3

‘Let me say firstly how sorry Mr.Williamson is for the inconvenience. Had we realised to begin with that we had the wrong man….well let me put it this way…things wouldn’t have become so messy’.

 

   Sitting across from Mendes in a sterilized office space was a small man with hunched shoulders, thinning hair, and a nervous tic causing him to sniff every few seconds. This did nothing to put Mendes at ease. If anything the presence of a rather bulky individual standing by the door, hands crossed in front of himself in an attempt to appear relaxed and impassive, made matters worse. 

 

‘I'm Samuel Irons Mr.Williamson’s physician. He felt so bad about the imposition that it was deemed necessary to have me attend to you personally.’

 

Through swollen eyes and an increasingly painful jaw Mendes couldn’t suppress a laugh.

 

‘Imposition; is that what he considers this to be? He watched me get beaten shitless by some animal in a suit while he watched, and he calls that an imposition?’

 

Mendes shifted his weight slightly as he was currently perched on an examination table, while Irons remained seated around knee level, a few feet away holding a clipboard.

 

‘Now now Mr.Mendes lets not get upset. We had our suspicions and these measures were put in place in order to rule you out of investigations.’

 

‘You could have just asked me whether I knew anything about…well anything…but in the whole time when I was in that cell, being torn to pieces, did anyone ask me anything?’

 

Irons shifted in his seat and consulted his clipboard evasively.

 

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’

 

Mendes could feel his blood rising but took a breath before continuing.

 

‘Sure you do. Tell me, what could you guys possibly learn from me without asking me anything?’

 

Irons looked to the corner where the other man remained motionless, not even registering the attempt at eye contact.

 

‘How you would react, what your limits were..and I am pleased to say that they appear higher than expected.’

 

  

‘I’m pleased to have exceeded expectations; now when are you letting me out of here?’

 

Irons smiled before looking up.

 

‘Now there’s a question. The truth is somewhat simpler than you might imagine’

 

Mendes got to his feet gingerly. Every joint in his body ached, while the fluorescent strip lighting which gave everything a cold and clinical sheen was starting to hurt his eyes.

 

‘Well, you gonna let me know or not?’

 

No one acknowledged his question yet seconds later CJ heard a key turn, saw the door open and was being ushered outside.

‘After you Mr.Mendes. Be sure to turn right when you exit and make your way towards the lift at the far end. Again Mr.Williamson would like to apologise for any inconvenience which he may have caused and hopes you won’t bare him any ill will’.

 

His tone was cool and detached. As Mendes passed through into the corridor he heard Irons and his heavy set companion fall in step just a few feet behind.

 

‘How much money is he offering anyway?’

 

‘Mr.Williamson doesn’t like to discuss money. He’s a businessman’

 

‘Ok. How does he feel about letting others discuss money then? Cos this is gonna cost him a packet. Does he seriously thing I’m just gonna roll over and play dead?’

 

As he approached the lift doors opened silently and they stepped inside.

 

‘Please remember that were it not for Mr.Williamson you would be dead now. His desire to keep you alive is the only reason you are walking out of here’

 

‘Rather than being carried out you mean?’

 

‘Exactly’

 

As the lift slowed to a stop and the doors opened the conversation seemed to come to a natural conclusion. Mendes stepped out into the underground parking annexe while Irons and his companion remained inside.

 

‘Send my regards to your editor Mr.Mendes and drive safely now’

 

This parting shot was accompanied by Irons reaching into his coat and tossing some car keys onto the concrete. Crouching down to retrieve them Mendes considered his position as the doors closed and his companions disappeared from view.

   Back at the flat were piles of documents on the firm and reason enough for that chimp to have worked him over, problem was that Williamson was squeaky clean and establishment to the bone which he also happened to own in one way or another; this did not improve his chances. Others had warned him but not being one to heed advice good or otherwise, meant he had narrowly avoided being rubbed out. This day which had not started well was not proving to get better. Pushing his key fob deactivated the central locking to his car and Mendes climbed inside. Punching the push button ignition he reversed out of the space and drove through the concrete infrastructure, past the corporate cars lined up like dominos before hitting the exit ramp, pulling out into traffic and heading across town. Some middle of the road drive time radio show was pumping out the latest mediocrity making Mendes suddenly very tired.

   His flat was situated across town in a purpose built block and came with privileges which appealed to his vanity. His Concierge service, off road parking and gym membership had never seemed less attractive and did little more than fulfil a need for what he couldn't quite remember. A combination of unsocial hours and an unswerving dedication to his job had meant that C J Mendes had been living alone for longer than most people cared to admit in polite society. Women, and always good women, had taken a liking to him but left within a year to eighteen months, unwilling to put up with the up at dawn home at nine, ten, eleven o’clock in the evening schedule which C J had imposed on himself. The pursuit of truth had always been his guiding ethos and one which others were not so eager to share, let alone understand. For this reason amongst others he drank.

  

   It was around seven thirty when the prefabricated and predictably weather worn sign for his local loomed out of the darkness.  ‘Hope Floats’ was  a bar of solid oak beams, polished brass pumps, under the counter fridges lined with alcopops and permeated by stale sweat and honey roasted peanuts. Since cigarettes were banned the smell of other human beings was more repugnant, but a small price to pay for a less polluted and more convivial atmosphere according to government sources. C J’s one problem with this, as with everyone, was the fact that government researchers never drank in places like this. They were cosseted in subsidised bistros and restaurants in and around the borough of Westminster, the hypocrisy of which was lost on no one least of all Mendes himself. C J took his seat at the bar and ordered a drink; Things had to improve.