I stopped, stared at him. His breathing was slightly laboured through his sweaty face. He pulled out an immaculate handkerchief.
“I’m a cobbler,” I said. “I make shoes.”
“You take me for a fool, sir. If you insist, 2005, Brussels. The authorities wouldn’t clean up the ponzi scheme, so you took out the head.
“2006, Dubai. Some oil magnate who was dabbling is sex slavery. 2007, Chang-Mai. An opium grower who liked little boys.”
A little too close to the bone, I thought. I’d done many jobs, most far more public than those. I tried to keep the dirty ones off book.
One likes to be seen as an agent for positive justice. Even my associates in those operations had to be dispatched.
“You’re gonna lose me in about 10 seconds if you don’t get to the point.”
“We’ll be calling you if we need you. ‘Fidelio.’ Remember that. When you hear that, just get in your Lada and start driving.”
I hesitated. My narrowing eyes were intended to be a warning to him – don’t get too close.
“01.42.43.67.95,” he said. I stared at him hard. He mopped his brow again with the handkerchief.
“Euros or British Pounds. American money is worthless to me.”
“As you wish.”
I looked aside for a moment. I could use the money. Might put me in better stead with the proprio of a less flea-bitten flat.
“I don’t pick up the phone for less that 15 rings,” I said, looking up. He was already two stores away from me, walking briskly.
Moses Armstrong. Agent provocateur. I work alone. Some may say I'm a mercenary, but that would imply I care... I am an agent of fortune, a spy, an undercover intelligence office. My past is checkered. I had a wife named Madeilene, a son names Jonas. They were killed. I take lovers, prostitutes, women, blonds, into my bed for succor. I drink heavily, scotch whiskey, alcohol. Some would say I'm an alcoholic. They'd be right, but it's only self-medication. Some have called me Jack Bauer, 24, James Bond, but they have more scruples than me. I'm more like the Joker, Batman and his Dark Knight. I fight against both governments and criminals; against terrorists, terrorism, Muslim fanatics, pirates (Somalis, African, Kenyan, doesn't matter), enemies of justice. I have no friends, excpt the bottle and my cigarettes. I live by night, sleep by day, visit the underbelly of Paris, my current landing place. I am American, lived in London. My fees are high, because I only deal in bodies: blonds and corpses.
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