He felt disappointed with this one. They always put up a fight but he’d liked this girl, this butterfly, but she’d had to go the way of the others. It was the way the firm worked; no evidence, no one to talk about what had happened.
As he drove back to the factory, he sang along to the radio. He spent a lot of time in his car, the radio always tuned the same station, so knew most of the words, new songs learned quickly – he had a good memory.
Alan nodded to the woman at the end of the conveyor belt, where the bags of cement were loaded on to the lorries. He’d always had a soft spot for Cheryl but being the boss’ niece, Alan knew she was forbidden territory. He’d be the one in cement shoes if he tangled with her and things went wrong so a nod was as much as he dared.
Patrick ‘Tank’ Olliston was behind his desk when Alan knocked on the door, a pane of bullet-proof glass and strengthened steel the only things separating the two men. A quick tilt of Patrick’s chin, and Alan let himself in and stood by one of two visitors chairs, waiting to be given permission to sit. It wasn’t forthcoming so he remained standing.
“Got it?”
“Yep.” Alan put the parcel on to the table.
Patrick looked from the small package to Alan. “What the…?”
Alan nodded and smiled.
“This?”
Alan nodded again but the smile had gone.
Patrick shook his head. “No.”
“No?”
“Jesus. Is this what I pay you for?”
Alan couldn’t remember the last time he’d been paid. He received benefits like being able to eat solid food, and breathe through a non-broken nose. He’d witnessed an array of his colleagues who had made smaller mistakes than this and suffered the consequences. “What do I–?”
Patrick shook his head and returned to an array of paperwork sprawled across his desk. This surprised Alan as Patrick was normally so meticulous.
Without looking up, Patrick said, “Fetch.”
Alan pictured himself as a Jack Russell chasing after a ball and wanted to smile but knew better. He went to leave but Patrick barked his name.
Turning back to the desk, Alan followed Patrick’s finger pointing to the parcel. “And get rid.”
Alan nodded again, now feeling like a car ornament, took the parcel and left the office. Walking back past the conveyor belt, he ignored Cheryl and headed back to his car.
To take his mind off finding the correct parcel, Alan drove around for a while until he found the perfect place. He’d toyed with the idea of returning to the cemetery but that would connect him to Butterfly. He knew that was the drop-off point but too much time had gone past for the package to still be there. He’d use his contacts to get more intel. Money talked and although it was his rather than Patrick’s, keeping healthy was worth more to Alan than paying his bills.
He then saw the perfect place; somewhere where the parcel would be picked by one of many. He’d visited the football ground most weekends with his son, before Kate had left, taking their kids to her mother’s when Alan’s lifestyle had got too much. Alan needed familiar, needed somewhere which brought back good memories. He’d dump the parcel by one of the seats, to be found by someone curious. Let them decide what to do with it.
Getting inside was never a problem. Normally armed with his season ticket, he knew he’d not need it now. He had the right tools in his car’s boot to get through any barrier he faced.
But he wasn’t expecting dogs. Small ones but nasty ones. Pitbulls. Worse than German Shepherds or Dobermans, and illegal in the UK, but then Alan didn’t usually let illegal stop him.
Hoping they didn’t pick up on his scent – the CK One he always wore – ‘girlie’ Patrick had called it – he headed for the nearest entrance. K. K for Kate. It was a sign. But he couldn’t get to the seats. A solid door with no lock on his side barred his way so he continued and tucked into the nearest gents toilet. Deciding the floor would be too hidden and the likelihood of someone treading on it too high and, looked around. He could put it by the sinks but then it would get too wet. He then spotted a window at the far end cubicle and smiled as he saw the windowsill, plenty deep enough for such a small parcel.
“You’re getting soft,” Alan said as he walked back to his car, tutting and shaking his head.