After finally getting into a ‘clinch’ they staggered to the bed and sweated half an hour away together, she thinking of the young man and Cobb fantasising she was the auburn haired girl.
Betty, blind drunk, flopped unconscious after their first coupling and Cobb drank some bourbon, smoked a cigarette and went back to the bed and ‘used’ her whilst she was comatose. Finally he left her slumped on the bed, had a shower and drank some coffee. It was two in the morning when he arranged spare blankets on the suite lounge sofa and settled down with the television.
He’d ordered cold cuts and crusty bread along with fruit, salad and snacks. He watched the news eating a beef and horseradish sandwich. News twenty four was covering the riot at Underworld. When they mentioned Mason’s name he chuckled. So Mason knew he’d lucked out and had gone for a night out, silly man. Still he hoped the ‘fella’ got away. They’d got on well during the time on the submarine. Betty’s snores made him look in on her. He covered her tanned old skin with the duvet, thinking her not too bad when he didn’t look too hard.
He went back to the sofa, turned off the television and fell asleep thinking about how sore the old broad was going to be when she woke up.
London
2AM
April 19th
‘Leash’s face seemed to glow golden brown in the light of bedside lamp. She stirred when he eased himself away. Mason looked at the clock. It was two in the morning. He knew he had to get out of the house.
The sound of the shower woke ‘Leash’ and she stood in the bathroom doorway naked with ruffled black hair watching him shower.
“Are you going?”
“Yeah. I have to move on. “The shower stopped and he stepped out and towelled himself. She went downstairs and he heard the kettle boiling. He was quickly dressed and when he got to the kitchen she stood arms folded by two cups of coffee on the kitchen side. She had lit a cigarette. He held the stolen Sig 220 in his hand.
“Those things will kill you.” He said waving the weapon at her cigarette.
“Ditto tough guy.” Her smoke waved at the gun barrel.
He tucked the pistol in the back of his waist band and picked up his coffee. He broke a short silence between them.
“Look I’m in the UK to do this one job. It’s a big job and a lot of money. After that I have to head for a non extradition country, like South America or something…” He trailed off. He'd never before wanted to say what was on his mind at that moment, but the feeling he got when he looked at her was strong.
“If you’d like to hook up… I could contact you… I mean…” Again he trailed off and she moved towards him, dropping her cigarette in her freshly made cup of coffee. She put her arms around him and held him tight.
“I’d like that. I had a feeling about you. It’s got stronger now.” She ended the embrace and put her face close to his, kissed him gently, twice on the lips. “Do your job, get out and call me I’ll come running, really I will.”
“Listen,” his face became serious, “The people after me are good, really good, so they will get here sooner or later. Tell them nothing. Tell them we met, you cut my hair, we arranged to meet and we spent the night together. Tell them nothing else. I’m not a bad man ‘Leash’, I just kill for a living. The people I kill have generally done something bad so it’s like pest control. Thousands of people are killed in accidents every year, through doctors’ negligence, company health and safety lapses, you name it. I was a soldier once and I killed on government orders, so killing isn’t so bad if there’s money or a reason behind it. They’ll tell you I’m evil, that I’m a murderer, but they’ll kill me on sight if they see me and say it’s in the interests of national security. Don’t believe what they tell you about me. When we get together again I’ll tell you all about me and my life and you can decide. I wish I had time now. I’ve wanted to share my story with someone for years, now you’ve come along I’ve got to go…”
‘Leash’ touched his face gently. “It’s okay Marc I understand.” Mason suddenly laughed.
“My name is Mason, Peter Mason, sorry I forget sometimes.” ‘Leash’ laughed too and held out her hand to shake.
“How do you do Peter Mason I’m Aliesha Jones.”
They laughed and embraced. They said goodbye quickly and from the open doorway she watched him walk away. Tired she went back to bed, able to smell him on the sheets. She smiled and early morning day dreams of life on a tropical beach in South America filled her head.
Mason went to the motorbike, wheeled it into the road and started it up. He followed the map in his head back to the Bickenhall Hotel. He kept to back roads, twisting and turning through an indirect route, not just because of those giving chase, but because he had no helmet and he didn’t want the police to stop him. Two or three times on the short winding journey his mind turned to ‘Leash’, but he shook her out of his head. He had to be serious and clear headed, no time for school boy romance now.
He rode up to within fifty metres of the hotel, parked the bike and dropped the key down a drain. He walked past the hotel and saw an open window, two floors up. Each window on the white frontage had a ledge above the old sash window. The first floor windows had a balcony and rails. Mason jumped, scrabbled and made a route up to the open window as if the hotel front was a climbing wall. Finally standing on the narrow window ledge he slowly and carefully wiggled in a limbo movement inside. There was nothing beneath the window and he was inside kneeling in the half light in a double room. A bald man he had seen check in was lying in bed, covers half off, snoring. Mason saw keys and personal effects on the bedside table. He padded over, took them, including a wallet, and silently exited the room. He walked through the dark corridors, into the stair well and up a floor to his room.
His key pass worked and he gathered his things, especially his pistol from the self locking safe. He quickly and carefully checked the room to make sure there was nothing personal and opened his window. His room was at the back. He took a length of twine from his bag of tricks and lowered his bag. He followed the bag down, using the climbing wall style again to get down and at ground level grabbed his bag.
The key fob was VW. It took him an annoying half an hour to find the white VW Beetle. It was in a car park on the corner of Gloucester Place and the Marylebone Road. The ticket was in the wallet. He adjusted the seat, started the car, cleared the punch ticket barrier and turned the car for Vauxhall. It was three in the morning, traffic was light and sparse and it didn’t take him long to get there. He parked up two streets away from the Priory Arms, tilted back the passenger seat and settled down. It would be ages before the pub opened and he could meet the contact.
Chapter 81
Albany Street Police Station London
3 a.m.
April 19th
It had taken much less time than Tony Deany had expected to get through the interviews at The Underworld Night Club. They had worked through a hundred or so club goers. They showed Mason’s photograph and asked a set pattern of questions.
“Do you recognise this man?”
“Did you see this man in the club?”
“Did you see this man talking to anyone in the club?”
A number of ‘are you sure?’ questions were added. If they had seen him the ‘where?’, ‘what was he doing?’ and other related questions were added. Trained in observation the DIC duty team members, tired as they were, applied their full training to the task, checking body language and tone of voice at various points.