Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

“Come this way. I’ll wash your hair.”

She covered him with a robe, which tied at the back, and he was a little surprised when her hand smoothed the crumpled material across his back with an all too tender touch. He mused that perhaps it was his build or his eyes that had created a mild attraction. It had been said by other women that he had an animal magnetism. He sat in the chair and rested his head back. The warm water coursed through his hair and tingled his scalp, a tingling which increased in intensity as she lightly massaged her fingers over his scalp. She spoke gently in a soft teasing voice.

“You a naughty boy then?”

“Yes.” Mason sighed the word out.

“Like to get out and cut loose?” She pursued.

“Not all the time and I don’t get that drunk often, in fact I can’t remember the last time that happened.”

She made him sit up with a light push of her hand and dried his hair lightly with a towel.

“That’s good, can’t have you winding up bald.” She took him back to the seat, mixed up the dye and wearing plastic gloves applied it to his hair.

“It’ll be ten minutes before it takes to the right darkness. Can I get you a coffee?”

“Have you got anything stronger?”

“I’d have thought you’d had enough.” She caught his eye in the mirror.

“Well I was planning on a night out and a drink before hand always goes down well.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know really. Is there anywhere good around here?” Mason asked catching her eye in the mirror.

“I usually go to the Underworld. That’s good if you like to dance and there’s a friendly atmosphere.”

“What’s the action like there?”

“Oh you are a naughty boy aren’t you?” She looked at her watch. “Time to rinse, back to the basin.”

He sat down and tipped back his head her hands gently caressed his scalp.

“Not too hot?” She asked.

“No fine. So what’s the action like?”

She leaned over close to his face. “It depends on what you’re looking for?”

Back in the chair she clipped away at his hair. He kept his gaze steadily on her face. She caught his eye from time to time and in her look he saw the decision making process building its way to a conclusion. When she was done they went to the reception desk. He paid and told her to put on a big tip.

“It’s nearly half five. I’ve kept you.”

“Couldn’t send you out looking like that, you’d definitely miss out on the action.” She looked at the card before she handed it back. “Mr Townshend. M is for?”

“Marc, with a C.”

He took the card.

“Thanks. Where’s that club?”

“It’s on the high street in Camden”

“I’ll give it a try.”

She handed him the receipt and he felt her fingers brush his hand. He looked in her eyes and she gently bit her lip, putting her head to one side.

“I would if I were you. I’ve a feeling you’re going to find that action you’re looking for.”

“Bye Aliesha. Thanks for the lovely hair cut.”

He said no more. He picked up his plastic bag with the kitchen clothes and without a look back walked to Baker Street. He felt good. It was going to be a good night and the girl looked like a sure thing. Even if she wasn’t a sure thing he knew the club he was going to start the night out at.

London Euston Towers

5-30 p.m.

April 18th

The CCTV cameras on Baker Street picked up Mason’s image as he walked back to the hotel, but it was rush hour. The large number of Central London CCTV cameras was being watched by an unusually extensive team at Euston Towers and the recordings were being racked up and watched in detail by an extra team dedicated to the task.

It was half an hour after Mason had passed a camera looking at him fully that the DIC watcher at the tower matched him, looking now more like the picture of the morning before, to the image inset on his screen. He sent out a message and other watchers combed the areas CCTV cameras, whilst the roving team were alerted and the police called.

Along with two quickly assembled extra duty teams were Shadz and Jaz, Tony and Ellie, a thirty year old woman put with the team to replace Terry who was greeting Jack Fulton in Liverpool that night. When Mason’s location had come in they had readied themselves and were given lists of hotels in the Baker Street area.

Jack’s Deputy Diane Peters came down to brief the teams. Diane didn’t waste words.

“Be careful, tread softly and carry guns. Find him and get him alive, but if you have to shoot, shoot to kill. Remember how Spencer died, Wally’s murder, Jack Beaumont and what David McKie had to do.” She went to leave the room and suddenly turned. “Everyone to check their weapons.”

They all un-holstered their Sig 220’s, checked the magazines, pumped a round out, pulling back the casing and releasing, twice in succession, reloaded the magazines, pumped the action again and put them on safety. Tony was first to finish.

“Good off you go.” She turned on her heel and took the lift to Jack’s office. In the lift a shiver ran down her spine. To her mind it was all getting out of hand.

They left Euston tower in a three car convoy, each car with four DIC and each DIC pair with a list of hotels and the latest still image of Mason taken from the CCTV footage.

Baker Street

5-45 p.m.

April 18th

Mason walked confidently into the lobby of the Sherlock Holmes Hotel and looked around. A guest passed him on the way to the stairs with a swipe card. He took a detailed, but surreptitious look at reception. One girl was manning it. He noted her having looked at the clock once or twice. It might be time for her break. The swipe card key given to each guest for their room was the one item which defined his plan. Seeing the guest toilets to one side he went in, closed himself in a cubicle and changed into the kitchen uniform.

He walked through the dining room, catching dark looks from the waiting staff who didn’t like to see kitchen staff in the guest areas. He walked straight into the busy kitchen. Once in he stopped and orientated himself. He saw what he needed to his left, two plates of sandwiches nearly ready to be delivered somewhere.

“Who the hell are you?” A big red faced man with sweat gathering on his forehead and his apron tied under a round gut came to a stop on his left and turned around barking at him.

“I’m Marc a temp agency sent me.”

“I don’t need anyone tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m bloody sure!”

“Alright take it easy. Obviously it’s a mistake.”

The chef calmed a little. “I tell you what just wait here and I’ll go and check.”

“Cheers mate.” Mason replied cockily.

The chef walked off and passed into a door marked office. Mason made his way to the plates of sandwich snacks, walking around as if just taking an interest. He watched the kitchen underling garnish the sandwich plates with salad.

“Not busy right now mate.” The kitchen underling noted his presence, assumed him to be a temp worker and found a job for him.

“No.” Mason said putting a helpful look on his face.

“Good then run these over to the duty manager’s office would you, it’s late arriving already.”

He handed Mason the plates and Mason unable to believe his luck took the two plates of sandwiches, walked out the kitchen door and over to reception. He braced himself.

Back in kitchen the underling took the wrath of the Chef, who called the duty manager’s office and asked him to send the man ‘with the sandwiches’ back to the agency. He then turned with full gusto to his evening’s work.