be able to do a little something to help you.”
Pratt’s heart rose from its nadir to its previous, slightly lesser, nadir.
“How much do you need?”
“Sixty-thousand pounds.”
Badde cupped his hand over the receiver and gestured to his secretary. “Get me the Forsyth file.”
His secretary fumbled around in the filing cabinet and brought him the file. He looked at his notes.
“All right,” he said. “I can let you have what you want, but you must understand that it will mean an increase in the level of fees we’re charging.”
“Anything, as long as you can help me.”
“I’m sure we can sort something out if you’ll just get down here and sign an agreement.”
Pratt rushed out to his car, which was now a death-trap due to the lack of a footbrake, and headed down the motorway.
Badde hung up the phone and called his friend Austin.
“Austin, I’ve another Probate matter for you. If you can get me an advance against the security of the money in the bank account, we can make another killing.”
Somehow Pratt made it to the office in one piece. He rushed inside.
“I’ve got an appointment to see Mr Badde,” he blurted to the woman on reception.
She eyed him cautiously. He was sweaty, scrawny and weasel-like; in other words, a typical Lowe, Petty and Badde client.
“Please take a seat,” she told him. “Mr Badde will be with you shortly.”
Pratt couldn’t take a seat. He was too overwrought. He paced from one side of the reception area to the other and back again like a demented goldfish. He paused only to wring his hands before continuing his pointless journey.
A door opened and Badde appeared.
“Please do come this way, Mr Pratt,” he said, with a vulpine smile on his face.
They entered a windowless magnolia-painted room. It was barren, except for the table and two chairs.