Part Two
Eamon received the phone call a week before he was due to leave.
It was early Thursday evening and I had not yet returned from work. He hesitated in answering it as it might have been Maggie’s parents but he picked it up after the caller persisted.
“Hello?” he said.
“Ah, Eamon, son. Glad I’ve caught you.”
It was Bulmer himself. Eamon had never spoken to him on the phone before.
“No doubt you’ve been waiting for me to get in contact with you.”
Beads of sweat appeared on Eamon’s forehead and his pulse increased.
“Yes,” he said slowly.
“Well, it’s time we had our meeting. It’s only a few days before you go so I’ll be sending the car to pick you up tomorrow evening in the usual place at 7 p.m. I do hope you haven’t been discussing our little arrangement with anyone. I really don’t have the stomach for all that nasty business.”
Eamon thought he knew all too well what he meant. He said a flat “goodbye” then put the phone down.
The call spoiled the whole evening.
He was distant and found himself losing patience with both Sally and me and I knew there was something wrong. But he couldn’t explain it even though it was tearing him apart inside. When it was all over, he planned on telling me everything but he didn’t want to alarm me at the time.
The car was waiting when he turned the corner. As he approached, Jacky got out of the vehicle to meet him.
“Hello Eamon. And are we looking forward to the last meeting with Mr Bulmer?” he asked.
“Go to hell, creep,” was all he said as he got into the car and slammed the door behind him.
Jacky sniggered to himself then got into the driver’s seat and pulled off.
Eamon realised they were not going toward Whitechapel but the opposite direction. He leaned over and asked Jacky where he was being taken.
“You’ll find out soon enough, my boy. We’re nearly there.”
A few minutes later they were in Soho and Jacky turned down a small alleyway at the back of a restaurant and into a garage. It was a communal area and used by all residents but he drove to the far end where there was a locked mesh door. Jacky stopped the car just in front of the gate and waved a rather large remote control unit at it; the door slid rather noisily back. When he drove through the door closed behind him. This led into an inner garage which was large for Soho standards as there was room for about ten or fifteen vehicles. He parked the car in a bay and led Eamon to a wooden staircase at the top of which was a solid door marked “STRICTLY PRIVATE. RESTAURANT DELIVERY ONLY”.
Jacky entered and Eamon followed behind without saying a word.
The entrance led into a large warehouse, part of which appeared to be an office. There were a couple of rather dated desks and a few stacks of orange plastic chairs. It was lit by some rather large, possibly old Victorian light shades suspended from a ceiling covered in polystyrene tiles. There was a distinct damp smell which made him catch his breath. It was the smell of fish, rotting fish to be precise.
In the centre of the office room were three men. One of them was Bulmer, who stood directly under one of the lights wearing a light, cotton suit holding a cigarette in one hand and what looked like a calculator in the other. The opalescent smoke gave the scene a much seedier atmosphere. There were two other men with him whom Eamon had not seen before.
“Ah, Eamon,” Bulmer said when he saw him, and walked across the room to shake his hand. “Come on in, lad. We’ve been waiting for you.”
He put an arm around Eamon’s shoulders and led him to a desk in one corner by a large metal storage rack.
Eamon had already started feeling frightened and insecure.
“Now, Eamon, allow me to introduce you to my new business associates,” he started. “This is Monsieur Maurice Henri Fabrier, what you might call my brother in arms from Paris.” He chuckled.
Fabrier stared at Eamon. There was a worrying silence before he spoke.
He was a tall man, much leaner and healthier looking than Bulmer, though possibly about the same age. He wore a dark suit and was well groomed. He looked down at Eamon through rather thick but clearly expensive rimmed glasses. He was tanned.
He spoke to Eamon in French and had an accent that Eamon knew was from the south of France, Provence, perhaps.
“I am pleased to meet you, Mr Hargreaves,” he started. “My new friend Mr Bulmer tells me that you have offered your services. Welcome to one of the new European families.”
He extended a hand to Eamon, who simply looked at it. Not quite as tacky as Bulmer’s with a ring on every finger, though very well manicured. However, Eamon didn’t shake it. He was too disgusted with these people.
Eamon spoke to Bulmer in French.
“What do you mean ‘offered’?” he said. “I don’t have a choice in this matter.”
“Ah, yes. My colleague Mr Bulmer has advised me that you are paying back a debt and of your circumstances.”
He sat down on the side of the desk and took out a gold cigarette case and matching lighter. Did people still use these things?
“Cigarette, Eamon?” he said as he offered the case. Eamon took one.
“And what a lovely little girl your friend has. I do hope you will all be very happy together soon. These unorthodox relationships can be an issue for some people. I have no problem – after all, diversity makes the world go around. But some people live in a different time frame, so tread carefully,” he added.
The memory of the last meeting with Bulmer flashed through his mind and made him feel sick to the stomach.
“Anyway, down to business,” Bulmer said as he pulled up a chair and sat down.
The third man then approached from the other side of the office area. He was much younger, of Mediterranean Latin appearance, slightly olive coloured, very tanned and wearing a beige suit. He was without a doubt a very handsome man.
Fabrier continued to speak to Eamon in French.
“Allow me to introduce you to Jean-Gerrard. He will be your contact in Paris. Jean-Gerrard will meet you at an hotel where you will stay the day you arrive, at my expense, of course. Everything has been taken care of for you and all you have to do is carry the case.”
The third man smiled then winked at Eamon.
Bulmer was looking worried.
“Look gentleman, would you mind if we continue our meeting in English?” he asked. “I am learning the lingo but so far I’ve only had a couple of lessons, know what I mean?”
