Angel and the Assassin

fight until he saw the
    size of Kael. Kael snatched the cap off his head and grabbed the backpack. “Where
    did you get these?”
    “That‟s my stuff; who the fuck are you?” The others gathered around like a
    pack of dogs, fearless when in a group.
    “You fucking failed medical experiments,” Kael said to the group in general.
    He shoved Angel‟s hat into his pocket and took the youth by the throat, squeezing
    until the boy‟s eyes bulged and his face grew scarlet. With his free hand he rammed
    a fist into the nearest pimply youth.
    “Where did you get that stuff, you little fuck?” he said to the boy he held. “Tell
    me now or I‟ll drag you to the nearest toilets and fuck your arse until my dick comes
    out of your throat.”
    If these useless, mouthy thugs had hurt Angel, he would torture them one by
    one and enjoy every moment of it. Another boy came up behind him, thinking he
    could take Kael unawares. But Kael knew exactly where each one of them stood. He

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    Fyn Alexander

    had already gauged the strength of each, and his brain raced, forming moment-by-
    moment plans of what to do if he was attacked. He kicked backward sharply, and
    the boy crumpled forward, clutching his knee.
    “Let‟s get out of here. He‟s a fucking nutter.” The voice came from somewhere
    to his left. The chavs scattered quickly.
    “Where did you get the bag and the hat?” Kael eased up the pressure on the
    boy‟s throat so he could speak.
    “I found it. Swear to God, mate.”
    Kael released the boy‟s throat and took a firm hold on his arm. “Show me
    where.”
    The boy began walking toward Park Close, with Kael holding him tightly by
    the arm. At the street, the boy pointed at the pavement. “The bag and the hat were
    on the street, right there.”
    “Just lying there?”
    The boy nodded vigorously, terrified now that his friends had run off. “Yeah,
    like they‟d been dropped.”
    “Are you having a laugh?” Kael said, his face inches from the boy‟s.
    “No! Swear to God, mate. The bag was there on the flags, and the hat was in
    the gutter.” He pointed again. Kael pictured the positioning of the items.
    Angel had been snatched off the street into a car; there was no question in
    Kael‟s mind. If Conran was behind this, Kael would carry out every threat he had
    made against him.
    “You see how easily I could have killed you?” The boy nodded frantically. “I‟m
    going to let go of you, and you will stand right there. If you make me chase you, I‟ll
    definitely kill you, and I promise you, I will enjoy it. Now stand there and don‟t
    move.”
    Taking his hand off the boy, he opened Angel‟s bag and saw a jar of caviar
    sitting on top of Godiva chocolates in a heart-shaped box. His throat constricted at
    the sight of the chocolates, and he remembered being about ten years old and
    buying his mum a heart-shaped box of chocolates for Valentine‟s Day because he
    had thought she would love it, being a woman. Angel must have thought the same
    thing.
    In the bottom of the bag under a change of clothes were Angel‟s blanket, folded
    neatly, and his British passport. “Where‟s the money?”
    The boy almost started to lie but knew he would never get away with it. He
    went into the pocket of his low-slung trousers and pulled out the cash. Kael put the
    cap and the money into the bag. “Tell me exactly when you found these.”
    “About an hour ago.”
    “I said exactly.”
    The boy was shaking, dying to get away from him. “I don‟t know, mate. Maybe
    more than that, not more than two hours.”

    Angel and the Assassin
    167

    Kael assessed his face to see if he was lying, but the boy was too afraid of him.
    “You can go.” The boy took off running without looking back. Kael stood for a long
    time looking at the street, forming a picture of what had happened. When he was
    satisfied, he hailed a taxi.
    At home he put Angel‟s bag in the bedroom and changed quickly into black
    clothes with the black shoes he always wore on a job. In the hall he took down his
    weapons box and put on his shoulder holster. He loaded a magazine into his
    GLOCK 26 and put his small handgun in his pocket. He selected two scalpels and
    took the passport with the name John Carpe, then pulled on his leather jacket
    before heading out.
    It was Wednesday, and it was almost two o‟clock. Conran left his office every
    day around one o‟clock and went for lunch to a sandwich shop on the Albert
    Embankment, always the same