The Office in Soho

The story begins

Chapter 1: The Office in Soho

1 November 2014

 

There were a lot of things he could say about him, none were pleasant. Arschloch, encule, gilipollas, klootzak, rovhal, zadnista, stronzo; all European variations of arsehole. He had looked them up earlier on google, trying to think of the best term to use in the office. The German one was probably the funniest, but the most obvious. He had been running with rat boy prior to that, it was catchy and apt given the association of size and appearance. But he needed something innocuous that would be known to just a chosen few and the foreign language version of an insult was always preferable. Whatever the term he would coin, Paul Thomas was all those things and more, and Kevin was beginning to hate him. It was a new sensation this, hating his boss, but there it was. Paul Thomas was the devil.

So strong was this line of thought for Kevin that it was distracting him from the newspaper folded in front of him, which he was attempting to read while drinking a beer in his favourite pub for a post work pint. That pub was the Speaker near Victoria Street, close to the Department of Transport where Kevin worked in corporate services. He was beginning to regret requesting that move and his transfer from maritime engineering, where he was previously. But he had a good line manager prior to Paul coming in; Sandra had been great. He was getting what he wanted out of the position with her �" corporate and human resource skills, important core development for a stab at promotion.  She, however, had seen the writing on the wall �" the civil service cull �" and had left for a regional manager position with Tesco in the East Midlands. A wise move at the right time. Now we had Paul.

Kevin shook his head, trying to get Paul Thomas right out of it, and looked at the newspaper again, taking in the headline but not the story. He reached for his glass and realised it was almost empty. He looked at his watch which confirmed that Tommy was over twenty minutes late. He debated whether to have another one or just wait a bit longer for the fat-boy to arrive. After all this was only supposed to be an end of week catch up, over a couple of beers max, before they both headed homewards. Kevin had rugby tomorrow and didn’t want to overdo it. He had also promised his neighbours, Peter and Katie, that he would pop into the pub this evening to wish Pete a happy birthday. That would also require a minimum of two pints to be social. They all added up; what was paramount was a clear head in the morning.

Tommy could be unreliable and Kevin didn’t fancy sitting here nursing an empty glass for an indefinite period. The next one would be his last and if Tommy turned up it would ultimately be a brief chat at best. Kevin looked around the pub and saw familiar faces but didn’t know their names; like most folks around here this was a stop off before the journey home. A pub where you mainly mixed with the people you worked with before moving on. This was London after all; nobody speaks to strangers.

Kevin moved from his corner table over to the bar looking at the range of guest beers. One handle stood out. It had a picture of a grinning Scotsman resplendent in his big ginger beard, tartan bonnet and kilt, who was sporting a massive grin. As corny a caricature as you could get. He wondered what his dad would think.

On asking the barman told him the beer was called the Devils Beeftub, from the Borders area, and that it was good. It was enough to convince him to try it.

The light golden colour looked perfect when the barman passed over the glass. But he knew to never judge a beer by its colour, the truth was in the pudding; in all that hoppy flavour. He returned to his corner table noticing that its emptiness was attracting the attention of newcomers who were looking for somewhere to sit. Come on Tommy! Once this beer is gone, I’m off.

It was nice. The barman was spot on. He’d look out for it when he was next up in Scotland again seeing his folks. It had been over five years since they returned home, after spending the previous twenty-five years in North Kent, where dad had worked as an engineer in the farming industry. Just thinking about them made him realise that he needed to book his train ticket for the journey up there at Christmas. The longer you leave it, the more expensive those tickets become.

He tried reading the newspaper again but was drawn back to his confrontation (if you could call it that) with Paul ‘Arschloch’ Thomas earlier this afternoon. Paul had called him in for a chat which he expected would be general line manager ‘getting-to-know-you’ conversation; they hadn’t had one since Paul started three weeks ago. But it was far from that; Paul had told him that he needed to reduce the headcount in the Directorate, which for Kevin meant losing half of his team; four down to two. It was an impossible ask and he had told him as much, but the arsehole didn’t want to listen. His team had been up against it for the last few months dealing with an inundation of voluntary early retirements and the consequential strain this had on the Department. The level of their workload had been incredible, but the detail was simply lost on Paul.

