Money

Bob’s warning about the Hunters has really got to me. I knew they’d be after me, but now my adrenaline spikes every time I see a person dressed in black. I find a park a few miles away and pace around. A dog walker helps me read the sign in the drawing, which says Earls Court. Also in the drawing is a man sitting on a bench reading The Sunday Times. The dog walker tells me that today is Wednesday, so I’ve got four days to get as much cash together as possible.

I’ve no idea where to begin but I know getting a job isn’t going to be the answer. I remember Liam, whom I did community service with, giving advice about stealing. “Find someone stupid and rich—there’s loads of ’em—and rob ’em.”

I’m near St. Paul’s Cathedral. It’s all quiet. The few people I’ve seen have come out of a bar and got straight into a taxi. I’m waiting farther along the street.

It’s late when a lone City gent appears, walking carefully and cursing the lack of cabs. He has really fancy clothes, shoes with no holes in them, and a waistline that indicates lack of food is not a problem for him. I’m not really sure how to do this, but I walk up to him from across the road. He is pretending he hasn’t seen me and speeds up. I move into his path and he stops. He must weigh over twice what I do, and he’s not short, but he’s weak and knows it.

“Look, mate,” I say, “I really don’t want to hurt you, but I need all your cash.”

He’s looking around and I realize he’s going to start shouting.

I step up close and push him into the wall. He’s heavy, but as he hits the bricks the air sort of flobbers out of him like a balloon deflating. “I really don’t want to hurt you, but I need all your cash.” I have my arm at his neck, pushing his head to the side. His eyes are staring at me, though.

He slides out a long, slim, black leather wallet from his jacket. His hand is shaking.

“Thank you,” I say.

I take the notes, flip the wallet closed, hand it back to the man and then I’m off.

Later, when I’m curled up in a shop entrance, I think about the man. He’s probably lying in a nice warm bed, and he definitely doesn’t have a pack of Hunters after him, but he could have ended up in hospital with a heart attack. I don’t want to kill people. I just need their money.

The next day I suss out Earls Court station. It takes me a while to find the platform and the place that matches Bob’s picture, but the bench, the sign, and the locker are there. I’ve just got to come back in three days and get whatever is on top of it. I go and sweep my hand over it now but find only grime.

Now I need some rich, healthy young men to rob.

Liam should come down to London. He’d love it. The place is full of stupid rich people. A few struggle, and some try to hit me, but basically it’s all over before it’s started.

I’ve bought a suit and had my hair cut so that I blend in with the fains. But it’s dead in Canary Wharf on Saturday, and I’m glad because stealing from these guys is pretty low and they are all pretty hopeless. I’ve got over three thousand pounds and a reasonably clear conscience, but it’s no fun doing anything just for the money.

On Sunday I get the tube to Earls Court and walk around the station, checking for Hunters. No one is even looking at me; everyone is looking blankly ahead or at their phones. I walk to the end of the platform and back to the locker and reach up.

A piece of paper is there. I slide it to the edge with my fingertips, stuff it straight into my pocket, and carry on with hardly a break in my stride.

In a cafe I befriend a woman. She goes through the instructions. They are similar to the ones Mary gave me but not as precise. They are for Thursday.

Jim and Trev (Part One)

I’ve followed the instructions carefully. They have taken me to the outskirts of London, to a grotty house at the grottier end of the sprawl. I’m standing in someone’s front room. It is dark in here. Jim is sitting on the stairs. Whereas Bob is a struggling artist, Jim appears to be a struggling criminal, a White Witch of the lowest ability. He’s no Hunter, that’s for sure.

The house is small, owned by fains who, Jim assures me, “don’t know nuffin’ ’bout nuffin’.” The front door opens into a lounge area that leads to the kitchen. There are stairs in one corner and a large flat-screen TV on the wall, but no chairs for some reason. Jim has closed the curtains and the air inside is heavy. There’s a smell of onions and garlic, which I think is coming from Jim.

Jim hasn’t told me how to get to Mercury but has told me how important a good passport is, how I will actually need two passports, how his passports are quality passports, that they are in fact real passports, and on and on . . .

He wipes his nose on the back of his hand before sniffing a large amount of snot back into his chest.

“There’s more work in these than a bespoke suit, more skill, more everythin’. These passports will get you through the strictest checks. These passports may save your life.”

I don’t even want a passport. I just want the directions to Mercury. But I’m guessing I shouldn’t fall out with him. “Well, I’m sure you’re right, Jim.”

“You’ll see I’m right, Ivan. You’ll see.”

“So that’s two thousand then, for two passports and the directions to Mercury.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ivan, if I’ve not been clear. It’ll all come to three thousand pounds.” He wipes his nose again, this time with the palm of his hand.

“Look, you said a thousand for one passport.”

“Oh, Ivan, you’re new to this, aren’t you? Let me explain. It’s the problem of the foreigners. I’ll get you a British passport at a thousand, but it’s best to get one from somewhere foreign as well. The States is a possibility, but I favor New Zealand these days. A lot of people got grudges against the Yanks for one reason or another, but no one’s got a grudge against a Kiwi, ’cept maybe a few sheep . . .” And he sniffs and swallows deeply. “Course, foreign stuff is dearer.”

I don’t know. I’ve no idea if a thousand pounds is a good price or not. It sounds a lot to me. Two thousand sounds ridiculous.

“Mercury will want to know that you’re being careful. She likes people to take all the precautions.”

And I’ve no idea if he knows the first thing about Mercury, but . . . “Fine. When?”

“Great, Ivan. Lovely to do business with you. Lovely.”

“When?”

“Okay, son. I know you’re keen. Two weeks should see us right, but let’s say three to be on the safe side.”

“Let’s say two weeks, one passport and a thousand pounds.”

“Two weeks, two passports, three thousand.”

I nod and back away from him.

“Brill . . . Half now, of course.”

I can’t be bothered to argue more so I pull out three wads that I have made up of five hundred each. I saw that in a film and I’m pleased I’ve done it. Everything with Jim feels like a cheap gangster movie.

“Pick the directions up at the same time in two weeks and follow them. It’ll be a different meeting place. Never use the same place twice. You bring the money etc. etc.”

“Are the instructions part of a spell, Jim?”

“A spell?”

“The instructions to get to the meeting point. A spell to ensure Hunters can’t follow.”

Jim smiles. “Nah. Though I do always check out my customers as they wait for buses and trains and if I saw a Hunter I’d be long gone.”

“Oh.”

“But mainly they’re directions. Don’t want a customer getting lost. You wouldn’t believe how thick some people are.”

Jim goes to the door and switches the light on. “Blimey.” We both blink and shield our eyes in the glare. “Just need a photo of you.”