“That’ll be them,” Abelard said, in his annoying, blunt, impassive tone, always the same whether in danger or in love. He was looking out the window at the large vehicle pulling through the open wrought iron gates and into the small forecourt of their house. The driver, bareheaded and hairless, which seemed to be this crowd’s marque de commerce, unfolded his ample frame from the car and moved with surprising agility, for such a large fellow, around the front to the right back passenger door. With admirable coordination, the large, shaven headed men in the front and left back passenger seats also stepped briskly from the car and stationed themselves beside the vehicle, as would an efficient security detail. With a bird-like swivel, watching for predators, the driver looked about before finally opening the right back passenger door. Out stepped Mr. Really Big. The others suddenly seemed small by comparison. He must have been a tad less than two meters.
The giant among giants was taking no chances with anyone who would dare to interfere in his business. He barked at his driver who at once began honking the car horn. The blare was greatly amplified as it bounced off the not inconsiderable stone surfaces. After a moment, the heavy oak door slowly swung open, drawing immediately the close attention of the men in the forecourt. Abelard appeared in the entrance and to everyone’s astonishment gingerly skipped down the few stairs, with a wide grin and hand extended, approached the huge, black suited, amply haired putative boss, the only one with a mane. Taken unawares, instinct alone moved the giant’s hand level with Abelard’s and they shook. Abelard was wearing a very stylish, gracefully tailored grey suit and utterly dazzling red tie. It was just the most natural gesture to want to shake his extended hand. And when the bodyguards finally received urgent messages from their plodding brains to protect their boss, he contemptuously waved them back.
‘Do you speak English?” Abelard asked, his own hand still covered by the big man’s. His own French was excellent but he thought a little mystery would do no harm at this stage.
“Yes, I studied in England,” the incredibly low pitched voice answered, with a strong British accent and truly excellent diction. This was an educated and probably erudite man, despite all appearances to the contrary.
“Would you join us for coffee?”
“Tea will be fine. You have obviously been expecting us.” He accepted the invitation only because his curiosity had trumped his impatience.
“I cannot deny that.”
His men ran up the stairs ahead of him and were about to enter the house to do what such men are hired to do, check out the premises, when he gruffly stopped them. It was obvious to him there would not be any need for that. He didn’t trust anyone but was able to identify situations where this did not matter. Once inside, his men stationed themselves where they could best react to treachery, at the windows and the doorways. Soon the big man was sipping his tea, holding the altogether too tiny teacup with the massive tips of his thumb and index finger. Abelard made the introductions for his side, Tom, Dick and Harriet.
“I am Jacques. Can we please get down to business? I’m assuming you also know why I am here.”
“It is best to be perfectly clear,” Abelard began. “The incident last week was entirely coincidental. We had absolutely not the least idea what the dispute was about. Indeed, even now we do not know who you are.”
“Is this some sort of joke?”
“Not in the least, and we do not care to know who you are unless of course you would wish to tell us your life story, which would greatly surprise me.”
“I’m listening,” Jacques answered, low level menace leeching into his growl.
“When we learned the identity of the victim, a petty criminal, being roughed up by men in good suits, it became clear that we had stumbled into a private dispute between unconventional businessmen. I also guessed that we would be hearing more about this.”
“Excellent. Now you know. You have made a mistake with, I suppose, the wrong people. But the fact remains that you have made a mistake, a big one and we must set it right. Any suggestions?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Abelard said, never losing his toothy smiling, “we do, as a matter of fact, have a couple of suggestions. First, you have lost some interest income due to the delay we have caused you in collecting from your client. We will compensate you for that. The principal amount, however, is still your responsibility. Second, we would need to engage your services for another matter.”
While the suggestion that he would be compensated for the lost income from his usurious loan did not increase his heartbeat, the second item did perk him up a bit. He began to wonder whether he wasn’t dealing with something more than just three too-clever-by-half meddlesome nuisances.
“I need an identity,” Abelard continued. “A full one, with birth certificate, passport and some boring history.”
“Why would I trust you? This might be an elaborate sting.”
“I don’t expect you to trust me any more than I would want to trust you. In your business the only trust you place is in retribution. You know where we are and you will also know my new identity. Besides, you will only be giving the orders; others will do the work and will pay the price if this turns out to be a sting.”
Jacques rose to his feet and walked out of the house into the forecourt without saying a word. There he dialed a number on his mobile phone. He was soon back in the house.
“The lost interest comes to 3000 euros,” he began, as though he had never left. “The identity will cost you 15,000 euros, much of that for the boring history. I will need a picture and the name you wish to use.”
Abelard pulled open the drawer of the small table in the entrance and took from it two envelopes, one small, passport photo size, and the other large, a pad of paper and a pen. He scribbled Abelard Bush on the paper and handed it along with the small envelope to Jacques. He then pulled a thick wad of bills from the large envelope, counted out 10,500 euros and handed these to Jacques.
“That’s 3000 for lost income and half now for the identity. The other half when you deliver. Is that satisfactory?”
Jacques was now truly surprised, if not somewhat stunned.
“You have to be the most confident person I have ever met. How did you know I would agree to do this?”
“Let’s just say that I have often dealt with people like you and no reasonable offer has ever been refused.”
There was no further discussion. Jacques and his boys left. Oliver and Felicity were still too stunned at the ease with which Abelard took to criminal enterprise. They knew only too well that hiding Abelard was quite illegal but, for them, it had been an agonizing decision laced with many layers of hesitation. For Abelard, this all seemed as natural as breathing.
What they did not know were the risks Abelard had already factored into his dealings. Abelard was quite aware that The Society lived and prospered through its extensive network connecting most of the world’s important criminal organizations. It would be highly likely that Jacques’ small galaxy was also part of The Society’s universe. He was sure that The Society had already put out a request to the network to locate him but he was counting on that request being low down in the queue of the many such requests ordinarily circulating in the criminal universe. No different than any large national spy agency that could take very long to put together all the pieces that might point to an impending threat, before any action is ever contemplated.
*