‘Just following orders’, he had said. The entire Department was faced with losing twenty percent of its staff and no sections were immune from this downsizing. Kevin could understand the problem - it was a Treasury command after all. But it was the way Paul had gone about it that angered him the most; making important decisions like that without prior consultation nor engagement with him in advance. Paul looked perfect for the role - that of the tough talking executive parachuted in to make the radical changes - with his trouser braces and pseudo military tie providing a false veneer of executive authority. But the man was five foot of f**k all and the more he thought about his face the more he looked like the gangster rats from the Fantastic Mr Fox film, a movie he had now watched four times. Hang on Kev, not so hasty now! That would be a disrespectful to rats in general. Rats just go about their business; looking for food and minding their own business.

Rat face or not there could be no doubt of the facts - Paul Thomas was a Grade A, pure pedigree, premier league, first class arsehole of the highest order. A fast streamer whose arrogance matched his ambition. Kevin was absolutely convinced that his relationship with Paul was only going to get worse.

Maybe this was a good thing? The kind of push one needs to make those life changing decisions? Perhaps the civil service just wasn’t for him. He had done four years, mainly as the engineering specialist he had joined as, but perhaps now was the time to think of pastures new.

“There he is” said a recognisable voice across the table.

Kevin looked up to see Tommy place his bag by the side of the table and put his jacket over the spare chair.

“Sorry I’m late pal, office s**t” Tommy sighed shaking his head, then pointed to Kevin’s glass “Another?”

“Just got one in” Kevin said debating whether to have one more. There were some conflicting variables to consider - Pete’s birthday bash; his morning jog; tomorrow’s rugby match and the need for a clear head. But then he reflected on the ale in his glass and how much he was enjoying it. The thought processing didn’t take long.

“Go on, a pint of Beeftub.” Kevin could see the frown on Tommy’s face “The barman will know, it’s one of their guest ales” reassured Kevin.

“Right” said Tommy and headed to the bar.

The small pub was filling up now, getting a bit too crowded for Kevin’s liking. He turned to look out of the window behind him. The street lights illuminated the drizzle which cast a damp spell on everything out there, making the world look cold and miserable. It was, in all its glory, typical late autumn weather. November was probably the worst month of the year for bad weather and it had only just begun.

Kevin noticed a tall man wearing a dark parka jacket standing by a street light on the other side of the road. His hood was up and his hands were in his trouser pockets.  A gut feeling suggested that something wasn’t quite right about him. It was an assumption that Kevin would never be able to explain, but some people just look like trouble. When he started to walk away Kevin moved closer to the window to get a better look at where he was going. It wasn’t far. The man was now looking up at an office building. A minute later he returned to the same streetlight he was loitering around previously.

Kevin turned as Tommy approached with two pints of beer, one of them a lager. 

“Cheers” Kevin said as Tommy sat down. “Busy day?” he then prompted.

“Too right, crap one as well, we’ve got an office move coming and there was a whole bunch of stuff that needed to get sorted by today. I think we did it though” Tommy said sipping his lager.

“Where are you moving to?” Kevin enquired, he hadn’t seen Tommy for a month and was surprised at this news.

“Hammersmith. Much bigger office. I saw it a couple of weeks ago and it’s alright, though just further to travel on the tube.”

Kevin had been friends with Tommy for the last three years, having gotten to know each other through drinking in this pub on a Friday after work. They also liked the same kind of music and would go to gigs together, the last being Doves at the O2 Arena in September. 

“You still going to come this way for a beer?” Kevin enquired.

“Of course mate!” Tommy said strongly, putting both hands on the table to emphasise his point “This is my local” he smiled before adding “Well in London anyway.”

Tommy lived in Watford with his mum and had a charmed life for a man in his late twenties. His mother cooked his meals, did his washing and cleaned his room. He was an only child and utterly spoiled, which was reflected in his girth; everything on tap when he wanted.

“What about you mate, good week?” asked Tommy.

“Not really, and less said about today the better” mumbled Kevin sipping his beer, before continuing.

“New boss. Looking to make a name for himself cutting staff including half my team. The guy’s an arsehole.”