“Of course, Mr Bulmer. Anything to oblige,” Fabrier replied.
Eamon noticed the look on Fabrier’s face when he spoke to Bulmer. It was clear there was little respect here but then that was probably something you had to earn. And like Bulmer had said – he too was being tested here.
Jean-Gerrard placed the briefcase he was carrying on the desk and took a small set of keys from his pocket which he laid on top of the soft leather case.
“Well, go on, son. Don’t be shy,” Bulmer said to Eamon as he pushed the case toward him.
“I don’t want to see that disgusting stuff,” Eamon snapped in French.
Bulmer was not amused.
“Look, I already said speak in English. Now, what the fuck was that?”
Eamon repeated the sentence again in French but before he finished Jacky’s fist had already met the side of his chin.
“Listen, Eamon, son. I’m in charge here and there’s plenty more of that if you want it,” Bulmer said, referring to Jacky’s action.
Eamon was nervous and not in the mood for playing games as he rubbed the side of his face.
“I said,” Eamon replied in English, “that I do not want to see any of that stuff.”
“Surely you don’t think it’s sitting on top, do you?” Bulmer asked as he opened the case.
It was empty. Or appeared to be, at least.
Eamon was nervous and not in the mood for playing games.
&nb
sp; “Look, I just want to get out of here. Where’s the stuff?” he asked.
“You see, son? I told you that we were not going to put you at risk. It’s all there but you can’t see it,” Bulmer offered.
Eamon pulled the case closer to him. It was lined with dark blue silk. The stuff was obviously underneath it.
“What did I tell you?” said Bulmer. “You won’t even know it’s there. All you have to do is pack a few papers on top. A man like you must have loads of papers he needs to carry. Now you’ve got something to put them in.”
Fabrier spoke in English.
“We suggest that you carry your passport and travel documents in there. The douanier in Paris will request that you show them and will not suspect anything when you open it up. His attention will be drawn to your other luggage.”
He paused.
“It’s all very simple,” he continued. “In the evening when you have arrived and checked into your hotel, Jean-Gerrard will meet you and take the case away with him, leaving you a replacement, exactly the same. Except of course, without a concealed compartment.”
Eamon detested everything about this meeting and found it difficult to look at any of them in the eye.
“Then if it’s all so easy,” he said, “why don’t you take the stuff yourself?”
Fabrier smiled.
“Young man, I have what is known as a reputation in France. I will not run the risk. Just a glimpse of me in the custom’s hall and they have their rubber gloves on and ready.”
“And what happens when I get caught?” Eamon asked.
“Eamon, there is no reason at all to suspect or stop you.”
“Oh, Eamon. Please son, don’t be so negative,” Bulmer cut in. “There’s no way any of it will be found. Of course, if you do balls it up, you’ll only have yourself to blame. And if you did think of telling then ... you know the consequences, don’t you?”
Eamon stared at him.
“You bastard, Bulmer.”
“So, it’s all settled,” Fabrier said and stood up. “A room has been reserved for you at the Hotel Severin, rue de Severin. A charming little hotel I bought a couple of years ago just off Boulevard San Michel. Naturally I keep a number of pretty, young staff there to serve, well, people’s needs. The girls are pretty but the boys, well, I’m told they are excellent. Enjoy them on me.”
He nodded to Jean-Gerrard.
“I don’t understand why you want me to do this,” Eamon almost shouted. “Surely you must do this sort of thing all the time and have many people, mules you call them. What is so special about this?”
Fabrier smiled at him before answering. “Yes you are correct. Drug trafficking, or ‘moving’ as I like to call it, is a major part of the business for me and you are correct that there are many people involved and it all goes very well. But what you have here is not just a couple of ounces of cocaine. In actual fact, the amount of cocaine in here is minimal and if you were caught, then it might even just be thrown away because a ‘bust’, I think you call it, would not be worthwhile.”
Fabrier stood over Eamon and smiled again.
“What we have here, my friend, is very special. This is the next generation of a drug which is like cocaine but has been modified to make it cheap to produce and enhance the effects. This is where science comes to life, my friend. This has taken many years to create and is my passport to an unbelievable power base. You see, this drug is only going to be for special people. Politicians, barristers, high-ranking military personnel and people of a high calibre. That means a great deal of available cash in your terms. And when they need it – they will have to come to me.” He smiled again. “Clever, don’t you think? So you see this is my future you are carrying and a mighty price has already been paid simply getting this from South America. People have died and killing a few more won’t matter to me. There, I don’t need to tell you all this but ... you seem a pleasant chappie.”
He laughed and so did Jean-Gerrard. Fabrier stood up.
“The type of component that the new drug is made of will not show up on a scanner. The packing has taken a while to perfect and the product is a concoction of everyday ingredients that even a tracking dog cannot detect. But in the wrong hands it can be like finding the golden ticket or – how do you say? – the chicken that lays the golden egg.”
Fabrier leaned closer to Eamon and smiled.
“This is my future you are carrying. You have my balls in your hands and I’m not going to allow you to crush them. Understand?”
Eamon nodded.
“Well, it was pleasant meeting you, Eamon. I will never see you again but thank you for all the help you are about to give me and I wish you well for the future.”
He and Jean-Gerrard turned and walked toward the door leading back to the garage.
“What a charming man he is,” Bulmer said. “Now, I have to be getting off myself so off you go now, Eamon, and take the case with you.”
Eamon stood up and Bulmer picked up the case.
“Now, remember, matey,” he warned. “This is a new venture for me and I don’t like people putting obstacles in my way. I’m usually good at getting what I want and I’ll tell you again, son – fuck this up and you’ll regret it.”