Read Online A Choice of Evils by Joe Thompson-Swift - Free Book Online
Authors: Joe Thompson-Swift
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Experience had given me a good instinct against unwelcome trouble. I was Mr Clever Dick wasn’t I? The guy who had kept out of trouble for 10 years but now, I felt I was walking straight back into it. Me! A retired thief.
I got up to pace up and down the sitting room. What was the best line of defence? Attack of course! Attack whom? Forget it. The only way I could preserve my interests was to carry out the theft and avoid signalling my suspicions. I would have to get this dammed formula and check it out myself. That’s it. I decided that’s what I must do.
Suddenly, I felt a wave of paranoia sweep over me. What if I was being watched? What if my phone was bugged? Jesus! What would happen when and if I handed over the formula? Would I get paid the rest of the money? And wouldn’t I still be someone who knew something they shouldn’t? It was beginning to feel creepy. What the hell was I doing agreeing to steal a British secret for the bloody Iranians? Of course I knew the reason. So did Ahmed. It was money. Lots of crispy money!
Dwelling upon my uncertainties, I hit the scotch bottle heavily and eventually went to sleep.
The next morning I awoke with a crick in my neck. My settee had been my bed fellow for the night and my head throbbed and throbbed like a banging drum. I stared at the empty scotch bottle on the carpet knowing why I was feeling the way I did just now then mobilised myself into the shower. The force of the water pummelled my body as it regenerated me with new life. Like an awakening zombie, I stood there emptied of thought as the water cascaded over me. Ten minutes later, the healing warmth of the water had revived my spirits a little as I slowly returned to feeling somewhat normal. As I consulted myself in the mirror, my eyes looked as if they had been awake all night while my body had been asleep. But some soothing eye Optrex would soon cure that, I thought.
Just as I started to dress, mouse burst into his jubilant laugh. It was 7.am. On this occasion I felt like punching him on the nose. He sometimes affected me like that. Next it was on with the radio, kettle and toaster. It was raining heavily out on the streets.
The news on the radio was depressing. An IRA bomb had exploded in central London. Casualties and property damage was reported. Then the usual interviews and on the spot reporters gave their accounts of gloom and doom about the economy followed by who was doing what to who in the royal family. The world seemed a mad place, yet it came quick to remind me that I was a part of the madness too.
As I munched through the toast, I began to think of the things I had learnt from the tapes. There was no need to play them again as I had absorbed all the details. Neither was there any point in kicking myself over having made a bad decision. I had made my own bed and now would have to lay in it. My meeting with Peter the pen this evening came to mind. As soon as I had got the security pass I would search Bruce’s Lab thoroughly then hopefully find what I was looking for.
Now the carriage clock was chiming 8 bells as I heard the click on my post box. The strong coffee and toast had lined my stomach. It was time for my walk to the paper shop. On my way out I checked my mail. A greeting card from Sharon said hello. Another from a bank manager told me my credit rating had gone up. But I never borrowed or indulged in overdrafts. What was mine was mine and nothing more. It was the way that I saw things even though ‘my way’ had often been paid for by other people’s money I had confiscated from the rich. As I saw it, the bank manager’s job was to exploit the poor. Well, they couldn’t have me. Besides, I was going to do very nicely – thank you. All being well!
It was raining heavily as I stepped outside with my umbrella to walk to the shops. A car passed by the curb and sprayed me with some filthy water. That was all I needed to start the day. A cyclist rang his bell and grinned as he passed by.
I got up to pace up and down the sitting room. What was the best line of defence? Attack of course! Attack whom? Forget it. The only way I could preserve my interests was to carry out the theft and avoid signalling my suspicions. I would have to get this dammed formula and check it out myself. That’s it. I decided that’s what I must do.
Suddenly, I felt a wave of paranoia sweep over me. What if I was being watched? What if my phone was bugged? Jesus! What would happen when and if I handed over the formula? Would I get paid the rest of the money? And wouldn’t I still be someone who knew something they shouldn’t? It was beginning to feel creepy. What the hell was I doing agreeing to steal a British secret for the bloody Iranians? Of course I knew the reason. So did Ahmed. It was money. Lots of crispy money!
Dwelling upon my uncertainties, I hit the scotch bottle heavily and eventually went to sleep.
The next morning I awoke with a crick in my neck. My settee had been my bed fellow for the night and my head throbbed and throbbed like a banging drum. I stared at the empty scotch bottle on the carpet knowing why I was feeling the way I did just now then mobilised myself into the shower. The force of the water pummelled my body as it regenerated me with new life. Like an awakening zombie, I stood there emptied of thought as the water cascaded over me. Ten minutes later, the healing warmth of the water had revived my spirits a little as I slowly returned to feeling somewhat normal. As I consulted myself in the mirror, my eyes looked as if they had been awake all night while my body had been asleep. But some soothing eye Optrex would soon cure that, I thought.
Just as I started to dress, mouse burst into his jubilant laugh. It was 7.am. On this occasion I felt like punching him on the nose. He sometimes affected me like that. Next it was on with the radio, kettle and toaster. It was raining heavily out on the streets.
The news on the radio was depressing. An IRA bomb had exploded in central London. Casualties and property damage was reported. Then the usual interviews and on the spot reporters gave their accounts of gloom and doom about the economy followed by who was doing what to who in the royal family. The world seemed a mad place, yet it came quick to remind me that I was a part of the madness too.
As I munched through the toast, I began to think of the things I had learnt from the tapes. There was no need to play them again as I had absorbed all the details. Neither was there any point in kicking myself over having made a bad decision. I had made my own bed and now would have to lay in it. My meeting with Peter the pen this evening came to mind. As soon as I had got the security pass I would search Bruce’s Lab thoroughly then hopefully find what I was looking for.
Now the carriage clock was chiming 8 bells as I heard the click on my post box. The strong coffee and toast had lined my stomach. It was time for my walk to the paper shop. On my way out I checked my mail. A greeting card from Sharon said hello. Another from a bank manager told me my credit rating had gone up. But I never borrowed or indulged in overdrafts. What was mine was mine and nothing more. It was the way that I saw things even though ‘my way’ had often been paid for by other people’s money I had confiscated from the rich. As I saw it, the bank manager’s job was to exploit the poor. Well, they couldn’t have me. Besides, I was going to do very nicely – thank you. All being well!
It was raining heavily as I stepped outside with my umbrella to walk to the shops. A car passed by the curb and sprayed me with some filthy water. That was all I needed to start the day. A cyclist rang his bell and grinned as he passed by.
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