“Sounds like one” agreed Tommy, then enquired “What was your last boss called again? I remember meeting her in here a few times.”

“Sandra White, she’s moved on, right out of the civil service. Sensible girl” replied Kevin.

“That’s right, she was a good laugh.  So who’s the knob?” enquired Tommy.

“Paul. Thomas” Kevin said pointedly “He’s got that small man syndrome - has to act like a t**d to emphasise he’s in charge. We’ve gone through a lot of changes with departmental downsizing; there are gaps everywhere, all sections are suffering, and my team’s been trying to place people where needed, where we can. We’ve just about managed, but today I find out we’re for the chop as well, without any consultation” Kevin sighed into his pint glass before continuing “I’m not sure I want to work there anymore.”

“Wouughhhh, mate!” Tommy smiled with affectionate sympathy “That’s not good. Started looking elsewhere?”

“Not yet” replied Kevin “But I’m going to. I made my mind up on that just before you walked in” Kevin polished off his beer and then grabbed the fresh one Tommy had recently brought over “I need to head off after this by the way. Got a date tonight” he quipped.

“Not a worry pal, just get one in for me. Got a new woman then Kevin?” enquired Tommy sitting back in his chair, interested in what he was going to hear.

“I wish. Got a date with my neighbour, he’s turning forty tomorrow and wants me round our local for a few jars this evening. What are your plans this weekend?”

“Pretty much the usual my pal. Football tomorrow, Hornets are playing those scum from Millwall. Then a post match beer session with some of the chaps. I’ve got to take my mum to my aunt’s in Oxford on Sunday, though I may talk her out of it, we were only there a fortnight ago.”

“Still enjoying the home life my boy?” smirked Kevin.

“Too f*****g right. Mums are the best to live with, I’m totally spoiled. It’s going to be hard when I do leave though, having me there has helped her since dad passed away” Tommy said looking down at his glass. Kevin nodded in sympathy but wasn’t too convinced by the remark given that his dad died over six years ago.

A discussion on the merits of rugby union over football followed, with Kevin claiming football, particularly premiership football was becoming a cartoon, a plaything of foreign billionaires.

“You’ve got ordinary clubs becoming top teams purely because of limitless money, bringing in expensive foreign coaches and spending millions on foreigners who have no idea who they are playing for. These clubs haven’t built up success by themselves, just got lucky by being a rich man’s hobby. Those clubs have lost their soul.”

“So what” said Tommy “The fans in those ‘ordinary’ clubs are c**k a hoot, over the f*****g moon, now they are playing for the premiership title or getting into the Champions league. I’ll bet some Man City fans still can’t believe what hit them when that Sheik took over; instead of battling relegation they are now winning cups and taking league titles. If some rich Arab is willing to spend all that money on their club, and the team is winning most of their games, do you think these fans give a toss about an old fashioned sense of ‘soul’, whatever that means?”

Kevin put his hand up to interrupt “But the competition is not even, clubs backed by billionaires are making the league competitive to only a handful of clubs. Rugby, mate, is still an honest man’s game, where players are committed to their clubs, clubs which are usually financially well run with a strong  social and family element to them. I don’t understand football anyway, players spend more time diving around looking to deceive than playing what they are paid to” smirked Kevin, trying a soft wind up.

“You don’t understand football!” Tommy spluttered, pointing to himself “I haven’t got a clue what rugby is about, there are so many rules and the ref seems to stop the game for a penalty every minute. I bet you the players don’t know what the f*****g rules are, they just run around and knock the s**t out of each other because that’s all they know” smirked Tommy.

Kevin leaned across the table “It’s a game where you play close to the edge, where the difference between excellence and bending the rules can be a tiny margin. It’s a full on contact sport, a man’s game Tommy. Not that pansy falling around, clutching ankles nonsense, all that silly play acting.”

“Oh bollocks” said Tommy finishing off his beer “Football is the national sport and is watched by millions, rugby ‘aint. Championship football is what it’s all about anyway, if you’re looking for good competition it’s all there.”

