Espionage: A Jigsaw in 500 Pieces [part three]

by Peter Wild



[ 1-10 ] [ 11-22 ]



[ 23 ]

In Manchester it is raining. In Manchester it is always fucking raining. It was typical. The first day off he'd had in months and it was raining. Ed Bamyasi had had a really cosmopolitan day planned an' all. He was gonna go to the Easy place in St Anne's Square and check his emails, see if anything was up. Then the plan was to maybe grab a coffee and sit in the sunshine reading his book until hunger got the better of him. At which point, he thought maybe a spot of lunch followed by a movie. Admittedly, the rain didn't interfere all that much. Manchester being Manchester, rain was never too far away. But. Saying all of that. The rain was a blemish. The rain was a hindrance. The rain edged the day he had planned just one or two degrees off the spot. The day he had planned involved sunshine, blazing sunshine, involved lots of beautiful women walking around in summer clothes. So. The rain had in its own way tarnished the wallpaper of his day. Ed Bamyasi sucked his teeth like a young Asian man. Still. You couldn't let these things get you down. You had to pick yourself up and get on with things. You had to improvise and readjust. That was part and parcel of living your life. Which reminded him.



[ 24 ]

He slipped his cranky arse iPOD out of his jacket pocket and scrolled his way through the artists. He'd had the thing on shuffle for the past three quarters of an hour as he'd made his way into town but. Now there was something he actively wanted to listen to. Daniel Johnston screeching his way through Livin' Life. Ed Bamyasi fucking loved this song. Eels did a cover that was alright, too. But Daniel Johnston. Ed loved Daniel Johnston. He adjusted the earpieces of his iPOD. The sound had to be just so. A lot of things had to be just so for Ed Bamyasi. He was particular. He was a particular kind of guy. He sometimes wondered whether or not he was a bit autistic. When he ate, he tried to keep each area of food separate. He didn't like food with elaborate sauces. Didn't like to eat things that came to you all mixed up. Plus he didn't like noise, kids, that kind of thing. Noise drove him batshit. And he overthought things to the nth degree. Sometimes he got lost thinking about things. Like, if there was a gig on, and he was trying to decide to go, the gig might be long finished before he managed to make a decision. Like, right now. He's thinking about overthinking and not looking where he's going.



[ 25 ]

Which is exactly what Hal Ashby was looking for. There's this guy, you see. He's an old guy. If you were a kid, you'd say he was an old guy. But he isn't really. He's in his 50s. But he's got a white beard and his hair is long and unkempt. He looks like Hal Ashby, the guy who directed Harold and Maude. Hal Ashby has been wandering for a while, examining the crowd, looking for the right person. Years and years of experience, years and years of doing this fucking thing and all you learned was how fucking difficult it is to get the old goddamn switcheroo right. You had to watch and watch. This person and that person, that person and the other person. He'd come a long way, Hal Ashby. Born an orphan in North Virginia, raised by Polish immigrants, sacrificed to the Ivy League, lost in the system. Hal Ashby was dead, actually. He'd died about thirty seven years previously. He couldn't even really remember the details of the job anymore. He'd had a lifetime of jobs since. A man who wasn't strictly speaking officially alive was incredibly useful to certain people. And so he'd had a lifetime of jobs. Do this. Go here. Pick up that. Kill them. Hal Ashby's eyes narrowed. He pushed his spectacles up his nose, stroked his beard for one, two, three seconds. Yes. He'd seen his man.



[ 26 ]

Ed Bamyasi was bobbing through the crowds in St Anne's Square. He didn't see Hal Ashby push himself offof the steps of the Royal Exchange. Why would he notice? Hal Ashby was just an old guy. A man in his 50s, as we said. He was wearing a leather jacket and a denim shirt, a denim shirt that was made up of maybe a dozen different kinds of denim. He was wearing a horrible denim shirt. But it sort of went with his white and yet oddly peppery beard. Hal Ashby pushed himself through the crowd, making sure not to draw too much attention to himself. The guy he was looking at was maybe twenty seven or twenty eight. He was mid height. Maybe five eight. Shorter than Hal Ashby at any rate, which was important. Sort of ash blond hair. Blue eyes. Hadn't shaved in maybe three days. The guy was wearing green canvass trousers like maybe a million other young men his age. And, despite the fact that it was raining, he wasn't carrying an umbrella. This was good. The rain was a real help. All of the umbrellas gave Hal Ashby the element of surprise. It meant he could spring up, almost out of nowhere. That was important too. As for what happens when Hal Ashby and Ed Bamyasi collide. Well. This is a piece of the jigsaw puzzle it would serve us to examine closely.



