Angel and the Assassin

man‟s throat. Conran slid down in his
    seat, his eyes wide with pain and terror, his breath coming hard and fast.
    “I knew that was you in the car park. If you keep following me instead of
    letting me do my job, then I‟ll have to get rid of you too.”
    “You had better take your hands off me, Saunders. No one will protect you if
    you hurt me. You will be prosecuted.” The words were brave, but his face was pale
    and tight with fear.
    Kael leaned in closer until his face was barely three inches from Conran‟s
    bulging, terrified eyes. “I don‟t give a shite. You know perfectly well I don‟t give a
    shite,” he said in a low voice. He was sure that, if they were still enough, he would
    hear Conran‟s heart thudding in his chest and the blood rushing through the veins
    in his temples. Another minute and the man would piss himself.
    Kael hung onto Conran‟s throat for another full minute to get his point across
    before slowly easing his hand away. But instead of going back to his chair, he sat
    beside Conran, close enough to both arouse and frighten him. “Do you want a
    drink?” Kael asked, as though it was a social visit and he had not just had the man
    by the throat and threatened his life.
    “No, thank you. Is that boy still here? I need some assurance that he‟s not.”
    “Don‟t touch anything, and don‟t get off the couch,” Kael ordered.
    He got up and went quickly along the hall and into the bedroom, closing the
    door behind him, his finger to his lips. Angel still sat in the middle of the bed
    exactly where he had been told to wait. He rose up on his knees and shuffled to the
    side of the bed. Kael looked at him with relief. “Good boy.” He kept his voice very
    low and pulled Angel into his arms. “You have to stay here for a while longer, until I
    tell you it‟s safe to come out.”

    94
    Fyn Alexander

    “Yes, Sir, but Daddy, where‟s my blanket?”
    “Your what?” Kael was confused.
    “My blankie. It was under my pillow.”
    That‟s what that rag was, a comfort blanket! Why didn‟t he figure that out
    himself? “I locked it in the dungeon with your clothes,” he lied.
    “Why, Daddy?”
    “Are you my slave or what?” Kael asked to distract him.
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “Then you have to obey me. There‟s something I have to do. There‟s a man in
    the living room who can‟t know you‟re here, at least not yet. He‟ll try to take you
    away from me. You be a good boy and stay here, not a sound, not a movement. If
    you have to use the loo, do not flush.” Angel nodded obediently. “Good lad,” Kael
    said. He snatched the magazine off the bed.
    “Daddy!” Angel mouthed.
    “I need this.” Kael returned to the living room to find Conran exactly where he
    had left him. He looked at the way the man‟s jacket lay against his body and the
    position of his hands and feet, and knew he had remained seated as ordered. Kael
    tossed the magazine at Conran. “My guilty pleasure,” he said. “I was going to read it
    in my lonely bed.” He grinned.
    Conran picked it up and leafed through it. Kael walked to the sideboard where
    the drinks tray sat and poured two glasses of whiskey. He returned to the couch and
    sat down beside Conran again. Conran let the magazine fall in his lap and took the
    glass. “What about the food? You don‟t eat macaroni-cheese, nor do you eat hot dogs.
    The chocolate biscuits, perhaps, but not the other things.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I know your habits. It‟s my job to know,” he added quickly. But Kael knew
    that as good as Conran was at his job, he would not know what his other operatives
    ate or read. Somebody would, but not him.
    Looking down, then back up at Conran with a little grin as though he felt
    sheepish, Kael said, “You can take the boy out of the council estate, but you can‟t
    take the council estate out of the boy.” He looked intimately into Conran‟s eyes.
    “Now why don‟t you admit you came here because you want me and not to look for a
    dead boy.”
    Conran‟s mouth twitched nervously. He took a sip of his whiskey. “Where‟s his
    body?”
    “In the river, but it‟s weighted down. If he ever surfaces, nobody will recognize
    him, not after the fishies have eaten him. Now let‟s talk about something more
    interesting, like what you want me to do to you.”
    Sweat broke out on Conran‟s upper lip; his breath became suddenly shallow.
    He was close to getting what he wanted but was terrified of being