Despite his perseverance explaining some of the basics on rules and tactics to Tommy he was going nowhere on selling him the game. Kevin played as a flanker for Gravesend rugby club, hovering between the first and second teams. He needed to focus more on his fitness, and commitment to Wednesday night training to guarantee a first team place; his busy work pattern was largely to blame for his absences. But he was playing for the first team tomorrow, so knew he’d need to be careful how much he drank tonight.  Looking at his watch it was time to go, he had stayed in here half an hour more than he had planned to.

They finished up their drinks and agreed to meet again next Friday, Tommy promising to make the new journey from Hammersmith. “Love this pub” he quipped as they got up to leave.

Kevin buttoned his dark blue duffel coat on leaving the pub with Tommy, walking out into a light pouring of rain. The temperature had dropped and a mist was gathering which was why he was glad he chose this jacket to wear today. Tommy was without hood nor umbrella and was unconcerned by the rain.

“You heading to Charing Cross” Tommy enquired nodding his head in that direction, knowing the answer anyway.

Kevin nodded as he pulled up his hood. “You - Victoria?”

“Yes, indeed. Right mate, next week it is.” Tommy bid farewell then headed east as Kevin walked north, towards Victoria Street.

Three pints was just right thought Kevin, anymore and it would make for an uncomfortable train journey, plus he didn’t want to get to Pete’s bash half pissed. He would need to be sensible there and stick to two beers at the most. Make that a rule Kev! And stick to the plan! The break in drinking between now and later would be beneficial in any case.

As he approached the junction with Victoria Street he saw the parka man from earlier standing by a corner building, speaking into a mobile phone. Feeling his own phone buzzing in his pocket Kevin reached for it as he neared the man. It was a text from Tommy. ‘Good to catch up. Most def next Friday. Rugby = bollocks!’

He would text back on the train. After pocketing his phone, he was drawn to the parka man out of sheer curiosity, keen to know whether his earlier assumption was right.

Kevin was surprised by what he saw. Parka man looked both angry and aggressive, giving Kevin a stare that suggested his attention was very much unwelcome. Kevin hadn’t expected that and it was unnerving. The hostility in that man’s look was clearly directed at him, and not to whoever was on the other end of his phone.  

F**k him. Some people are just weird. Kevin dismissed the issue as he looked in both directions prior to crossing Victoria Street in the direction of New Scotland Yard.  When Kevin passed St James’ underground station he looked back to see if angry Parka man was still there, still loitering and giving passers by a face full of hate. He wasn’t, the man had crossed the road and was walking in his direction. A coincidence? He would only know if it continued.

Kevin walked his usual journey to the train station; which would be down cockpit steps, through St James’ Park, past Trafalgar Square before arriving at Charing Cross; a journey he made most working days.

Kevin came out of the dimly lit park a few minutes later and crossed the road, passing the Foreign & Commonwealth Office on his right. As he approached the wide-open expanse of Horseguards Parade, where the street lighting was better, he decided to look back and confirm if his wild suspicions were bang on, or were just nonsense after all.

It was a surprise. Parka man was emerging from the park, a hundred or so yards away. Was this definitive proof? Was it worth a confrontation now? And if so what would it be over? Because of a look? The more he thought about it the more ridiculous it became. Perhaps it was worth hiding himself just to see how parka man would react, if he would start looking around in earnest? Then he would know for sure, and by doing so confirm that he was being followed for reasons that were not good. Did the guy think that he had heard something when he was talking on the phone? Something sensitive? Come to think of it he did hear the word ‘maqsad’ being used. It was an odd word which was probably why he could recall it. Was it foreign? The guy did look like he was of South Asian ethnicity…………………but who knows; it was probably nothing.

As Kevin cleared the Mall and turned onto Whitehall he decided to seek cover in the foyer of the Trafalgar Theatre, just further down the road.  He moved through a large group of elderly American tourists who were standing in both the sheltered foyer and outside on the pavement.

Kevin moved to the wall at the top of the foyer and looked out, waiting for his man. The rain had eased off but the mist was getting thicker and bringing the temperature down even further. It was the main topic of conversation with the tourists who surrounded him and provided additional, welcome cover. Yes! The British weather was unpredictable! Were you honestly expecting sunshine at this time of year? Come on! He felt like saying something to the couple who were complaining next to him. Should have done your homework and dressed accordingly. Stop moaning! This is November after all.