[ 27 ]

Hal Ashby pops up in front of Ed Bamyasi and almost bars the young man's way. Hal Ashby is thrilled, has what you might call the look of the demon on his face. Hey, he says, all pleased. Hey, man. It's so good to see you again! How the hell are you? Christ but you're looking good. You are looking fine, my friend. How long has it been? It must be - what? Seven? Eight? Nine? Tell me it isn't nine! Is it nine years? Hell. Fuck. Christ. It is so good to see you! Hal Ashby runs at the mouth and Ed Bamyasi - Ed Bamyasi looks at Hal Ashby with his mouth open. Part of it is, he's perplexed. Who the fuck is this guy? But that's not all. There's uncertainty too. Does he know this guy? Where was he seven, eight, nine - was it nine? Jesus fuck! - years ago? It's hard to think with the old guy (Hal Ashby! He looks like Hal Ashby!) virtually foaming at the mouth. Hal Ashby takes Ed Bamyasi in his arms. It's a real bear hug. Ed Bamyasi can't see but he knows somehow, he senses, that Hal Ashby has his eyes closed. Ed Bamyasi can't figure it out but it's as if Hal Ashby has found the great friend of his life again after a considerable journey. Although he's puzzled and confounded and all the rest of it, Ed Bamyasi has to admit that he is also flattered. Which is just what Hal Ashby wants.



[ 28 ]

Hal Ashby is busy. He's running at the mouth, sure. But that's all prestidigitation. Sleight of hand. Hal Ashby is just distracting his audience. He's talking and he's patting. He puts his hands on the young guy's arms, then on his chest then on his side, so quick the young guy probably doesn't even notice. When he finds the wallet, he gives himself a quick mental pat on the back. It's harder and harder these days because guys no longer carry wallets, leastways not so much as they used to do. But from across the way, when he spotted the young guy, he knew - here was a man who liked to carry a wallet. Hal Ashby was so fucking sharp. Man. Man, but he was good. When the wallet was identified, Hal Ashby took the young man in his arms, knowing he had at most a count of five to do what he needed to do. One: he removed the wallet from the young guy's inside jacket pocket, noting as he did so that the guy had two inside jacket pockets, one containing an iPOD and one containing the wallet. Two: he opened the wallet to see what was in there. Noted the driver's license and the kid's name. Edward Bamyasi. Ed, Hal Ashby thinks. Three: Hal Ashby removes a card from his own jacket pocket, a card as big as your thumb, looks like a ticket stub. Four: he slips the card into Ed Bamyasi's wallet. Five: Hal Ashby removes a card, a library card, from the wallet. And then he's done.



[ 29 ]

What happens next is perhaps the most intricate part of the whole process, the most intricate and the most important. Hal Ashby slips the wallet into his own jacket pocket. He has to take the wallet without the Joe knowing. Then - wallet securely in place - he has to look deeply and profoundly into the face of the Joe, into the face of Ed Bamyasi. A change occurs, a shudder, a ripple, passes across Hal Ashby's face. To Ed Bamyasi, Hal Ashby suddenly looks puzzled. The facial expression could be summed up by the phrase: Wait a minute... The clouds part. Hal Ashby realises that Ed Bamyasi is not the great lost friend he moments earlier presumed. Hal Ashby pretends to chew chewing gum, as this helps create a conducive air of quiet contemplative rumination. His eyes drift, from Ed Bamyasi to the person making their way by Ed Bamyasi. It is a beautiful young woman. Hey, Hal Ashby says, attracting the beautiful young woman's attention. It's so good to see you again! How the hell are you? The young woman doesn't stop. This is part of the plan. Hal Ashby's attention shifts to an old married couple. Hey! The old married couple panic, scurry by. Hal Ashby shifts his focus maybe a half dozen times. Ed Bamyasi watches, smiles - and the penny drops. The old guy is crazy. There we go ...



[ 30 ]

Hal Ashby dances off through the crowd like some kind of deranged lunatic. He holds his arms up at chest level, as if he is ballroom dancing in the company of a ghost. The crowd parts. Certain members of the crowd smile, certain members of the crowd roll their eyes. Fuck all of you people, Hal Ashby thinks to himself. He has the wallet. He has the library card. He chuckles to himself. A library card. In this day and age. For Pete's sake. Still and all. The library card was all he needed. Now. He checked his watch. There was still time. Hal Ashby walked the perimeter of St Anne's Square. Watching. You had to make sure you were watching all of the time. Either he had to find a bin (which was hard, ever since the IRA bomb rocked Manchester, bins are much harder to find) or he had to find a vacant table. The vacant table was better. All he had to do was leave the wallet in a place it would be found, in a place it would be found and handed in. There was a cafe up ahead. It wasn't yet lunchtime so there were vacant tables. Hal Ashby upped his speed. He walked by, flicked the wallet deftly onto an empty chair, hung a left and disappeared. Momentarily, out of sight. When we see him again, he'll be dead.


© Peter Wild 2006

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Peter Wild is the co-founder of Bookmunch. He is the editor of a forthcoming series of books for Serpent's Tail, the first two of which - Perverted by Language: Fiction inspired by The Fall and The Empty Page: Fiction inspired by Sonic Youth - will be published in 2007. His writing and fiction have appeared in various outlets including Scarecrow, NOO Journal, Word Riot, Laura Hird, Nude Magazine, Thieves Jargon, Dreams That Money Can Buy and Eyeballkid.