10 – The Fix

He sat on his edge of the bed and started to undress. He folded all his clothes neatly, even the dirty underwear and stockings that he would not wear tomorrow. He put shoe trees in his shoes, put his trousers in a trousers press, hung his jacket neatly on a shaped hanger and his tie on the tie rack. And as always he put on a clean pair of pajamas.
Then he lay in bed, awake. He kept thinking of the girl that looked like Becky Ashford. There was something about her that bothered him. And he didn’t think that it was simply that she was the first girl ever to have given him a blow job. He could control his emotions better than that surly. No, it was something to do with work. Something that could be important.
In the small hours of the morning he gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. On his way down to his study he passed the room that was to have been the nursery, if they had had any children, and stopped to look into it. Normally he didn’t notice how empty it looked. A cot, a rocking horse and a empty toy box where all that where in it. He had looked forward so much to filling it with toys, but had waited until he knew whether he would have a son or a daughter first. Then he had had neither. But that was when his marriage had been new and exciting. Now…
He shuck his head and wondered what the hell he was doing. “I must be going prematurely senile,” he muttered and turned away to continue on down to his study.
On his way through the lounge he stopped and poured himself a scotch. He looked around at the dim shapes of the furniture and tried to remember the last time he had had guests to dinner. It was a long time ago and with people he no longer saw any more. He sipped his drink and went into his study.
He walked around behind his desk and pulled the curtains across the window. Then he switched on his desk lamp and terminal, sat down in his executive chair and logged into his retrieval system.
He entered Becky Ashford as the main search string. The number of references found raced into the thousands. Then he cross referenced against his personal security database and the number of matches started to come down. He specified class one suspects and the number shrunk to single digits in seconds. He added dangerous and got only one.
The name “Jazz O’Riely” was printed in the found box, in neat little blue letters.
Smallwood sat back with a small smile on his lips, “Well, well, well.”
Jazz O’Riely, recently hired by the Greater London Resistance to teach them how to make bombs and shoot people. Not a big problem in itself, as his own contacts within the G.L.R. could scupper any serious treat that they might pose. But interesting in that she was an anarchist from the F.L.Q. and he wanted to discourage any offworld interest in his patch. Offworlders where arrogant and dangerous and basically had too many skills and resources behind them to be controlled effectively if they did get involved.
He punched up the Bio. on Jazz O’Riely, searched for references to Becky Ashford and turned up some very interesting facts. Apparently they had met in the American section on the moon and had had a notorious affair together. He knew that Jazz was a lesbian because of a couple of casual affairs in London, with a couple of people who reported indirectly to him, but had not know that about Becky Ashford. Also Jazz had reacted badly to Becky’s death. Turning to drug abuse and eventually an attempted suicide.
Maybe this girl that looked like a young Becky Ashford could pierce Jazz’s armor. Perhaps she could be a ghost from the past come to haunt her. It could be just enough to distract Jazz and force a mistake from her.
Smallwood lent back in his chair and let his thoughts rush through the possibilities. One little mistake from Jazz after over a year of perfect behavior would be nice. Just enough to give him a handle on her, just enough that he could twist and send her scurrying away back home. He lay back in his executive chair for hours planning and scheming with himself.
He could hardly wait to get into the office in the morning and start putting his plans into action. The traffic annoyed him even more than usual. Soon after he arrived his whole office knew that he was in a bad mood and nobody wanted to bring anything to his attention. He relaxed in his office with his black coffee and jam doughnut and started to get the whole situation on Jazz O’Riely straight in his mind. His mind ticked thought the intriguing possibilities of the situation as he made an step by step plan to send Jazz O’Riely back to the moon with her tail between her legs as an example to anybody else up there who might think of coming to London.
He finished his doughnut, wiped his hands and lips with a napkin, picked up his phone and called Mr. Brown.
Mr. Brown seemed a little surprised to get a call from him so soon after arranging business with him. “Ah, Mr. Smallwood. Everything’s O.K. I hope?” he glanced at some off screen displays.
“Oh yes,” Smallwood saw Mr. Brown visibly relax. “Your services are as usual excellent.” Smallwood leant forward a little, “No, I’ve called you now to talk about another matter.” He paused and got Mr. Brown’s full attention. “I would like to use your two girls to help get a handle on a suspect of mine.”
Mr. Brown smiled, sensing a good deal, “I’m sure that can be arranged, Mr. Smallwood.”

Chapter 11 – Pick Up