And it was. The first of November was indeed today, Kevin felt like shaking his head at the thought; just where had the year gone? He could remember spring like it was yesterday. It was his busy f*****g job; distorting time and reality. Paul Thomas was only going to make things worse on that front.

Arschloch!

There was no doubt about it, the German one was the best. He liked the Italian version as well, but the German word also sounded like a command, even a statement. Which was good in the Paul Thomas context;

‘Hey Paul, I’ve been thinking about what you were saying on the headcount issue and you know what?’

‘What?’ he would say.

‘Arschloch.’

‘What do you mean Kevin?’

‘Stronzo Paul. Stronzo.’

Wouldn’t that be a perfect conversation for the Monday morning team meeting? Kevin smiled to himself as he dismissed the thought.

Then he appeared, by the traffic lights at the top of Whitehall bordering Trafalgar Square. Parka man looked both ways, repeated the motion and then crossed the road.

It was not definitive confirmation, just yet. Kevin watched as parka man continued onwards, heading in the same direction as he was going to go. It was now his turn to do the following. This would be interesting.

After Kevin had crossed the intersections that would take him up to Charing Cross he saw parka man standing by the coffee shop, just before the station entrance, looking around. Kevin moved quickly behind a pillar, hoping he hadn’t been seen.

Well, it’s confirmed, Kevin said to himself. It was beyond doubt - that man was definitely following him. A rather obvious conclusion to the last fifteen minutes. And now it’s settled.

A burst of adrenalin rushed through him, priming his arms and legs for action.

Kevin considered his options. Walk up and confront him? Was this guy really itching for a scrap because he had looked at him the wrong way? At six foot four and an active rugby player Kevin knew he had no qualms about squaring up to this guy; a cockiness and assuredness developed on the rugby field. But he wouldn’t, this was just too weird. There had to be another reason for being followed. Most meatheads who take offence to an intrusive ‘look’ would have confronted him at the time, and well before he got here. And meatheads like that usually did so in the company of others.

He counted to ten, poked his head round slowly and was just in time to see parka man head off towards the train station.

Friday evening was always the busiest time at Charing Cross and the crowds of commuters made for good cover, the majority standing and waiting patiently for their train while others meandered in between them, snaking through on their way to the ticket barriers. He could see parka man over by the WH Smith newspaper/book shop. He had his hood off exposing short black hair as well as a mobile phone to his ear. He was in deep conversation and appeared agitated as he looked around in a full circle. 

Kevin watched from a spot near the ticket machines that offered even more obscurity due the queues. He could also see his train listed on the departures board, there was one minute to go before it left. But he had settled on playing voyeur for a while, trying to find a clue as to why parka man was interested in him. Katie’s disappointment with him being late for Pete’s party would be obvious, but that would have to come later.

Why on earth was this man following him? Seeing him earlier outside the Speaker and then again near Scotland Yard must be a coincidence. Did the guy let something slip when he walked past looking at Tommy’s text? Did he assume that a secret had been revealed? Or that I was tailing him? But if that was the case what was he planning to do? Kill me? Threaten me?

His mind kept racing as parka man started to walk across the station to the far side.

Kevin crept out further for a better look, fully aware that those in the queue for the ticket machines were now glancing at him awkwardly. He watched as parka man circled most of the station before coming back to the main entrance, giving the ticket area only a passing glance as he walked through. It looked as if he had given up long before he exited the station.

Kevin waited for twenty seconds and then followed. 

Parka man crossed the Strand before going in the direction of Leicester Square. There was some comfort in the knowledge that the guy had abandoned his pursuit of him, but he was still uncomfortable as to why he was followed in the first place. It was simply too much of an issue to give up on now. If he did, he would only regret it and there would be that element of uncertainty forevermore. Was it criminal and sinister? Would parka man and his gang lay in wait for him the next time he was spotted travelling from Victoria Street to Charing Cross? And if this guy was up to no good, which did appear to be the case, he had absolutely nothing to go to the police with. No, he needed to find out more.

The conditions were good for this type of activity. The mist was thickening and the light pouring of drizzle was enough for the umbrellas to come out. He would try and keep a twenty-yard margin if he could, suspecting this would be enough. Even if parka man did turn around, which he had not done yet, he would only see the people in front of him sheltering under their umbrellas. In any case judging by the speed he was walking at, it would appear he only had eyes for the road ahead and was determined to get somewhere quickly. This was all good, and made the pursuit easier.

Five minutes later Kevin watched parka man turn left after Leicester Square underground station, heading towards Chinatown. He quickened his pace knowing he was in an area where his quarry could disappear into a shop or a restaurant very quickly. As he turned the corner he was pleased to see parka man straight ahead further down the road. It wasn’t long before Kevin watched him stop outside a restaurant, which had a square neon sign protruding from the doorway.

Kevin took cover in an empty doorway thirty yards back. The super strength lager cans that littered the area, together with the stench of piss, suggested it was a hangout for drunken tramps. The weather must have driven them away, somewhere dry. Or they had gone to seek further supplies. In any case he didn’t want to hang around here for much longer and hoped parka man would move on; the smell of urine was overpowering despite the damp conditions.

But his target was still standing there, outside that restaurant, and now speaking into his mobile phone; looking directly at the entrance as he did so. Within two minutes a Chinese man wearing a black shirt and blue jeans came out and walked over to him. His balding head and thin wispy hair suggested he was in his fifties. As he lit a cigarette he seemed unconcerned about the rain while he listened to parka man.

When he replied the Chinese man appeared angry, shaking his left hand up and down repeatedly. Although he looked animated his voice wasn’t, but from this distance it was only the sound of voices Kevin could hear; not clear words. When the Chinese man turned to look up the street, Kevin quickly pulled his head back hoping he hadn’t been spotted.

He waited fifteen seconds and was about to poke his head round when a group of people passing by stopped in the pavement directly in front of him. He would need to wait until they moved on; they might give him away if he was to act suspiciously. Two couples were discussing where they should go and eat before their show started. They had settled on Chinese food and there was a brief discussion on two competing restaurants. They were young, well-spoken and smartly dressed. One of the ladies was wearing a lot of perfume, which was acting as a pleasant counter effect to the stench of tramp piss.

Before they moved off one of the ladies looked up at him. Kevin could only assume she was either trying to trace the source of the smell or had sensed she was being watched. She was stunning �" so beautiful in fact that he couldn’t help but smile at her.  She turned away instantly and moved closer to her suitor who was protecting her from the rain with a large umbrella.

Kevin wasn’t concerned that she didn’t return the smile; she had after all only looked for a couple of seconds. That was just as long as his passing glance to parka man on Victoria Street. A smile was always better than an angry face he wanted to tell her. Maybe if he confronted parka man he would tell him that as well.

After they had passed on Kevin looked out and saw both the Chinse guy and the parka man walking down the road, almost out of sight. He took in a deep breath as he stepped away from the doorway and then followed, moving quickly. The street was lively; there were vegetable boxes, exotic fruits, rice bags and large plastic bottles of oil by the doorways of the small Chinese supermarkets he walked past. There was a pleasant smell here, particularly from the shops selling Chinese medicines, which he sucked in trying to dislodge the stink of piss that was now rooted in his mind.

At the end of the street they turned right into a pub on the corner, the Chinaman throwing his cigarette away before stepping inside. Kevin had passed this pub a few times before and knew it was a small corner boozer with large windows on both sides of the building. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go in and was banking on seeing them from the street.

Fortunately, both had walked to the far side of the pub in full view of Kevin who was now standing at the junction on Wardour Street, taking cover behind a post box and a group of Japanese tourists. He could see them talking to a well-built Asian man sitting at a table. This guy was huge, but more bulk than fat; probably Indian and probably also in his mid-fifties. He’d have made a good prop forward when he was younger. Caricatures can be silly but this man looked to be the trader type with his thick, bushy moustache and his collection of mobile phones; there looked to be at least three in front of him. The Asian man then picked one up one and made a call, nodding to both of the new arrivals as he did so. Five minutes later all three left the pub.

They were heading towards Oxford Street, the big Asian man leading the way. Kevin wondered how long he would keep this up; he didn’t want to be ridiculously late for Pete’s bash. Good neighbourly relations were important and Pete was a great bloke; a promise was a promise. Looking at his watch it was approaching eight o’clock. He’d give it another half an hour then that would be it - the parka man story would have to end. But there was no getting away from the fact that this was interesting and exciting - there was still the element of mystery which needed resolving.

Kevin assumed they couldn’t be going far if the Chinese man was only in just that black shirt, he must be freezing. The streets were busy and he had to brush past passers-by sometimes clumsily to keep a close but safe enough distance. This part of London was always rammed on Friday nights, actually scrub that thought �" just about every night; with its bistros, trendy pubs and restaurants doing cuisine from all over the world.

The three men took a left, entering the link road which fed onto Berwick Street, and then continued onto Poland Street. They walked northwards before stopping outside an office building on the right-hand side of the road. This nondescript building was sandwiched between a legal practice and an advertising company. The big Asian man pressed a buzzer at the doorway, then entered a few seconds later, the other two following behind.

Cover was getting sparse and the rain was now starting to get heavier. In fact, there was little to hide behind or take shelter in at all. Was this it? The subliminal message from above telling him that he should go home; his duties now complete? That it was not worth standing in the cold, getting soaked over a wild suspicion? He had followed three men to an office in Soho. So what? Was he any the wiser? For all he knew they could be discussing a harmless business deal. Something to do with the area, the restaurant business perhaps? Maybe parka man was going to set up a restaurant near Victoria Street?

He really would have to make a quick decision on this. Standing in the rain, probably knowing he was wasting his time, was not a hook to keep up this line of activity, despite being none the wiser over parka man. Kevin then pictured Katie at their local with some of Pete’s pals getting drunk with him, looking at her watch, cursing the false promises of her neighbour.

Five minutes he told himself. He could see someone in a doorway on the opposite side of the road, escaping the rain. A white guy in a business suit holding onto what looked like a failed umbrella. He’d need to do the same and walked back the way he had come looking for suitable shelter. He didn’t have to walk far and stepped into a doorway just yards away which offered only partial cover.

Kevin could feel the hair on his forehead getting wet from the rain which appeared to be wilfully targeting his face, angled on purpose for maximum effect. Pulling the hood on his duffle coat forward would only obstruct his view so he left it as it was; it was only water after all.

There were not so many pedestrians on this street as there were on the other, it was mainly businesses here, just the occasional restaurant. But his lurking presence on this doorway was attracting the odd glance as people walked past. Did he look sinister, hooded up and loitering on doorway steps, waiting to pounce? Possibly.  A woman who had been walking this way and had just crossed the road to avoid him probably thought so as well. That was the final warning he concluded, enough is enough, it was time to kill this adventure off and head back.

As he began to wipe some of the water off his face a small white Renault work van with no rear windows pulled up outside the office building the three men had gone into. A man got out and buzzed on the door, going inside after just a few seconds; from this distance Kevin could clearly see he was Asian and probably in his twenties.

This was worth a closer look and he decided to walk up there to see if anything more revealing was about to happen. It would also give him the opportunity to capture the vehicle registration, just in case something was indeed bad with this picture. When he was five yards from the car he got out his Blackberry, zoomed in with the camera and took a picture of the plate number. The door to the office building then opened �" two men came out carrying a large metal trunk. It was parka man and the van driver; both were looking at him as he started to walk on.  There was absolutely nothing he could do to avoid being seen, he was in full view and very much recognisable with his hood pulled back. If he was chasing excitement he was getting it now; a chill started to course through him as he kept going, hoping he hadn’t been recognised.

He heard the trunk sliding into the back of the van a few seconds later and wondered if parka man was staring at him right now, confirming to himself that this was the guy he had followed earlier. Kevin didn’t want to risk looking behind him, even a quick glance may confirm any suspicions that man may have. When he came to the next junction he would turn right and then leg it.

The side road was almost upon him and just before he turned the corner the power of curiosity took control. He just couldn’t help it. He glanced back to see what was going on. Both parka man and the van driver were walking quickly up the road towards him.

It confirmed everything he needed to know. His suspicions were correct; these guys were bad news and up to no good. There were two of them, both an unknown quantity; a fight wasn’t worth the risk. He decided to run. It was the best option circling in his mind right now, and he grabbed it.